Robin laughed, the sound harsh against the night air. “So you want to wind up your little sociopath and watch her go?”

Those hands, those old-woman hands, clutching at the wooden tabletop, leaving filmy prints on the shellacked finish. The voice had always been stronger than the flesh, and it held a familiar hint of annoyance.

“Now is not the time, Robin. When we’ve secured the tainted medicine and arrested all those involved, you and I will talk. You can berate me, you can beat me up, hell, you can kill me. But our duty lies with this country, and we must stop this attack.”

“Is this sanctioned? Or are we off book?”

“This is sanctioned. I have cleared it with your superiors. I spent the day having you reinstated. Do this, and I will make sure you’re given your old position. Or a new one, should you desire. You can have anything you want. Robin, we’re talking about an unknown terrorist attack that could come at any time. I need you. Your country needs you.”

Your country needs you. The very words that had driven all three Souleyret women into a life of public service, into the morass of death and destruction, the carnage of their beliefs and duty laid to waste behind them.

Family was always second to country.

Robin shook herself, and the cloud cleared away. “Riley says I’m a suspect in Amanda’s murder. How exactly do you propose I do this job? I can’t have people hunting me. I need my back clear.”

“I will work everything. Consider yourself cleared. I’ve already got the FBI on board.”

“I want to talk to the investigators. I want to hear firsthand what they have to say.”

“I can arrange a meeting for you.”

“No, Gina. I want to do this myself. I want to talk to the woman, the FBI agent, the medical examiner who did Amanda’s autopsy. I want her. And no one else. If I get a hint that there’s someone else involved, I pull out and disappear, and you can go fuck yourself.”

“That’s fine, Robin. I don’t blame you a bit. But you need to be careful. I don’t know who to trust anymore. I’ve been compromised, and so was Amanda. You should operate under the assumption that you have, as well.”

Chapter 46

Georgetown

THERE WAS SILENCE when the screen went black. Xander had grabbed Sam’s hand a few moments before Amanda finished the recitation of what led to her death. She was glad of the familiar pressure; she felt like she might fall down otherwise. This was as bad as it got. How in the hell were they going to stop an attack they couldn’t see coming? They still had no idea who was behind the plot. Not to mention, if Amanda was right, and the superbug was airborne, spreading it through the populace was as easy as importing sick people on planes. Sam shuddered at the thought.

No one moved as Daniels closed the laptop. Mouse was by his side, eyes wide, unconsciously seeking what succor she could find during Souleyret’s recitation. She met Sam’s eyes and shrugged.

“Jesus,” Fletcher said, visibly shaken. “This is bad. This is really bad. She did get the medications in, and we’ve lost them, and Bromley, and probably Cattafi, too.”

Daniels looked pleadingly at Sam. “We have to raise the alarm now, ma’am. If what she says is true, we can’t take the chance. If this is already in our inoculation system, we’re too late. We have to stop all the vaccines being given nationwide immediately.”

Sam didn’t hesitate. “I agree. We can’t take the chance. Call Charlaine, tell her what we’ve learned. This will take a massive coordination—let her get things started. We’ll have to talk to the CDC and Homeland immediately. Get them to pull all the vaccines that have shipped this season. And we need to warn them we could have an attack coming, or even under way. But, Daniels, this has to be done very carefully. We can’t take the chance of starting a panic.”

Daniels raised a brow. “I’m panicked already. I got a flu shot last week.”

“Then you needn’t worry. She specifically said the virus kills within forty-eight hours. If she’s right, and terrorists have gotten hold of this, they haven’t managed to get it into our systems yet, or we’d have bodies stacked like cordwood in the street. It would be hard to do now. The vaccines for this season were produced months ago. We’d already know. But going forward, anything new coming in—yes, we need to get everyone on alert. And we need Regina Girabaldi in real protective custody, right now. Go, Daniels, now!”

Sam turned to Denon. “Sir, we have to find out who in your company might be behind this, and we need to get that name immediately. There’s no more time to waste. Are you willing to allow us access? Xander and Chalk, plus Mouse—if you let them into your servers, they’ll be able to find the link.”

He nodded. “What do you need? Passwords? Everson can get you everything you—”

There was a commotion in the kitchen. The shatter of breaking glass, guttural shouts, a strange gurgling choke. Sam sprinted into the hall just in time to see the front door swing closed, a smear of reddest blood in bas relief against the white paint. She started toward the door as a babble of voices filled the house. She heard Xander shout, “Fletcher, call 9-1-1, we’ve got two down.”

A heartbeat later Xander was in the hallway, blood on his chest, moving fast, the SIG Sauer in his hand. “Watch it, watch it. They need you in the kitchen. Stay inside.” Then he was out the door, Thor a blur of tan-and-black fur beside him. She saw Chalk sprinting down the street. Daniels pushed past her, going after them. The door slammed behind him.

Sam ran toward the kitchen and into utter chaos.

Everson was on the floor, clutching at his throat, gouts of red spouting from a slit in his carotid. Bebbington was already dead, his head nearly severed, tipped to the side as if he were listening to his shoulder tell a story.

Sam caught the spray of Everson’s blood in her face as she knelt beside him. She yanked a tea towel off the cabinet below the sink and held it hard to his throat. “Hang on, damn it. Hang on,” she yelled at him, but she could see it was too late. His eyes were unfocused, staring at a world only the dying could see, and the warm stickiness pulsing over her hands was slowing.

Denon was standing, horrified, in the entrance to the kitchen. Fletcher was on the phone calling for help. And Sam knelt in blood again, holding the useless towel to Everson’s neck as he left this world. He gave one last burbling gasp, and then he was gone.

Damn it.

She forced her focus back to the surroundings and counted. There was someone missing.

She let the soaked fabric drop to the tile floor and grabbed Fletcher, dragged him toward the front door. She caught Denon’s sleeve as she went, towed them both into the shockingly clean hall with its eerie handprint on the door. “Where is Heedles? Where is Maureen Heedles?”

Fletcher shook his head, shoved the phone in his pocket. “I don’t know. We have to search the house. You stay here, cover Denon.”

Sam pointed at the bloody handprint. “She must have run out the front, but wait.” Sam pulled open the closet door and quickly punched in the code to the gun safe. She pulled out two automatics and two handguns. She pressed a Glock .40 into Fletcher’s hand, and two magazines. She tucked the second into her pants at the small of her back, filled her pockets with two more magazines. “Now go,” she said, nodding toward the kitchen. “I’ve got this.”

Fletcher bent down and pulled his throw-down gun from his ankle, then, double-fisted, started moving toward the kitchen, walking soft. The sudden silence bled around them. Sam arranged the M4 strap around her shoulder and handed the other to Denon. “Do you know how to shoot?”

He nodded. “A shotgun. We hunt. Fox hunt. In the country. Not allowed to shoot the buggers now, but I have done in the past.”