Flame in the Dark (Soulwood #3)(62)
Finally. That sounded like something of significance to PsyLED. I sat forward. “Okay. Lots of things going on. Paranormal beings in cages. Experiments. Got it. But there’s government oversight, right?”
“No. Nothing. Even with the CDC interest and input, it’s privately funded. No ethics rules are being enforced like in government-funded research facilities and pharmaceutical companies overseen by the FDA.”
I nodded. “Okay. I understand.”
My cell dinged. I pulled it from a pocket and glanced at the screen. The note was from JoJo, who was monitoring my conversation with Mary. The text said, Plague is real. It’s called Zaire ebolavirus 1.75 (EBOV 1.75). DNAKeys branched out to include researching strains of Ebola after the 2014 outbreak. Bet that’s when they got themselves some werewolf captives with the hope that their blood might hold the cure.
Mary looked as if she was about to bolt, so I gave an offhand shrug. “My roommate,” I said, to explain looking at a text in the middle of a meeting. “She’s stuck in traffic and she’s got dinner. Okay, so maybe animal abuse. Maybe you can get me inside and I can see for myself? Then I could alert the local chapter about an ongoing abuse situation?”
“Are you crazy? No way!” Mary stood up fast.
My cell dinged again and I held up a hand as if to pacify Mary. JoJo had texted, Justin Tolliver’s wife Sonya and the senator’s son Devin—motorcade just attacked. Limo in flames. Sonya presumed dead. Child saved by Soul. Get back here.
I pocketed my cell. “Fine. I need to check some things, verify your claims. Can we chat again?”
Mary Smith walked away. Actually she stomped away like a petulant child. She hadn’t touched a single thing; I had no way to obtain prints. As she left the room, she muttered, “Bitch.”
I frowned. “What did I do?”
Ten seconds later, Occam stuck his head in the door. “You ticked her off, Nell, sugar. Whatever she wanted, you didn’t give it to her. Let’s go. We’re wanted at HQ.”
“I got the texts. Soul saved a kid from a fire. We got too many fires, Occam.”
He pushed open the library’s security door and we stepped into a shadow, looking around, making sure that Mary Smith didn’t see us leave together. When we were reasonably sure that Mary—and no one else either—was watching us, we raced to Occam’s fancy car and got in, out of the icy wind that had blown up.
“Fire. Yeah,” he said thoughtfully, starting the engine. “Yeah. You’re right. There is fire at every crime scene. The fires seemed natural, but fire is the single consistent factor at every incident. Fire is what makes this investigation a single, unified, cohesive case.”
I thought back to the Holloways’ party. “We thought the gunshots knocked over candles and started the fire. But what if they didn’t? What if our shooter is a firestarter?”
Occam punched a screen on his dash and told the car to call HQ. It did. He passed our speculations to JoJo.
Over the tinny connection, Jo said, “Roger that. Running a search on that angle now. Checking the mythical creatures compendium with the addition of fire, hoping it’s part of the existing mythos.” We heard keys clacking softly and before Occam could sign off, she added, “FYI. Soul and the kid she rescued are at HQ; the others are heading in.”
“We might beat them there.” He peeled out of the parking lot, tires fishtailing on the thin layer of freezing rain. “ETA soonest depending on traffic.” He ended the call.
Trusting in my seat belt to hold me in place, I snuggled my arms out of my sleeves and tucked my hands beneath my armpits to warm them. Occam’s fancy new car had come with seat warmers and he adjusted mine to warm. This small service was mystifying to me, disorienting, bewildering. I tucked my chin down into my coat collar so I didn’t have to look at him. I didn’t have words to respond to all the strange feelings that were . . . not assaulting me, but hopping up and down on my heart.
I hated this. I had been a perfectly happy widder-woman—
I snorted out a soft giggle.
“What?” Occam asked as he maneuvered around a corner and the tires sashayed back and forth harder.
My giggle went louder. I shook my head and giggled some more, saying, “Nothing.” And then the giggles went away. I breathed out and felt some of the tension I hadn’t recognized fade. “Nothing at all. Except that I’m happier now than before I joined PsyLED. I miss spending time in my garden. I miss time with my hands in the dirt and supporting my plants and herbs and veggies and trees. I miss time alone in my house. But I’m happier now. And that’s weird.”
“Not so weird, Nell, sugar,” Occam said softly. “You got friends now. People who will protect you. Defend you. Stand with you. And you’re getting your family back—on your terms. This is all good. It’s stuff that makes for happiness.”
I slid my eyes to the side and studied him. He was slouched in his seat, enfolded in layers that were all open down the front except the Henley T-shirt beneath. His hair was too long and swinging. His beard was always scruffy. He was a cat-man. His body felt hotter than a normal human’s. He would purr in his sleep from time to time. And . . . I liked him. Maybe too much.
I slid my arms back through my sleeves and scooted my hands under my thighs, squishing them between flesh and warm seat. Maybe smiling, just a little. “What about you?” I asked. “What do you do for family?”