Devil's Gold (29 page)

He pulled her into a hard embrace, and she smiled as the deep rumble of his laughter warmed her ear. “You're a piece of work, Goldilocks.”

Two cups of coffee later, Cassidy felt more in control. Steve had flown the chopper straight out of Yellowstone and into a safe house provided by the Black Stripe unit of ZEBRA. She'd changed into a pair of faded, well-worn jeans and a standard ZEBRA polo shirt, not bothering to ask how her belongings had managed to appear within a short time after their arrival.

It'd taken her longer to brush the knots from her hair and braid it securely down her back than it had to put on clean clothes.

Jake stepped out of the small bedroom. The scent of his spicy cologne mixed with baby shampoo drifted toward Cassidy. An intoxicating combination. He walked up to her and accepted the mug she held out to him. He tossed her a wicked grin and winked as he brought the mug to his lips. She felt herself blush and turned away.

He moved closer. Her back brushed against his chest. She glared at him, fighting the unwanted attraction. He'd lied to her.

“Space?” Cassidy asked.

Jake's lips curved upward. “No thanks. I'm fine.”

Cassidy's eyes widened at his glib comment and she attempted another glare, making Jake tilt his head back and laugh at the expression on her face. She felt ridiculous and silly. It grated against her skin.

“How you holding up?” he asked.

“Confused.”

Jake walked into the center of the small lodge house they'd confiscated. “My Black Stripe unit is assigned to monitor your actions and determine any connection you might have with New World Petroleum.”

“Unit? As in Steve?” Disbelief filled her voice, and it raised an octave higher than normal.

“Yes. ZEBRA has been laundering money for NWP. We want to know why.”

Anger quickly replaced disbelief. “And you think I can tell you?”

“Two of your team members from Africa are dead, and you're being framed for the supposed release of a biological weapon. Yeah, I think you can tell us.”

Cassidy sat, finding it difficult to process everything. She bent her head and rubbed at the sudden throbbing in her temple. Her voice was low, barely audible. “Who?”

Jake frowned and tilted his head. “Excuse me?”

Staring into his face, she spoke louder. “Who is dead?”

“The bodies of your two geologists were found in Port Harcourt a few days ago.”

Cassidy closed her eyes, her body tingling as if she'd run into a wall of needles. Charles and David. Gone. She stood, rubbing her arms up and down in an attempt to recirculate blood, which felt thick and coagulated within her veins.

The fax machine beeped, and she wandered over to review the sheet it spit out, her mind trying to wrap around the information from Jake. Sitting on the edge of a floral wing chair, Cassidy read the fax for a second time. “I know where we're going next,” she said to no one in particular.

“Where's that?” Jake stepped up beside her, too close again.

“Montana. Apparently a subsidiary of NWP owns a piece of property there.”

Steve entered the room and handed Cassidy another stack of papers. She shuffled through them quickly. They were press cuttings of the charges filed against her. Rage built quickly and almost exploded in a scream as she flipped to the last page. Instead, Cassidy inhaled several deep breaths and handed the sheet to Jake. “This is bogus. A total setup. This has NWP's handiwork written all over it.”

Jake nodded. “I agree.”

She needed to focus on the virus and ignore what the false charges meant to her career. Cassidy lifted her head and signaled to Steve with her hand. “Where do we stand with the CDC?”

“Their team isn't fully together yet. They've set up camp just beyond the RV and are attempting to isolate and diagnose the genetic composition of the parvo virus you extracted from the wolves. They've received notice of additional human contamination.”

Cassidy's eyes widened as her mind digested the ramifications of Steve's words. The CDC and ZEBRA often worked assignments simultaneously. Their relationship was one of trust and respect, facilitating the ease of transferring responsibilities. “How will we be kept apprised as the situation escalates?”

“Colonel Price has a pipeline direct to the CDC. As far as they're concerned, you're the only suspect and the balance of our pod are still good guys.”

Cassidy smirked, digging out the emotional shield of sarcasm. “Great. I've always wanted to be a wanted woman.”

Jake snorted and whispered beneath his breath. “All you had to do was ask me.”

The fax beeped again and another sheet spit out. Jake picked this one up and read its contents before passing it to her. “This isn't good.”

Their fingers touched briefly. She swallowed, ignoring the tingle. “What?” Cassidy read the document. “That's impossible.” She raised her head and gazed at him. His eyes clouded with concern.

He shrugged. “I know, but they've run the test three times.”

“What's going on?” Steve asked.

She turned toward him and handed over the document. “Apparently the dead woman was also infected with the same mutated parvo virus as our wolves.” Cassidy's mind began to tick off solutions as to how this could possibly happen. “I thought that media stuff linking the death of that woman to the wolves was nothing more than a fabricated tie-in to trump up more charges against me.”

Steve paced in a tight circle. “Parvo isn't transferable to humans, is it?”

Cassidy shook her head. “No. Fifth Disease is the human version of parvo, and it's relatively harmless.” Standing, she followed him and paced in her own tight circle.

Jake furrowed his brow. “That woman had a rash on her upper chest. Isn't that indicative of Fifth Disease?”

Cassidy stopped mid-stride. She felt nauseated. “We're not talking parvo or Fifth Disease. This virus is a blend of the two of them with an added ability to mutate the thickness of blood.” Glancing at Jake, she noted her own fear mirrored in his face. “This is more than a wolf version of the bird flu and definitely supports a bioterrorism theory.”

“Explain,” he said.

She walked over to the coffee table and pulled over a pad of paper. Drawing a stick figure of a man and a dog she penciled in a vertical line beneath the human body. “Although both versions of parvo require dividing cells to reproduce, when Fifth Disease attacks a human body it latches onto cells found in your skin or bone marrow. There are specific proteins on the surface of the virus that determine what it can attack.”

Cassidy flipped the sheet of paper around so that everyone had a clear vision of the diagram. “Now, parvo attacks here.” She drew a circle around the intestinal tract zone of the stick dog. “As well as the animal's immune system.” Sitting back and thinking, Cassidy chewed on her lower lip. “In other words, parvo goes after immune and intestinal systems and Fifth Disease targets areas making red blood cells.”

“This ability of the virus to attack both human and canine cells couldn't have happened naturally?” Jake asked, staring at her sheet of paper.

Cassidy shook her head. “No way. This is laboratory-induced mutation. These two viruses are as different as night and day. They couldn't mutate into one without help.”

“Dehydration, intestinal damage, and rashes can be explained as symptoms of either parvo or Fifth Disease, but what about the blood?”

Fear of the unknown knotted Cassidy's stomach. “I don't know, Jake. I honestly don't know.”

B
ALANCING A BAG OF GROCERIES ON HIS KNEE
, E
DWARD UN-
locked his hotel room door. He shuffled inside, ready to settle on the bed and catch up on world news. His shoes discarded and clothes loosened, he scooted onto the mattress and aimed the remote at the TV.

It felt like weeks rather than a day since his altercation with Jason. He reached onto the table beside the bed and pulled his laptop close, flipping the lid open. Edward verified the phone line hadn't loosened then clicked onto the Internet. With a few keystrokes he reassured himself that his flight to Richmond was still on schedule for first thing in the morning.

Glancing at the television set, he felt his stomach flip over at the familiar scene. A young newscaster with slicked-back hair and high-heeled shoes stood in front of Old Faithful, a gathering of people behind her waving at the camera. The geyser erupted and she smiled into the lens, beginning her report.

Edward stared at the screen, ignoring the pain that squeezed his chest. His ears buzzed, the noise blocking the sound of the television set. All his carefully laid plans disintegrated into a pile of worthless schedules and intent. Smashing his fist into the bag of chips, he fought against the urge to weep.

He glanced at the television set and turned the volume up a notch. They were giving a brief bio on the zoologist they insisted released a biological weapon into Yellowstone. Edward reached for a notepad and jotted down her name. There must be a damn good reason Dr. Cassidy Lowell suddenly became the perpetrator of CPV-19, and he was going to figure it out.

“Cassidy Lowell,” he said, tapping the computer screen, “you will be my bargaining chip.”

Nick Fowler approached the cottage, glancing around for any signs of life. He snatched a crumpled piece of note paper from his back pocket and verified he had the right address. It didn't make sense.

He'd imagined Edward Fiske's laboratory would be housed in a large facility. But what stood before him was nothing more than a disheveled cottage surrounded by small, decaying buildings. The grass surrounding the exterior of the house was overgrown and tangled with weeds, sprouting a foot high against the edge of the front porch. He slowly turned in a circle and examined the layout of the land. A wide stretch of rough cut lawn, brown and crisp from lack of rain, spread to the left of the house and slanted downward disappearing behind a small slope.

The only thing that sparkled and shined was the lazy bend of the Yellowstone River. It glittered against the back of the house like a twinkling jewel. The air smelled fresh and clean except for the faint tinge of smoke from the mountains, an unfamiliar scent to a man who'd spent the better part of his younger years neck high in 'Nam marshes that seethed with rats, snakes, and the devil-only-knew what else beneath its bloody water.

Bodies, swollen and mangled, were the fragrance Nick preferred. To hell with nature and cleanliness.

Where the fuck was Jason?

Nick impatiently stomped around the cottage, peering in windows and banging on doors.

He stepped onto the rickety front porch and called Jason's name. No answer. He turned the knob on the door and entered the small house. He didn't bother absorbing his surroundings; he didn't care. A few paces later, he was in the center of a tiny kitchen with blue and gold wallpaper and yellowed linoleum.

He swore, did an about face, and strode back to the front porch. Squinting against the sun, Nick noted a small brick building and log cabin off to the left. He crossed the grass and made his way through a patch of trees until he stood before the brick structure. It was about five feet in height and had a two-foot metal door.

Opening the door, Nick peered inside. There was nothing but a large pile of ashes. Must be some sort of incinerator. He slammed the door shut and leaned against the structure. Where the hell was the lab tech?

Nick bent down to pluck a blade of sweet grass from the ground. Focusing his eyes on an irregular pattern on the lawn, he crouched and ruffled the spiky leaves. There were patches and large blotches of crusted brown material splattered in a haphazard fashion.

Blood from the good doctor.

Here was the proof the tech at least completed his assignment before performing his vanishing act. Standing, he sighed and scanned his surroundings. Heading toward the dilapidated log cabin, Nick cursed in annoyance.