Chapter 9

“Yes, sir, I’m aware I was out of my jurisdiction,” Chase said calmly into his cell phone. “But the people shooting at me didn’t seem to care about the fact that they weren’t allowed to kill me while I’m outside Oxford County.”

Tate bit his tongue to keep from laughing. The deputy had been on the phone with the sheriff for the past ten minutes as they sat in the patrol car in a store parking lot off Highway 101. To say the conversation had not gone well was an understatement.

Apparently, one of the cops on the scene at Joanne Harvey’s residence had called Sheriff Bowers and given him a fairly good rundown of everything that happened, including the parts about the machine-gun-wielding bad guys, the shattered living room window, and the shredded bulletproof vest. Chase had tried to downplay the severity of the incident, but the sheriff had been in no mood to be pacified. He definitely didn’t find any of this amusing, no matter how much sarcasm Chase dumped into his explanation.

“No, sir, I don’t think this is funny,” Chase said, his jaw clenching. Bowers had been grilling him hard, and it was obvious the deputy had taken about as much as he could handle. “But if I remember right, Sheriff, you’re the one who told me to keep an eye on Agent Evers and his investigation. When he decided to go first to the medical center in Scarborough, then Joanne Harvey’s house, I had to go with him even if it was outside our jurisdiction. I never expected to get into a shoot-out.”

Anger was starting to seep into Chase’s voice, but Tate knew it wasn’t only the third degree he was getting from his boss that was pissing the deputy off. A lot of it probably had to do with the fact that he and Chase had spent the next hour buried in questions, giving answers no one quite believed. A little while later, Bowers had called.

“It’s fortunate I did go with him,” Chase added, “or it’s likely Joanne Harvey and Agent Evers would be dead right now.”

Tate snorted. The way he remembered it, Chase had been the one close to getting snuffed, not him.

“No, sir, there’s no one else in the car with me,” Chase said, shooting Tate a look that blatantly suggested he keep his opinions to himself. “Evers called it a night, so I’m heading home… No, I still have no idea exactly where this is all going. All I can say for sure is Bell was involved with some very bad people, and it got him killed.”

When Chase finally hung up several minutes later, he stared silently out the windshield for a while, likely contemplating how much trouble he was going to be in when his boss figured out Chase had been lying his ass off about almost everything, including the part about him heading home now instead of out to Bell’s second residence. The one nobody but his personal research assistant had known about. Yeah, lying to your boss like that could get a cop fired pretty damn quick.

After another moment, the deputy put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking lot and back onto the highway, heading toward Lewiston.

“We’ll be crossing the Androscoggin River in a few miles,” Chase said. “We should see the turnoff for Bell’s after that.”

Tate nodded. After rescuing Joanne Harvey from her attackers, the woman had been more than willing to tell them everything she knew about Dr. Bell, including the fact that the man had two homes. The small apartment near the medical center was where he spent most of his evenings after work. It was the address he listed on all the hospital paperwork and the only place associated with his name from a property tax perspective. Joanne had been there many times and told them it was essentially nothing more than a place to sleep. However, Bell had a much bigger home outside Lewiston where he stayed when he wanted to get away from everything. The house had been owned by his parents and was currently managed by a trust set up in their names. That’s why no one at the hospital knew about it. Apparently, no one else did either, since Kendra hadn’t come up with anything on it. Joanne was sure Bell was in a relationship with someone but said he’d been a very private man and she respected that privacy.

“Okay, let me see if I have this right,” Chase said. “There are these shifter creatures in the world that are half human, half animal. They look completely normal but have all these incredible abilities, not to mention fangs and claws. This guy who jumped on me at Joanne’s house and just about ripped me apart was a shifter, right?”

The deputy was clearly handling this better than Tate thought he would. “Batting a thousand so far.”

“Then there are hybrids, people who psycho doctors like Mahsood tried to turn into man-made shifters thanks to financial backing from rich, powerful people like Rebecca Brannon,” Chase continued. “With Bell’s background in genetics, I’m guessing you think he and Mahsood were working together on one of these hybrid projects?”

Damn, this guy was quick. Tate had touched on every one of those subjects but hadn’t tied them together in the neat bundle the way Chase already had. But before Tate could tell the deputy he was impressed, the cop spoke again.

“You said hybrids can have control issues, which probably means a hybrid wasn’t responsible for Bell’s murder, since he was tortured, not butchered. That leaves us with the shifter who attacked me or the one on the stairs you told me about. Unless you think Rebecca’s daughter did it. Is she a shifter or a hybrid? I’m guessing a hybrid since Mahsood was experimenting on her.”

“Actually, Ashley’s a coyote shifter,” Tate corrected. “But beyond that, you nailed everything else. I gotta say, you’re processing this much better than I thought you would, and I’d already pegged you for a pretty sharp cop.”

Chase let out a snort. “I’m a marine. Improvising and adapting to our environment is what we’re trained to do. But if Rebecca’s daughter is already a shifter, why was Mahsood experimenting on her?”

“To figure out how her shifter genes work and take DNA samples from her,” Tate said. “Rebecca and Mahsood have had Ashley locked up in that mental facility outside Old Town since the girl was a teenager. She’s in her midtwenties now.”

“Crap, that’s cold.” Chase frowned. “Also puts her at the top of the suspect list. I know I’d be pissed as hell if my mother locked me in a mental institution for a decade or so and had doctors experiment on me. Mahsood in particular would be first in line for an ass whooping.”

“I agree,” Tate said. “But unfortunately, I get the feeling Mahsood is the kind of man who makes lots of people want to whoop his ass. Ashley might have killed Bell as a way to get to Mahsood, but it could just as easily have been those people at Joanne’s place, whoever the hell they were. All I can say for sure about them is they’re definitely hired guns, either paid by someone wanting to kick-start their own hybrid program or slow down Rebecca’s. Bottom line, we don’t know enough to jump to conclusions about any of our suspects yet.”

Chase nodded and fell silent. They both stayed that way as they crossed over the river and turned onto Highway 126, then headed east.

“One thing you didn’t mention, and maybe you can’t talk about it,” Chase said, glancing at him. “This part of Homeland you work for. All you do there is hunt down shifters and hybrids and kill them?”

Tate hadn’t expected that question, and it took a second to regain his balance. Some of it had to do with the barely hidden tone of disapproval in Chase’s voice, but most of it had to do with the fact that hunting down rogue shifters and hybrids is what Tate and his former team had spent a good portion of their time doing. It was something that needed doing, but it wasn’t always a job Tate necessarily liked.

“The people I work for don’t go out of their way to hunt down shifters or hybrids and hurt them. In fact, it’s the reverse,” he said. “We look for these special people, because they make damn good agents. But I’ll be honest with you. Sometimes these special people do bad things just like anyone else. When that happens, people like me are sent out to deal with them, because the normal police aren’t equipped to handle them.”

“Have you ever had to kill any of them?” Chase asked.

There was no point in lying. It seemed like an odd question for a former marine, especially one who’d seen as many deployments as Chase. “Unfortunately, yes. But only when there was no other option. You have a problem with killing?”

“Yeah.” Chase looked at him, his expression carefully devoid of emotion. “Only a sociopath kills without remorse or regret.”

Tate locked eyes with the other man for a few seconds before Chase turned his attention back to the dark, tree-lined highway. “And?”

“And I’m wondering if you look at these shifters and hybrids as something less than human and therefore somehow easier to kill?” Chase answered. “Because while only a sociopath enjoys killing, in my experience, the world is full of sociopaths.”

It wasn’t until that moment that Tate realized how much Chase reminded him of Landon Donovan, the current deputy director of the DCO and former Special Forces captain who had a habit of asking pointed questions and leading the way when it came to doing the right thing, even when it came at a steep cost.

“I have a friend who’s a two-hundred-and-seventy-pound bear shifter and another who’s a coyote shifter and sarcastic as hell. I have another friend who’s a big hybrid, and he’s totally terrifying when he loses control. I don’t judge people by the shape of their fingernails. I judge them by their character,” Tate told him. “Yes, I’ve killed shifters and hybrids, as well as regular humans. But every one of them died for a reason, and that reason always included keeping someone else safe.”

More silence reigned before Chase finally looked at him again, the corners of his mouth edging up.

“I think we’ll get along just fine then,” he said.

Tate blew out a breath. “Thank God. Because that’s what I’ve been worrying about the entire night. The thought that we might not get along brings tears to my eyes.”

Chase chuckled and turned into a driveway.

Five minutes later, Tate was picking the lock on the back door of a big two-floor colonial. Red brick, black shutters, and nice landscaping. No wonder Bell kept this place off his official records. The taxes must be a bear.

He pulled his weapon as he led the way inside. Beside him, Chase did the same. A quick sweep of the house told them no one was there. Tate holstered his gun as he wandered back into the kitchen. The place was neat and tidy, right down to its pristine chandeliers. No shock there. Bell’s office had been spotless, too.

Curious, he wandered over to the brushed nickel trash can that probably cost as much as his big-screen TV at home and pressed on the foot pedal. The doctor had been dead long enough for things to start getting ripe in a normal person’s trash, but this one didn’t smell at all. The can was empty except for a frozen dinner package and a plastic tray with the remains of some kind of pasta dish that looked like it had been thrown out only a couple of hours ago.

Intrigued, Tate opened the dishwasher. Water droplets clung to the plastic containers lined up neatly on the upper rack. Someone had been eating leftovers, then was nice enough to wash the dishes.

It probably hadn’t been Bell, since dead people didn’t eat pasta. Or wash dishes.

“Tate, you might want to come into the living room and take a look at this.”

Closing the dishwasher, Tate walked into a living room that would make Martha Stewart swoon in approval to find Chase looking at a framed photo on the far wall.

He glanced at Tate over his shoulder. “I think I finally figured out who Bell was in a relationship with.”

The photo was a close-up of Bell and Mahsood sitting on a small sailboat, the wind tousling their hair as one of them took the selfie. Mahsood had an arm thrown around the other doctor’s shoulder, and Bell looked genuinely happy. Hell, Mahsood looked happy, too.

“This probably explains why Bell was tortured,” Chase said.

“I guess so,” Tate agreed. “Either Ashley or the mercenaries we ran into at Joanne’s place knew about Mahsood and Bell’s relationship and carved up the doctor to try to get him to talk. But if the signs of recent activity in the kitchen are any indication, they didn’t get what they wanted. Mahsood is still in town.”

* * *

Zarina lowered the big wood crossbar across the cabin door the moment Tanner left, then climbed in bed and prayed he’d be okay out there. The bed was still warm from his recent departure, and she pulled the blanket around her shoulders, trying to ward off the chill. The small cabin had seemed so much warmer when he’d been with her. She knew there was no scientific basis for that, but it was true nonetheless.

Shouting came from outside the cabin followed by the sound of vehicles speeding out of camp. She pictured Tanner in one of those vehicles, speeding toward danger.

Zarina cursed. If she let her mind wander too far in that direction, it would drive her insane with worry. Instead, she forced herself to think much more pleasant thoughts, specifically the things she and Tanner had been doing right there in bed.

Her lips still felt deliciously abraded from where the scruff on his jaw had rubbed against her as they kissed. She smiled. She’d never been kissed with such complete and utter abandon like that before. The memory of how his strong hands had caressed her body at the same time as he’d teased her with his mouth almost made her moan.

And when Tanner had dropped to his knees in front of her and kissed her belly button? There weren’t words to describe how amazing that had been. Heat had pooled between her thighs the moment he’d pressed his lips to her navel. She’d been so turned on, it was unreal. It had only gotten better when he’d unbuckled her belt and begun kissing and licking his way downward. For a moment there, she thought she might actually orgasm with her clothes still on.

She’d been with other men, but it had never been like this with any of them. Then again, she’d never experienced a man like Tanner. He was beyond special.

Zarina had known that about him from the moment she’d slipped into his cell in the ski lodge right before those crazy doctors had shown up to give him another injection. She’d been shocked he’d survived the first dose of hybrid serum and knew the chance of him making it through a second without help from her was slim to none. So she’d rushed in with a sedative mixture that she hoped would keep his body from tearing itself apart and another drug cocktail she’d put together to drop his heart rate down low enough so they’d think he’d died. If he didn’t die for real. It had been a risky plan, but it had been the only thing she’d been able to come up.

Zarina wrapped the blanket more tightly around her, remembering it like it had been yesterday. Tanner had been strapped to a gurney, his shirtless chest straining as he’d growled and fought to pull his arms loose from the heavy manacles holding him down. As she’d leaned over him, his eyes glowed vivid red and his fangs extended, but they’d both disappeared the moment she told him she was going to save him. He’d stared at her wide-eyed before telling her it was too dangerous, that she was putting herself at risk and should get out of the cell before it was too late.

That was the first indication of how amazing Tanner truly was. He’d been terrified, in horrible pain, and mere seconds away from being given a drug that would almost certainly kill him, and yet he’d been more worried about her than he’d been about himself. As she’d learned in the weeks and months following that day, that was simply the kind of man Tanner was. Courageous, fearless, gentle, and unselfish.

Zarina wasn’t exactly sure when she’d fallen in love with Tanner, but there came a point when she had stopped thinking about him as someone who needed her help and instead began seeing him as someone she wanted to spend her life with. That was why she’d come out here. Not merely to deliver the antiserum, but to spend her life with him. Admittedly, it had been tough breaking through the damn wall he’d built up around himself, but now that she had, she wasn’t going to let him build it back up again.

It had been difficult hearing about what had happened to him in Afghanistan, then afterward here in Washington, but she was glad he’d told her. Not only had it helped her understand what was going on with him, but it had also been good for him to get it off his chest. During the walk back to camp, Zarina noticed a lot of the tension that had been a near-constant companion for Tanner for as long as she’d known him had disappeared.

Unfortunately, hearing the other prepper camp was under attack had immediately made him tense all over again. She only hoped everything would be okay. As soon as Tanner was back in her arms, they’d see about getting those tight muscles relaxed again.

She was still thinking about all the things they could do to make that happen when an urgent knocking at the door made her jump.

“Zarina, are you in there? It’s Lillie.”

She threw off the blanket and was halfway to the door before she remembered her promise to Tanner that she wouldn’t open the door to anyone but him. That was before Lillie, or someone else in the camp, might be in trouble.

Zarina shoved the lock bar up and pushed it aside, then yanked open the door to find Lillie standing there holding a handgun that looked way too big for her.

“Dad sent me to round everyone up and get them to the main building,” Lillie said. “It’s sturdier and easier to defend.”

Zarina nodded. “I’ll help you look for stragglers. Let me grab my coat.”

Picking it up from the floor where Tanner had dropped it when he’d undressed her earlier, she slipped into it, then stopped, her gaze locking on her backpack. Tanner might not be interested in taking the antiserum anytime soon, but it was still too valuable to leave lying around. Grabbing it from the floor, she slung it over her shoulders.

“Here,” Lillie said, holding out a gun to her.

It was much smaller than the one Lillie was carrying, but it was still a weapon. That kind of worried Zarina.

“I don’t really know how to use a gun,” she admitted.

Lillie didn’t so much as bat an eye as she shoved her weapon into a holster on her hip. Zarina was relatively certain it was the automatic kind, but she was only guessing. Not that she knew what that meant. She might work for a covert organization, but she was a doctor, not a soldier. She couldn’t be expected to know things like that.

“This is a basic revolver, so all you have to do is point and shoot.” Lillie attached a small holster to Zarina’s belt, then stepped back and pointed at a little piece of metal sticking out on the side of the gun. “This is the cylinder release. Just push it to swing the cylinder out. Like this.” She nudged the cylinder out, showing Zarina the backside of the five bullets. “If you have to reload, point the weapon up and push here. The shells will fall out. Put five more back in, then close the cylinder. Once it snaps into place, you’re ready to go. There’s no safety, so all you have to do is point it in the direction of the bad guys and then squeeze the trigger.”

Lillie pushed the cylinder back in and held it out to Zarina again. She carefully took it from the girl, then stared down at it, her fingers as far away from the trigger as she could get them without dropping the thing.

“I’m not sure I could do that,” she whispered. “Shoot someone, I mean.”

“It’s hard to do, so I get that,” Lillie said. “If you can’t shoot, then run like hell. Just remember there might be a time when you can’t run, and you’ll have to decide what you’re capable of doing to protect yourself or someone you care about.”

Lillie turned and walked out of the cabin, moving quickly and deliberately across the camp. As Zarina hurried after her, she couldn’t help wonder if she would ever be as confident and sure as the younger woman if she found herself in one of those situations Lillie had just described. Zarina prayed she never found herself in a position where she had to find out.