CHAPTER NINETEEN

At Egleston Children's Hospital in Atlanta, Heather sat in the hospital room next to Tricia's bed. The four-year-old with the untameable brown hair was mercifully asleep for the moment. A bandage covered her tiny back, where the methotrexate had entered Tricia's spinal fluid through an intralumber injection.

A week of chemo had made the girl pale and gaunt. While Tricia had started acting tired before she was diagnosed, the chemo kept her sleeping all day. When awake, she only spoke in weak whispers.

Heather's phone buzzed again inside her purse, rattling against her sunglasses. Heather sighed and took it out. Her boss Schwartzman, for the fifth time in the past two hours. Heather walked to the window and called him back, looking out at the orange light of a late July afternoon. He answered halfway through the first ring.

“Heather,” he said, “How is she doing?”

“Sleeping,” Heather whispered.

“We have a bad situation.”

“I'm on family leave, David.”

“I know. And I'm sorry. But there's a small congressional investigation going on here. It's about Fallen Oak. And they want to talk to you in person.”

“Who wants to talk to me?”

“Investigators sent by the House Homeland Security Committee. It looks like Artleby doesn't have the lid screwed on as tight as he thought. They're asking a lot of questions about Fallen Oak, about Charleston—everything you've been doing.”

“They can read my reports.”

“I told them that, but nobody in Washington reads anymore,” Schwartzman said. “Nothing longer than a headline, anyway. They said they can do it here, or come to your home—”

“I'll come in,” Heather said quickly. “Is tomorrow okay?”

“It should be. They don't seem to have any intention of leaving soon. I'll let them know you're coming by in the morning. I'm so sorry to call you.”

“It's fine.”

“How are you holding up, Heather?”

Heather looked at her little girl, eaten up with cancer in the hospital bed, a stuffed Big Bird lying beside her. “I really don't know how to answer that, David.”

Schwartzman's office was, like the man himself, slightly unkempt, the bookshelves overstuffed with thick medical texts and heaps of research journals, all of it carefully organized according to a “right-brain-generated chaotic pattern,” according to him. Heather entered, looking at the Lord of the Rings figurines arranged on his desk so that they seemed to be stalking his telephone.

Schwartzman wasn't here, though—he'd sent Heather to meet with the chief investigator, who was borrowing his office. While a team of sharp-eyed young lawyers were pawing through the records, their leader was a pretty Latino girl who looked no more than twenty years old. From what Schwartzman said, she wasn't a lawyer, and she didn't appear to have any real qualifications to run a congressional investigation. Heather wondered who she was sleeping with.

“Hello, Dr. Reynard.” The young woman stood up behind Schwartzman's desk and held out her hand. “I'm Esmeralda Rios. I was sent from the House Homeland Security committee. We're just trying to clear up a few things.”

“Nice to meet you,” Heather said automatically. She took the girl's hand, and something came over her. Her resentment at being called in to work melted away—it was clear that this young woman, Esmeralda, was just an earnest person trying to do a difficult job. Heather's heart went out to her. “I hope I can help,” she added, sincerely.

“I'm sure you can, Dr. Reynard.” Esmeralda sat in Schwartzman's chair, and Heather sat across the desk from her. “It sure was nice of Dr. Schwartzman to loan me his office while we're here. He's been so nice and helpful.”

“I'm sure your work is important.” Heather gave her a smile. She felt a strong desire to help this girl and be supportive.

“Maybe we could start with an overview,” Esmeralda said. “Can you tell me what happened the day of the...outbreak...in Fallen Oak?”

“The reports say it was some kind of chemical leak,” Heather said.

“I know what the reports say. But we're after the facts here.” Esmeralda winked and patted Heather's hand. Heather's heat skipped a beat. She liked the touch of the girl's hand. Heather had a crazy, elated sense of falling in love with this girl. “You understand. Somebody has to get to the truth here, don't you agree?”

“I really do,” Heather said, gazing into the girl's dark gray eyes. “But I was told to keep quiet...”

“By who?” Esmeralda squeezed her hand. “You don't have to keep any secrets from me.”

“Homeland Security took control of the scene,” Heather whispered. “The investigation, the media, everything.”

“That's exactly the problem,” Esmeralda said. “We're not investigating the CDC here. You guys are great. Our concern—the committee's concern—is that the Department of Homeland Security might have been used in a way that put politics ahead of the country's security. We think critical information was deliberately kept from members of Congress. We want to know the details.”

Heather found herself nodding along. She wasn't happy with how the Fallen Oak situation had been handled, either. Something needed to be done, and she wanted to help, but that wasn't really what she was thinking about at the moment. She was wondering how this Esmeralda girl would react if Heather kissed her.

“So, will you help us?” Esmeralda asked. She was stroking the back of Heather's hand now, and Heather found the sensation delightful beyond words.

“Of course,” Heather said. “Anything you want.”

“What was your role in the Fallen Oak investigation?”

“I'm an epidemiologist,” Heather told her. “So my job was to identify the pathogen and try to find the source.”

“What did you discover?”

“There was no pathogen,” Heather said. “The disease was so extreme and so rapid, I was thinking it must have been genetically engineered. I was initially worried about bioterrorism, to be honest. But there was nothing to be found. It was all symptoms, no vector. Strangest thing I've ever seen.”

“Did you have any luck finding the source?”

Heather bit her lip. She wasn't sure how much she should share, when everything had been declared classified.

Then Esmeralda laced her fingers together with Heather's, and suddenly all Heather could think about was how to get alone with this girl. Esmeralda was from out of town, so she must have a hotel room. That would be easier than Heather taking the girl home to her own bed, where Liam was obviously going to ask questions.

“The source of the outbreak?” Esmeralda asked again.

“Oh...there's a girl,” Heather said. She was feeling drunk now, aching to touch the girl. “Jennifer Morton.”

Esmeralda's eyes narrowed. “Tell me about her.”

“We...I think she's an immune carrier,” Heather said. “Some reports say she can exhibit symptoms at will, she can become contagious at will. That sounds crazy, but that's what I've heard. And I'm starting to believe it.” Her voice dropped to a whisper again. “Something supernatural is going on here, Esmeralda. Not many people believe it, but I do.”

“So you think Jenny Mitt...Morton willingly infected and killed all those people in Fallen Oak?”

“That's what I think.” Heather giggled—the girl's touch was making her lose her mind. “Don't tell anyone I said that, though. I mean, I examined Jennifer's hair and blood, and there was nothing unusual there—until I put them in contact with a control group of live blood cells. All of the cells that didn't belong to her just shriveled and died on contact. But I never saw a transfer of a pathogen. It's really not possible, what I saw. But that's what I saw.”

“And where is Jenny Morton now?” Esmeralda asked.

“That's the billion-dollar question. Homeland Security is looking for her, but she's gone into hiding somewhere.” Heather's fingertips stroked their way up along the inside of Esmeralda's forearm. She couldn't stop smiling at the girl. “Do you want to go get a drink with me, or...?”

“Aw, that's sweet. Maybe later.” Esmeralda winked. “You don't have a clue where to find Jenny?”

“Not a one.”

“What about the bodies? Where are all the bodies from Fallen Oak?”

“The bodies...” Heather had to concentrate. The desire was taking over her brain as well as her body.

“Yes, Heather,” Esmeralda said. “Where are the bodies buried?”

“I'm...not really sure. They aren't buried, though. They're frozen.”

“Where?”

“Some kind of secure storage facility. I think it's around here somewhere, maybe a little outside Atlanta. I know the contract went to one of Nelson Artleby's companies. You should ask him.”

“The President's campaign adviser?”

“That's the one,” Heather said. “He took over the investigation. Whatever Homeland Security did, they did under his orders.”

“This is just what we're trying to find,” Esmeralda said. “Whether the White House is guilty of lying to Congress. The House oversight committee hasn't heard a thing from Homeland Security, except for their official reports about a chemical leak in some abandoned old factory.”

“Which is bullshit,” Heather said.

“Of course it is. That's why I'm here.” Esmeralda scrolled through a few things on her laptop. “Okay, that gives me some ideas about where to start. Thanks for coming and talking to me, Dr. Reynard. I'm sure I'll be in touch as the investigation continues.”

“Call me Heather. And just let me know if I can help...or if you just need someone to talk to...or a place to spend the night...”

Esmeralda raised her eyebrows, and Heather blushed.

“Thanks so much, Heather,” Esmeralda said. “You're very helpful.”

Heather squirmed in her seat as she gazed at the girl.

“You can go now,” Esmeralda said.

“Oh, sorry! Of course.” Heather stood up. Esmeralda shook her hand again, holding it for a long moment, and Heather had to resist the temptation to draw her close in an embrace.

Heather hurried home and immediately stripped down and took a long, warm shower. It took a couple of hours for her fever of desire to finally break, and when it did, it left her feeling confused and a little ashamed. Heather had really never been attracted to other women, not that way. She wondered what it was about Esmeralda that made Heather crave her touch so badly.