“Couldn’t hurt. Might help. If we knew what it was, we might know where to search. Might know when to expect another attack.”
“If I find something pertinent, I will call.”
I almost said thank you, but that might put me in her debt. I settled on, “Any information you might provide could prove useful.”
Yummy laughed again, her tone telling me that she knew exactly why I had phrased it that way, and ended the call.
I wrote a report on my laptop and sent it in. If I failed to mention Yummy and her information about the Mithrans, well, I could consider the vampire a confidential source because nothing she’d said impacted the case at this time. I felt a little guilty, since Rick had told us to share anything about paranormals, but I squished the guilt down, and then ignored the guilt that came from ignoring guilt.
Satisfied, I put the truck in drive and motored on over to my assignment for the night, at the home of Senator Abrams Tolliver. I read the earth there too, and it told me nothing it hadn’t before, except that no maggoty vampire had been stalking the premises.
• • •
The investigation went on all night, and I kept up with it on my government-issued encrypted cell phone, reading files and reports, in between walking rounds with the feds and the Secret Service. While on dinner break, sitting in the truck with the heater roaring and a cup of coffee steaming on the dash, I ate a sandwich I had picked up at a supermarket and read deeper into incoming reports.
Arson had been confirmed at Justin Tolliver’s house, though the type of accelerant had yet to be determined. Rick checked out the paranormal scents and told me things smelled odd but not definable or species specific.
My reading of the land notwithstanding, the attacker had been deemed possibly paranormal, the possibly keeping PsyLED from assuming charge of the case. Based on the possibility, however, PsyLED would have a bigger investigatory role. PsyLED and the FBI were still operating under the auspices of the Secret Service, and for now, we had access to files not compiled by us, cooperation still taking place.
At least one of the Tolliver family was also deemed likely a paranormal. Justin’s wife Sonya had been outed, though none of the Tollivers knew it yet. Nor did the feds or the Secret Service. Soul was holding that information close to the vest for now, since Sonya wasn’t a suspect.
PsyLED’s focus had currently shifted to the research facility, DNAKeys. Which seemed like the wrong way to go to me, because interest in the facility was based on the rumored presence of paras in captivity, not on physical, direct, or circumstantial evidence. But my opposition to DNAKeys as an investigatory focus was a gut feeling based on precisely nothing. I didn’t include that in my comments on the report.
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.”
From nowhere, a grindylow leaped onto Occam’s back, her neon green coat looking yellowish in the outside lights. “Ow,” Occam said, grabbing her and tossing her to Rick as they walked.
The SAC caught her in midair and placed her on his shoulders without missing a step. He blew out a breath in a cloud and cocked his head, catlike. His eyes were glowing green in the parking lot’s security lights. The shadows of the men lengthened and shortened as they walked. I followed. When Rick spoke it wasn’t to the grindy, which he petted almost in a reflex, but to Occam. “I’m a black wereleopard. My melanistic coat is perfect for night hunting. Your spotted one is more visible.”
“I’m more sneaky.” Occam opened the driver’s door of his fancy car. “When you’re in cat form, you’re thinking like a cat in the wild, not like a human, and your cat’s out of control. Not a good thing on an op.”
“I’m SAC.” Rick got in the passenger side, tossing the grindy to the dash.
“Which means jack nothing, Hoss. I’m better qualified and you know it.”
“We have protocol—” The car doors closed. The engine roared and they drove away. Leaving me standing there alone in the parking lot.
I put both fists on my hips and huffed in disgust, watching their taillights, my small gobag over my shoulder. I turned and waved at the very obvious security camera over the door to HQ, knowing that Tandy had seen the entire exchange. Upstairs, the lights in the office blinked off and back on. The fact that I had been abandoned had been acknowledged. Tandy was probably all worried about me. If it had been JoJo she would have been laughing so hard she’d snort coffee. I had seen that happen. Had to hurt.
I got in my truck, punched the address into my cellular GPS, and pulled into the street. I had driven a mile when my cell rang. It was Occam. I scowled at the cell and let it go to voice mail. Twice. On the third try I punched accept and said, “What?”
“Nell, sugar. Where are you?” Occam sounded properly quiet and deferential. “We left you in the parking lot. I’m sorry.”
An apology went a long way to fixing things, but I had been raised with men who treated women with less respect than they did other men. “Yes,” I said. “You did. And I got in my truck, and I turned it on, and I am driving. Alone. I am perfectly capable of arriving at the correct GPS on this, my first level-two nighttime op. I will see you there.” I hit end.
JoJo and T. Laine would both say I was being bitchy. And then they’d high-five me and say, “Give ’em hell, girl.” A woman had to stand up to men, even in this new, modern world. Women always did. And never more so than with alpha males who seemed to have a cat rivalry of some sort going on. I just hadn’t thought it would be Occam who made me defend myself this time. Tears prickled my eyes, and ruthlessly I squashed them. That was stupid. I would not cry because men acted in human character and in cat character.