Mysterious Circumstances. Rita Herron

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      But as a rebellious teenager she’d done other things to get his attention—misbehaved in school, gotten into scraps. She’d even ended up in jail for underage drinking and vandalizing. If her high school English teacher hadn’t taken an interest in her and assigned her to the school paper, she would have ended up in the headlines more. But writing had given her a goal; a byline gained her the attention she’d been lacking.

      Her stomach churned, her hands were sweating and her throat was so clogged with tears she felt as if a golf-ball had been lodged inside. Forcing herself to think rationally, like a reporter and not a grief-stricken daughter, she scanned the kitchen for clues to her father’s mental state, searching for any changes in the room that might indicate what had brought him to the point of suicide.

      Three coffee cups, a stack of used plates with dried bread crumbs and a half-eaten sandwich overflowed the sink. Cigarette ashes littered the top of a soda can, the fact that her father had partaken of both a testament to how much he’d changed.

      Except for his work. That, he’d never ignored.

      Not as he had her.

      “Olivia?” Craig’s voice made her spring back into action. She stood and walked toward him. “Was there a suicide note?”

      He hesitated, then shook his head.

      “I want to see his things, especially his desk.”

      The detective beside him cast Craig a warning look and strode toward another crime scene tech who was bagging the gun Olivia’s father had used to shoot himself.

      “Olivia, the police and FBI are working this case. Let us do our job.”

      She gripped his arm. “I have to know everything he was working on. He was obsessive-compulsive and would never have left a project unfinished.”

      “We’ll find the answers,” Craig said through gritted teeth. “Just give us time.”

      She narrowed her eyes, battling another onslaught of tears. She didn’t want sympathy, she wanted the truth. “He died because of the work he was doing for you, didn’t he? I saw you leaving his office—”

      “Yes, he was helping us.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. “But that’s all I can say.”

      “I saw the red welts on the other victims,” she said. “You think all the suicide victims had some kind of virus. What does it do—cause the infected people to go crazy?”

      “I can’t disclose details that might jeopardize the case, Olivia. You have to understand that.”

      She folded her arms, her anger rallying. “This isn’t just a case, Horn. It took my father’s life. And what about more innocent lives that might be lost if you cover this up?”

      “Don’t you think I’m working my tail off to get to the truth so there won’t be any more victims?”

      She bit her lip. “If my father did contract some rare virus, it wasn’t an accident. He was meticulous about safety precautions.”

      Craig’s dark gray eyes met hers, silently acknowledging her declaration as he gestured around the den and kitchen. “Judging from the looks of his house, I might question that.”

      “It’s usually not this bad. And he was much more precise and detailed about his work.”

      “Everyone makes mistakes, Olivia. A punctured glove, a spill, if he was dealing with some unknown bacteria he didn’t recognize—”

      “No,” Olivia snapped. “He never made mistakes.”

      Except he hadn’t pushed the government for the truth about her mother. When Olivia had gotten older and questioned him about her mother’s death, he’d refused to answer. She’d realized then that he’d allowed the government to get away with their cover-up.

      That was the reason she’d gone into journalism. Someone had buried the truth about her mother’s death, and one day she hoped to uncover it. She sure as hell wouldn’t let them bury the story about her father’s death now, too.

      “If my father contracted this virus,” she said in a cold voice, “someone infected him.”

      Craig grimaced. “You’re suggesting murder?”

      “I’m suggesting this is some kind of germ or chemical warfare, and you’re trying to keep it under wraps from the public.” She ignored the flare of heat in his eyes. “But trust me, Agent Horn, I refuse to let my father’s death go until I discover the truth.”

      “Trust you?” His voice dripped sarcasm. “I learned a long time ago not to trust reporters.” His unwavering glare slid over Olivia. “I feel for you, Olivia, I honestly do. But I’m warning you—don’t get in the way of this investigation.”

      Olivia shot him an equally menacing look. She’d be damned if she’d let him intimidate her.

      They were both after the truth.

      Unfortunately, they were on opposite sides.

      CRAIG WAS ON THE VERGE of suggesting someone drive Olivia home when Dr. Ian Hall, the director of CIRP, rushed inside, accompanied by Detective Clayton Fox.

      “I came as soon as I heard.”

      Hall’s face looked ruddy with emotions, his tie hanging askew as if he’d been twisting it in the car. The sweltering summer heat drifting through the door also marked his skin with perspiration. “What happened?” Hall asked.

      Craig gestured toward Olivia before explaining. “Dr. Hall, this is Olivia Thornbird, Dr. Thornbird’s—”

      “I know who she is.” Hall’s look bordered between a scowl and regret. “Miss Thornbird has been to my office several times in the past few months.”

      Craig nodded. “Of course.” She would have been looking for a story. Or maybe she’d covered some of the disreputable events that had occurred at the research park already. He made a mental note to check the newspaper archives.

      “It appears that my father killed himself,” Olivia said before he could finish, “because of some research he was doing regarding the Savannah Suicides.”

      Hall’s face blanched. “How do you know it had something to do with his work?”

      “We don’t,” Craig said, vying for damage control. “The medical examiner will have to determine cause of death, and if Dr. Thornbird was suffering from any other medical problems.” Craig indicated Thornbird’s computer and the cluttered oak desk. “We are confiscating all of his research notes and hope you’ll provide us with a liaison to interpret them.”

      Hall scraped a hand over his forehead. “Certainly. We’ll do whatever we can to expedite the investigation.”

      Craig grunted. CIRP had a reputation for keeping certain projects classified, even from the feds. With the current state of the world and constant threat of terrorism, studying biological and chemical warfare had to rank at the top of their priorities. The security they enforced upon the employees and their research projects at Nighthawk СКАЧАТЬ