Flame in the Dark (Soulwood #3)(49)

I reopened my notes for tonight’s readings and into the “Comments” space I typed, Ground at Holloways’ and Justin and Sonya Tolliver’s feels wrong. Damage is beneath the surface, not on top, as it would be if chemical or physical agents had burned the ground and plants. This has nothing to do with vampires or were-creatures. I thought about adding the words in my opinion, but that urge was church-think left over from my upbringing as a woman in God’s Cloud. My readings were not opinions. They were fact. So I hit enter and read on.

JoJo had discovered that there was a fire at DNAKeys fifteen months past, one answered by the East Tennessee Rural/Metro Fire Department. That was when the tales of the creatures imprisoned there began to surface, probably gossip spread by the responders. I doubted that the paid firefighting employees would chatter, but maybe a volunteer had gossiped. Surely Rural/Metro had a roster of volunteers. Since the forest fires of 2016, most rural departments had a list they kept on hand.

I texted the office and asked for someone to obtain a roster of volunteers at the stations that had answered the fire call at DNAKeys. Tandy texted back that JoJo had already acquired it. I didn’t ask if it was obtained legally or if she had found a backdoor and acquired it on her own. Hacking was illegal, but so easy, according to our IT specialist. Tandy sent me the list and on it, I found two names I knew.

Thaddeus Rankin Sr. and Thaddeus Rankin Jr., or Thad and Deus, father and son, who had put in the windows on my house. Volunteer firefighting sounded exactly like something the two would do. I texted HQ that I would be stopping by the Rankins’ place of business as soon as my schedule permitted. Tandy texted back that I could leave the night shift in the hands of ALT Security and the other government guards. With PsyLED now in an improved investigatory position, my talents could best be used elsewhere, and Soul wanted an initial interview with the Rankins tomorrow. Meantime she had another job for me.

I walked the grounds again and said good-bye to the guards before heading back to HQ to prep and organize for a nighttime op.





EIGHT




It was the operation I thought to be foolish: Rick and Occam were going to approach the DNAKeys research facility and scope out the place with cat eyes from tree-limb level. The whole idea was stupid, but a probie couldn’t say it to the SAC, or to the man who had asked her to dinner.

Rick finished the op instructions with the words, “Nell, you’re to pull backup, manage comms, and be an extra ear. Here. Try these.” He held out a set of binoculars attached to a strap system shaped to fit a human head. Rick was holding up the unit’s brand-new low-light, IR-vision binoculars. “You’ll be the first to use it.”

My heart did a funny little leap. A probie never got to be first on anything good. Last week we had all watched the how-to video for the expensive headgear, which had taken a big chunk out of the remaining budget for the year. The goggles, made with a redundant dual-tube design that could withstand all kinds of weather changes and temps, had an automatic brightness control, bright light shut-off circuitry, and a spotlight/floodlight built-in IR illuminator. The binocular-shaped gadget would allow me to see clearly even in areas with no ambient light. Like, the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night.

I gave Rick a grin suitable for him giving me a fully equipped greenhouse, took the contraption, and started to put it on. He stopped me with a raised hand, amusement in his dark eyes. “Night vision, remember? Go to the locker room, kill the lights, and adjust it to fit.”

I had to change anyway and grabbed both my small gobag and my large, four-day gobag on the way to the locker room, where I adjusted the straps and the eyepieces and familiarized myself with the location of the small knob that turned from off to on to IR. According to the video I had watched, the night-vision goggles were pretty much idiotproof.

Satisfied, I tucked them into my small gobag and changed clothes. PsyLED provided desert night camo like the military used, and the cost had come out of my pocket, but I had never worn the clothing, and Rick hadn’t told me I had to wear it tonight. I dressed in blue jeans, layered dark gray and charcoal patterned T-shirts, and my hooded winter coat, with field boots. All black is visible in low-to-no light, and the paler clothes would give me some light-protection, out in the middle of nowhere. The jeans would protect my body and save my nicer work clothes should I have to hike in somewhere.

I checked my weapons, making sure I had two extra magazines, one filled with hollow-point rounds, one with silver plating. Just in case. Under the coat, I put on the shoulder holster rig instead of the lower spine holster, which was less than comfortable while driving in the truck. Back in the break room, I ate a quick slice of pizza left over from someone’s supper. I wasn’t stealing; it was on the fridge shelf marked ALL. I refilled my insulated coffee mug and when I heard Rick and Occam departing, followed them down the stairs to the street. It was two a.m. and the guys had been awake for close to twenty hours. They were sniping at each other the way cats would if cats could talk.

“You’ll follow my lead up to the—”

“Why should I follow your lead, Hoss? I’ve been a werecat longer than you have. I’ve actually hunted wild hogs, and those babies have tusks this long.” Occam held out both hands a ways apart. I let the outer door close behind me and didn’t look up to see his expression. “They can rip open a predator’s gut in a heartbeat. You, my kitten friend, are the probie here. You have hunted exactly two full moons and brought down exactly four deer. Sweet little Bambis. With help from me, let me remind you. I should take point.”