The Last Second (A Brit in the FBI #6)(78)

“Idaho Research Facility, they’re the ones who’ve been in the news this week for misplacing some plutonium?”

“The very same.”

Franklin said, “You think Nevaeh had something to do with all these deaths? That’s preposterous.”

“Were you aware Dr. Claire Fontaine is also dead? She’s the psychiatrist Patel consulted a year after she was grounded, before she came and talked to you. Patel and her bodyguard were in New York the same time of Fontaine’s death. She, too, was ruled an accidental death, a slip in the shower. But we believe Patel murdered her.”

Norgate was silent a moment. “I don’t know, really, but I do know Dr. Holloway was jealous of Patel, perhaps treated her unfairly, and that’s why Nevaeh went to New York to this other psychiatrist. She and Holloway spoke.”

“So Patel saw this as a betrayal and so she murdered her. Revenge. Makes sense.”

Franklin rubbed a hand across his face. “I can’t accept it, I can’t—”

“Considering the attack on Jean-Pierre Broussard and his ship few days ago, I would have to say the pattern is evident. Did she ever feel you betrayed her, Dr. Norgate?”

“No, no, really.”

Grace said, “If Patel is capable of stealing plutonium to have a nuke made, she is fully capable of murdering millions. She’s capable of murdering you as well.”

Norgate looked devastated. “I haven’t talked to her in almost six years. But I’ll tell you this. If she’s been planning to set off a nuke, she’ll have thought through every permutation. She’s brilliant, scary brilliant. If she doesn’t have every tool at her disposal, then she’s fully capable of obtaining whatever she needs to make this happen.”





CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR


Houston

November 2015

The road trip from Boise to Houston was long, twenty-eight hours, through Utah and the southwest tip of Colorado before smoothing into the long flatlands along the Texas highway. They’d stopped overnight at a motel in Four Corners, the area where the borders of Utah, Colorado, New Mexico, and Arizona touched, but Nevaeh couldn’t sleep more than a couple of hours. She was vibrating with excitement and anticipation, and the Numen were as well. She’d gone over in detail her need to destroy the people who’d destroyed her, and they’d agreed.

Soon, they’d bring them to Earth. And the beginning was in a box in the trunk of the car.

Finally, in the early evening of the second day, they saw the lights of Houston.

Kiera knew Rebecca Holloway’s address from a long-ago party during astronaut training. She lived in an ostentations Spanish-style five-bedroom near the Bay Oaks Country Club in Clear Lake, full of travertine floors and a giant lagoon pool in the backyard. Holloway was childless—probably a good thing, she had little compassion and no discernible maternal instincts, rare for a psychiatrist—and her ex-husband worked in the oil business, traveled out of town when he wasn’t drunk at the clubhouse.

Poor, lonely Dr. Holloway, all alone in that massive house.

Nevaeh couldn’t help but smile.

The drive was gated, but the gate wasn’t too tall. Thank goodness there was no one at the little gatehouse at the entrance to the neighborhood—it was just for show. The neighbors here weren’t on top of each other, either. Not as easy to slip in unnoticed as it had been in New York, but easy enough.

Kiera pulled to the curb several blocks away, turned and asked, “Are you absolutely sure you don’t want me?”

“We’ve been over this. Now, I will see you at our arranged meeting site in one hour. If I have a problem, I’ll call.”

Nevaeh climbed out of the car. She was dressed in jogging clothes, black leggings and a black top, and a baseball cap, her hair tucked inside. She imagined there would be security cameras, so she was very careful approaching the house.

It was nearly ten o’clock, fully dark now. It had been frigid in Boise, but here in Houston, the weather was a pleasant seventy-four degrees. Perfect. She inserted her earbuds and jogged to Holloway’s gate. She waited, heard nothing, saw no one. She slipped over the black metal gate and made her way to the back door.

She had a gun with her, but she didn’t want to use it. Actually striking down Fontaine had been so satisfying, much more so than simply shooting Eddie.

Another accident, that would do it.

Nevaeh was inside the house two minutes later. Kiera had done reconnaissance on Holloway, too. If she was sticking to her routine, Holloway should be getting ready for bed now, in good time to get up tomorrow and maybe ruin another astronaut’s life. Nevaeh went upstairs slowly, her sneakers silent on the carpeted treads. She didn’t hear anything. She looked through the rooms on the second floor, but no one was there.

She knew Holloway was here, she’d seen two cars in the garage. Where was the bitch?

She made her way back downstairs, looking into every room—so many, musty with disuse, and no one here but her. Poor old Rebecca.

Nevaeh went through the kitchen, silently opened the back door and stared out onto the patio. She heard music, the strains of a Chopin étude.

She stood in the shadows and watched Rebecca Holloway methodically swim laps. Her strokes were smooth and steady. She normally swam in the morning before work. Why the change in her schedule?