Phantom in the Night (B.A.D. Agency, #2)(35)
Author: Sherrilyn Kenyon

He curled his lip. "Don’t come here with that crap. Plenty of people have been in that container." He tried to close the door.

Terri slapped a palm against the door and shoved her booted foot against the kick plate. She locked evil gazes, but hers brimmed with months of frustration and boiling anger over the news of Sammy’s death.

"I’ll keep this simple, Fred. No one knows I’m here, for now. Sammy’s disfigured body just showed up at head-quarters. He was killed by the virus unleashed in Chicago today."

Fred’s wrinkled face paled.

Been watching the gruesome news, huh? Timing is everything.

Terri didn’t miss a breath. "Philborn is close to figuring out the tools you palmed from the container match the rest of the contents stolen when Sammy disappeared… working your damn shift, I might add. Those tools could be the key to figuring out who is behind this outbreak. If Philborn comes for those contents, you’ll lose your pension and go to jail. But that’s a much better scenario than if you don’t give them to me this minute and you accidentally come into contact with that virus."

Fred’s eyes watered. His hands shook, then he mumbled to follow him. The house reeked of fried fish. Fred led her through his wood-paneled living room, where a stuffed bass was hung on the wall. The television had come from a different decade, but the grotesque pictures streaming past of victims in Chicago came through as clear as the national news anchor’s voiceover.

Fred opened a door to what should be a bedroom, but the space had been turned into a workshop with a table saw and lathe. Terri waited as he pulled out a drawer on a tall metal chest, then stepped aside quickly, staring at the drawer with sweaty horror. "This is all of it."

She scanned the drawer containing three pairs of beautifully carved tools. Two L squares and two small narrow saws with teak handles, plus two carpenter levels with sealed glass tubes of liquid mounted with tiny gold screws within a cutout section of wood. The bubble inside the tubes indicated when the two-foot piece of teak was perfectly level.

The tubes could just as easily contain a lethal virus.

Terri picked up the carpenter level to examine closer.

"What if you break that?"

"I doubt anyone would ship something this deadly in a glass container that would shatter easily." She hoped not, but that didn’t stop her heart from pounding with a healthy amount of trepidation. Upon close inspection, she could see a small ring at the top that slid clockwise when she put a fingernail against it.

She laid the tool back down, slid the ring halfway around, exposing the top of the vial. Using two fingers, she gently lifted the vial from the bracket.

The second vial released just as easily. Both were sealed with a rubber coating on one end, but one had an X etched in the tube and the other did not.

Terry picked up a soft cloth and wrapped the vials carefully, then turned to leave.

"Look, I’m sorry about_" Fred started to say.

"Save it for Sammy’s family. I’ve got to go." Terri raced out of the house to her car.

"Make it fast. I’m waiting on another call." Not exactly a cell phone call, but a message. Duff had sent a text message confirmation to Fra Bacchus that he’d located the last two vials ten minutes ago. The transmitter in Terri Mitchell’s car relayed enough of her conversation for him to know she had them, but not where she’d gone.

What was taking the Fra so long? He normally answered quickly when it was a matter of interest to him.

"Just wanted to let you know everything is falling into place here." Parker’s enthusiasm poured across the lines.

Duff’s mouth curved up mildly, his eyes sliding to the laptop on the passenger seat of his car. He’d just closed the monitor from covertly observing Parker’s meeting with Senator Hutchinson of Illinois, whose next stop was a press conference for the viral outbreak. The senator’s face had split with a campaign smile when he learned Parker could make him a hero on tonight’s news once he announced the possibility of an antidote. Parker’s price_votes for Zolono Pharmaceuticals_had dampened his excitement.

After the meeting, Duff had tuned in on a call between Parker and the scientist at Zolono who had agreed to be the one to "create" an antidote in exchange for the money to get his daughter into Harvard. The Fra would be pleased when Duff shared that nugget, though Duff couldn’t figure out why the scientist mattered.

Everyone had a price.

Duff stretched his neck, ready to move all this along. "That all you have to tell me?"

"No." Parker snapped the word, clearly put out with Duff’s no-nonsense tone. "I’ve made the transfer."

"Good." Duff’s phone dinged with a new message. "I’ll be in touch." He ended the call, then read the text on his screen.

D_Good work. I will be out of pocket for today so I’ve asked Consul Vestavia to direct you until I return. He will be in touch shortly but keep an eye on the bird for me, as well.

FB

"The bird" would be code for Brady. But Duff frowned as he went over the message again. He didn’t even know this Vestavia guy. How could the Fra hand him off to a consul in the middle of this project? The Fra should have had Duff meet the consul in person first.

Was the old guy getting too pickled to do his job? Duff’s phone dinged again. A message from CV_Consul Vestavia. A consul outranked a general, so Duff opened the message and started reading his next instructions.

* * *

Nathan wrenched the wheel hard to the right, sliding the Javelin around a corner. Felt like two wheels had lifted. He couldn’t afford to lose the traction. He backed off. The rubber grabbed so he shot forward down a one-way street.

The wrong way.

A Volkswagen pulled out to turn.

He slammed the horn. The Bug drove up on the sidewalk.

Sirens chewed up the air, closing in.

Nathan dug out the USB memory stick and shoved it into his jacket pocket. He spun hard to the left and made two more turns until he saw an overhead door hanging half-open on a warehouse with broken windows and missing sheet metal.

He drove in, bouncing across wood, and rolled down the windows. Sirens blared coming close, closer… loud… then the sirens passed by and faded away.

This car was too easily recognizable. With seven hundred horses under the hood, Black Death could outrun just about anything, especially an anemic police cruiser.

Radios would be a little tougher to beat.

He cut the engine and sat there a minute. Welcome to my new life. Might as well get used to it.

Nathan shoved his cell phone in a pocket and locked the car. Moldy air snuck all around him, dank and depressing. He walked around, running his hand over the top. Just let this baby be here when he got back…

Pulling the hood over his head, he walked to the street, turned left, and started strolling slowly along. Once he reached the Square, he dialed Terri. Voicemail.

Was she not answering or was that damn phone not working?

He hit speed dial on his phone. When Stoner answered, Nathan said, "I’m on foot."

"Where’s the Jav_"

"Parked." Probably for the last time. But he was willing to kiss it good-bye to keep Terri safe.

Nathan turned to face a store window when a police cruiser passed by. "Where are you?"

"Waiting outside Terri’s house for her Grandma."

Nathan turned in that direction. "I’m heading your way. When is her grandma supposed to be there?"

"Twenty minutes ago. When Terri called, she said by the time her grandmother called to say she was back in town she was already close to home. I have a bad feeling about this."

So did Nathan. "Sit tight. I’ll be there in less than ten."

Terri jumped in her car, took one look at Taggart standing in the doorway, and ignored the pasty fear on his face. Her cell phone rang as she was backing out. "Grandma" popped up on caller ID.

"Are you with Stoner?" Terri answered, checking around her as she headed back to the station.

"Your granny’s with me," an unfamiliar male voice informed her.

She hit the brakes. "Who is this?"

"You don’t have a lot of time for questions if you want to get your granny back."

Her vision swam in tears. "Don’t you dare hurt her. You can have me."

"I don’t want you, I want those two vials. I’m betting you know where they are."

She wanted blood.

If she turned those vials over to him, people would die. Many people. Nathan’s warning that she would feel differently if her family were threatened or harmed hit her. The urge to kill this man was so strong she couldn’t deny it.

"If you don’t, I’ll just be done with Granny."

"No, I do know. I’ll bring them to you."

"Perfect. By now, you surely realize I’m well aware of who you are in contact with and that I have people inside law enforcement. So believe me when I tell you Granny will die if you call anyone on any phone. Come to this address."

Her heart racing from fear and anger, Terri scribbled down the address. By the time she got there, she’d have a plan on how to get her grandmother to safety before she handed over the vials. She would have to. Because once she handed them over, Terri understood her grandmother and innocents would die… and she would, too.

"Maybe her grandma tried to reach Terri, but got her voicemail like I’ve been getting, and left a message on their home phone," Nathan suggested as Stoner followed him into the courtyard behind Terri’s home.

"I hope so, but I wouldn’t put money on it."

Neither would Nathan. He opened the back door to Terri’s house and listened, then ceased all verbal communication until he and Stoner had secured the house. Nathan went to the home phone system. A light blinked with messages.

The first one was her grandmother at the airport in Chicago, telling Terri her flight info. The next one was her grandmother in New Orleans stopped in traffic a mile from the house. Nothing else.

"I think the traffic jam is suspect," Stoner said.

"Me, too."

The house phone rang. Nathan let it go to voicemail so he could listen to the caller before picking up. A hang-up.

Stoner walked in from the living room. "Someone just checked out my SUV. Male. Operative."

Nathan nodded and moved into the dark hallway. Stoner took up another position inside the living room.

The door to the kitchen opened slowly a few minutes later, followed by the barrel of a weapon. Once inside, the man started forward, checking the house the same way Nathan had. When he reached the hallway, Nathan made his move.

He hit the guy hard, knocking him back into the kitchen. The intruder caught his balance and swung the weapon up, but Nathan was on him in a nanosecond. He shoved the weapon arm up and back against the doorjamb, knocking the gun loose. This guy was big and lean with muscle, but fury blasted through Nathan on an adrenaline wave nothing would have stopped. He caught him around the throat with his forearm.

A flick sounded and the tip of a blade pierced Nathan’s shirt, breaking the skin.

"Back away, f**ker, or it goes all the way in," the guy warned.

Stoner stepped into view and put the barrel of his 9 mm H&K against the mans forehead. "Drop it. They can patch a knife wound, but I doubt we’ll find all the pieces to put your brains back together."

The operative actually pressed on the knife. If Nathan didn’t need to find out what this guy knew about Terri, he’d have grunted with the pain, but Stoner would kill the bastard at that.

A slew of cursing spit out of this bastard’s mouth before the knife clanged against the hardwood floor.

"Who are you?" Nathan demanded. When he didn’t get an answer, he said, "If you’ve hurt Terri or her grandmother, I promise to make your death slow and agonizing."

"I don’t have Terri," the guy answered.

"Then who are you?"

The man didn’t answer.

"NOPD?" Nathan asked.

"Do I look like a f**king pig?"

Not really. Nathan scrunched his forehead in thought, then it dawned on him. Of course. "You’re with the agency she works for."

The man’s features went blank." What agency, gringo? I don’t know what you’re talking about."

Yeah, right. "What’s your name and why are you here?"

"Why you here, gringo? You here to hurt women or you just want to steal something?"

Nathan tightened his grip while Stoner searched him for a wallet.

The man banged his head back into Nathan’s face, slamming him in the nose. Damn, it hurt, but not enough to make him loosen his hold. He’d been trained in the army to stay tough even while being beaten with the stock end of a rifle. And that was nothing compared to what prison trained him for. A little slap on the nose wouldn’t do anything except piss him off.

"Carlos Delgado," Stoner said.

"What agency is he with?"

"There’s no badge. Only his license."

Nathan tightened his hold again. "So what are you doing here, Carlos?"

"Pissing you off."

Stoner held his gun up to Carlos’s forehead. "Let’s just off the bastard and then work on saving Terri and her grandmother."

Before Nathan could move, Carlos lifted his feet and kicked Stoner back. The sudden shift in weight was enough to bring Nathan down, too. Carlos spun before he swept his feet out from under him.

A shot rang out.

Nathan and Carlos froze as Stoner stood up with the weapon trained fully on Carlos. "Enough with the dancing. The next bullet is between your eyes."

"All right," Carlos said, moving into a stance they all knew meant he was waiting for an opening to disarm Stoner.

Stoner lowered the gun to Carloss crotch. "Should we continue splitting hairs?"

"Not down there, amigo. Take the eyes, please."

Nathan pushed himself back to his feet and exchanged a look with Stoner. "He’s obviously well trained. I say Fed."

"He has the look, but he fights like someone from the streets, not one of them Ivy-trained overachievers. And he doesn’t reek of military."

Stoner had a point.

"Fuck it, shoot him."

Carlos didn’t even flinch as Stoner squeezed the trigger. He didn’t plead, beg, or even blink.