The Gender Experiment: (A Thriller) (7 page)

“Where are you from?” Taylor pulled into the turning lane.

“Illinois. After college, I applied for jobs everywhere and got lucky in landing the Denver Post. What about you?”

“I grew up in Colorado Springs because my mother was stationed at Fort Carson. I’m currently enrolled in UC.”

“Why the morgue?”

“I like forensics, and dead people are easier to be around than most living people.” Taylor let out her first small laugh. “That makes me sound weird, and I am. You’ve probably guessed that I’m gender-fluid. So I’ve been a shy freak my whole life. College is easier than high school because gender issues are finally becoming more open.”

“I hope this isn’t inappropriate, but I’m curious. Are you attracted to men or women?”

“Both, but I keep to myself.”

What a unique person.
Taylor was quiet after that. They made a quick stop to get his phone, and Jake took a moment to make an anonymous call to the police about Zion. Then they got on the freeway and headed south. After a long silent stretch, Jake brought up the investigation, and they discussed it for while, then Taylor went quiet again.

An hour later, they exited on Nevada Avenue and soon pulled into the Rocky Ridge Motel, an old, flat-roofed building with only a few cars out front. “Carson Obstetrics is only five minutes away,” Taylor said as she turned off the car.

Jake had been worried about how they would handle the sleeping situation, but he hadn’t wanted to bring it up and spook her before they got here. “I think we should get one room and stay together for safety and economy.” He met her eyes. “You can trust me.”

“I know. You wouldn’t be in my car otherwise.” She opened her door. “We’ll work out the sleeping arrangement.”

Perfect.
She wasn’t going to be weird about crashing together. He climbed out too, and they walked toward the neon office sign at the end of the building. “I have some cash,” he said, “but maybe we should save it.” He didn’t want to use Zion’s card unless it was an emergency. The police might start watching the murdered man’s bank for activity.

“I’ll put it on my credit card, then we’ll settle up.” Taylor paused. “I mean when this is over and we part company.”

Jake touched her arm. “I hope we’ll stay friends.”

“Sure. Why not?” She didn’t look at him.

He liked her and hoped she would warm up. As an extrovert, he sometimes got frustrated with shy, quiet types, but he’d learned to be patient. Growing up, his mother had hardly talked to him, but he’d spent every weekend with his father, a talkative fun-loving extrovert, so his childhood had been unusual, but balanced. He and his dad weren’t talking now, but Jake hoped that would change.

He stopped in front of the office door and blocked Taylor with his arm. “Wait. Let me check in on my own. It’s better if the manager doesn’t even see you.”

“Good idea.” She handed him her credit card and hurried away.

Inside the car, Taylor shivered, more from fear than cold. She was going to die. She felt it in her bones. Her only hope was to get a fake ID, ditch her car, and buy a train ticket to somewhere far away. She desperately wanted to do just that, but she couldn’t. She wasn’t a soldier but she’d been raised by one. And soldiers didn’t run. They didn’t leave anyone behind either. All those intersex people who’d been conceived in the experiment felt like her siblings, her people. What if they were all murdered because she’d been too scared to fight for them? She couldn’t live with herself if she were the only survivor. Even if most weren’t targeted for death, they still deserved to know the circumstances of their birth and the reason for their sexual differences.

Taylor glanced back at the motel office and saw Jake come out. He was willing to risk himself for this investigation, and it wasn’t even personal for him. She hadn’t figured him out yet. He seemed to have integrity, and she instinctively trusted him. So how had he ended up homeless and desperate enough to take a dead man’s wallet and phone? She watched Jake walk toward a room near the other end of the motel, so she grabbed her satchel and ran across the narrow parking lot. He had the door open by the time she reached it, and she darted inside. Jake bolted the chain lock behind them, and she felt a sense of relief. She was safe—for the moment.

Jake glanced around. “It’s not bad.”

They both laughed. The walls were stained with nicotine, the carpet smelled like a wet dog, and the orange-and-beige motif hurt her eyes. “We’ll find another motel tomorrow. It will be good to keep on the move anyway.”

“Speaking of which, we need to move your car. It’s too obvious from the road.”

Taylor handed him the key. As he walked out, she had a moment of dread. What if he stole her Jetta and took off? She shook her head and plopped on the bed. No, that didn’t make sense. She pulled her laptop from her satchel and plugged her phone into it. The crappy motel probably didn’t have Wi-Fi, but her cell might pick up a tower. She wanted to check her messages and search for more names on the list. Most of her classmates had switched to tablet computers, but she still loved her lightweight laptop. So much more functional.

An Instagram message from an acquaintance popped into her phone, asking why she’d missed classes, but Taylor didn’t respond. She didn’t like to lie, and the truth was too complex. She’d never been a big social media user. Her mother hadn’t allowed much of it when she was young, and Taylor hadn’t had enough friends in high school to make the effort worthwhile.

Her mind shifted to the sleeping arrangement. She couldn’t make him sleep on the floor. Too rude and prude. But she couldn’t risk Jake flopping around in his sleep and making contact with her body. The problem wasn’t just her weird private parts, it was her hyper-sexuality. She didn’t trust herself not to respond if he touched her, even accidentally. And she couldn’t risk him being freaked out by her small penis.

Pillows and jackets. They would make a barrier in the middle.

Jake came back in. “Hey, mind if I turn up the heat?”

“Please do.” She hadn’t noticed how chilly the room was until he mentioned it.

Jake sat in the worn padded chair. “Let’s figure out a game plan for tomorrow at the clinic. One of us needs to create a distraction while the other accesses a computer and downloads files. I’m pretty good with data, so I should probably be the one to take that risk.”

“A distraction?”
Oh god.
That meant drawing attention to herself in a big, messy way. “I don’t think I can do that.”

Jake gave her a charming smile. “Sure you can. Just keep it simple. Put on a little show of not feeling well to get their attention, then fall on the floor.”

Taylor cringed. She’d never participated in a school performance of any kind, and this was completely out of her comfort zone. “Maybe I should access the computer instead.”

“Have you done any programming or coding?”

“No.”

“Then you get to be the distraction.”

“But I’ve been inside the clinic before. The receptionist might remember me and figure out that it’s staged.”

Jake stood and grabbed a small pillow. “You could pretend to be pregnant. Plus pull your hair back and wear some fake glasses.”

It could work. Her hand shook as she reached for the pillow. What in the hell had she signed up for?

Thursday, Oct. 13, 9:05 a.m., Washington D.C.

Andra Bailey walked into the monitoring room where five agents watched giant screens, scanning the world for trouble. The nearest one looked up at her.

“Anything happening in Colorado?” she asked. The recent cluster of mass shootings in her home state had triggered a need to watch it closely. She feared a militant group like the Bundys was primed to take over a federal building or seize state-owned lands. As a key member of the Critical Incident Unit, it was her job to be aware of these possibilities so the Federal Bureau of Investigation could get a jump on them—maybe quash them in advance.

“A missing teenager and a murdered old woman.” The agent, a young man still in training, gave her a devilish grin. “Also, Owen Granger was arrested for assault with a deadly weapon.”

Bailey smiled back, knowing it was expected. “That’ll keep him out of circulation for a while.” Granger was an anti-government zealot they’d been watching for years. She turned to leave, then changed her mind and spun back. “What do we know about the murdered old woman?”
What if she was connected to Granger and he was on a personal vendetta?

“She worked for a medical clinic and was attacked in her home. Bludgeoned with something heavy.”

Probably not related.
“Give me her name.”

“Bonnie Yost.”

Why was that a familiar surname?
Bailey nodded and walked to the door, then realized the nod wasn’t enough. She turned back. “Thank you.” Niceties weren’t natural to her, and she had to constantly check her own behavior. She didn’t care what the agent thought about her on a personal level, but she was next in line to head the CIU and would do whatever it took to land the position. Anything short of sabotaging the current leader. Bailey knew exactly how she could set up her boss to fail, but so far, she’d resisted the impulse. Most sociopaths wouldn’t have that much restraint. She was lucky to be on the low end of the spectrum. She didn’t take any pleasure in hurting people, she just didn’t feel guilty if she did.

Bailey hurried through the maze of corridors to her office near the back of the building. At her desk, she ran the name Bonnie Yost through the database. There was the connection. Bonnie had been married to Roland Granger, Owen’s older brother. Roland had died in prison, while serving a long sentence for illegal firearms possession and assaulting a federal officer. Now Owen had been arrested for aggravated assault and his sister-in-law had been murdered in the same time frame. Bailey needed more information, such as who the militiaman had attacked.

Two more searches revealed that Owen Granger had assaulted a man named Clay Richmond, who’d once been a member of the Freedom Guardians but had left the group after the incident that sent the older Granger to prison. Richmond had been hospitalized from the attack, and attempted murder charges were being considered against Granger. Why assault Richmond now? Bailey leaned back in her chair, working though the possibilities. It could just have been a drunken brawl. Or maybe Owen Granger blamed Richmond for his brother’s imprisonment and death.

But why kill his brother’s widow? Bailey loaded the Denver Post website and keyed in the dead woman’s name. The news report was brief, and she learned only one new detail. Bonnie Yost had retired from the clinic where she’d worked the day before she was murdered. Probably a coincidence, but still odd. Bailey googled
Carson Obstetrics
and learned that it was an offshoot of Fort Carson Community Hospital. The army angle deepened her interest. Like the bureau and the CIA, the military was a keeper of secrets.

Other than their connection to Owen Granger, how were Bonnie Yost and Clay Richmond linked? Had they both testified against Roland Granger? If so, Owen might be carrying out his revenge.

Bailey tried to set the puzzle aside. She had other sites to monitor and should be looking for anti-government militants and young Islamists with bomb-making plans. But the Granger incidents nagged at her. She would do one more brief search before she dropped the idea that the two crimes were connected. Yost’s death right after her retirement bothered Bailey the most. She keyed in the clinic’s name and landed on a news article about the medical center hosting a twenty-year reunion, celebrating the babies that had been delivered by its doctors. Completely unrelated. She skimmed the article and came away with two names. Logan Hurtz, age twenty, had been mentioned as the oldest of the children in attendance, and Dr. David Novak was cited for the most deliveries. Bailey filed the information in her methodical brain, then went back to investigating the murder of the militiaman’s sister-in-law.

She searched for a morgue in Colorado Springs and came up with the El Paso County Coroner’s office. She made the call. “This is Agent Bailey with the FBI. I’d like to see the report on Bonnie Yost’s death.”

The woman started to speak, but Bailey cut in. “Yes, I’ll give you my badge number, then you can send the report to me at the bureau.” Bailey rattled off her ID and her long government email address.

“Can I ask what this is about?”

“I’m looking into a militant group. Please keep that to yourself.” The information wasn’t classified, but it made people more willing to help if they thought it was.

“We have our share in Colorado.” The woman’s voice was hushed. “What else do you need?”

“That’s it for now, but I may call back.” Bailey pressed off the call and realized she’d forgotten to say thanks.
Oh well.
The woman got paid to do her job. Next she called the Denver Medical Examiner. If Owen Granger, the militia extremist, was on a personal vendetta, he might have put other victims in the Denver hospital or morgue. She gave her name and badge number and asked for a list of all the dead bodies they’d processed in the last few weeks. The receptionist said she would compile the report and email it soon.

Bailey’s private cell phone beeped. A text from Garrett:
Lunch today?

Garrett was her twenty-five-year-old lover, which technically made her a Cougar. The thought always made her smile. At forty, she might be too young for the term, but maybe not. Most people didn’t seem to notice the age difference because her attractive face and thick ginger-red hair made her look younger than her years. She texted back:
Poppy’s at noon?

He agreed to meet her, then signed off, saying he had to get to class. Garret, who’d lost a foot saving a child, was studying to become a physical therapist. She admired his commitment to a career helping others. She liked to think of her job that way too, but in reality, working at the bureau was self-serving. It challenged her intellectually, gave her an opportunity to seek and use power, and kept her from acting on some of her worst impulses. She’d been questioned by an FBI agent in college—about a boyfriend’s fraud activity—and had coveted the agent’s authority and investigative focus. A life-changing moment.