A Knife's Edge

Six months after a drug cartel infiltrated Charleston, WV, Ronan McCullough continues to fight the drug war that plagues the city. His investigations are halted when the body of a mutual acquaintance, Sarah Gilmore, is found in the back of a wrecked car. In an investigation that takes him deep into the professional and personal life of the victim, McCullough discovers secrets lurking in her past, and a tangled web of personal and professional conflicts, suspicion, and betrayal. Was Sarah killed for those reasons or something larger? As Ronan seeks answers, his life and the lives of those closest to him are used as pawns in a deadly game that has no ending.

A RONAN MCCULLOUGH NOVEL

“This book was a gripping, and gritty police thriller that kept me rapt in its pages until the end” —Lisa Brown-Gilbert, Pacific Book Review “As a man who lives and works in Appalachia, Parker puts that knowledge and his storytelling skills to work in this cracking good book.”

—The Richmond Times “Ronan McCullough is an interesting protagonist and you will want to keep on reading after the intriguing beginning,” —Peter Senftleben, editor and publishing consultant

ELIOT PARKER

Eliot Parker, a native of West Virginia, is the author of four novels. He attended the Bluegrass Writers Studio at Eastern Kentucky University, where he graduated with an M.F.A. in Creative Writing. A winner of the West Virginia Literary Merit Award and a finalist for the Southern Book Prize in thriller writing, he teaches writing and literature at Mountwest Community and Technical College.

ELIOT PARKER

ELIOT PARKER

Publisher Page

an imprint of Headline Books, Inc.

Terra Alta, WV

To my Dad, Brent. He loved good stories.

A Knife’s Edge A Ronan McCullough Novel

by Eliot Parker copyright ©2019 Eliot Parker All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents, except where noted otherwise, are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any other resemblance to actual people, places or events is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any other form or for any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage system, without written permission from Publisher Page.

To order additional copies of this book or for book publishing information, or to contact the author: Headline Books, Inc. P.O. Box 52 Terra Alta, WV 26764 www.HeadlineBooks.com Tel: 304-789-3001 Email: mybook@headlinebooks.com Publisher Page is an imprint of Headline Books ISBN 13: 9781946664426 Library of Congress Control Number: 2018952967

P R I N T E D I N T H E U N I T E D S TAT E S O F A M E R I C A

Acknowledgments I first became interested in the plot for this novel based on an issue of Time magazine that featured a woman named Elizabeth Holmes, who set out to change the way blood testing was conducted and analyzed. She eventually became the youngest female billionaire in the world by creating a company called Theranos. Today, the company is under investigation for massive fraud, but the whole concept of a new way to test blood piqued my curiosity. My first thought when I read the article was: what if this technology fell into the wrong hands?

That question led me to writing a book that was a great challenge for me and featured many turns along the way. I want to thank several people who helped with the book. All mistakes herein are my own.

I want to thank the staff at Time Magazine, the Wall Street Journal, and CBS News for all of their research into this issue of blood testing and for all of the excellent reporting. Many people on their staff were quite helpful in the research process for the book and I appreciate their assistance. Thanks to the hematologists at King Daughters Health System in Ashland, Kentucky for helping me learn about blood and for answering my questions. Special thanks to the West Virginia State Police Crime Lab for letting me tour their facility and providing me insight into what they do to help with law enforcement investigations and how they do it.

Special thanks goes to Kat Mazurek, Peter Senftleben, and J. David Osborne for taking various drafts of the novel, ripping

it apart, and providing guidance on how to put it back together.

Their guidance was invaluable. Thanks also to Fran Allred and Mickey Johnson for giving me insight and suggestions on how to strengthen the story to get the most out of the characters and the plot.

Thanks to my friends in the Patchwork Writers Group who inspire me with their writing talent, kindness, and encouragement.

Every time I write a book I feel like I am going to fall off of a cliff during the process, but this group encourages me to keep going.

Special thanks to Bob Johnson and the faculty, staff, and students in the Bluegrass Writers Studio at Eastern Kentucky University. I am the writer I am today because of their knowledge and tutelage and I appreciate them always believing in me. I am proud to be an alumnus of the amazing creative writing program at EKU. Thank you to Cathy Teets and the staff at Headline Books for believing in me as a writer and for believing in Ronan McCullough and wanting to see him continue on as a character. Thanks also to my family and Chip for tolerating my disappearances into my writing cave for months at time until the novel was finished.

Finally, thank you, the reader. Time and money are precious commodities in our society today. The fact that you spent both reading this book is wonderful and it’s something I do not take for granted.

Other titles by Eliot Parker Breakdown at Clear River Making Arrangements Ronan McCullough Novels Fragile Brilliance Stacy Tavitt Novels Code for Murder

1 Marvin pulled the thick coat around his mid-section girth and barely got the buttons snapped. He blew air into his hands twice, trying to get the stinging cold in his fingers to go away. He paced back and forth, looking up and listening to the cars coming down the ramp from the Southside Bridge onto MacCorkle Avenue.

At this distance, Marvin could see the edges of the old C&O Railroad Depot planted next to the railroad tracks. He walked to an underpass, which was buttressed by crisscrossed steel beams holding up part of the Southside Bridge entrance ramp. Marvin could hear the hiss of cars as they accelerated and decelerated on the ramp.

Standing beneath the underpass made Marvin feel even colder. It felt like all of the steel overhead clenched the cold and released it every time a car crossed.

Marvin learned the space had not been a railroad depot for a while. Instead, part of the building had become Laury’s Restaurant. The other part of the building was an Amtrak ticketing station, but with limited hours. Marvin went to Laury’s on his first night in Charleston, but the men dressed in tuxedos and the white tablecloths lining the round tables indicated a menu selection out of his price range. When the doorman greeted him in French, that was the last straw. Marvin drove to Patrick Street on the west side of town and ate at McDonald’s. Now, Laury’s was closed indefinitely due to busted water pipes that had flooded the restaurant.

5

The wind seemed to power through the space between the bridge ramp, the retaining wall and the restaurant. It blasted through the narrow space, slamming into Marvin’s face and making his nose run. He was used to the temperate March climate of Florida and found late winter in West Virginia revolting.

Marvin cast a look up and down the railroad tracks, wondering if a train would pass by before the meeting was over. Leaning against a concrete wall, he dug into his coat pocket and tapped out a cigarette. He nervously lit it and took a long drag before spitting out the smoke just as fast. When he turned to the left and looked back at Laury’s, he could see a shadow approaching.

Marvin checked his watch. It was 6:45. The meeting would begin right on schedule.

The man approached in a long, black wool trench coat, a black top hat, and black leather gloves. Marvin squinted as he came into focus. He’d briefly spoken to the man twice on the phone, but this was the first in-person meeting between them.

The man looked down as he walked, almost as if he were making a mental note of each step taken.

Marvin took the last quick drag from the cigarette and dropped it onto the gravel next to the railroad tracks then stomped it out with the heel of his boot.

Anxious, Marvin took two large steps to close the distance.

Finally, the man looked at him and held up a hand. Marvin stopped walking. He swallowed hard and nervously rolled his shoulders.

The man also halted his steps and stood erect, almost like a drill sergeant at attention. Marvin guessed the distance between them to be ten yards.

Marvin cocked his head to the side. “You the guy I talked to on the phone?”

The man answered. “It depends. Are you Marvin?”

On the phone, his voice was a rich baritone. Marvin leaned closer. The man was medium-sized with close-shorn dark hair.

His physique didn’t match his voice.

“I want my money,” Marvin demanded.

A sly grin crossed the man’s face. “Here.”

6

He pulled out a wad of cash wrapped in a dark plastic bag and threw it at Marvin. It landed in the space between them.

Marvin, with his odd loping gait, kept his eyes on the man as he stepped forward to snatch the bag. Marvin jerked back a few steps, still watching the man. Marvin looked down at the bag.

He tore it open and began counting.

He winced. “This ain’t all of it.”

“I know,” the main replied cryptically. “Our friend thinks the second part of the agreement is payment enough.”

Marvin cocked his head to the other side. “How do you know about that?”

The man nodded his awareness in a silent answer.

“Look,” Marvin continued, “my blood is at the scene of that assault in Tampa. If the Tampa PD matches it to me, I’m going away for a long time.”

Marvin could see the soles of the man’s feet bounce as he shifted his weight. “Once we get everything established here in Charleston and make this the base of operations, we can have that blood changed. Remember, Marvin, we brought you to Charleston to let the heat die down in Tampa.”

Marvin remembered. He furrowed his brow. “How do you all do that, anyway?”

The man shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. What did Sarah say?”

“Not much,” Marvin replied, feeling his face flush with embarrassment. “I had the perfect plan. I watched her for a few days, waited until she parked at the top of that hospital garage, and then I went after her.”

The man scoffed. “The plan didn’t work.” He took a step closer. “And she will go to the police and file a report. Then a cop will be assigned to the case. The report will say you threatened to kill her!”

Marvin felt his heart race and he began to sweat, despite the chill. “Hey, look, man, I needed to threaten her to get her to talk.”

“Ha! I told you West Virginia women are tough.” The man finished his statement with a dry chuckle. “We will have to be careful now.”

7

Marvin watched as the man rubbed his chin with a gloved hand. “That’s it. The meeting is over.”

Marvin had so many questions, and the panic he felt came out in his voice, which was tight and sharp. “What about me and my situation? I mean, if I ain’t getting paid the full amount promised, at least will my problems in Florida be taken care of?”

The same sly grin from earlier returned. “I’ll be in touch.”

The dark-clothed figure pivoted and started walking away.

“Hey!” Marvin called out. The shadow grew between them as the man walked faster. When he emerged from just under the Southside Bridge ramp tunnel, Marvin felt his vision blur slightly as he became further encased in darkness.

“Hey! When is my problem going to be fixed?”

The man stopped and spun around on the heels of his feet.

Marvin saw the form of something aiming for his head. A pop ricocheted in the tunnel. Marvin squinted through the dim light only to see the flick of a silver spark flash before the muscles in his legs gave way and the scene went black.

8

2 Still sleepy, Ronan managed to eat a piece of slightly undercooked lasagna and swallow a large cup of regular coffee after getting dressed. His plan was simple: he would support his boyfriend, Ty, by dressing up in his normal police uniform, replete with the utility belt. That would allow him access into the Clay Center to attend the dinner and dedication reception of the new Charleston Mercy Hospital Children’s Cancer Center.

In full uniform, nobody would question why Ronan was there, and if someone did, he would simply say he was there to provide extra security for the event.

Ronan pulled his truck off Interstate 64 at the Leon Sullivan Way exit and accelerated down the off-ramp into downtown Charleston. The architect and designers of the Clay Center had thought of everything when designing the building, except parking. Ronan turned left at the intersection of Leon Sullivan Way and Brooks Street and parked behind the Clay Center. The parking lot was once the site of Charleston High School, which closed in 1989. Now, Charleston Mercy Hospital owned the lot.

Once outside his car, Ronan looked across Washington Street East at Charleston Mercy Hospital. The bright-red, rectangular EMERGENCY sign jutted out from the building. To the right of the block frame that housed the Emergency Room, Ronan could see the tall, sloped towers of the new wing, rising behind the building like antlers.

9

Ty was the emergency room charge nurse at the hospital.

As Ronan stared at the sign, his mind snapped back three years.

He had been brought into the emergency room after responding to a hostage standoff on Seventh Avenue on Charleston’s West Side. After Ronan and several other officers had surrounded the house, a man started shooting at them, shattering most of the windows on the first floor of the house.

Several shards of glass had landed in Ronan’s forearm. The paramedics rolled Ronan into the ER treatment area and pushed him against the wall. Ronan remembered how crowded the ER had been that night and the moans and cries of patients made him feel sick. As he waited to be examined with his bloody forearm bandaged, he looked over and saw Ty talking in angry, hushed tones on the phone to someone.

He was immediately struck by Ty’s physique; the tight, taught body, unblemished mocha-colored skin, muscular deltoids, and the firmness of his back muscles which permeated his shirt.

Staring at Ty made those long moments in the emergency room pass quickly. When Ty hung up the phone, he turned around to face Ronan and dropped a small picture on the cot. Ronan looked at the picture, with Ty sitting closely next to another guy, their hands interlocked together. Ronan looked up at Ty, who blushed and stuffed the picture into his pocket. Later, Ty told Ronan the guy’s name was Chris. For the next few months, Ronan found any excuse to go to the hospital emergency room to see Ty. When Ronan asked Ty about Chris and learned of their breakup, Ronan finally got the courage to ask Ty on a date.

Ronan smiled as he thought about that experience. The bleated sound of a car horn pulled him from his thoughts. A dance of light and shadows from the low-hanging moon glinted off the glass façade of the hospital onto the street below. The air made Ronan’s hands clammy and cold. As he turned and charged around the west side of Clay Center, his face became numb and a chill went down his spine.

The Clay Center opened on July 12, 2003, in the East End of Charleston. Ronan drove by the building every day during construction. The 240,000-square-foot facility took twenty 10

years to build. From the first time a consultant had proposed the idea in 1983 until the doors finally opened, the Clay Center had run up a cost of $120 million dollars, was adorned with 500,000 red bricks, 400,000 concrete blocks, and featured a planetarium, an art gallery, a science museum, a black-box theater and an acoustically superior 1,883-seat performance hall.

Its cost, grandeur, and the fact that all of the building features were housed under one roof made it a unique facility and the envy of other cities in the United States. The facility was a symbol of opulence that stood out amongst the more rugged, craggy neighborhoods surrounding it.

Ronan rubbed the tip of his nose with the back of a hand and nodded politely as an elderly couple, adorned in formal evening wear, stared at Ronan for a moment and then rushed through the swinging glass doors of the Clay Center.

He followed. Inside, several television cameras faced out from the wall to the right. As Ronan looked over the scene, his eyes fixed on Braxton Campbell, standing next to the mayor of Charleston, John McClure.

“This is a great day for healthcare in our region,” the mayor beamed. His traditional dark tuxedo complemented his thick tuft of gray hair and dark eyes that were red-rimmed under the glare of brightly mounted camera lights. John McClure was short and portly, with a long, angular face and jowls that sagged below his jawline.

“The city of Charleston, through the investment made

by Charleston Mercy Hospital and with the support of BTech Laboratories, will be at the forefront of children’s cancer care not only in West Virginia, but throughout the entire region.”

The mayor flashed another toothy grin and nodded at a reporter amidst the rushing voices calling out questions.

“Mayor, what about BTech, the company that has occupied a floor of research space inside the new part of the hospital?”

That question made Ronan stop and turn around. The mayor, not anticipating the question, looked nervous. He smacked his lips and his eyes darted around the group nervously.

“As…as with any new company that has decided to do business in Charleston, we are glad to have them here. We 11

think having BTech in sync with the doctors and the medical professionals at the hospital will prove beneficial for everyone.”

The press seemed satisfied with that answer. Ronan wanted to step forward and ask the mayor to truthfully complete the statement: the West Virginia State Police also expected BTech to process evidence and blood analysis in their crime lab, not in the lab in South Charleston. Ronan resisted. He had made his partner Eric Bonamico a promise to stay quiet on the issue and he would.

Braxton Campbell, a criminal defense attorney in Charleston, stood next to the mayor, smiling under the attention of the media.

He leaned in and whispered something to the mayor; then the mayor held up a hand.

“I almost forgot.” John reached an arm around Braxton.

Braxton was a large black man with a round face, thick neck, and broad shoulders. He could play linebacker for any professional football team. The mayor’s arm looked like a slack rope draped over the arm of the lawyer.

“This is Mr. Braxton Campbell. His personal $100,000 contribution helped solidify and finish the funding for the new cancer wing. I want to take a moment to introduce him.”

Braxton embraced the mayor and posed for the typical gripand-grin photo-op that most politicians have perfected. After a few seconds, the media pounced on Braxton.

“Mr. Campbell, is there any truth to the story that you are going to run for Kanawha County Prosecutor in May?” one female reporter asked, raising her microphone until it was inches from his lips.

Hearing that question caused Ronan to arch an eyebrow and lean in closer. He wanted to hear more.

“Have you received support for your candidacy from current prosecutor Dennis Sanders, before his term expires?”

A third reporter chimed in, “Having been a defense attorney in private practice, how will that experience translate into your acting as a successful prosecutor?”

The large smile on Braxton’s face waned as the press continued to pepper him with questions. The mayor stopped the interrogation.

12

“Folks, I want to thank you for coming. I am proud that Mr. Campbell played an important role in offering legal expertise to the city as we fought the scourge of drug dealers that took over our city in the fall. But the event tonight is about fundraisers and organizers for the children’s cancer wing. Questions about Mr. Campbell’s professional choices can be answered another time.”

When the reporters took in a collective breath and began firing off yet more questions, the mayor silenced them. “Thank you. Thank you for coming. This is a great day for Charleston.”

Ronan walked over to the performance hall lobby.

Inside, soft orchestral music played in the background as overly formally dressed guests milled about the room, talking in small groups, holding cocktails and chatting with exaggerated expressions. Ronan felt awkward and out of place. A large dais adorned with two long tables and a podium ran across the right side of the room, just below the spiral steel staircase that slinked up to the second floor of the Clay Center. Three armed security guards, wearing dark black uniforms with matching boots, stood positioned on three sides of the lobby. They glanced stoically around the room as the guests circulated.

The room was filled with round tables and plush, comfortable chairs. The many tables were adorned with glassware and glistening silverware, perfectly set with the stacked plates in front of each seat.

Across the left wall, running under the square glass windows, were several tables groaning with food. Ronan padded over to the lavish display of smoked fish, carved meats, hand-tossed salads, and vegetables. Ronan reached down, plucked a celery stick from a tray, and stuffed into his mouth.

“Ronan.”

He felt his face flush at the embarrassment of getting caught taking something from a food tray. When Ronan whirled around, he saw Ty staring at him, with a look of both bemusement and concern.

“Ty,” Ronan said, gnawing the celery and swallowing.

“What’s going on?”

Ronan smirked. “Surprise.”

13

Ty folded his arms. “Is everything okay?”

“I know I shouldn’t have taken something from the buffet without asking.”

Ty gazed past Ronan and then settled his eyes on him again.

A beat passed. Ronan said, “I wanted to be here to show my support.” He could not help but be impressed. Dressed in a traditional tuxedo, Ty showed an amazing style. He was shorter than Ronan, with a hard, lean frame. The shapely fit of the tuxedo accentuated the appeal of his features. His flawless olive, Polynesian skin offset his dark, pecan-shaped eyes, and those eyes brought out the natural allure of his oval-shaped face. The dimples on his chin flexed anytime Ty set his jaw.

Ty looked Ronan over with delight. Ty flashed a glowing grin at Ronan. He stepped closer to him and pressed his palms against Ronan’s chest. Ty looked up at Ronan with a look of endearment.

Ronan nervously cleared his throat and pushed Ty’s hands away. Ty appeared wounded.

“Is there someplace we can talk?”

Ty sighed. “Yes. Follow me.”

Ronan trailed behind Ty as his boyfriend weaved between the clustered groups. They made it to the entryway and turned to go down a small hallway leading to the restrooms. Ty came to an abrupt halt.

A man emerged from an overhang and came into focus.

“Mr. Andino, correct?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

Ronan came around and stood next to Ty. The man, tall and courtly with dark brown hair tinged with grey, extended a hand.

“I had planned on introducing myself before the presentation, but then I thought, ‘Why not now?’ I’m Dr. Richard Metzger, the resident director of the BTech office in Charleston.”

Ty took the man’s hand to shake it. “It’s a pleasure. The rest of the fundraising team and I owe BTech a great deal of thanks.

We wouldn’t have been able to finish construction without the donation.”

14

Ronan watched as the eyes of the doctor became fixed with a wistful expression. “BTech wanted Charleston Mercy to know that our partnership is going to be a long-term arrangement.”

Ronan shifted his weight from foot to foot, and the jangling of his utility belt diverted the focus of the conversation. Richard tossed a quick glance at Ronan.

“Is anything wrong?” Richard asked, pressing his thin lips tightly together. “I hope Mr. McCullough wasn’t called in on account of something we should be aware of.”

Ronan bristled. “How do you know my name?”

Richard waved off the comment. “The television coverage. I saw your picture on the noon news. They did a story on your raid of that house in the South Ruffner area. A room catching fire.

Vials of blood discovered inside the house. Several more drug dealers taken off the streets. Very impressive.” Richard Metzger spoke with crisp diction that Ronan took as condescending.

Ronan remained silent, studying the doctor.

“The work those men and women do to keep all of us safe every day is remarkable.”

“Let’s make this official,” Ty interjected. “Dr. Metzger, meet Sergeant Ronan McCullough of the Charleston Police Department.”

Richard stuck out a hand. “An honor, officer.”

“Sergeant,” Ronan replied, tentatively gripping the doctor’s hand.

Richard blinked. “Of course. Where are my manners? Glad to meet you in person, sergeant.

Ronan fell silent again.

“Ronan is one of the lead undercover cops in the department,” Ty said, spilling out the words quickly. “He and his detectives are in the ER at Charleston Mercy quite often when suspects have been injured, or the family members and friends of victims need to be questioned.”

Richard tossed a look at them both. “A great team, I’m sure.” The doctor let out a trilling, witty laugh. He locked eyes with Ronan, a look that Ronan felt was fixed hard for a reason, although Ronan wasn’t sure why.

15

Richard pointed over them at an indefinite location. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Ty nodded and watched the doctor slip away, out of earshot.

“Of course.”

Ronan scoffed. “I don’t like that guy.”

Ty spun around. “Seriously, Ronan?”

“It’s just a feeling.”

“The doctor spoke to us for less than five minutes.”

Ronan watched intently as the doctor schmoozed another group of people near the buffet. Ty tugged at his arm, pulling him away.

They walked back to a hallway near an emergency stairwell that ran along the wall near the bathrooms.

“Speaking of South Ruffner…”

“I didn’t know we were, Ty.” Ty’s face grew strained with concern. He looked up at Ronan, his expression earnest. “We did what we could for that man in the ER and the Medevac got him to the burn unit at CabellHuntington quickly.” Ty looked down for a moment before speaking again. “Ronan, over 50% of his body was covered in burns. With burn victims, the percentage of burns coupled with the age of the victim determines the chance for survival.”

Ronan arched an eyebrow.

“The guy was 44…”

“The same age as me.”

“I know,” Ty said, speaking softer. “But if the burns cover more of the body than the age of the person deducted from 100…”

Ronan looked away and spoke into the open space in the corridor. “50 is greater than 44, and deducted from 100 means…” “…that the ratio was fifty-six. When he left the ER at Charleston Mercy, we knew the chances weren’t good.”

Ronan held up a hand and winced. “Okay. I got it.”

Ty interlocked his thin hands and slender fingers with Ronan’s large, meaty hands. “Ronan, I’m sorry. I truly am. But I’m also relieved.”

“What?”

16

Ty squeezed tightly. “I thought that guy might have been you, Ronan.” Ty swallowed hard. “Every night, when I know something dangerous is going on and you are a part of it, I think that I’m going to get a call from someone or the paramedics are going to tell me…”

Ronan looked down at Ty and broke the hold of the locked hands. He placed a finger under Ty’s chin and lifted it up. Ronan saw the worry in his eyes.

“That’s not going to happen,” Ronan said, his timbre hushed to a low rumble. “I’m always going to come home. Always. The best part of my life is you.”

Ty’s face brightened. The door to the women’s restroom was flung open and two older ladies with wrinkled skin covered by too much makeup shuffled past them in murmured whispers.

Ronan pressed his back against the wall, creating enough distance between himself and Ty to offset attention, and jammed both hands into his pockets.

Ty fidgeted awkwardly with the buttons on his tuxedo jacket until the two women had passed. As Ronan prepared to reset the conversation, a voice over the intercom system in the lobby asked guests to find their seats so dinner could begin.

“I’d better go.”

Ronan smiled. “I’ll be here for a while.”

Ty grinned broadly and looked at his watch. “It’s past seven.

I haven’t seen Sarah.”

Hearing the name snapped Ronan’s mind back to attention.

“Sarah?”

“Yes, my friend that worked with me in the ER as a nurse.

She doesn’t work at Charleston Mercy anymore. I saw her earlier today and asked her to be my date.” Ty jerked his head up and eyed Ronan. “I invited her because I didn’t think you would be here.”

“Look, Ty…” “It’s okay, Ronan,” Ty said, already moving away. “She probably came in and we didn’t see her.”

Ronan followed after Ty. He needed to tell him that Sarah had come to see him and that she had been accosted in the parking garage at the hospital. Ty hated it when Ronan kept secrets, and he was determined not to keep this one.

17

Ty charged ahead, taking the red-and-black painted flooring with quick steps, weaving between guests as they sauntered off to different tables. Ty stopped in the middle of the lobby and spun around, casting a long look around the room.

As Ronan followed, he saw the two specks of white light in the distance, just beyond the large, arched glass windows that looked out onto the plaza in front of the Clay Center. The glare shining in the glass stung Ronan’s eyes, and he had a difficult time locating Ty. Ronan held a hand over his eyes. Across the room, Ty stood in front of the buffet, scanning the room with obvious concern.

From the corner of his eye, Ronan watched as the various dignitaries that constituted the platform party marched across the dais to their assigned seats. Ronan saw Richard Metzger and Mayor McClure exchange a long handshake.

By the time Ronan made it over to Ty, the lights in the distance had grown brighter. Ronan planted himself firmly in front of Ty, blocking his ability to see across the room.

“Ty, we need to talk.”

“I’m looking for Sarah.”

“Was my being here tonight a mistake?”

Ty dropped his head and locked eyes with Ronan. At that moment, a man standing at the end of the buffet line made an audible gasp and pointed through the glass.

Ronan looked to the left and followed the man’s finger. The two beams of light grew larger and covered the glass windows with blinding, white light. Ronan could hear the faint thrum of an engine.

A pang of dread welled up inside Ronan. Something was wrong.

Ty turned and faced the light. “Ronan…”

A beat passed. The dread Ronan felt became a palpable panic.

“Oh my God. Everybody get down!”

The announcement came too late. Ronan grabbed Ty by the arm and slung him across the room as a vehicle slammed through the glass windows.

18

3 Ronan opened one eye. The thick haze of fractured debris made his eyes burn.

He spat, trying to clear the dust from his nose and throat. He wiped the back of his uniform sleeve across his eyes and blinked twice. When the scene became clearer, he found the room had been reduced to rubble by the impact. A smoldering, jagged hole had ruptured the skin of the building, like a busted pipe.

Ronan stared at the ceiling. The force of the collision had buckled the outer wall of the Clay Center and the spiral metal staircase had collapsed when the roof partially caved in on it.

Sore, but unhurt, Ronan noted thin streams of blood on his hand. Instinctively, he drew it closer. He felt warm tingling on his forehead. With the other hand, Ronan touched the area. A fresh speck of blood coated his fingertips. He began quizzing himself silently. He was able to recall his name, where he lived, and his birthdate. Although not exact, the impromptu assessment told him he didn’t have a concussion.

Ronan pulled himself up to a seated position. The atrium smelled of sulfur. Flecks of ruptured electrical writing hung loosely from the ceiling and surrounding walls. Ronan could hear the pained groans of people around him. From across the room, a woman screamed, causing others around her to start trying to move.

Then it clicked. Ty. Ronan called out his name. He heard nothing but the dull buzzing of a bent streetlight that had been 19

plowed over by the collision and now hung at an odd angle like a bowed tree.

Ronan called out for Ty again. The screams from the woman across the room subsided and she begged for help.

In moments of chaos and disaster, Ronan knew to focus on one task at a time. The first order he gave himself was finding Ty. Ronan pulled himself to his feet. His vision blurred for a moment as a wave of dizziness overcame him. He closed his eyes for a second, held his breath, and waited for the blood in his head to equalize. Luckily, it worked.

Now clear-headed, Ronan looked around him. The scene resembled a war-zone. Tables had been overturned, the dais at the front of the room had been pushed back and shattered into the wall. Bricks and mortar speckled the floor. Dust was everywhere, clouding the air. Many of the guests were seriously injured.

The buffet table that hugged the wall in front of Ronan before the collision had been smashed. Food lay scattered across the room in colored clumps. Ronan took inventory of the damage.

Near the far end of the buffet line, Ronan saw the man that had pointed into the plaza outside. He lay on one side, bent at his waist, with a large column of bricks and steel piled onto him.

Ronan raced over and lifted some of the bricks from his body and pulled back what pieces of steel he could grab. Ronan winced as a jagged piece of steel cut his finger, trickling a new stream of blood over his hand. Despite Ronan’s removing the excessive weight, the man did not move. After a few more seconds, Ronan was able to see the man’s face. It was badly smashed and the bones in his face had shattered like glass. Ronan reached down and placed two fingers on his neck. There was no pulse and his skin felt cold. He was dead.

This was the first discovered casualty. There would be more.

Through the distance, Ronan saw a figure move towards him. His instincts kicked in. Ronan loosed his Glock from its holster and gripped the handle tightly.

The shadow moved awkwardly, then stopped. Ronan squinted, trying to make sense of the movement. Finally, he recognized the framed, taut shape.

20

Ronan raced to the shadow. It was Ty. Upon seeing Ronan, Ty collapsed into him. Ronan wrapped his arms around Ty and pulled him close. He could feel his boyfriend trembling, but Ty grabbed Ronan so hard he nearly lost his breath.

A few moments passed. Ronan pushed back against the embrace. Ty let go and Ronan stared down at him.

Ty had two open forehead wounds and a deep cut on his cheek. A thin layer of dust covered the black portions of his tuxedo. He looked like he’d been rolled in flour.

Ty wobbled for a moment under his own weight. Finally becoming stabilized, his eyes moved around the room for a moment before settling on Ronan.

“Ty?” “I’m…okay. I’m not hurt, just a little dazed. When you slung me across the room, I was able to hide behind a support beam.”

Hearing that made Ronan nearly leap with joy. He embraced his partner again. The strength of the embrace was just as firm as before. “I need to go.”

Ty swiveled his head emphatically from side to side. “No.” Ronan broke from the embrace and tried to step away. Ty reached for Ronan’s utility belt and pulled. The force stopped his progress, but the belt buckle snapped and the belt slipped.

“No, Ronan.”

Ronan spun around and Ty was looking at him earnestly, his face knit with worry. “Please, don’t go. Something else may happen.”

“Ty…” “This could be the first part. What if another collision is coming? What if this is only the beginning of something worse?

What if someone is coming to kill the rest of us? I want to stay with you.”

Ronan placed his hands on Ty’s shoulders. “Ty, listen to me.

There are a lot of badly injured people here. They need our help.

Braxton Campbell is here. So is the mayor. They could need treatment.” Ronan brushed back a strand of thick black hair that hung across his face. “I’m right here. But these people need care 21

and I need to find out what happened. Find someone who has a cell phone. Call 911. Do what you can.”

Before Ty could object further, a woman screamed out.

“Please, please help me. My husband. He’s not breathing.

He’s not moving!”

Ty heard the screeching pleas and looked one more time at Ronan.

“Ty, there is a special operations force pack on my belt. Grab it. It’s got a tourniquet, nitrite gloves, and gauze. It could make a difference.”

Ty took the pack. Ronan removed the Glock from the utility belt. The Glock was designed without a safety, so Ronan was careful not to place his finger on the trigger.

He stumbled over piles of rubble, broken tables, and scattered mounds of food. Most of the bodies of those that had been sitting near the glass windows had been pushed to the front of the room by the forward thrust of the impact. People began to stir and pull themselves up from the floor. Like Ronan, they spent their first few seconds of consciousness trying to reorient themselves.

Some of the plaza streetlights in front of the Clay Center that hadn’t been smashed bathed the Clay Center atrium in a hot, white light. It reminded Ronan of the lights he often saw at hospitals, the kind that made everyone and everything look sick.

The beams of light were bright enough for Ronan to establish a walking path. It felt abrasive as he drew near it. In the distance, Ronan could make out a large silver Hummer, resting against the base of the collapsed staircase. The windshield had been shattered and the front two tires were buckled inward; the entire front fender of the car was dislodged from the frame.

Ronan stared at the smoldering, gaping maw in the wall.

Judging by its disfigured inner and outer structure and the subsequent damage, Ronan surmised that the truck had been traveling at a high rate of speed, lurched forward, and crashed into the building. The force was such that the heavy Hummer bounced on its side before coming to a rest.

The Hummer engine heaved and sputtered. At the rear of the car, the rear tires were still spinning, as if the driver intended to race away.

22

Ronan held up his gun and moved around the back. He leaned around the left side, looking for the side mirror. The glass was cracked, but Ronan could see a face in the fractures. With his right hand pressed against the side of the car, he slid down the frame, steadying the gun, alert for any movement.

Something from behind him caused Ronan to spin around and hold the gun straight out in front of him.

“Police!”

“Thank God.” One of the Clay Center security guards stumbled into focus.

The man was bald and portly, nearly as wide as he was tall.

Streaks of blood were coursing down his cheeks. He clutched one arm just below the elbow and held it tight against his body.

Ronan lowered the weapon. “Are you hurt?”

The guard smacked his lips, trying to formulate a reply. “I was standing over by the platform. Some of the glass from the plates on the table shattered and cut my face, and a slab of steel from the staircase fell on my arm. I think it’s broken, but I’m alright.”

Ronan looked down at the guard’s belt. No indication of a weapon. That meant that if there were another altercation or an escalation of the current crisis, Ronan was most likely the only person in the room with a gun.

From behind, Ronan could hear the dull thrums of sirens piercing the eerie, quiet Charleston night. The spinning tires and racing engine of the Hummer drowned out the cries of the guests. To the right, a few Clay Center employees had managed to enter the atrium from the opposite side of the room and rushed to help the guests, some of them clutching first-aid kits.

Help would arrive, but for now, Ronan and Ty alone were responsible.

“Got a flashlight?” Ronan asked the guard, nearly screaming at the man.

“Yeah.”

“Good. Shine it through the passenger side window and hold it there. I’m going to come around the other side.”

23

The guard fumbled with the flashlight, but managed to click it on and shine it where Ronan requested. It lit up the cab of the car like a Christmas tree.

“Holy shit, there’s a body!”

Ronan didn’t flinch. Instead, pressed against the cracked wall, he edged closer. The dark figure in the side mirror loomed larger. When he was a few feet from the door, he called out.

“Charleston police! Let me see both hands!”

A beat passed. Nothing.

“Police. Let me see both hands. Don’t be stupid and get yourself shot.”

“I think the man’s dead,” the guard bellowed out from the other side.

As Ronan inched in, he could see the guard was right.

Slumped over the steering wheel was a body.

Ronan came alongside the door and held the gun inches from the motionless form. When his presence elicited no response, Ronan lowered his gun.

“Step closer,” Ronan called out to the guard. “Shine the light in the cab.”

The beam illuminated the interior.

The driver was a male. His head lay flung over the wheel, but his hands still gripped it and his foot was still pressed against the accelerator pedal, which kept the tires churning forward. Red blood oozed from a wound on the side of the driver’s head. The blood mixed with a sickly green tissue that bulged outward from the cranium.

The driver had been shot once in the head. At close range.

24

4 Ty pointed the paramedics to where the wounded had huddled together. His first task after leaving Ronan was to quickly identify the dead, if possible, and then separate the critically injured from the seriously injured. With limited medical supplies, other than those from Ronan’s utility belt, Ty used napkins, ripped tablecloths, and anything else he could find to stop the blood loss from the deep cuts and lacerations suffered by the victims.

Five people had been killed. Their bodies were crushed by falling debris from the ceiling and the collapsed metal staircase.

Twelve people had serious injuries, while eighteen others suffered only minor cuts and abrasions. Miraculously, twentyfive of those present sustained only bruises and scrapes.

As Ty tried collecting himself, the gurneys pushed by frantic paramedics whirled around him. Ty knelt down and rested against an overturned table. He desperately wanted to give in to the soreness and exhaustion that plagued him. He closed his eyes for a moment, wanting to be numb to the horrific place he was in, this scene of carnage and death. At that moment, Ty knew that if he didn’t start moving again, he would collapse and become the next one hauled away on a gurney.

When Ty opened his eyes, he felt the familiar sensation of hands upon his shoulders. He blinked to see Ronan, watery-eyed and covered in dust and soot, studying his face.

“Hey.” “Ronan…”

25

“It’s okay. It’s over. For now, anyway.”

Ty shook his head. “It’s just beginning. All of these injured.”

He was struck by how incoherent and inconsistent it was. “Who drove the car?”

“It was a man. His ID says Jacob Collier. He’s from Charleston.” Ronan slipped his hands under each of Ty’s arms.

“Come on. We need to get you looked at.”

Ty didn’t want to be examined, but he didn’t have the strength to resist. Before he could utter a word, Ronan had him up, steady and upright.

“Damn. The tux is covered in blood. I need a medic over here!”

Ty dropped his head to see crimson streaks and stains covering his tuxedo. The ornate black buttons had ripped away and a large hole in the middle of the fabric flapped back and forth with every movement. Ty felt like hell and apparently looked like it too.

A short, baby-faced paramedic came over and said something to Ronan that Ty couldn’t make out amid the noise. Ronan nodded and pointed at Ty. “I don’t know about that wound, but he might have a concussion,” Ronan advised the paramedic. “Please check him over.”

“I don’t have a concussion,” Ty protested, but before he could say anything more, the paramedic had led Ty over to a chair and sat him down.

The younger man tossed a look at Ronan. “This man saved a lot of people today. Things could’ve been a lot worse if he hadn’t stepped in.”

Ty felt his face blush. “I’m fine. I know the signs of concussion, and I don’t have one.”

The paramedic pulled on a pair of white nylon gloves. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Ty Andino.”

“Where do you live, Ty?” “Kanawha Avenue. In Charleston, West Virginia. I am an emergency room charge nurse at Charleston Mercy Hospital.”

26

“Okay. We’re off to a good start.”

He pried Ty’s left eye wide with a hand and shined a light on it. The white glare made Ty wince, but the paramedic didn’t pull away.

“This is ridiculous. I’m fine,” Ty said, with more authority in his voice. He reached up and pushed the flashlight away.

The paramedic dropped to his knees and reached for the gash on Ty’s forehead. Ty recoiled in pain. The paramedic just nodded his head.

“I’m going to need some bandages for that wound. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

“I’d like some water, if possible,” Ty called out after him.

The paramedic looked back at Ty and nodded again.

For some reason, Ty felt worse now that he was sitting. He pushed the chair back and pulled himself up. Once he steadied himself, he felt better.

The wrecked scene was still awful, but with more people moving and the dead and injured taken away, Ty was able to meander through the room.

Across the atrium, police scurried around the crushed Hummer. Two were taking pictures of the crash scene, while another officer was placing bright yellow tags in various places on the painted tile floor around the car.

Ronan stood to the left of the vehicle, talking to another officer when he noticed Ty. Ronan raced over.

“I thought that paramedic was examining you,” Ronan said, a catch of concern in his voice.

“He was,” Ty said, wiping a fresh bubble of blood from his head wound. “He went to get bandages.”

Ronan sighed. “And left you sitting there by yourself? Shit.”

Ty held up a hand. “I’m fine, Ronan. Really. I have to get to the hospital. They are going to need assistance.”

“No,” Ronan said, flatly. “Not until someone says you’re okay.” Ronan started to search for another paramedic when he was interrupted.

“Sergeant.”

“Not now,” Ronan replied brusquely, still scanning the room for a medic.

27

“Sir. It’s important,” an officer said. “There is something you need to see.”

“Damnit, fine.” He locked his eyes on Ty. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Ty watched as the officer led Ronan by the arm over to the Hummer. The tightness in his face and bulging veins in his forehead told Ty that something was wrong.

At the rear of the car, the hatchback trunk had a large dent in the middle and several spiderweb cracks in the glass. The officer reached up and put his hand against the door.

Ty stepped closer until he could discern the words being spoken. “…when we searched,” the officer said, “we noticed the door wasn’t tightly shut. At first, we thought the force of the collision knocked it loose.”

The officer paused. Ty could imagine the impatience crossing Ronan’s face.

“And what about it?” Ronan asked.

“We opened it and found this.”

When the officer pulled the hatch open, activity around the vehicle ceased.

“Oh, my God,” Ronan blurted out.

Ty took another step toward the open trunk. Inside, they saw the body of Sarah Gilmore.

28

5 Ronan heard a gasp behind him. He turned to find Ty standing behind him, mouth agape, the color drained from his face.

“Ty. Step back.”

Ty froze, unable to move or speak.

“Ty. Step. Back. Please.”

Ty stumbled backward and Ronan found a cop standing nearby. “Please take him,” Ronan said, sounding like a parent pawning off his child on someone in authority. “He needs medical treatment. I need him away from here. Now!” The officer grabbed Ty by the arm and led him away. Ty resisted and tried looking back.

Once Ty was out of sight, Ronan pulled the flashlight from his utility belt and shined it on the bed of the trunk. The scene was unimaginable.

Ronan recognized the face. He had seen her picture on Ty’s cell phone and his social media pages: pictures of the two of them goofing off during a shift or sharing food during a lunch break. But Sarah Gilmore looked very different now.

Her body had been butchered. Her hands and ankles were bound with zip-ties. Two large pools of blood seeped around the body. She had been stabbed repeatedly. Her throat had been slashed, a dark, jagged cut that indicated the killer had done it quickly and without thought. Her blouse had been ripped and she had been stabbed through both breasts. Her panties had been removed and the inside crotch between her legs had been knifed 29

repeatedly; gutted like a fish. There were so many stab wounds and so much blood and organ and tissue matter exposed that Ronan couldn’t tell where one knife wound ended and where another began. Sarah’s eyes were fixed, open and vacant. The blood vessels in one eye had all burst, coloring her pupils with the dark stain of blood.

Ronan felt bile rise up in his throat. He spun around, bent over, and puked. He wiped his mouth with the back of his arm.

The last time he’d seen Sarah, she was concerned for her life.

Now, her life was over. The sting of seeing her body lying in that trunk like a slaughtered animal made Ronan roil with anger.

Ronan placed his hands on his knees and took in a deep breath then exhaled slowly. He repeated this several times before standing and collecting himself. The trunk reeked of decayed tissue and death. A forensic technician began snapping pictures.

Ronan murmured, “I’m sorry, Sarah. I’m so sorry.”

A hand tapped Ronan on the shoulder. “Sergeant.”

Ronan glanced over to see the same officer that had escorted Ty to an ambulance now holding a cell phone inches from his face.

Exasperated, Ronan managed an official greeting. “This is McCullough.”

The voice on the other end was familiar. “What is going on over there?”

Eric Bonamico’s words crackled through the phone.

“I’d like an answer to the same question. Where are you?”

“Just a second.” Eric’s voice was muffled on the phone as he spoke to someone. The volume returned to his voice when he said, “I’m over here on McCorkle Avenue in the Laury’s Restaurant building. An Amtrak engineer reported seeing a body on the walkway under the Southside Bridge ramp. A male, shot in the head, point-blank, probably at close range. No identification.”

“Great,” Ronan said. “I’d offer some help, but I’m a little busy at the moment.”

Ronan turned to see a silver police Ford Explorer turning up from Leon Sullivan Way, driving right up into the plaza of the Clay Center.

30

“Ashby’s here.”

“Good.” Then a pause. “What in the hell happened over there? The police scanner has been going nuts all night.”

Ronan filled Eric in on the details, including Ty’s role and his concern for his boyfriend’s health.

“Jesus. They found that Gilmore girl in the trunk, too.”

“Yeah. It’s one of the worst bodies I’ve ever seen.”

Eric took in a deep breath and let the air wheeze out. It created more static on the line.

“You okay?”

Ronan thought for a moment. “I’m alright. Just a little sore, but no broken bones.”

“Good. Listen, Sean is over here, but once the scene is secure, he’ll want to head over to the Center.”

For once, the thought of Sean Carter’s presence at a crime scene brought comfort. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but we need him.”

“Keep me posted, okay?”

“I will, Bonamico.”

Ronan ended the call and passed the cell phone back to the officer. He watched as Captain Ron Ashby, with his trademark gait, marched up the concrete plaza of the Clay Center. He also noted the location of the police Explorer.

When he turned, he nearly collided with the guard that had assisted him with the discovery of the body in the Hummer.

With his arm in a sling, he flashed a small smile at Ronan. Ronan nodded as a paramedic wrapped a blanket around the guard and led him away.

Ronan walked back to the wrecked vehicle. The engine had been killed, which only intensified the already somber mood.

The forensics team and other officers had all the doors open, searching for clues and evidence.

When Ronan went back to the driver’s side, the body of Jacob Collier rested in the same place, waiting on Coroner Althea Curtis and her team to arrive. The panel light on the ceiling of the car gave Ronan a clearer view.

31

He studied the position of the victim’s hands and feet.

His focus then moved to the shards of broken glass scattered throughout the interior, resembling pellets of ice. Ronan made a mental note of their position, then looked to the driver’s side window. It was free of shattered glass.

With a gloved hand, Ronan reached into the console of the car and pushed a button. A slow, grinding sound emitted, just what Ronan wanted to hear.

He spun on a heel and walked back to the hole in the Clay Center wall.

Ronan nearly ran over Captain Ashby.

“McCullough…” Ashby blurted out in his gravelly voice.

Ronan ignored him and stared out onto the plaza.

“I know how that car got here.”

32

6 Captain Ashby asked, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“I think we need to get you looked at.”

Ronan shook his head. “Not necessary.”

“Fine, then. Now, explain the theory one more time.”

Ronan had again pulled on latex gloves so he would not contaminate the crime scene with his fingerprints. He pointed to the position of Jacob Collier’s hands.

“A cadaveric spasm,” Ronan explained. “It’s a spasm of death that occurs in a violent death under extreme physical circumstances.”

Ashby glanced at Ronan, then back to the body. “Since we don’t know the exact time of death, how can we be sure the position of this man’s hands and feet are not caused by rigor mortis?”

Ashby had asked a good question and Ronan had not considered it. In moments like these, Ronan appreciated having Captain Ashby around. When Ronan first arrived as a patrolman on the Charleston Police Department 20 years ago, the previous Captain, Gene Frost, preferred to run operations and investigations from police headquarters. Ron Ashby was not afraid to go into the field with his officers, especially if a serious crime had taken place. Ronan was glad he was here.

Captain Ashby was tall and broad-shouldered with dark, wiry hair and heavy, thick eyebrows offset by a stern chin, his 33

long nose slightly crooked, like it had been broken several times and left to its imperfections.

Ashby was a lifelong Charleston resident. After serving in Vietnam, he returned home and exchanged his army uniform for that of a patrol officer’s. Sharp and stern, but always fair, he rose quickly through the ranks to hold the position of captain for the past ten years. Ronan didn’t always agree with Ashby, but he respected him for considering all sides of an issue before rendering a decision.

Although Captain Ashby signed off on the recommendation that Chief Toler suspend him for 90 days for violating department policies and protocols after the Krok murders in September, Ronan was glad to have his experience and insight now.

“When I investigated car accidents my first years on the force, I saw this a number of times. A car would swerve into another lane and hit an unsuspecting driver. That driver, overcome with fear and with no way out, would often tense up right before impact and the body would stay frozen in that position after the collision.”

“He’s right,” said the firm, calm voice of a woman. Ronan and Ashby turned together to see Kanawha County Corner, Dr. Althea Curtis.

“What, no hello?”

Althea Curtis had been the lead county coroner for over 25 years.

“I thought you retired in December,” Ronan quipped.

Dressed in dark black slacks, boots and a dark shirt, Althea Curtis seemed out of place as Kanawha County Coroner. She had a shapely figure, shiny dark skin, slender eyebrows, and a soothing voice. A spinster by choice, Althea was the type Ronan would want his best friend to marry.

Althea lowered her eyes to the black bag on the floor then raised them again. Three younger-looking men, dressed in the same dark clothing, emerged from behind her and fanned out across the atrium.

“And miss out on all this fun? Not a chance. Ronan is right.

When John F. Kennedy was assassinated, one of the reasons 34

given for his head moving backward after the fatal shot was from a cadaveric spasm. Kurt Cobain also had a tight grip on the gun he used to kill himself when police arrived. This is known to happen.”

Ronan took his gaze from Althea and swung it over to Ashby.

Eyes the color of sea glass gleamed back behind square-framed glasses. An odd inner light had always filled his eyes as if to signal something important only he knew. “So, what do we have here?”

Althea pointed to the body of Sarah Gilmore, still lying in the trunk of the Hummer in a heap. The stab wounds and lacerations on her skin had clotted, and the river of blood underneath her body was staunched.

Ronan explained what happened up until now. Captain Ashby folded his arms and listened as he stared at the body.

“There was intent here,” the captain said. “A person isn’t cut up like this unless the killer wanted her to suffer.”

Althea removed a notebook from her case and began making notes. A beat passed before she spoke to Ronan. “So, you were the first responder?”

“Basically, yes.”

Ashby cut in. “McCullough thinks the driver was shot before the crash.

Althea stopped writing to look at Ronan. “The driver was shot before the crash?”

“In the side of the head. At close range, I think.”

“Does the body have a name?”

“Jacob Collier. Age 38, according to his driver’s license.”

Althea’s attention left Ronan and returned to the notepad.

“When I came upon Collier’s body,” Ronan continued, “the hands were still gripped tightly around the steering wheel and his foot was still pressed on the accelerator pedal.”

“What causes it, physically speaking?” Ashby asked.

“The cause is unknown,” Althea answered, “but intense emotion can trigger such a reaction. When it does happen, it occurs in violent deaths when the victim is under extreme physical and emotional strain.”

35

Ronan stepped back to look up at the mangled ceiling that had been ripped apart after the wreck. “I would call this situation extreme.”

“Before we go any further,” Althea interjected, “I need to see his body.” She paused and dropped her gaze to Sarah Gilmore’s mutilated body, then continued. “And we need to get this one secured and removed. The fact that there are scene hazards here, with a collapsing structure, crowd control and possible electrical problems and gas leaks, I am going to need the body removed before the investigation can continue.” She faced the captain.

“As the lead commanding officer on the scene, is that okay?”

“Fine with me.”

Althea gave a curt nod. “Good. I’ll get to work.”

She motioned for the men to step aside.

“So, McCullough, how does your theory play into all of this?”

Ronan led the captain back to the gash in the wall. The air was bracing. The clear sky had taken on an inky darkness.

Morning would come soon and the dark of night would proceed into the dawn of another day.

He placed a hand on the captain’s shoulders. In the dim light, they could just make out the pavement on Leon Sullivan Way, but the police had blocked off all entry and exit points around the Clay Center, diverting traffic.

“I was standing in the middle of the atrium when that Hummer came up the plaza. Based on the speed it was traveling and the straight path, I think the driver was shot when in front of the building, maybe at the stoplight where Leon Sullivan Way connects with Virginia Street.”

Ashby folded his arms again. “Go on.”

“If Jacob Collier had a cadaveric spasm, it likely occurred before the car came onto the property. But once it happened, the Hummer had a clear line into the building. Other than some light posts outside the atrium here, there are no strong barricades facing outward onto Leon Sullivan Way to keep a vehicle from traveling at high speed.”

Ashby nodded. “Point taken. So then, what was the motive?”

36

“I don’t know,” Ronan replied. “Collier was still wearing a watch after the crash. His wallet had seventy-two dollars in cash and all of his credit cards were untouched.”

Ashby nodded. “So robbery wasn’t a motive.”

“I think Jacob knew the killer.”

Ashby shot him a quick look. “Why?” “Shattered glass covers the cab of the car, but none around the driver’s side window. I pressed the button to raise the window; the glass was intact.”

The captain set his jaw. “So Jacob saw something or someone and lowered it.”

“I think so.”

The captain studied the skies for a moment. “But what doesn’t make sense is how Sarah Gilmore’s body ended up in the trunk of the Hummer. Did Jacob kill her?”

“Maybe he was the transport,” Ronan said, stepping around to face the captain. “Maybe there was going to be a payout or the body dump site had been changed. If Jacob did kill her, someone might have silenced him before he could leak anything.”

Ashby furrowed his brow. “What we have are more questions than answers.” His eyes searched Ronan’s. “You look like hell.”

Ronan felt like it, too. For the first time since the crash, the adrenaline that had kept him moving and the alert was dissipating. Ronan was bleary-eyed and his jaw went slack.

“I need to…”

“Go home,” the captain ordered. Before Ronan could object, his boss held up a hand. “It’s not open for discussion. American Electric Power is going to cut off the electric to the building soon and Columbia Gas has already shut off the gas. I’ve asked for the Kanawha County Sheriff’s department and the state police to assist with securing the perimeter while we process the scene.

Get some sleep. We can handle it from here.”

The use of “we” meant the investigation would be handed over to Sean Carter. The thought made Ronan want to spit. Sean would charge in with his heavy-handed, close-minded attitude and most likely steer the investigation his way, regardless of the evidence.

37

Ronan was exhausted. But his sense of duty silenced any thoughts of rest. Ronan needed to check on Ty first Ahead, Ronan could see news vans from WSAZ, WCHS, and WOWK television stations pulling up onto the plaza.

He prepared to walk away when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

“Sergeant. We ran the plates on the hummer.”

The officer stuck a piece of paper at Ronan. Ashby arched an eyebrow.

“What does it say?”

Ronan read the information, blinked and read it again.

“The Hummer is not registered to Jacob Collier.”

38

7 Ronan considered ignoring the order given by Captain Ashby. On the drive back to Kanawha City, all he wanted to do was let someone else take control. He sat up in the seat of his truck. His police uniform was a soot-splotched, matted mess and the usual shine of his sergeant’s shield pinned to his left breast resembled an ordinary piece of metal.

When the truck pulled into the driveway of his Kanawha Avenue home, Ronan took a breath to collect himself. In the rearview mirror, his face bore a sullen pallor and the dark circles under his eyes showed a lack of sleep.

Ronan climbed out to watch the sun rise over the mountainous horizon across the Kanawha River. The biting chill was gone and the remaining cold didn’t gnaw at his bones. The sky was painted in shades of red and pink. The sharp prongs of the naked trees on the mountaintops jutted upward to poke the coloredbanded sky.

Inside the house was quiet. Ronan could hear Nick snoring from the bedroom upstairs. He remembered his nephew telling him that today, he had morning classes at Charleston State College, so the house would soon be alive with activity.

After taking off his tattered uniform, Ronan went into the garage and placed the clothing in the laundry basket. Although it was probably unsalvageable, Ronan wanted to see it cleaned and pressed before he made a final decision.

39

Ronan regarded himself for a moment, staring at the small mirror above the basket. His brown close-cropped hair matched his taught, weathered face, which had to show care and fear at the same time each day. Both arms and sections of his thickset torso and legs were speckled with scars and cuts from 20 years of working undercover in the Metro Drug Unit and the Criminal Investigations Division for the Charleston Police Department.

Looking at himself in the mirror always humbled Ronan; he sometimes wondered why Ty would want to be with an older, haggard Charleston, West Virginia police sergeant.

He traipsed into the kitchen, swallowed two beers and a large slice of cold lasagna, then went upstairs to check on Nick.

He was still snoring, with the covers pulled all the way up over his head. He resembled a caterpillar inside its cocoon. Ronan went down the hall, cracked open the bedroom door, and found Ty sound asleep. Ronan hadn’t expected him home so soon and hadn’t seen papers in the kitchen or hallway indicating Ty had seen a physician or had been prescribed medication.

Ty stirred as Ronan removed his undershirt and underwear.

Ronan could make out the outline of a gauze bandage as he padded to the shower. The warm water and soap soothed his body and rinsed away all physical traces of what had been an awful day.

In the steam, Ronan lathered his hair and skin, standing under the pulsing water, motionless. While the streaming water released his tension, the voices and images from the events at the Clay Center banged around in his head.

Ronan dried off and climbed into bed with Ty. The high thread-count sheets felt soft and comforting as he slipped under the covers. Ty lay on his side; Ronan pulled him close. Ty’s body melded into Ronan’s.

Ty murmured a protest, but settled into Ronan’s embrace.

Ronan wrapped an arm around Ty’s chest, stroking a nipple with his thumb. Ty wasn’t overly muscular, but his body was tight and taut, the outline of muscle apparent in Ronan’s every touch.

Ty had showered and smelled clean and amazing.

Ronan lowered his lips into a slightly damp thatch of dark hair and kissed Ty’s head. Taking his free hand, he lightly stroked 40

the flawless skin of Ty’s shoulder, tracing the length of his arm until they interlocked hands.

Ronan finally felt at peace. He was home with the man he loved, and the outside world seemed miles away. The bliss of silence overtook him.

When Ronan woke, Ty was gone. Groggy, Ronan scrambled to remember the day and time.

Ronan took the stairs, clutching the banister as he descended.

The filtered sunlight beamed through the glass windows in the front room of the house. Ronan was now reluctantly awake.

He turned at the bottom of the stairs, listening. When he arrived at the living room, Ronan found Ty shirtless, curled up on the couch.

“Ty.” Ty jerked up, snapped out of his reverie by the sound of his name. When he saw Ronan, his face relaxed.

“I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t want to disturb you, so I got up and came downstairs.”

Ronan didn’t wait for him to say more. He charged across the room and embraced Ty, kissing the place between his neck and jawline.

Ty returned the emotion as his hand slid down to Ronan’s butt, stroking it.

“I love you,” Ronan whispered in his ear.

Ty pulled back. He attempted a wide smile, but it conjured a grimace.

“What is it? Did they check you at the hospital?”

“I’m fine,” Ty replied. “No concussion. The hospital declared a Code 2 Trauma emergency due to those injured at the Clay Center, so they didn’t need me. I was disoriented and the charge nurse on duty sent me home.”

“You deserve some time off. The help you provided those people…it could’ve been a lot worse.” Ronan stepped closer and cupped both hands on his round shoulders. “I’m just glad you’re safe.”

Ty moved away from Ronan, taking hard steps across the living room. He scooped up their laptop computer, cradled it in his arms for a moment, and pressed a button.

41

Ty came back to Ronan and turned the computer around so it was facing him. “There’s this, too.”

The screen displayed the website of WCHS TV-8. Its headline made Ronan sick and dizzy at the same time.

Butchered body of young woman found inside wrecked car at Clay Center.

Ronan collapsed the computer lid. “Ty…” “I want to know,” Ty said, a thrum of anger in his usually smooth voice, “when you were going to tell me about Sarah.”

“Ty, please don’t be angry.”

That was the wrong request. Ty spun around and pointed a finger at Ronan.

“I have every right to be angry. Sarah was my colleague, my friend. If it weren’t for her, I’m not sure I could’ve managed everything that happened in the ER by myself.”

“Yes, you would have managed, because you are an excellent nurse and compassionate towards others.”

Ty held up a hand. “Please, Ronan. Don’t patronize me. Not now. And don’t try to change the subject.”

“I’m not.”

Ty marched over and stuck his finger back in Ronan’s face.

“You had no right to keep her murder from me. I should’ve been told.”

Ronan pressed his lips tightly together and looked away. Ty leaned in closer.

“Is that why you wanted me to be taken to the hospital? So I wouldn’t find out what happened to Sarah?”

“Ty…” Ty elevated his voice. “When was I going to be told about her murder?”

Ronan sighed. Ty had good reason to be upset, and he had few good excuses. “Ty, I was going to tell you…”

“When?”

“Certainly not after half the damn roof of the Clay Center fell on everybody.”

“Don’t deflect.”

Those two words made Ronan bristle. He grew defensive when being accused of stalling.

42

Ronan bit the inside of his lip. “Am I being blamed somehow for what happened to Sarah?”

“No, Ronan,” Ty said. His voice returned to its even, calm level. “I’m mad because this was kept from me. I hate it when you keep things from me.”

Ty brushed past Ronan and paced the living room. He stopped and stood to look out the living room window onto the sloped hillside behind the house that led to the boat dock and glistening Kanawha River.

Ty was right. Ronan knew it, too.

Ty folded his arms and Ronan stepped behind him.

“Sarah had been working for that BTech Company.”

Ronan put his arms on Ty’s shoulders and whirled him around. “What? When?”

“A few months after everything that happened with Krok and the staff in the ER were overrun and overwhelmed with treating patients.”

Hearing the word Krok made Ronan’s throat clench. Krok, the slang term for the drug desomorphine, is a synthetic opioid.

When injected intravenously, scaly, green sores develop near the injection sites. The mixture of codeine and hydrochloric acid produces such severe tissue damage that it causes injury to the veins in the body. The drug is cheap to make and once people become addicted, people will pay anything for it and poorer people will do whatever they can to make sure they have money to buy it.

Six months earlier, a drug syndicate from Michigan brought Krok to Charleston and pushed the drug on the community, targeting mostly drug addicts and college students. That drug, and the people that used it and pushed it, nearly cost Ronan his life. Ty was caught in the middle of the investigation, along with Ronan’s sister Melissa and his nephew Nick. It was a time Ronan had tried to forget, but couldn’t.

“Sarah was a great person: kind, smart, funny. I couldn’t have made it through those long nights of treating Krok patients without her. She had a way of keeping the rest of the nurses and the rest of the staff focused and calm. But she’d grown tired of 43

working in the ER and was looking for a change. She had been following the BTech Company for a while on the Internet and when the company announced they were coming to Charleston, Sarah told me she was going to try and work there.”

Ronan let the comment hang in the air. “Did she say why she wanted to work there, specifically?”

“Not really. Just that she thought they were going to revolutionize the way diseases were diagnosed and triggered.”

Ty paused and drew in a breath.

“Those were the final weeks of the fundraising campaign, Ronan, and I didn’t have time to ask questions.” His face grew dim. “I wish I had taken the time.”

Ty lowered his head; then it sprang back up. “I’m going to find out what happened.”

The comment caught Ronan by surprise. “What?”

“I don’t know. I can ask questions. Talk to Dr. Metzger…”

“That’s not a good idea, Ty. Let us handle the investigation.

I promise we will find out what happened to her.”

Ty scoffed. “Do the police have any leads?”

Ronan swallowed hard. “Not yet. Give it time.”

The dark pupils in Ty’s eyes grew small. “Too late. Sarah is out of time and her killer is on the loose.”

Ty turned back to stare out the window. Ronan came up behind him and wrapped his arms around Ty’s chest, pulling him close. Ty’s skin felt warm and smooth under his grip. Ronan held Ty as if he never wanted to let go. Ronan nuzzled his neck and kissed the soft spot under his ear.

Ty leaned into Ronan. Ronan kissed him again. Ronan felt wet tears stain his face.

“They butchered her, Ronan,” Ty said, his tone dejected.

“Like an animal.”

Ronan inhaled, breathing Ty’s scent. “I know. And I’m sorry.

I promise,” he whispered. “I will do whatever I can to catch her killer.”

Ty ran his hands across Ronan’s forearms. “I know.”

“Just don’t put yourself in the middle of this. Be vigilant, but don’t get involved.”

44

Ty chuckled. “This coming from the only cop I know that never backs down from anything.”

Ty was right again. Ronan didn’t know if that statement was meant to be complimentary.

As they spent a few more moments enjoying the embrace, the doorbell rang.

It was a shrill sound and much more grating than a normal doorbell. Ty leaned his head back and gave Ronan a questioning look.

He leaned down and kissed Ty softly on the lips. “I’ll get it.”

Ty playfully slapped his arm as Ronan broke the hold. Ronan made his way across the expansive main floor to the front door, where he recognized the figure through the thin pane of glass that looked out onto the driveway.

When Ronan pulled the door back, Eric Bonamico started talking immediately.

“Pete Linville called. The results from the blood tests taken from those thugs we arrested at the South Ruffner safehouse are in. You’re gonna want to see this!”

45

8 Ronan agreed to accompany Eric to the West Virginia State Police Crime Lab in South Charleston. He was eager to hear the news of the blood analysis, but he was more interested in talking to Pete Linville about BTech.

Eric sped through the Kanawha Avenue residential neighborhood, barely tapping the brakes as they approached each stop sign bisecting the interconnected streets.

Ronan hadn’t said much to his friend since tossing on his dark, long-sleeved sweater, slacks, and Birkenstock boots. He managed to clip on his shield and grab his Glock, sliding the handgun into the holster until it was wedged tightly into the leather. Bonamico acknowledged Ty briefly and then rushed Ronan out the door.

Eric finally looked over at Ronan and smiled. “I’m glad you’re okay.” The solidly built full-blooded Italian with a swoop of disheveled black hair, round brown eyes and a rumpled gray suit filled up the car seat. He smiled at Ronan; his teeth blindingly white.

Ronan stared out the window of the Ford Escape. The sun had been swallowed up by thickening clouds, resembling a thick carpet of grey, and that hung low and vast over the horizon.

As the car ascended the slight slope of Interstate 64 past the Kauffman Avenue Bridge, the shining golden dome of the state capitol building in Charleston disappeared into the white. Ronan thought the changing landscape mirrored his mood.

46

“Where’s Carter?”

Ronan didn’t really like Sean Carter, the chief of detectives for the Charleston Police Department. Ronan resented the fact that Sean obtained his position from political connections.

Several years earlier, Sean’s father, the former mayor, called in a favor to help Sean gain a chance to crack open a cold case and make a high-profile arrest involving a man that had raped and strangled a woman in the parking garage at the Charleston Town Center Mall. The resulting arrest and some heavy political pressure put on the department by Sean’s father catapulted Sean to the chief of detective’s position.

“Investigating,” Eric answered. “Ashby told him everything you said. Dr. Curtis had the bodies removed and the car is going to be towed out of the building this morning.”

Ronan pulled his head away from the passing scene and let it fall back against the headrest. “Did you get a look at the bodies?”

“No. Sean and I drove directly over from the Amtrak station.

Ashby said the bodies were in bad shape, especially the girl.”

Ronan sighed. “Bad doesn’t even begin to describe it.”

Eric glanced over at Ronan, and then back to the road.

“The first responders were all praising Ty.” The comment made Ronan smile. “He’s amazing.”

“Saved a lot of people.”

“I know.”

“Not to intrude, but things seemed a little off when I stopped by. Everything okay?”

Eric could always sense tension between Ronan and Ty. Asking Ronan questions about his relationship with Ty in public was always risky, due to the hyper-masculine culture at the police department. Ronan’s sexuality would not be welcomed or tolerated by his colleagues and superiors. Ronan and Eric had heard all of the jokes and innuendoes. A gay police sergeant working for the largest municipal police department in a state right in the heart of Appalachia was unfathomable. Eric Bonmico had kept Ronan’s secret for a long time and it solidified their partnership and friendship.

Ronan felt a dull headache beginning to sink in. He rubbed his eyes with his fingertips.

47

“Yeah, it’s tense. Ty was friends with Sarah Gilmore. I had him taken away before he could see her body. I didn’t want him to remember her like that.” Ronan paused. “Fuck, nobody should have to remember seeing a body looking like that.”

“I remember she worked in the ER at Charleston Mercy. I thought Ty might know her.”

Ronan nodded.

“That’s why I stopped by. This gives us a chance to talk.”

Ronan turned in the seat until he was facing Eric.

“Okay. What is it?”

“It’s about the body we found lying across the railroad tracks near the Laury’s building.”

Ronan leaned in. “I’m listening.”

Eric raised a hand up off the steering wheel, signaling he had an important point to make. When we arrived at the scene, there was no ID on the body.”

“What was the evidence at the scene?”

“Not much,” Eric replied. “No signs of a struggle. No defensive wounds on the victim. Guy was shot in the head.”

“Any bullet casings?”

“None, except for the symmetrically perfect bullet hole that hit him between the eyes. Probably from a .45 caliber.”

“Was the vic surprised?”

“I’m not sure. The body was found in a crumpled heap next to the railroad tracks, just under the Southside Bridge ramp. My guess is he was facing north, past the building. With the way the shadows manipulate the light overhead, it’s likely he was looking at his killer, but maybe not suspecting he’d be shot.”

“How long?”

“Coroner estimates the body had been cold for about fourteen hours.”

Ronan let out a long breath. “The driver of the Hummer that slammed into the Clay Center was also shot in the side of the head.”

“Three murders, all within twenty-four hours,” Eric said, letting the thought hang in the silence.

“Jesus.”

48

A long silence passed between them as Eric weaved in and out of the five lanes of traffic that lined the bridge across the Kanawha River. At the left, Ronan saw Charleston Civic Center poking through the white haze. Eric banked the car hard to the right as they came around the curve from the bridge and the downtown skyline melted away behind them.

“We questioned the suspects we arrested at the South Ruffner house. One of the perps, a kid named Josh Vitelli, was very forthcoming. He gave us a lot of names and details.”

“Did he lawyer up?”

Eric shook his head. “He said he just wanted everything to be over.”

Ronan crossed his arms, a sudden chill overtaking him. “I don’t want to see another kid’s life ruined by drugs and violence.

He keeps using and dealing and it will be over for him.”

Eric tapped on the brakes as they veered off on exit 55, heading to South Charleston. “I hope Pete can match the DNA to the vials of blood we found.”

Ronan worked his jaw silently.

Eric sensed that his partner was turning something over in his mind. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit. Something is bothering you.”

Ronan sat back hard into the seat. “I met Richard Metzger at the Clay Center party.”

As the car came to a stop at the end of the exit ramp, Eric blinked at Ronan.

“Sorry. He’s the doc heading up BTech operations at Charleston Mercy.”

“And…” “Something about him I don’t like. He’s too smooth. It’s almost as if he’s too intelligent.”

Eric laughed. “I like my doctors to be intelligent.”

They had reached the parking lot of the West Virginia State Police barracks. Eric sprang out of the car and Ronan climbed out to follow. Breaking away, Ronan headed for the encased glass doors at the front of the building when Eric waved him back.

49

“Where are you going?” Ronan called out.

Eric spoke over his shoulder, “I never go that way. I always enter through the back.”

As they reached the steel emergency exit door, Pete Linville burst through, almost as if he had been watching them from afar.

The waif-like criminalist’s long white coat billowed around him as warm air escaped out the door behind him.

“Hello. Nice to see you both; this won’t take long. The blood samples revealed nothing.”

50

9 “I looked at the blood and examined it closely. I found nothing.”

Pete Linville led Eric and Ronan through a swinging glass door into a cinder block room full of conspicuously empty lab tables. A state-of-the-art mass spectrometer, the jewel of the lab, always prominent on the main table in the middle of the room, was also missing.

“Test it again,” Ronan demanded, an edge to his voice.

Pete whipped his head around. His long, slender nose accentuated a square face. His skin was pasty-white and pockmarked. His oily black hair was combed to the side in an exaggerated way that resembled the look on his face. “I beg your pardon.”

Eric cut in. “Ronan…”

“Just a second. I saw the charred skin and the blistered track marks on one of the men we arrested at that house. He admitted to using Krok. That shit should show up on a blood test.”

Pete held up a finger. “Right. Yes, well, I did test the blood. I screened it using Enzyme Multiplied Immunoassay Technique and positive results are always confirmed using Gas Chromatography Mass Spectrometry. Other than traces of Hepatitis C in one of the vials, which is not uncommon in needle drug users, the blood was clean. It did match the DNA swabs collected at the police station, but I am afraid that’s all I can say.”

51

Ronan observed the quiet lab room, devoid of people and equipment. “It doesn’t look to me like any testing of anything is being done here.”

Eric gave Ronan a disapproving stare.

Ronan interpreted the meaning behind the look. “I’m sorry, Pete. I appreciate all you’ve done. It’s just so damn frustrating.”

“So these idiots were known drug dealers and users, but the blood is clean and doesn’t match them,” Ronan said rhetorically.

A long silence ensued.

Eric broke in. “Pete, we didn’t find needles, syringes, gauze, or any other supplies in the safe house. Could the drugs have passed through their systems naturally?”

Pete tilted his head in thought and responded, “It’s possible, but it would depend on the time and frequency of use. But it was mostly clean.”

Eric tapped his foot and asked, “Any other ideas as to why the blood was clean?”

“What the hell is going on?” Ronan asked.

Pete said, “I’m afraid those are questions I cannot answer.

Those answers will have to come from BTech. They will soon be handling all crime lab work.”

“I don’t understand.” Eric had always warned Ronan about Pete’s lack of social graces. Not one for small talk, Pete preferred as little human interaction as possible, because it cut into his lab time.

Ronan said, “I mean here, with the crime lab. All the work is going to be contracted to BTech now? Why? How?” Pete walked across the chipped tile floor, his head down as if to compose his thoughts.

“The state is facing a four-hundred-and-fifty-million-dollar budget deficit next year and it’s projected to grow to six-hundredmillion the following year. Those deficits greeted the legislature when they convened in January. They must have a budget passed

by March and the state can’t operate at a deficit.”

Ronan watched his eyes flicker as he spoke. “This lab provides free forensic testing for all fifty-five counties in the state.

We see nearly 7,000 cases each year. I have the responsibility 52

of keeping up with the blood samples that come in from drug and alcohol DUI cases. Four years ago, I handled three-hundred cases a year. Now, I have 1,300 cases to contend with.” Pete let out a long breath. “This lab is behind on everything. DUI cases, for example.”

Ronan leaned back against the wall. “Compared to drugs, who gives a shit about DUI’s?”

Pete gave Ronan a long look. The look sparked a thought.

“But they only have a certain amount of time to be prosecuted,” Ronan noted.

“Precisely,” Pete said, holding up a finger. “Right now, we are having a hard time meeting those deadlines and dozens of those cases are being dismissed across the state due to a lack of evidence from this lab.”

Eric walked across the room to stand behind Pete. Sensing his presence, Pete spun on a heel and moved away to allow space between the men.

“And if I’m an investigator,” Eric added, crossing his arms, “and I am waiting for this lab to provide something for me to use as an investigative lead, then my hands are tied.”

Pete nodded quickly. “Yes, that’s right.”

Ronan stroked his chin. “And this also makes crime victims nervous, because if you need evidence tested and processed to arrest and prosecute a suspect…” “…you are going to be waiting for a while,” Pete concluded.

“Jesus,” Ronan sighed, shaking his head. “What a mess.”

Eric asked, “Pete, what would it take to fix the problem and get things moving again?”

“Our director estimated we would need an extra $1.3 million from the state. Our lab could then hire ten extra lab technicians. That would not eliminate the backlog of work, but it would be a good start. Right now we’ve been relying on interns. That girl who was killed, Sarah, did a brief clinical here a few months ago. I didn’t know her well, but I recognized her name on the news.”

Eric and Ronan exchanged glances. Eric removed a notepad from his pocket and scribbled a note.

53

Pete cleared his throat. “Yes, well, our legislature made the deal with BTech. When BTech announced their decision to locate a research lab in Charleston, they began examining them more closely.” He pulled open a file cabinet drawer. He leaned his head deep into the drawer. “Oh, here it is.” He pulled out a file and offered it to Eric. “Here is the official report on the blood samples.”

Eric nodded and took the folder. He rested against a lab table and began flipping through the pages.

Ronan let Pete get settled before continuing. “What do you know about BTech?”

“Not much. Between trying to keep my job and watching my colleagues leave the area for other jobs, I’ve been doing my best to keep up with the work.” Pete closed the file cabinet drawer and turned to face Ronan.

“They are on the cutting edge of science,” Pete said. “Their CEO was one of ‘Time Magazine’s 100 Most Influential People’ last year.

Ronan was unimpressed. “Have you met Dr. Metzger, the man in charge of the Charleston lab?”

Pete nodded. “Briefly. He came here last month after the rumors about BTech started to surface. He assured us that part of the contracting of crime lab testing with the state included our being offered positions with the new company.”

Ronan asked, “Did you take the offer?”

“No.” The phone in Ronan’s pocket chirped. He pulled it out and glanced at the screen. The call was from Nick.

Nick, Ronan’s nephew, had shown up in Charleston and on Ronan’s doorstep in August. The product of a one-night stand between Ronan’s sister Melissa, and her deadbeat boyfriend, Nick had been living a pampered life with Melissa and her realestate mogul husband Bruce Copeland in Florida. Bruce never cared for Nick and after a huge fight during dinner one night, Nick took off on a Greyhound bus for Charleston, West Virginia.

Ronan had no idea how to relate well to an eighteen-yearold college freshman and he often wondered if he would ever be able to do it.

54

Ronan clicked a button on the side of the phone, which stopped the chirping and set it on silent mode.

Ronan pursed his lips. “What did you think of Dr. Metzger?”

Eric closed the folder, eyeing Ronan with suspicion.

Pete answered. “He is a man of science. He’s trying to take a high-tech approach to blood-testing. They offer hundreds of fast, cheap and accurate blood tests, using a few drops of blood rather than vials. It’s an evolving science.”

A revelation overtook Ronan. “BTech is going to corner the market.”

“Precisely.”

Ronan directed his gaze over at Eric. “That report match what Pete says?”

“Matches exactly.” Eric placed a hand on Pete’s shoulder, asking, “What will you do, Pete?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I am a scientist. I can always find work.”

He walked over to the doors separating the lab from the back-door hallway and pushed one open, motioning for Ronan and Eric to step through.

“I’m sad, gentlemen, and although this is an ending, there will be a new beginning.” Pete smiled at them, although the attempt seemed forced, and Ronan could see his eyes glisten.

A beat passed. “Well, if I can be of further assistance…”

“We appreciate it, Pete,” Eric said, shivering as they stepped out of the warm hallway back into the chilly air. He added, “If we can put in a word for you anywhere…”

Pete held up a hand. “I appreciate it, gentlemen.”

Eric headed off as Ronan stepped outside. Pete closed and secured the exit door. *** As Ronan came down the ramp, Eric was already in the car and had keyed the ignition. The thin white plume of exhaust smoke curled and wafted around the car.

55

Someone called out Ronan’s name. Ronan looked around, the washed out grey sky turning everything near the barracks a milky-white.

The large, looming figure of Braxton Campbell cut through the haze. He wore a camel-brown overcoat that draped down to his shins and matched the color of his dress shoes. A purplestriped tie protruded from the opening at the top of the jacket.

Braxton held out a hand, which Ronan clasped. “Good to see you, Sergeant.”

“Likewise, counselor.”

“I’m here getting a police report for a client. Listen, I was hoping we could talk.”

Ronan nodded. “Make it quick. I’m busy.”

“I know.” He flashed Ronan a toothy grin. “Never a dull moment in our line of work.”

“I’m sorry, but I need to go. Bonamico is waiting for me.”

Braxton looked over at the car. Eric had turned on the headlights, a sure sign he was ready to leave.

“I could give you a ride?”

“You’re probably busy.”

“I am, but I bet we’re headed to the same place.”

Ronan arched an eyebrow. “Where’s that?”

“To the police station. I just got a call from someone asking for representation. They claim to be a witness to the shooting on Leon Sullivan Way. The shooting that happened before the truck slammed into the Clay Center.”

56

10 Ty removed the thermometer and checked the digital reading.

“101.4.”

Nine-year-old Jake Fisher squirmed as he slouched against the backrest of the exam table. “I don’t feel good,” he whined.

“I can see why.” Ty had already taken the boy’s blood pressure. He made some notes on the patient’s chart. Later, he would key the information into the mobile computers on moveable carts in the emergency room at Charleston Mercy Hospital. Ty always wrote his patient notes by hand first so that he could make changes or modifications to the information before they became an electronic record. Jake had strep throat.

“All done,” he said sprightly.

Jake appeared confused. “All done?”

“Yes. You did great!”

“Thanks,” Jake said. “It wasn’t so bad.”

Ty said goodbye to Jake and his mother. He checked the large clock face sticking out of the wall in the emergency room hallway. It read 6:00 p.m. Ty decided to take a break. There was someone he wanted to visit before continuing his shift.

Ty left the ER through the front entrance. When he came around the backside of the hospital, Ty found himself at the freshly paved concrete entrance leading to the new cancer wing for children. The steel handrail bolted to the steps had been painted a metallic blue, which matched the color scheme of the hospital.

57

Inside the entrance, he studied the placard mounted on the wall near the elevators. BTech Laboratories had rented the third floor of the new hospital wing as part of their arrangement after providing the final funding. Ty smoothed over his scrubs with both hands and stepped into the elevator.

When the doors opened on the third floor, Ty marveled at the grandeur of the corridor. The floor was marble and the walls had marble cladding. The cladding was topped with oak rails. Above the railing were wood and glass clerestories with a plaster wall finish. The corridor itself was wide and cavernous, and Ty felt like he had left the hospital and entered another world.

As he got closer, a security guard approached him. The guard wore a bullet-proof vest with a large gun wedged tightly into his leather holster. The man was brawny and thick. His hair was cropped in a flat-top and his face and neck looked like they had been chiseled from rock.

“No trespassers past this point,” he commanded, resting a meaty hand against Ty’s chest.

58

11 “I need to see Dr. Metzger. It’s important.”

The man gave Ty a cursory once-over. “Dr. Metzger doesn’t see visitors.”

“I need to speak with him. I don’t have an appointment, but it’s urgent.”

The guard puffed out his chest and wheezed a few breaths.

“I’m not going to repeat myself. Dr. Metzger does not see visitors.”

Ty just stared at him.

“I’m not leaving until I speak with him. The matter concerns one of his former employees, Sarah Gilmore.”

At the mention of her name, Ty saw something flicker in the man’s eyes. The guard stepped back a moment and pursed his lips. “Name?”

“Ty Andino. Dr. Metzger will remember me.”

The security guard removed a phone from his belt. He pecked at the numbers on the phone with his stubby fingers and then turned away. Ty overheard the man having a hushed conversation with one hand cradling the cell. The guard nodded a few times and then was silent. He ended the call and waved Ty forward.

“Dr. Metzger gave permission to let you pass.”

Ty walked behind the guard. At the end of the hall was a large steel door with an electronic keypad. The guard shielded 59

himself from Ty’s line of sight, input numbers, and then swiped a card through a slot in the device.

A green light blinked and the door bucked slightly. The guard used one hand to push back the steel door just far enough for Ty to slip past.

Ty opened another door with a narrow slit of glass in its center. He stepped inside a well-lit and brightly decorated lobby that resembled the waiting room of any doctor’s office or hospital. The door clicked shut behind him.

The room was octagonal and featured cast-stone walls over pink marble and a pink marble floor. A glass pendant light fixture hung down from the ceiling. The entire feel of the room was warm, soft, and inviting.

There was nowhere to sit, so Ty approached several of the closed doors and peeked through the windows. In one of the rooms, Ty noticed several computers and a network server bolted to the wall. Multiple strands of blue cords ran from the server to a multi-pronged plugged connection near the wall. Ty assumed this room was where the data for BTech’s work was collected, processed, and stored.

He walked across the room and looked through another door.

The rooms there were mostly dark, except for the backlighting that splayed in from the lobby. The second room featured large machines on flat tables. At the far end was a headspace sampler with vials of small, empty glass containers placed in the holed grooves of the machine.

The rooms were empty of people and activity. Compared to the constant hustle and noise of the emergency room, Ty found the stillness of the BTech labs deafening.

A door behind Ty flung open and Dr. Metzger burst in like he’d been carried on a violent wind. He was wearing a dustyblue slim suit with an open-collar white shirt. The doctor was pink-cheeked and appeared out of breath.

“Ty. Rex said this was urgent.”

Ty stepped back to let the doctor collect himself. Richard stood up straight and exhaled. “My apologies. I am trying to get these rooms ready. We don’t have many employees yet, but we need to be fully staffed by the end of the month.”

60

Ty crossed his arms. “I’m here to talk about one of those employees, Sarah Gilmore.”

Richard furrowed his brow for a moment. “Yes. A terrible tragedy. That poor girl. She liked working for BTech. Sarah was excited about the opportunity.”

Richard placed a hand on his hip. “And I was excited for her as well.” He added, “She’s quite bright, that girl.

Ty glared at Richard.

“My goodness, where are my manners. I am glad to see that you are okay after what happened at the party the other night.”

“Dr. Metzger, I saw you there, but then you left. Why?” “I needed to get back. Sometimes I can get quite a bit done after normal business hours.”

That statement seemed hollow to Ty. A cold shiver coursed through him. He wondered if there was anybody on the floor now except the two of them and the security guard, Rex. “I’m glad you made it out, Ty.” “That’s not my reason for being here.”

Richard cocked his head to the side. “Then, what’s going on?”

“Did Sarah come here before the event? Did she have work to finish?”

“No. I don’t believe so.”

“Then, did she speak to you before the event? Maybe before I got there?”

“Ty, I’m not sure what you want me to say.”

“Sarah was supposed to be my date for the event.”

“Ah,” he replied, nodding his head. “Now, I see. A date.

Sarah didn’t arrive and didn’t contact you, so I am somehow responsible for her not being there.”

“I didn’t say that.”

Richard pursed his lips. “But that is the implication.

Somehow I did or didn’t do or say something that got that poor girl killed.”

“Her name was Sarah.”

Richard blinked.

“So you didn’t see Sarah that night?”

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The doctor looked up at the ceiling. “As I recall, she came back to the lab after her shift to catch up on some work, and then she left.”

“And that’s the last time you saw or talked to her?”

Richard let out a nervous chuckle. “Of course. I don’t require that my employees check in with me at all times.”

“Dr. Metzger, she was murdered and dumped into the trunk of a car like used trash.”

“What they do in their personal life is their own business, not mine.”

Ty seethed over the deflective statements made by the doctor. So far, other than some pandering remarks, he didn’t seem bothered by Sarah’s murder.

“I’m sure the BTech Company has never had an employee murdered before. That can’t be good for the company.”

Richard wagged a finger. “That’s true.”

A phone from one of the lab rooms rang behind them.

“Excuse me. That must be Rex.” Ty watched the doctor disappear and then reappear almost as quickly.

“I need to see someone.” He pointed to one of the pink tiles on the floor. “Wait right here. I’ll be back.”

Richard moved past Ty and opened the office door that led to the lobby. Ty could make out a shadow in the hallway waiting to greet Richard.

As the swinging lobby door prepared to close, two loud pops rang out. Then, another. Gunshots. *** Ty panicked. He had no idea if the doors to the lab rooms were locked, but he had to hide.

He pulled open one of the doors. The lab room was empty, with the exception of empty test tubs stored in a metal rack and nearby lab table stools. Ty went further back into the room. The room had no windows. As Ty moved away from the light in the lobby, the shadows in the room grew broader and darker.

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At that moment, Ty remembered what Ronan had made him promise not to do; get involved. Too late. Ty had come to the BTech lab, uninvited, and interrogated Richard Metzger on Sarah’s final moments. The doctor had every right to be defensive, and now Ty’s meddling in the murder had him in big trouble.

Ty searched for something he could use to barricade the door. As he looked back, he could hear shouting coming from the lobby.

He dropped down to the floor and lay flat on his stomach.

Craning his neck towards the door, Ty saw the handle turn and the door shake.

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12 Braxton trailed behind Ronan as he pushed through the front door beside the booth of the desk sergeant at the police headquarters. Braxton did a quick scan of the lobby to ensure his prospective client wasn’t seated there waiting for him.

Ronan and Braxton hadn’t said much on the drive over from the state police crime lab. Braxton reminded Ronan that he didn’t know anything about the client that called him and even if he did, the privacy between an attorney and his client is sacrosanct and any shared information cannot be divulged.

Ronan had nodded, politely.

Ronan sensed that the lawyer had something he wanted to say to him, but was holding back. In the car, Braxton pursed and smacked his lips a couple of times, seeming on the edge of speaking. Each time Ronan looked over, Braxton either refocused his attention on the road or checked side and rearview mirrors.

When Ronan got back to his desk after weaving through people charging up and down the aisle, Braxton revealed what he’d been mulling over earlier.

“I would like the endorsement of the Charleston Police Department.”

Ronan had started to flop down in his chair, but the statement broke his momentum mid-stride. Placing both palms flat against the desk, Ronan looked up at him.

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“The endorsement for Kanawha County Prosecutor. That’s the reason I wanted to talk.”

Braxton stood up a little straighter, his barrel chest out ahead of the rest of his frame. “I think you can help me.”

Ronan sat down easier in the seat. He motioned for Braxton to take the chair in front of his desk. He was distracted for a moment by the blinking light on his desk phone. Ronan stared at it, judging whether to answer. He glanced to the left and saw that Captain Ashby’s office door was closed.

Braxton’s words faded in his mind. When Ronan refocused his attention, he discovered that Braxton had stopped talking and sat down.

Braxton sat his leather briefcase on the floor beside him.

“Look, Ronan. We are both busy, so I will be brief.” Leaning back, Braxton folded his hands in his lap.

“I think Charleston is on the precipice of being ripped apart.

We are going to lose everything that makes this city great and we are going to lose it to crime. Since the drug pushers started dumping Krok here six months ago, the crime rate in the city has increased forty-percent. Robberies, homicides, shootings, breaking-and-entering, robbery, all serious crime has gone up.”

Braxton set his jaw and narrowed his gaze.

“Dennis Sanders has been good for the city, but he’s clearly overmatched by all this new crime. The backlog of cases is unbelievable. These criminals need to be punished swiftly and severely. A message needs to be sent that Charleston is not the place for them to do business. The police department and the prosecutor’s office, working together more closely, needs to rid Charleston of violent criminals.”

Ronan leaned across the desk. “I know all of this, counselor.

I live it and work it every day. And while I agree with everything you said, I don’t need to hear the campaign speech. I saw you and the mayor standing next to each other before the party at the Clay Center.”

Braxton appeared ready to speak, and then closed his lips.

He dipped his head. “The mayor has been very supportive, yes.”

Ronan sat back in the chair and steepled his hands. “So, why me?”

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“Excuse me?”

Ronan sighed. “I am not into politics. I have no political heroes or enemies. I do my best to stay out of politics here within the department and in my life outside of work.”

Braxton tugged on the lapels of his jacket. “I wanted to ask if you would help convince the department to endorse me for primary elections in May.” Ronan scoffed. “I’m not the right person to ask. Chris Keenan is our union rep.”

“I know that,” Braxton admitted. “But I don’t know him. I know you. What you did to break up that drug ring in the fall was nothing short of amazing. The men here, they respect you.

Admire you. For three months, I heard your name mentioned here and at the courthouse more times than I can count.”

Ronan shook his head. “Everyone else in the department got promoted and received praise from the chief. Eric got promoted to Lieutenant, along with Sean Carter. The department got a nice fat plaque from the justice department in Washington for devoted service to tackling crime, and I got suspended for 90 days and nearly lost my job. So, I don’t think I’m the right person.”

Ronan caught himself, realizing that he had put some weight behind his words, speaking in a tone that drew the attention of others in the room and caused Braxton to sit back in his seat, staring at Ronan.

He swallowed and collected himself. “Look, counselor. I am truly grateful for the help you provided Nick last year when he was manipulated by those Krok dealers and was framed for murder. But I’m the wrong person to ask about this.”

The air seemed to go out of Braxton. He placed his hands on his legs and stood up. “I appreciate the time.”

Braxton extended his hand. Ronan looked down at it for a moment, then looked up.

“I will mention it to Chris, okay? I don’t see him often anymore, but I promise I will tell him about our discussion.

Chris is a good kid, a good cop. He will follow through, one way or the other.”

The announcement made the color return to Braxton’s face.

“Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

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Ronan shook his hand, his fingers enveloped by the attorney’s thick, meaty paw.

“With that settled, I’ll walk you back to the detective bureau.”

Ronan patted Braxton on the shoulder and led him through the crooked maze of desks pushed together, with officers loitering around them. The two turned left near the front door, then pushed through the swinging double-doors that divided the detective bureau from the rest of the main floor of headquarters.

They stopped in the middle of the hallway, Braxton searching through the interrogation room glass for someone.

Sean Carter came down the corridor, his blue shirt rumpled and red-striped tie hanging low and loose around his neck. He glanced at Ronan, twisted his face, and then looked over at Braxton. Ronan wondered if that was a subtle hint from Carter for him to leave. Ronan responded by crossing his arms and leaning in.

“Mr. Campbell?”

Braxton shifted his briefcase between hands and nodded.

“Yes.” “I’m Lieutenant Sean Carter, chief of detectives. Forgive me, but if we have met before, I don’t remember. We are investigating three murders, all which happened within several hours of each other. Two of the murders happened at the Clay Center yesterday evening.”

“I’m familiar with what happened, yes.”

“Good. We have a witness that has come forward. Claims to have witnessed Jacob Collier, the driver of the Hummer shot on Leon Sullivan. Way before the car careened into the Clay Center.

Even though she’s not a suspect, and she came in voluntarily, she requested a lawyer and she specifically asked for you by name.”

Braxton had been listening intently, watching Carter’s lips as he spoke. It was a technique used to maintain focus on what words were spoken and how.

“Fine. Take me to her, Lieutenant.”

Ronan stepped back and let Braxton follow Sean down the hallway. Ronan made a mocking face at the Lieutenant as he walked past.

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Sean threw up a hand and called back to Ronan over his shoulder, “McCullough, come on. This concerns you, too.”

Ronan had been at the Clay Center and shared his theories about the murders with Captain Ashby only. Sean’s request caught him by surprise.

Ronan reluctantly followed both men down the corridor to the last interrogation room. Two people were sitting in the room and one of them was Nick.

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13 Ty felt his heart pounding so loudly he thought it would explode any second.

He glanced behind him. The only way he could defend himself from whoever might come through that door would be with his fists or one of the table stools if he could grab one in time.

The metal door handle, in a hook shape, bobbled up and down. Ty could see the door itself shake within the frame as someone applied pressure.

Ty sucked in his breath and closed his eyes.

At that moment, the shaking of the door handle stopped.

Ty looked at the small slit of space between the bottom of the door and the floor. The shadow that had blocked out the light from the outer hallway was gone. Ty allowed himself to exhale for a moment and breathe. He waited a moment for sounds.

Outside, Ty thought he heard the door to the lobby click shut.

He pulled himself up from the floor and stumbled to the door.

Pressing an ear against it, he listened for any movement either in the lobby or from the door clicking shut again. Nothing.

Ty let a moment pass. He realized by staying locked inside the lab room; he was a stationary target. Unsure if someone would come back, he decided to move.

Ty gently turned the door handle. Like the outer lobby door leading to the hallway, this one clicked when Ty turned the handle. A rush of air flooded the space. Ty slid his head into 69

the narrow opening and quickly scanned the room. None of the other doors to lab rooms were open, and the lobby itself was empty.

He took a breath and silently counted to three.

Ty leaped out from behind the door. It clicked shut behind him. No sound of any kind followed. Ty balled his hands into fists and waited for any signs of danger. Still nothing. Ty wanted to call out Dr. Metzger’s name, but he couldn’t risk someone hearing his voice and returning.

He raced to the front lobby door and peered through the gash of glass. The hallway was brightly lit and Ty strained his eyes for anyone outside. He pressed an ear to the door and thought he heard moaning. It was a guttural sound, resembling that of a wounded animal.

His instincts kicked in. Someone needed help. Perhaps it was Dr. Metzger.

Ty pushed open the door. There, Dr. Metzger lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. A deep, burnt-red gash over his right eye was bleeding. Ty touched the doctor, but he didn’t move.

Ty reached under the neck of his lab jacket and pulled back the collar. He pressed two fingers above the carotid artery and felt for a pulse.

The pulse was faint; Metzger was alive, but unconscious.

To the right of his body, another person lay on their side. The body was bent sideways--its back faced Ty. He sprinted over to the body. Ty couldn’t see behind him, but he didn’t hear any movement.

A trail of crimson ran in splotches on the floor around the body and up the hallway behind him.

“Please. Help me.”

Ty crouched over the body. Rex, the security guard, lay in a bleeding heap, incapacitated.

“I need to turn you over.”

“I’ve been stabbed,” he managed through shallow wheezing breaths.

Ty reached under the man’s arms and rolled him to the side.

Rex let out a cry that was more animal than human. A deep, 70

bloody maw in the middle of his stomach pulsed and oozed blood. The Kevlar vest had been knifed to shreds at the entry point of the wound.

“Who did this?”

“I…didn’t see. Happened too fast…”

“That’s fine. Try to stay calm.”

Rex grabbed Ty’s forearm, blood caked between his fingers.

“Please, help me.”

“I will, Rex.” Without a more thorough examination, Ty couldn’t tell if the wound had severed any arteries in the stomach, or damaged internal organs. Judging by the amount of blood coming from the wound, the injury was visceral and deep.

Ty removed the top of his scrubs uniform and pressed it tight against the wound.

He looked down at Rex, who was wide-eyed with fear. “Hold this against the wound. Tightly. Don’t let up on the pressure.”

Ty raced back to the office and grabbed one of the stools from the lab rooms. He returned and knelt before Rex’s body.

The blue top covering the wound was soaked red. Rex began to shiver; then convulsed violently on the floor. Shock was setting in, and perhaps organ failure.

“I need the pass card to the door.” “…belt.”

Ty fumbled with the utility belt until he found the card. He also found a cell phone. “4 1 1…8.”

Ty looked to Rex. “What does that mean?”

“Enter……numbers. Then….swipe.”

Ty grabbed the stool and did as instructed. The door clicked and moved back from the frame. Turning the stool on its side, Ty jammed it into the opening.

He ran his blood-soaked fingers over the iPhone to activate it.

After several swipes, Ty located the icon in the shape of a phone.

The phone was highly advanced and Ty couldn’t find numbers.

He blindly pressed every icon on the screen, now unsure if the device was even a phone.

Two loud beeps finally emanated from the phone. The words No Signal flashed on the screen.

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Ty flung it to the floor in disgust. He searched the walls of the corridor. At the far right side of the wall near the door, Ty saw a fire alarm console. He hurried over. The alarm lever itself was encased in glass. Ty slammed his elbow into the faceplate, but the glass didn’t budge.

He took a breath and leaned in with a shoulder, charging the glass again. It wobbled but still didn’t break. Exhausted and frustrated, Ty stood back, raised his leg, and kicked the front plate of the glass repeatedly. It finally shattered. Ty reached a hand around the lever and pulled down.

The corridor filled with flashing lights, as a piercing whistle ricocheted about the hallway.

Ty held both hands over his ears as he ran under the speaker blasting the sound and pushed back the propped-open steel door.

Ty noticed that Richard’s body was gone. With his body pulsing with adrenaline and worry, his instincts as a nurse kicked in: focus on the most critically injured person first.

On the floor, Rex had turned a sallow white, his face and neck covered in sweat. He was jerking as he took small, short breaths. Rex cut his eyes to the left. He tried to say something, but the words came out in a garbled jumble.

“It’s okay. Help will be here soon,” Ty yelled, as the screeching alarm pulsed with pressure in his ears.

It could be a lie. Ty didn’t know if the alarm was connected in any way to the hospital alarm system, or if anyone would even know the alarm had been pulled.

Ty could do little for Rex without any medical equipment close by. He looked past the body and saw specks of blood leading away from the body and down the hallway corridor, to a small door. Two bullet casings also dotted the hallway, although they had rolled to the other side of the hallway. Ty made a mental note of the blood and turned his attention back to the bleedingout security guard.

Rex began to turn white. Ty placed two fingers above the carotid artery in his neck. The pulse was extremely faint.

A noise caught their attention. Ty saw two paramedics pulling back the steel door. Once entry had been established, the 72

tall, wiry men pushed a gurney into the hallway, along with their square bags of equipment and supplies, and sprang into action.

Ty stood up and faced them. The men ignored him and instead examined the body and began providing care.

The wailing of the alarm and the twisting white strobe lighting made it impossible for Ty to communicate with the paramedics. Another shadow filled the space just inside the door.

It was a Charleston police officer.

The cop sidestepped the crouched paramedics and the splayed body on the floor and approached Ty. The cop had steely blue eyes. The look made Ty a feel a bit woozy. Ty wondered if the cop thought that he had been the one to stab Rex. Ty took a step back and pointed to the droplets of blood on the floor. He looked at the cop and shrugged.

The officer stared harder at Ty for a moment and then glanced down at the blood trail. He yelled out something. Unable to hear, he tried reading his lips, but only made out the words stay here.

Ty watched the officer go by, unholstering a Glock from his belt and proceeding quickly but cautiously up the hallway. A sour feeling welled up inside of him. The man that fired the gun or stabbed Rex could be on the other side of that door. The cop could be ambushed.

As his long shadow began to fade down the hallway, Ty raced after him. He hollered, but his words couldn’t be heard over the alarm. Ty pounded the side of the wall with a clenched fist, trying to get his attention. It was too late. The cop pushed back the door with one hand, steadied the gun with the other and waited for a second before determining the landing on the other side of the door was clear and disappearing through the space.

Ty came to the end of the hallway and repeated the maneuver.

When he stepped to the other side of the door, he found himself on a small, flat landing. The stairwell, painted a cream color, appeared rarely used.

Ty heard heavy thuds below him. He peered over the landing handrail and saw the cop’s dark uniform weaving around the steps and the other landings, heading for the ground floor.

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Ty slowly followed. He called out to the cop, but there was no response. At the base of the stairwell, he heard a door squeal and then collapse closed with a thud.

By the time he made it to the bottom step and pushed open the red metal door, thin wispy clouds of exhaust curled around him. He waved away the fumes and saw the cop running up the alley.

Ty turned the corner of the building and stared down the alley. With the cop giving chase on foot, a grey Humvee barreled down the alley and made a sharp right onto Morris Street.

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14 Ronan leaned into the door frame and blocked Sean Carter from entering the interrogation room.

“I’d like a moment to speak with Nick,” Ronan asked, surprised at the tremor in his voice.

Sean motioned for Ronan to step into the hallway. When he did, Sean pulled the door to the interrogation room shut.

Braxton and his bulky frame stood between the two men.

Braxton peered down at Ronan.

“I need to speak to my client for a moment,” Braxton whispered. “I’m here representing the girl, Ronan, not Nick.”

Ronan grimaced, taken aback by the statement. “That doesn’t make this situation any better, counselor.”

“I don’t think it makes anything better or worse for anybody,” Sean said. “Nick and Ashley Gundy came in on their own. They claim to have some information on the shooting that killed Jacob Collier and sent his car barreling into the Clay Center.”

Ronan stiffened and set his jaw. “Not possible,” Ronan said.

“Nick wouldn’t be involved.” Braxton didn’t answer.

Sean slung his notepad under an arm and then crossed both arms. “So, tell me, Ronan. What do you want me to do, then?

Huh?” He bent down and looked up into Ronan’s eyes with a comical expression. “Come on, tell me how to do it.”

Sean stood upright. Ronan recalled the phone call that came from Nick during the discussions over the blood samples found 75

at the South Ruffner safe house. Ronan had ignored the call.

Maybe Nick had been trying to reach out to him.

“Detective Carter, I need to speak to my client before we continue.” This time, the request from Braxton had a sharp edge.

“My nephew is not a criminal,” Ronan said.

“Whoa,” Sean replied, holding out a hand. “Nobody is saying that. At all.”

Ronan said, “Let me go in there and see what they have to say. Maybe they saw something. Maybe they saw nothing.

Before we jump to conclusions, I’d like to hear them out.”

“If it makes you feel better, you can stay out here and listen to the entire conversation.”

Even though Ronan wanted his own answers, and wanted to hear them from Nick directly, he relented.

“Fine.”

Sean’s posture relaxed. Ronan stuck a finger out at him.

“If I get any sense that Nick’s being railroaded, I’m coming in that room like a bat out of Hell.”

Sean stared down the tip of the finger. “Got it.”

The chief of detectives opened up the door, bursting into the room with a faint smile crossing his face.

“Okay. As I mentioned earlier, I am Detective Carter,” he said, addressing Nick and Ashley. “I understand that the two of you have some information that might be relevant to the Jacob Collier case.”

Braxton held up a hand. “Before we continue, I am representing Ms. Gundy. Mr. Copeland is here on his own recognizance.”

Sean nodded. “I understand.” He turned around and pointed to a security camera in the corner of the room. The room was sparsely furnished, just a table, two chairs and a large two-way mirror. The harsh fluorescent lights overhead cast a slight bluishgreen tint over everything in the room.

“This conversation is being recorded. I need to be sure everyone understands that.”

Ronan leaned close to the glass window. Nick raised his head from the table and locked eyes with Sean. Ashley, her hands still trembling, gave a quick nod.

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Nick resembled his mother, Melissa. Nick had a rectangular face with a defined, slightly pointed chin and slack jaw line. His grey eyes were small and spaced evenly apart, sitting below trim eyebrows that seemed to curve as a natural extension of his broad, rounded nose. Nick had a sharp face and those features were merely a reflection of his entire body structure, and everything—from his skeletal arms to his paper-thin waist— screamed of unnatural thinness.

Ashley, petite and trim, matched Nick’s physique. She had a low forehead, pale skin, and small eyes. A shock of red ponytailed hair hung thick and full past her shoulders.

Braxton took a moment before responding. “Understood.”

In the hallway outside the interrogation room, Ronan turned on the speaker next to the mirror. He dialed down the volume, but kept it loud enough that he would be able to hear everything said.

Sean pulled out an aluminum chair from beneath the worn wooden table and sat down with a heavy sigh. “You both look like good kids. I don’t understand how the two of you got mixed up in all of this.”

Ronan cringed. Sean was using his usual good-cop, bad-cop routine. He liked to establish a rapport with suspects to make them relax. Sean wanted them to think the police were on their side. Then, once Sean heard a detail that didn’t fit the evidence or the circumstances, he would turn on them.

As Sean pulled open a grey file-folder and removed a pen from the shirt pocket of his dress-shirt, Eric Bonamico bumped into Ronan.

“What’s going on?”

“What does it look like,” Ronan hissed.

“Fuck, what’s Nick doing in there with Carter?”

Ronan put a finger to his lips. “Shhh.”

“So, Ms. Gundy, you were at the corner of Leon Sullivan Way and Washington Street East the night Jacob Collier was shot.”

Ashley jerked in a breath between sobs. Braxton placed a hand between her shoulder blades. “Yes.” 77

Sean swung his attention over Nick. “And, for the record, Mr. Copeland, you were not with Ms. Gundy that night?”

Ronan leaned into the glass of the two-way mirror, his nose almost up against it. He waited for Nick’s response.

Nick shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I was with Ashley earlier that night. We had dinner at Panera Bread at the Town Center earlier that night and walked over to Park Place Stadium cinemas to watch a 7:40 movie: Revenge of the Zombie Body Snatchers.” Nick smiled as he recited the title. He looked over at Ashley, who grinned before she turned her head and met the gaze of Braxton. Braxton nodded his approval.

Sean made a note of the exchange. “And why did you leave her?”

Nick said, “I needed to get home.” Nick looked over to the mirror as if he knew Ronan was watching. “I hadn’t talked to Uncle Ronan and Uncle…well, Uncle Ronan for a while. He would worry about me if I wasn’t home.”

“I don’t think that’s exhibiting good judgment on your part to leave a young girl like her downtown, by herself, late at night.”

Through the mirror, Ronan released his clenched jaw. He thought Nick would mention Ty’s name, which would have created a whole new set of problems. Luckily, Nick caught himself.

Ronan turned his attention to Braxton. He watched the attorney stiffen. If this were a courtroom, Braxton would have bolted up from his seat. Instead, he held his breath and remained still.

“She told me she had a ride. Someone was coming to pick her up,” Nick said.

“Is that true, Ms. Gundy?”

“Yes,” she replied, her voice sounding pinched. “What Nick is saying is true.”

Sean scribbled notes in the folder. “Fine. So, Ms. Gundy, what did you see that was unusual?”

“The street was really quiet that night,” Ashley said, sitting up straighter in the chair.

Sean interrupted her. “What time was this?”

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Ashley shrugged. Her eyes darted around the dents and chips in the table as she answered, “Ten o’clock, maybe. I’m not sure.”

“Okay. The time is not important right now. Tell me what you saw.”

Ashley wiped her nose with the back of a pale hand and sniffed. “I was across the street from the Clay Center. I stood at the corner of Lee Street and Leon Sullivan Way. Sean cut her off. “Which corner?”

Ashley didn’t answer.

“It’s an important detail. Which street corner? It helps me determine the distance between you and the car at the intersection.”

Ashley drew in a breath. “I was at the stoplight, facing the intersection. The turn-in lane to the Huntington Banks drive-thru was behind me. The Hummer had sped down the Interstate ramp and slammed on its brakes right before the big white stripe in the road.”

She paused and looked at Braxton.

“It’s fine, honey. Just tell the detective what you saw.”

Ashley nodded and then continued. “I thought the car might run the red light.”

Sean leaned back in his chair. “Why?” Ashley refolded her hands on the table and began wiggling her thumbs. “Because I was going to run across the street before the crosswalk sign changed from red to green. I didn’t do it at the last minute because I thought that car was going to speed through the intersection. The car kept moving forward a couple of times and then stopped suddenly. I didn’t want to get hit.”

Sean made more notes. “Were you able to see through the windshield? Could you tell if Jacob Collier was alone in the car?”

Ashley shook her head. “No. I couldn’t see anything.” Ashley leaned back in the chair. Her body seemed to fill with energy and her eyes sharpened. “That’s when it happened.

“I saw a shadow come from the darkness. It showed up out of nowhere. I didn’t see anything at first. I tried to focus. Then, the shadow moved in.” Ashley flailed her hand in the space between 79

herself and Sean for emphasis. “It leaned into the driver’s side and I heard two loud pops.”

Sean again stopped writing and leaned back in his chair.

“And then what?”

Ashley seemed surprised that he wanted to know more. “I ran.”

“Where to?”

Her eyes darted around the room. “Ms. Gundy, look at me,” Sean said, in a soft but firm tone. “Don’t make something up that didn’t happen. Where did you run?”

“Back, back down the street. Back toward the Kanawha River. I could see the water from a few blocks away. The loud noise scared me. I thought it might be a gun going off.”

Nick reached a hand over to lay it on top of her interlocked hands.

“Why didn’t you call the police? I mean, if you thought the driver had been shot…”

“I didn’t want to get shot, that’s why,” Ashley fired back. “I got out of there. I ran as fast as I could until I came to the Taylor and Sparks Orthodontics building.”

Nick broke the hand-lock and Braxton patted her shoulder.

“It’s okay, Ashley.”

“No. I am not some cold-hearted bitch.”

Sean watched her theatrics with a quizzical expression.

“Nobody said so.”

“I looked back. I did. When I got a couple of blocks away, I turned back to see if the Hummer was still there. It was gone.

I didn’t see any other cars at the light, so I left. I called my ride and went home.”

Ronan had heard enough. He thumbed off the intercom speaker. “This interview is over.”

Eric tried to grab Ronan’s arm, but it was too late.

Ronan flung open the door. “Sean…”

Carter whipped his head around. “Sergeant, I’m in the middle of an interview…”

“We need to talk. Now.” Braxton again patted Ashley on the shoulder and whispered something in her ear. Nick wrapped an arm around her, trying 80

to console her. Ashley began trembling again, the red bangs hanging limply over her forehead dotted with sweat.

Sean acknowledged Ronan. “Let’s take a break. I will be right back.”

Sean made a face and stomped a foot as he stood. Ronan didn’t hesitate to slam the door shut behind the detective.

Sean marched up the hallway a few feet and spun back on a heel. Ronan was waiting for him.

“She’s lying.”

Sean cocked his head to the side. “Beg your pardon?”

“Ashley Gundy is feeding you bullshit.”

Eric leaned over Ronan’s shoulder. “Take it easy, Ronan.”

“That’s what I am trying to determine,” Sean said. He placed a hand on Ronan’s chest. “Excuse me, but I need to finish the interview.”

Ronan swiped the hand away and sidestepped him, blocking the path. “She’s leading the interview. She’s making this up as she goes along.”

Sean peered at Ronan through narrowed eyes. “Stop. Just stop. We don’t know everything yet. She’s the only eyewitness we have, and until I hear the whole story, I’m not sure what I believe.”

Ronan put a hand on Sean’s chest. Sean looked down at it and then looked up at Ronan with disdain.

“I know that girl is lying. Her location and the angle to the car is wrong. According to her story, the shooter came to the driver from the darkness. The post office has the lot to the left of that intersection fenced in for its vehicle fleet. If the shooter came from that direction, he would’ve approached the car from the sidewalk, and from that distance, Ashley should’ve seen him.”

Sean glared at Ronan.

“There is a streetlight at the corner of Leon Sullivan Way and Lee Street. It lights up the sidewalk in front of Clay Center.

If the shooter approached from the opposite side of the street, as she claims, then the shooter would be on the passenger’s side of the car. That means the passenger would’ve been shot, not 81

Jacob Collier. That bullet would have shattered the right side of his skull.”

Sean blinked twice and swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple moving up and down his thick neck slowly. He seemed to be wrestling with the concept.

“I saw Jacob Collier’s body, Sean. The head wound was on Collier’s left side, not the right. If the shooter did what she claims, he would have had to move around the front of the car or the back of the car to get to Jacob Collier. Those streetlights on the other corner would’ve blown his cover.”

Sean glanced down at the floor.

“Consider what I’m saying.”

Sean lifted his head to Ronan. “I’m in charge of his investigation,” he said coolly. “I let you observe the interview as a courtesy and because Nick was in the room. I think your connection is clouding your perspective.”

“Damnit,” Ronan growled. “Quit being so dumb.”

“No!” Carter shouted. The octave caught Eric by surprise and he stepped back.

Just as quickly, his voice dropped. It held an edge Ronan hadn’t heard too often before. Carter grabbed Ronan by the arm, digging his nails into his skin.

“I’m only going to say this one more time. Leave. Me. Alone. After I finish this interview, discuss what I learned with the captain, then we, together, will move forward with the investigation. If I need anything more, then I will ask for it.

Otherwise, drop it.”

Sean released his grip and stood up straight, rolling his shoulders to regain his composure.

Ronan studied the indentations in his skin, now red at the corners.

“Also,” Sean added, his voice so close to Ronan he could feel his hot breath. “Fuck. You.” Sean gave Ronan a slight shove. Ronan lunged at him, but Eric held him back.

“Let it go, McCullough. Don’t get the captain involved in this.”

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Ronan huffed and turned around to see Eric taking a step back, blocking the hallway as Sean went back into the interview room.

Ronan’s eyes flashed. “That prick knows I’m right. The bullet wound proves it.”

“He’s doing it by the book, Ronan. I think he believes you.”

Ronan scoffed.

“But he has to be sure. I’ve been in interrogations with witnesses and suspects many times before. Sean is a good interviewer and he knows how to separate fact from bullshit, but he’s got to do it his way.”

Ronan felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out and waved his arm at Eric. “Talk about a cloudy perspective.”

Eric looked defeated at hearing the remark. Ronan answered the call and walked outside.

“This is McCullough.”

The pleasant but flat voice of Althea Curtis chimed, “Did I call at a bad time?”

“No. No, it’s fine, Althea.”

She paused. “I’ve heard dogs bark in a friendlier tone.”

Ronan let out a breath. The last thing he wanted to do was take out his frustrations with Sean Carter on someone else.

“Sorry. Just working the case. Tell me you’ve got some news.”

“I do, indeed,” she said. “And I think I’ve found a connection between the deaths of Jacob Collier, Sarah Gilmore, and that body found near the Amtrak station.”

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15 As the Kanawha County Coroner and one of the chief medical examiners in the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner for the State of West Virginia, Althea Curtis was strong and principled.

In her role of performing and overseeing death investigations, establishing cause and manner of death, formulating conclusions, and providing open testimony in judicial proceedings, Althea reminded the police that her job involved science and the science of her profession made her job necessary and important.

With his agitation at Eric’s defending Sean Carter in full bloom, Ronan didn’t say anything to him about the phone call from Althea. If Sean wanted to go down a rabbit hole with Ashley Gundy and pursue a fabricated story, Ronan would pursue the case from another angle and follow leads that were true and credible.

He would take Nick home, then follow up with Althea. *** Nick slouched slightly in the backseat during the drive to Kanawha City. Ronan asked Nick how he and Ashley met and Nick remained silent, arms folded across his chest, staring out the window.

After Nick entered the house and locked the door, Ronan called Ty, first on his cell phone and then at the nurse’s station in the emergency room at Charleston Mercy. The person that 84

answered the phone at the hospital said that Ty was taking a break. Ronan hung up and slammed the cell phone down in the passenger seat. The talk with Ty would have to wait. Ronan needed to speak with Althea Curtis.

The building that housed the Office of the Chief Medical Examiner was located in a rather dilapidated neighborhood on Charleston’s west side. The rectangular building itself, stucco gray with a low-slung green canopy and six barred panes of windows, would be easy to miss on a drive down the street. A Napa Autoparts building faced the medical examiner’s office from the opposite side of the street, while a shuttered and condemned two-story brick apartment building buttressed up against the office from the right.

Ronan pulled his Ford F150 truck past the striped yellow loading zone markings on the street. A faded white garage building to the left side of the general office building looked ominous and gothic, in keeping with the rest of the block. The space was a loading area for equipment and vehicles to aid in the removal and retrieval of dead bodies.

He entered the front door and found a bland receptionist area. An overweight woman with a round face and drawn jowls looked up at him over a pair of silver reading glasses perched on her bulbous nose.

Althea hung halfway out of a doorway, holding up a hand.

“Right here, Ronan.”

Ronan entered her office. Althea closed the door behind them.

The absence of overhead light threw shadows into the corners of the room. The white cinder block walls featured several black frames, mostly listing Althea’s earned degrees and other accomplishments. She took a wide berth around a cherry desk. There was little paperwork on the desk; just several file folders stacked neatly in the center. Two small table lamps on the corner edges of the desktop provided the only light in the room, but it was sufficient.

Althea sat down primly in her chair and slid it forward until she was flush against the desk.

She regarded Ronan for a long moment. “You look like hell.”

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Ronan sat down in a deep burgundy leather chair and let the plush comfort of it envelop him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten.

“Been a little busy, Althea.”

She nodded. “I figured. I won’t take much of your time, but I started the autopsies of the victims.”

A chill ran over Ronan as he thought back to the image of Sarah Gilmore’s hacked-up body.

“That was fast.”

Althea huffed. “The Chief of Police and the mayor can be quite persuasive.”

Ronan cut to the chase. Althea wasn’t one for small talk, and Ronan was glad because he didn’t have time for it.

“What is the connection?”

Althea held up a finger. “First, some background. Let me start with Sarah Gilmore since she was the first body I examined.”

Althea picked up one of the yellow file folders from the desk and thumbed it open.

“I’m not finished with my report, but I thought some of the details might be helpful to the investigation.”

Ronan grew impatient. “So, let’s hear it.”

Althea spun the folder around and rested it flat on the table.

“Sarah Gilmore was stabbed over forty-six times, Ronan. I’ve never seen a body so badly mutilated, and I’ve been doing this job for over twenty-five years.” She pushed the file forward at him.

Inside were several still photographs taken of the body.

Ronan studied the pictures carefully.

The body was riddled with small and large, jagged and smooth gashes and cuts. Ronan winced. The body was so badly cut that Ronan couldn’t find any place on her breasts, stomach, legs, arms, thighs, or vaginal area that hadn’t been deeply cut.

“Jesus.”

Ronan shoved the file back at her. “I don’t need to see any more. I get the idea.”

Althea leaned to the side in her chair, the desk lamp highlighting half of her waxy complexion. “She had massive 86

internal organ damage. Her lungs had been punctured, the lining of her stomach tattered, muscles and tendons ripped apart. It was a real mess. What made it worse was the wounds themselves.”

Ronan asked, “How so?”

“I examined the organs, the tissues, the muscles,” she said, peering down at the folder and then closing it neatly. “The tissues and organs themselves were filled with small symmetrical holes.

I’ve seen tissue and muscle eaten away from parasites, cancer, and other diseases, but Sarah appeared to be healthy. These wounds were created by whatever was used to kill her.”

Ronan prepared to respond, but Althea interjected. “The stab wounds didn’t kill her. She was strangled first. Her windpipe was crushed.”

Ronan leaned forward. “So, the stabbing happened after Sarah was dead?”

“I think so,” Althea said. “The damage to her throat would’ve been swift and severe. There wouldn’t have been much of a struggle.”

“So, the bastard that did this is sending a message. Making the attack personal.”

Althea held up her hands. “I can’t say for certain. That’s up to the police to decide.”

Ronan considered the idea. “What else?”

“Jacob Collier was also stabbed.”

Ronan blinked at Althea. “How? The side of his head had been blown off, but I didn’t notice any stab wounds on the body.”

Althea opened up the second folder and laid it on the desk in front of Ronan. Ronan didn’t look at it.

“Jacob Collier was wearing an undershirt and tee-shirt under his sweater. That helped cushion the blade. It was just one knife wound, but the blade clipped the artery in the stomach. Had the bullet not killed him, he would’ve bled out slowly.”

“How is this different from Sarah?”

“I think the stab wound happened first,” Althea added.

“There was a lot of his own dried blood under his fingernails.

My guess is Jacob had been stabbed and instinctively tried to stop the bleeding by pressing his hands over the wound. The 87

killer might have realized the knife wound was not fatal and he probably shot Mr. Collier to finish him.”

Ronan sat back. He had not bothered to examine the body other than the gunshot wound. Ronan recalled how chaotic the scene was at the Clay Center and that his mind was racing and distracted with too many concerns about survivors, casualties, another attack, and Ty. “Also, there is no DNA evidence that links Jacob Collier to Sarah Gilmore. None of her blood was on his clothing, none of his skin was under her fingernails, none of his hair fibers were found on the body. I don’t think he killed her.”

Ronan bit down on the inside of his lip.

Althea substituted the second folder with a third. “That takes us to the John Doe that was found at the Laury’s Amtrak Depot.

He was also shot in the head, at point-blank range. Bullet got him right between the eyes.” Althea placed two of her long, slender fingers between her eyes for emphasis. “The bullet used to kill the man was from a .38 caliber gun.”

Ronan shook his head. “No way. Bonamico said they found a .9 millimeter shell casing at the scene.”

Althea furrowed her brow. “He might have, but I pulled a .38 caliber bullet from his skull. I also pulled a .38 caliber bullet from Jacob Collier.”

She took back the third folder back and closed it. Ronan watched her absently as he absorbed and sorted through the details.

“It could be from the same gun.”

“It could be,” she agreed. “A ballistics test will need to be done…”

“Yeah, I got it. Any ideas on the identity of the John Doe?” Althea allowed a contented smile, quite proud of herself. “I do,” she said, picking up the file folder again, peeling back the cover, and holding it under the desk light.

“Turns out John Doe had false teeth, on the bottom row. They were somehow knocked loose, possibly after the body collapsed to the ground. They show a logo belonging to Florida Dental Centers in St. Petersburg. I’m assuming that’s Florida and not Russia.”

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Her attempt at humor didn’t amuse Ronan. He remained silent.

“The dentures are in very good condition. It’s possible that our John Doe had them implanted recently.”

“I’ll look it up.” Ronan had to tell Bonamico about this.

He and Sean Carter were officially investigating the John Doe, although Ronan believed this case now involved him as much as anyone else.

“It still doesn’t answer the question of how Sarah Gilmore got put into the trunk of that Hummer.”

Althea gathered the folders and pushed the seat back from the desk. “Again, that’s more of a police matter. The time of death for Sarah Gilmore was probably around 4:00 p.m. the day of the car crash. She had been dead a while before Collier was shot and stabbed. I’ll need a few more days to finish my report.

I will call you when it’s ready.”

Ronan stood up as well and extended a hand. “Althea, always a pleasure.”

She took his hand and nodded. “Sergeant McCullough.”

Ronan saw himself out. He acknowledged the receptionist with a nod and headed outside.

Cold licked at his face and seeped under his clothes. The chill bit Ronan at the edges of his nose and the tips of his ears.

It numbed his extremities. He plopped into the truck and blasted the heat.

The red light in the upper right-hand corner of his phone flickered.

His heart leaped. Perhaps Ty had called him back. Ronan picked up the phone, activated the voicemail icon button, and set the phone on speaker.

He stuck his hands over the vents, trying to warm them as the voicemail went through its machinations. Finally, a voice came over the line. It wasn’t Ty’s voice, but that of Tom Mack.

Ronan leaned in a little closer to listen.

“Sergeant, I am here at the garage going over the Hummer that was towed from the Clay Center. We found something under the driver’s seat. It’s a temporary car leasing agreement with the name Burt Wolfe on it.”

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16 Richard Metzger stumbled as the man shoved him inside a metal and concrete building. In the silence that followed, Richard processed the events that had taken place earlier. Richard had heard a noise outside in the hallway of the second floor lab. Rex wrestled with an intruder he didn’t recognize. As they broke free of the embrace, the shadow pulled out a gun and fired it wildly into the air. Rex charged the shadow and was met with the end of a knife blade. Rex fell to the floor in a bleeding heap, the figure moved closer to Richard. After being struck across the face with the bottom of the knife, the figure stuck the same knife to the end of this throat and growled, Come with me and don’t resist.

“Where are we?”

The burly man resembled Rex in every way, except he had thin wisps of dark hair that hung low and loose around his muscular shoulders.

“Near Piedmont Avenue.”

“I don’t know where that is.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

The man reached up and pulled a metal door down. It barely missed clipping the end of the Humvee. The room was dark until the guard reached up and pulled a lever.

Suddenly, the rounded lights overhead bathed the concrete floor in a hazy, yellow light.

Richard looked around. The building had an unfinished interior and lacked any windows or other signs of ventilation.

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The concrete floor under his feet was smooth and cold and the sting of it penetrated the thin soles of his loafers. The ceiling was low and sloped at an angle, with glazing running across the area where the beams and walls connected near the roof.

Several large wooden creates lay scattered haphazardly across the floor. The doctor couldn’t determine the exact size of the space, although he had requested at least an 80,000-squarefoot facility.

He looked back at the guard who had removed the lowhanging strap from his shoulder. In one quick swing and a click, the guard aimed the black, pinched end of the assault rifle at him and secured a finger in the thumbhole stock.

A silence pooled around them. He could feel streaks of Rex’s dried blood on the lapels of his lab jacket.

“What’s in the crates?”

“Supplies.”

“Which ones?”

“Whichever ones you wanted.” The guard didn’t flinch.

“And the rest?”

“They’ll be here.”

Richard swallowed hard. “Is that why I’m here?”

The guard raised the nozzle of the gun a bit higher. “That’s why you’re here.”

Richard turned on his heel. He wanted to inspect the crates to be sure the test tubes were the correct size. He felt the guard step closer.

“Don’t move, doc. Not until he arrives.”

Richard froze. “When will that be?”

“Soon.”

Richard had no choice but to follow as the man shoved him up the floor, an arm pressed against his chest and the knife still at this throat. The man drove him hard across the floor, their shoes screeching against the pristine hallway tile.

Richard nearly toppled forward twice as the man aggressively shoved him down the sets of stairs near the back entrance of the lab building.

Another door opened up from across the shell building.

A man moved in long strides toward Richard and the guard.

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Richard made a note of his black trench coat, black top hat, and black leather gloves. Richard caught a glimpse of his metallic blue eyes that glistened under the yellow recessed lights in the ceiling.

His initial instinct was to meet the walking man halfway in the middle of the building, but the guard stopped him.

“I said, ‘don’t move.’ Let him do the walking.”

The guards behind the man fanned out into four quadrants around the building floor. Each of them held a semi-automatic weapon pressed against his chest, the nozzle extended into the wide area separating everyone. Two of the guards dropped down on one knee and aimed from that position like they were preparing to shoot the legs out from under a tall animal.

“Doctor Metzger,” the man said. “Finally, we meet. In person.”

Richard noticed the man had a heavy accent with broad intonation and that some of the syllables rolled together clumsily. This accent was tough to identify over the phone.

Richard extended a tentative hand, unsure of the protocol in this situation.

“I wish the manner in which this meeting was arranged had been different.”

“About that,” the man said, embracing Richard’s hand. “My apologies. I couldn’t take the chance that anyone would see us together.”

Richard thought for a moment about Ty. He had probably met the same fate as Rex. “I understand and I appreciate the discretion,” Richard said, trying to step back and size up the man. “But firing a loaded weapon in the lab and then…that guard…I watched him get stabbed.”

The man took off his top hat. Richard’s eyes widened at seeing bald patches between thick tufts of brown hair. A deep, jagged scar ran down the middle of his forehead, creased with wrinkles. The man had apple cheeks, rosebud lips, and a sharp and pointed nose that looked like it had been broken and reset many times. Scruffy, unshaven stubble completed his look.

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“He resisted,” he said. “He had strict orders to stand down in my presence and he became aggressive. It’s never a good idea to challenge me. My associates added laminated drywall and insulation to the twelve-inch concrete slab ceilings to minimize the sound transmission to the next floor. Those were the specifications, no?”

Richard nodded.

“Then nobody heard those gunshots.”

Richard felt a notch form in his throat. Perhaps Rex’s instincts were heightened by the presence of the nurse, and he thought another intruder was trying to get back to the secured area. It was too late to be certain now.

The man waved a hand dismissively. “That’s not important.”

The doctor held up a finger. “But something else is.”

The man arched an eyebrow, lifted with it the streaked-red scar over it.

“Sarah Gilmore.”

“What about her?”

“She’s dead.”

The man blinked. “How unfortunate.”

Richard felt his hands coil into fists. “That’s it? That’s all you can say? She was my best assistant. She did anything I asked, without asking questions. Such assistants are hard to find.”

One of the guards standing behind the man reacted to the change in tone of the conversation and took a step forward. The man held up a hand and the guard stopped his forward movement.

“It’s been handled.”

Richard knit his brow. “What does that mean?”

The man stared back at Richard. “It’s no longer a concern, doctor.” His voice was forceful and resolute.

Richard reached up and gingerly touched the gauze patch over his eye. “I have some concern over my injury.”

The man scoffed. “The scene had to look convincing. It’s not even a serious wound.”

Richard cut a look at the man as he attempted to control his anger.

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“Sarah must have learned about our operation. She probably told someone at the hospital. Or worse, the police.” He threw up his hands. “This will be over before it starts.”

“Relax,” the man said in a pitying tone, one a parent would use with a whining child. “It’s been handled. The police have plenty to keep them busy.”

The doctor looked nervously around the room, flummoxed.

He always sought to appear unflappable in front of others, but the recent events weighed on him like an anvil pressed against his chest. The man noticed.

Richard said, “I don’t want this to be over before it gets started.”

The man watched the doctor squirm in frustration. “What else should I know?”

Richard looked away.

The man stroked the stubble sprouting from his chin.

“Something else is bothering you.”

“More like someone else.”

The man nodded slowly. “Who is it?”

“A nurse. From Charleston Mercy.”

“We can buy him off,” the man replied, fixing a hard stare on Richard.

“Not this one.”

“There are ways to handle nosey intruders.” A rueful grin crept across his face.

Richard shook his head. “I don’t want to know.”

“Yes, you do.”

Richard felt his face grow hot and tense. “He doesn’t know anything. He was friends with Sarah. He thought I might have information regarding her murder. It doesn’t matter.”

The man placed his hat back on his head, shielding the balding head and facial scars from view. “And you know nothing, other than she’s dead.”

Richard felt boxed in. The man had the details of Sarah’s death and was unwilling to share them, no matter how many times Richard tried broaching the subject. The man had funded the building, the lab space underneath, and provided Richard 94

anything and everything he requested, without once asking about cost. He owned this moment; owned Richard. And he knew it.

The guards that had been kneeling rose to their feet, stepped forward, and crouched down again. This time, Richard could see into the dark holes at the end of the gun barrels.

“Has the security force provided by BTech Laboratories been sufficient?”

Richard searched the man’s face, wondering if this was a trick question. “Other than the episode today, yes.”

The man nodded. “Good.” He looked across the room.

“Follow me. Let’s take a tour.”

The group walked together slowly.

They went behind one row of crates and then snaked behind another row of crates. The man slapped his hand against one of the boxes. “All of the test tubes are in this row. The other row has the glass plates, petri dishes, and other items you requested.”

Richard regarded the boxes set against the end of a wall.

The concrete edge was rough and chipped, but the imperfections were only noticeable up close. Richard watched as the man ran a gloved finger over the crooked edge.

“A deviation that needs to be fixed.”

He pressed a hand against the wall. Nothing happened. The man stepped back, angled his body as if he were doing warmup stretches before running, and the wall moved back an inch. He stuck three fingers inside the opening and pulled back on it. The false wall slid back to reveal a staircase.

The man looked back at Richard. “The work will be done here. The lab at the hospital is only to give an impression.”

Richard folded his arms. “A false one.”

“Correct.”

One of the guards nudged Richard forward with the butt of the semi-automatic. Richard stumbled ahead and descended the narrow, concrete staircase.

At the bottom of the stairs was a hallway. It opened into a large room.

The man stepped inside. The ends of his trench coat billowed around him as he turned back to face the group. “I think this will suffice.”

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The floors and walls were ornately tiled and mirrored the layout and design of the faux lab next to Charleston Mercy Hospital. A long, polished stone counter rang the length of the wall. Richard squinted under the hot-white light that illuminated the space. The wall went so far back that he couldn’t see where it disappeared.

The counter itself was dotted with various microscopes, fume hoods, spectrometers, and chromatographs. An ultra-low temperature freezer anchored one end the counter while a climate chamber machine to provide humidity rested on the other.

“Does this space have 100-percent pass-through air?”

“Yes,” the man replied.

“I needed a mini-laboratory with three fume hoods, each of which has 100-percent pass-through that vents to the outside.

“It’s also present.”

Richard walked further down the hallway. “My team needs to be able to go into a storage area, retrieve whatever chemicals they need, take them to the hood and pour their aliquots, then take the source chemicals back to the storage areas. That way, the only items they take back to their work areas are the small aliquots.” Richard stopped walking. His features were shrouded in the dim light.

The man sighed. “It’s all there. Everything you asked for, my associates and I have provided.”

Richard, feeling more in command, stepped back to the man until he was close enough to detect the faint scent of tobacco on his clothes.

“I am to be sure the legitimate crime scene analysis work for the police departments and prosecutors around the state is done first, and then I am tasked take care of the others. The ones on the list.”

“Yes,” the man said, staring down his nose with disdain at the doctor. “I will provide the list. If they get caught, the police will provide a sample. They will take it to the lab near Charleston Mercy. A truck will come each afternoon. The blood samples are to be brought here, from that lab, and manipulated.”

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“How do we not draw suspicion?” the doctor asked, crossing his arms.

“Simple. Not everyone that gets caught and has their blood and DNA taken will be provided a reprieve,” the man said.

“Some of them will be arrested and prosecuted.”

“Just like those men arrested by the police at that house. The ones at south rough…wherever.”

“Yes. Some of them will ultimately be arrested and imprisoned.”

The doctor made a face. “How are those chosen?”

“That’s for me to decide. The battle for control of the streets with Krok was lost because we underestimated the resiliency of the police. They can arrest and investigate, but when their precious forensic evidence fails them, they will have no other options. We are going to pit the police and lawyers against each other. In the meantime, we will target other cities and states in the country that are broke and set up BTech labs in those locations. Illinois and California are next.”

“What happens here to the location in Charleston?”

“It’s all decided,” the man said plaintively. “Charleston will become the headquarters. Nobody cares about this town and this state. Nobody will ever suspect we are running a nationwide operation of blood tampering in this armpit of the country. We host a charity function to get ourselves noticed, then contract our services with the states. We sell our services to gangs, groups, organized crime, and anyone else that wants to get their men out of doing a little jail time.”

He grinned, apparently quite pleased with himself.

“Everything will be protected, including you, the buildings, and the team of technicians. I’ve made sure of it.” He turned to the guards hulking behind him, their faces dappled with sweat and hands pressed so tightly around their semi-automatic weapons that their knuckles had turned white.

“These men are animals without a conscience, but they are paid well for their compliance,” he stated.

Richard became uncomfortable. The man sensed it. He reached up and patted the doctor on the side of the cheek, his fingers cold against Richard’s skin.

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“Being involved in this project is going win you a Nobel prize in science, doctor, and make you a very rich man.”

A shout came from down the hallway. Several of the guards who hadn’t moved since entering the space filed out. One guard came over to stand between Richard and the man, his Kevlar vest rubbing up against the doctor.

When the team clopped to the top of the steps and went back onto the main floor of the warehouse, Richard found eight heavily armed guards, resembling the look and dress of the ones brought to the warehouse by the man. However, these guards wore burnt-orange uniforms. Richard noticed the armed guards hired by BTech laboratories were outnumbered and tense.

Each group of guards had their weapons drawn, facing the others.

“Relax,” the man pronounced. He sliced the distance between them with an arm extended out at his men and they lowered their weapons. One of the guards sprinted over and stood behind the man, whispering something in his ear.

The man pulled back the sleeve of his trench coat. Richard’s eyes widened as the tip of a slender, silver blade riddled with holes emerged from the fabric. Richard anticipated the next move and looked away.

He reached back and pulled the guard by the ear until his forehead cracked against his shoulder.

“What the…?”

Richard looked back. When he did, the man took the edge of the blade and swiped it across the balding man’s cheek.

Blood blossomed out from the deep gash in the skin.

The guard pulled back and covered the wound, moaning and whimpering as streams of red seeped through his fingers.

“Don’t ever jive me. My name is Paul. But I want you to call me sir,” the man hissed, “and get back in line.”

Richard froze in fear as drops of the guard’s blood dripped from his fingers onto the smooth and freshly laid concrete floor.

Dominic looked back at Richard and shook off the event. A calm demeanor crossed his face, almost like the one who had used the knife and the one standing there now were two different men.

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“Now, doctor, let’s go and seal up the door to the lab.”

Richard didn’t break his stare as the man rested a hand on his back. As they both walked to the door, Paul moved behind him.

“I’m in total control of every aspect of this operation. Starting now!”

Richard looked back as Dominic flung up a hand. His guards raised their weapons in unison and opened fire.

99

17 Ronan stalked through the first floor of headquarters like a caged animal confined for too long.

He wrote Chris a memo asking him to consider persuading the union to support Braxton Campbell for Kanawha County prosecutor. With the memo placed in Chris’s mailbox, Ronan pushed back the swinging doors and scoured the halls of the Criminal Investigations Unit. The balletic weaving of detectives, uniformed cops, and suspects brought in for questioning was on full display, but Ronan cast his long look down the hallway.

Ronan pressed his back against the wall and let a few seconds pass. With little movement at that end of the hallway, he marched ahead. He jutted a hand inside his pants pocket, pushed the cell phone aside, and took out the two gold keys.

The first key unlocked the door to the file room that housed the case files of open investigations. The second gold key opened the file drawers themselves.

Ronan stuck the key in the lock and turned. The old knob creaked as it moved, and he pushed hard against the frame, sending the heavy door back across the floor.

A musty smell wafted through the air as Ronan closed the door behind him. He switched on the light above, and the single bulb sticking out below its cracked plastic case threw the room into a sickly pall of yellow light.

The room, surrounded by dozens of long, slender drawers resting inside metal cabinets bolted to the wall, felt confining.

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Ronan found the row he needed: the third shelf from the bottom in the back. That row contained the cases investigated by Sean Carter.

Ronan looked over his shoulder to make sure nobody was coming in behind him. Since he was not the lead or secondary detective on the case, he should have asked Sean or the Captain for permission to look at the case file. He did neither.

He ran his thumb over the thick tabs of the file folders until he located the one labeled “Jon Doe.” Ronan snatched it and pushed the drawer shut.

Ronan approached the door cautiously and then pulled it back slowly. He could hear the patter of feet and the garbled words of conversation echoing on the other side, so he took a deep breath and quickly burst into the hallway, pulling the door closed behind him.

He nodded to a few officers as he left the investigations unit hallway and went back to his desk. When he arrived, Eric Bonamico stood there waiting, arms folded, with a deep scowl etched on his face.

Ronan didn’t make eye contact and instead walked around Eric and flopped down in the chair behind his desk.

“If that file belongs to Carter, he is going to be furious.”

“I don’t care.”

Eric prepared to speak again and Ronan held up a finger.

“Just a second.”

Ronan pressed the flat part of his finger onto a blinking red light on the desk phone.

“Yes, thanks for waiting.” Ronan pulled back the file and flipped through a few pages. He scanned the bottom of the third page of notes and nodded.

“That description matches. Yes.” A pause. “I appreciate the cooperation.”

Ronan flippantly tossed the receiver back into its cradle and closed the file.

“Marvin Null.”

Eric reached down and took the file away from Ronan.

“Who?” 101

“The John Doe that got shot over at the Laury’s building. His name is Marvin Null.”

“How…?”

Ronan sat back in his seat and folded his hands across his torso. “While you’ve been chasing Sean Carter’s coattails, I’ve been busy doing police work. I talked to Althea—” “Wait,” Eric said, the hues of his chocolate brown eyes darkening. “When? Why wasn’t I involved?”

“Couldn’t find you,” Ronan said, offhandedly. “Althea discovered a dental implant that had come loose during her autopsy. There was a faint marking on the denture. It belonged to Florida Dental Centers in St. Petersburg, Florida.”

Eric went over to his desk and rolled his chair to the other side, until it was facing Ronan. As he sat down, he said, “So that’s the reason for the file folder?”

“That’s right. I asked Florida Dental Centers if any male had been in the store within the last year to receive implants. I took the information from Althea’s notes and I needed to see more descriptors of the body from the case file.”

Eric nodded. “Let me run his name—” “No need,” Ronan said. “I did that, too. Marvin had an extensive criminal history.” Ronan unclasped his hands and began counting on a finger as he recited, “Armed robbery, assault, attempted burglary. He managed to break out of the Pinellas County Jail while awaiting transport to an arraignment hearing and has been missing ever since.”

Eric shook his head. “Not anymore.”

Eric leaned back in the chair and cupped his long arms behind his head. “What else did Althea say?”

Ronan leaned forward. “Marvin had been dead for several hours before you all found him. Sarah’s time of death was about 4:00 p.m., just a few hours before the benefit party at the Clay Center. Plus, Jacob Collier’s car was leased or loaned temporarily to him from the Bert Wolfe Ford car dealership. He didn’t own that Hummer. Tell Carter to track that one down.”

“So,” Eric said, letting air wheeze between his lips. “We know more, but we still have nothing.”

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Ronan nodded.

“This case is on a knife’s edge,” Eric said. “Three homicides, not entirely connected, but interrelated.” He looked down at the folder on the desk. “Sean is going to shit when he finds out that there’s been meddling in his investigation, especially because you’re the one doing it.”

Ronan felt the muscles in his neck tighten. “I’m so glad his feelings are what’s important right now.”

Eric reacted to the sarcasm and condescension in Ronan’s words and made a face. “Oh, come on, McCullough.”

Ronan’s patience was in short supply “I’m glad you have his back. At least some of us have earned our positions on the force, but his opportunities were handed to him by his daddy. If his daddy hadn’t been mayor, he would still be a patrolman sitting in a cruiser on the West Side writing traffic tickets.”

Eric took a breath and set his jaw. “Is that what this shitty attitude is about?”

Ronan sat up straight and went on. “But hey, it’s all worked out for Eric Bonamico. Promoted from Sergeant to Lieutenant.

I’m aware that Sean put in a good word with Chief Toler. So, in a way, there must be a quid pro quo going on. I guess Sean is out investigating and sticking his neck down rabbit holes because he’s got the police instincts of a baboon, while the rest of us are here scrambling to find out what happened.”

Eric’s eyes flared.

“I can’t believe I’m hearing this. I got the promotion, Ronan, in part because I saved your ass in that muddy swamp in Jackson County in September.” He bolted upright, the chair sliding back across the floor. “Sometimes I wish I’d let you sink to the bottom.”

The force with which Eric spit those final words out gave Ronan pause. They locked eyes. Eric picked up the folder and kicked Ronan’s desk.

“Your instincts and drive make you a damn good cop,” Eric said with a grimace. “but you’re a fucking rotten partner and friend.”

Eric stormed off. Ronan felt a pang of anger, followed by one of embarrassment.

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Ronan stood up and padded after Eric, who charged ahead with such force that his shoes slapped the floor with heavy blows.

Eric clutched the folder tightly under one arm and turned left for the doors that led to the Criminal Investigations Unit.

A commotion stirred from behind Ronan. Coming through the reception doors was Chris Keenan and Tom Mack, walking alongside someone whose clothes were streaked with blood.

Ronan assessed the situation. The stunned look on the person’s face caught Ronan’s attention immediately. What followed was a frantic, unsettled jolt that fired up from his stomach as Keenan and Mack motioned for Ty to move ahead.

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18 Ty didn’t raise his gaze and kept in step with Keenan and Mack, who flanked both sides with the standard rigid police posture adopted when a violent criminal was being taken from an open space to somewhere secure. Ty took small, stilted steps.

Ronan had seen that gait before: it was the one suspects always took when they were being led into headquarters for questioning.

Each halting step was just long enough to move forward, but short and deliberate enough that the pace dragged along.

At that moment, Ronan froze. He tried to move or speak, but his mind and body wouldn’t cooperate. Ty stared straight ahead, not regarding Ronan or anyone else.

“This way,” Keenan said. Mack broke ahead of the two by a few steps and pushed back one of the doors to the criminal investigations unit.

Ronan closed his eyes and again sought to clear his mind. A dull ache rested behind his eyelids. He felt the headache begin its pulsing drumbeat and knew it was going to be a bad one.

Ronan opened his eyes.

Eric Bonamico emerged from the bathroom and nearly ran into Ronan.

Eric was in a rush, trying to push past Ronan. “I have nothing else to say right now, and I don’t want to hear anymore either.”

Ronan sidestepped him to the left. “It’s Ty,” he blurted out, his voice hoarse and shaky.

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The tone and manner of words caused Eric to stop his flight forward. He wiped his wet hands on the front of his slacks.

“What about Ty?” “Lower your voice,” Ronan demanded.

He looked down the hallway. Anger roiled inside him as he wondered what was happening in that interrogation room.

Ronan swallowed hard, trying to remain composed.

“Mack and Keenan brought him in.”

Eric grimaced. “When?”

“Just now.”

“Why?” “I don’t know, but I’ve got to get to him.”

Ronan tried pushing past Eric, but the lieutenant pressed a hand flatly against the wall, creating an arm bar that Ronan could not breach.

“That’s a really bad idea.”

Ronan chopped down Eric’s arm with his hand. Eric grabbed Ronan by the shoulders and pressed him into the wall.

Eric dropped his voice so nobody would hear. “Charging in there like a madman is only going to make everything worse for Ty, especially if he’s in trouble.”

Ronan desperately wanted to tackle Eric to the ground and run into the room to take Ty out of there. But Eric simply held a firm gaze and set his jaw.

“Let me go find out what’s going on, okay?” Eric slowly backed away. Ronan didn’t move. Eric smoothed out the wrinkles of his dress shirt and straightened the knot on his tie.

Eric was gone for a few minutes, but it seemed like hours.

He walked back up the hallway, with a flat, plaintive face that Ronan couldn’t read or gauge.

“Mack and Keenan were tightlipped, but Ty came in voluntarily.”

“For what reason?”

Eric placed a hand on Ronan’s chest. “I don’t know, and neither of them would say. But they did mention that they hadn’t talked to Sean Carter.”

For the first time in this unfolding nightmare, Ronan felt a small sense of relief.

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“I need to see him,” Ronan said, in a tone that mixed plea with command.

“Ronan…”

“Please. It’s about Ty.” Eric winced and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I just need five minutes.” Ronan looked up and down the hall. “Create an excuse for Mack and Keenan to leave the room.

I’ll be fast.”

Eric blew out a breath. “Fine, five minutes. But if it runs longer and Mack and Keenan come back, I’m going to deny that we had this conversation.”

Ronan went back to the main floor of the department.

The thrum of voices, moving people, phones ringing and conversations filled the air, but in Ronan’s ears, it sounded like blasts over a loudspeaker.

A minute passed and nothing happened. No sign of Bonamico, Keenan, or Mack. Ronan grew impatient. The doors swung open and Mack and Keenan emerged with Eric behind them. Keenan looked over at Ronan and gave a curt nod. Mack sulked, looking annoyed that he and Keenan were being led away.

Eric chinned the go-ahead at Ronan.

The diversion worked. Ronan had five minutes.

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19 Ty slouched in his seat; head slumped forward against his chest. It was hard to tell if his eyes were closed, but he didn’t look up. His rumpled white undershirt, covered in dust and crimson streaks of dried blood made Ty resemble someone who had been doused with red paint and then rolled over and over across the floor.

Ronan came in. Ty didn’t raise his head, but he sat back in the rusted metal chair and squared his shoulders. Ronan slammed the door behind him.

Ty slowly brought his head up. When he saw Ronan, confusion and happiness flashed across his face.

“Ronan, what…”

Ronan raced to the side of the table and dropped to one knee.

“Shhh. I’ve only got a few minutes before Mack and Keenan come back.”

Ty stared down at Ronan, searching his eyes as if he was lost. “Please, don’t be upset with me.”

Ronan took Ty’s hands and pressed them tightly into his own. “Ty, what’s going on? Let me call Braxton. Don’t talk to anyone here without a lawyer present.”

Ty tore his eyes away from Ronan to stare straight ahead into the two-way mirror on the far wall. Ronan followed his look, wondering if anyone on the other side of the window was watching. At the moment, he didn’t care. Ronan had plenty 108

of questions and Ty was the only one who could provide the answers.

“I don’t need a lawyer, Ronan.”

Ronan blinked. “Fine, then. So what happened? I need to know quickly, but don’t leave anything out.”

Ty recounted the story. He told Ronan about entering the BTech lab during his break and the conversation with Dr. Metzger concerning Sarah.

Ty spoke slower when he explained hiding behind a locked door in one of the BTech labs and hearing gunshots just outside the door. Ronan could feel the fear and anger swirl in his gut like a tidal surge. Ty finished by describing Rex and then ultimately the police arriving.

“How did the police know to come?”

Ty snapped out of his rote recital and looked down at Ronan.

“I managed to smash the glass and pull the fire alarm handle. I knew that would be the fastest way to get help.”

Ronan held a look on Ty, who appeared resolute, but more shell-shocked than earlier. Reliving the events had taken Ty away for a moment to a place where he didn’t want to go.

His radiant skin and handsome natural appearance shined through, despite the ugly experience. Ronan never knew anyone as smart as Ty, and his kindness and compassion carried Ronan through even the most difficult moments. Ronan swallowed. He hated to see his lover in this state.

“Who’s blood is that?”

“It’s Rex’s, the guard that had been stabbed.”

“Is he alive?”

Ty shook his head. “I don’t know. He’d lost a lot of blood by the time the paramedics arrived. I used the top part of my uniform to try and staunch the bleeding, but there was so much.”

“Where was Metzger?”

“Someone had knocked him unconscious. I found him when I first entered the hallway. I checked his pulse; it was faint.

He’d been out for some time, so I turned my attention to the bleeding security guard. When Officer Mack and I came back upstairs, I didn’t see Dr. Metzger. I assumed he’d been taken to the hospital.”

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Ronan took purposeful strides across the room. He cracked open the door to the interrogation room and peeked through the sliver of light coming in. No signs of Bonamico, or Keenan or Mack.

“None of that explains why you are here, Ty.” Ty stood up, his taut physique flexing through the white shirt.

“Officer Mack was the one who responded to the fire alarm,” Ty said. “He and I went down the back stairwell after we heard noises coming from the rear stairs.

Ronan furrowed his brow. “How were either of you able to hear anything? If that alarm was blaring, it would be hard to think, much less notice someone running away.”

A palpable silence fell over the room. If they were having this discussion at home, Ronan would be pacing the room, looking for a way to manage his nervous energy. Ty would hold his ground and make Ronan stop and face him. Neither approach would work here. Both of them were pacing the small interrogation room.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to mislead you. There was a blood trail, Ronan,” Ty said, wetting his lips. “It went behind Rex’s body. Officer Mack and I saw it and followed.”

Ronan pressed in. “And it was Mack’s idea to bring you down here.”

Ty nodded. “Yes. And Ronan, don’t be mad at him.”

Ronan knew Mack was following procedure by asking Ty to come to the station to answer questions, which would lead to a report. But seeing Ty in the police station, seated like a hardened criminal, made the entire scenario seem so wrong.

“I came down because I told him I had some pertinent information.”

Ronan leaned back from the door and spun on a heel to again face Ty. Ty stepped closer and Ronan could feel the heat radiating from him.

“What information?”

Ty walked up to Ronan and titled his head slightly up.

“During the chase, we saw a Humvee speed away from the loading dock at the rear of the building.”

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Ronan winced. “Fuck. Did that same person who stabbed Rex come after you?” Ronan stepped back, exasperated at the thought. “Shit, Ty, if something had happened to you…”

Ty again stepped closer. Ronan, now nearly pressed against the wall, had little room to flail about in concern.

“Nothing happened. Officer Mack and I are fine.”

“But the risk…”

A heavy knock came from the other side of the door. Ronan reeled away from it as if its surface had been scalding hot.

Eric pushed open the door and leaned in. He regarded Ty for a moment, then looked at Ronan and gave a short nod.

Mack and Keenan were coming back. Time was up.

“Listen,” Ty said, with a hard edge to his voice as Eric closed the door behind them. “Please, Ronan. The Humvee pulled away, and I was able to get some details about the car that might explain who the driver was and what that person was doing in the BTech building.”

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20 As they entered the front entryway of their home, Ty stepped past Ronan, who slammed the heavy wooden door so loudly that the two inside walls shook.

Ronan had a killed a man in the previous home he shared with Ty. The house, a beautiful and ornately decorated townhouse on Autumn Road in the South Hills area of Charleston, had become a scene of chaos and death. A man with an alias of Leroy, who Ronan later learned was actually named Derrick Colton, broke into the house in September on the orders of the Krok drug syndicate. Leroy attacked Ty, tied up Ronan’s sister Melissa, and got into an altercation with Ronan.

Ronan got the upper hand and broke the neck of the intruder.

Afterward, Ty refused to live in a home where someone had been killed. Despite his preference to stay put, Ronan didn’t argue with Ty. If he wanted them to move, they could afford the luxury.

Akamu Andino, Ty’s grandfather, sold his thirty-five acres of farmland in Hawaii to the Dole Corporation in the 1950s and became an instant millionaire. Ty seldom mentioned the money that belonged to the Andino family. The money allowed Ty to complete college and nursing school at Marshall University with no student loan debt and plenty of cash to purchase anything he needed or wanted.

After searching for three months during the late fall, Ty settled on a waterfront home on the Kanawha River, located on Kanawha Avenue before Christmas. Kanawha Avenue is in the 112

southeastern part of the city, along West Virginia Route 61. The neighborhood, known as Kanawha City, is comprised of mostly small stores on West Virginia 61, with neighborhoods on both sides. The larger stores, malls, and restaurants are located in the southern part of the neighborhood.

“And that’s everything?”

Ty stopped and turned around. “Yes. What I told Eric about the Humvee is exactly what I saw. I could see the shadow of a bulging man through the side mirror. I was able to see the BTech lab insignia on the back bumper. I didn’t make out the entire slogan, but I was able to discern the first two letters.”

Ronan’s eyes rested on Ty’s handsome face. The reality of the moment escaped him, but when Ronan heard a commotion from upstairs, his mind snapped back to detective mode.

Nick heard the disturbance and came out of this bedroom, pulling the door closed behind him. Dressed in a black Nike sweatshirt and jeans, the clothes hung from his lithe frame. Nick pushed back a swath of his blond hair, which remained long despite the rest of his head being closely shorn.

“Uncle Ronan…”

Ronan tossed a thumb behind him. “Downstairs, right now.

We need to talk.”

Nick blinked hard, waiting for a further explanation, but Ronan stalked off.

When he came back downstairs, Ty had changed into a grey cotton tee shirt and navy sweatpants. He clutched the tied end of a trash bag.

“I need to dispose of these bloody clothes at the hospital.”

Ronan just stared at him.

“Can I put this bag in the garage?”

Ty shook his head. “Do you still not believe my account of what happened?”

“That’s not it,” Ronan said.

“I would like to take a shower,” Ty called out as he headed to the front of the house and out into the garage.

When he came back, Ronan stood in the living room, arms folded across his chest.

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“This won’t take long.”

Ronan was holding court in the center of the living room.

Unlike their old townhouse on Autumn Road, the new house had lowered ceilings so conversations, especially elevated ones, carried on with a louder patois.

“From this moment forward, I do not want either of you involved in my job.”

Nick cast another look down at the floor. Ty stiffened.

“I can’t,” Ronan paused, searching for the right words. “I can’t guarantee your safety if you become involved in this.

Seeing the two of you at the police station since these murders started drove home that point for me.”

Ronan expected Nick or Ty to say something, but they remained silent.

“I have a job to do, and I can’t perform it well if I have to worry about two people I love and care about possibly being used in some way as collateral damage. What I need is for the both of you to stay away from this. Some bad things have happened in this case and I’m fairly sure it’s going to get worse before it gets better.” Ronan swung a stern gaze at Nick. “Don’t come to the police station.”

He tossed the same demanding stare at Ty. “And please don’t volunteer to come down to the police station for a chat about facts that could be shared someplace else. All of those actions get you seen and heard by everyone in the department. I can’t have that. So, this is the last time I am going to address it. Stay.

Out. Of. It!” Ty pressed his full lips tight against each other and shook his head.

“Got something to say, Ty?” “I do,” he said, with an edge that Ronan didn’t normally hear.

“Nick and I live every day with the police job and everything that comes along with it.”

Ronan opened his mouth to say something and then closed it.

“I’m speaking now,” Ty said. “I live it more than anyone else, except for maybe you, Ronan. I deal with it at the hospital 114

every day. Every time a gurney is wheeled into the ER, my heart stops, because I wonder if that gurney is going to be you. When the police show up with a patient, I wonder if one of them is going to stop me to tell me that something bad has happened to you.” His voice cracked. “I have to live with that fear and anxiety every day, so please do not act like you are the only one carrying a burden for someone you love!”

Ty took in a breath and swallowed. “Neither of us asked to be involved. But my friend Sarah was murdered and stuffed into the back of a car that was hurled into the Clay Center like a missile.

Nick didn’t realize that his friend would be an eyewitness to the shooting of the driver that started it all.”

Ty let out a small burst of what resembled a gruff growl. “Bad things happen, Ronan. Unfortunate events occur in hospitals, in the streets, to bad people, and to good people. How you handle them is what matters.”

“I thought I did the right thing by supporting Ashley,” Nick chimed in, “she didn’t know what to do or who to talk to, so I told her what I knew.”

Ronan felt the frustration seize him. He pointed at Nick.

“That’s the problem, Nick. You don’t know anything.”

Nick dropped his gaze. “I know that doing the right thing is what matters, and I’ve learned that by watching you. I might not know the inside workings of what police do, but I do know from watching you that doing right, no matter what it takes, is important.”

“Listen to him,” Ty said. “He and I feel the same way about this. Both Nick and I love you and we are a family. Coming here and berating us for trying to help is not productive.”

Ronan dug in. “Neither is trying to play amateur detective with three dead bodies and at least one killer on the loose.”

Exasperated, Ty rubbed his forehead with his thumb. “Did anything we just say resonate at all?”

Ronan sensed footsteps behind him. He looked over his shoulder and saw a figure approaching. Ronan stepped aside and swung around. Nick bolted up from the couch, guilt washing across his bony features.

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“I heard my name mentioned earlier,” Ashley Gundy said, her voice quiet and tight. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Ronan’s mouth dropped open and he cut his attention from Ashley to Nick. “What is she doing here?”

Ronan honed in on Ty. “I don’t know anything about this,” Ty said. “Although I think someone needs to explain it to me.”

“She came over at my request,” Nick added. “We have an exam in our Electronics class tomorrow. We were studying.”

The explanation made Ronan more anxious. “I can’t believe this. Ty and I are at work and both my nephew and his… girlfriend… are here alone.” Ronan pushed out a breath. “Christ, if Melissa were here…”

“We are just friends, Sergeant,” Ashley said.

Nick’s face turned beet red.

The room became silent, and the tension grew thick. Nick stuffed his hands into his pockets and shuffled across the living room toward Ashley.

“Uncle Ronan, I called your cell phone earlier in the day to ask if Ashley could come over, but you didn’t answer. We needed to start studying and we couldn’t wait.”

Ronan tossed up his hands. The dull throbbing of the earlier headache began to set behind his ears. “Studying,” he mumbled to himself before whipping out a finger and thrusting it at them.

“That had better be all that was going on.”

“Ronan,” Ty interjected. “Leave them alone. If Nick says they were studying, I believe him. And if the phone wasn’t answered when Nick called, then that’s not his fault either.”

Ronan looked at Ty, perplexed. “Whose side are you on, here?”

“There are no sides.”

“I’m going to take a shower,” Ty said, disappearing from view.

Ronan watched the slim but muscled figure of his boyfriend fade away. When Ronan looked back at Ashley, she twirled a lock of hair in a finger while Nick shifted nervously from foot to foot. Ashley locked her left hand around Nick’s. Their fingers intertwined to make an awkward handholding.

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Ronan had a hunch. There was something more.

“Okay. Out with it.”

Ashley shot Nick a nervous look. Nick locked eyes with her and nodded. “It’s okay. Tell him.”

“Spit it out, Ashley.”

“There was another reason that Nick asked me to come over,” Ashley said, her voice dropping a whisper. “When I was at the police station talking to that detective about what I saw at the stoplight by the Clay Center, with the shooting and everything…”

“Got it. That’s been established,” Ronan said, cutting her off.

“What else is there?”

“Well, I was worried and scared. I had never been in a police station before.” Ashley began to tremble and she clutched Nick’s hand with all of her strength.

“I forgot to mention something to the detective that is important to the case.”

Ronan had read Ashley correctly. She was hiding something.

“Ashley, if you know something that could help in the investigation and you keep it from us…”

“I know. Nick already told me I would be in big trouble.”

Ashley sucked in a breath and held it. Her eyes were rimmed with tears.

“Sarah Gilmore is my aunt.”

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21 Ronan blanched. He tried to maintain control of the situation, despite this new revelation that nearly blew him over.

“And your last name is Gundy,” Ronan said, trying to process the news aloud.

Her pale grey eyes flickered as she stopped twirling a strand of hair. “She is, or was, my aunt by marriage. My dad’s brother, Chris, is the youngest kid on my dad’s side of the family. Chris married Sarah when they were in college.”

Nick refused to acknowledge Ronan’s questioning glance.

When Ty talked about Sarah, Ronan didn’t recall him ever saying anything about Sarah having a niece.

“Sarah has a brother. His name is Aiden.”

“Same last name?”

Ashley and Nick exchanged another look. “Yes, I think so.”

Ronan sucked in a breath. “What was Sarah’s maiden name?”

Ashley blanched. “Robinson, I think.”

“Why is your last name Gundy?”

Ashley looked down at the floor. “I was adopted.”

Ronan made a mental note. Ashley Gundy, Sarah Robinson Gilmore and Aiden Robinson.

Ronan jutted out an index finger. “Ty and your aunt were close. I can’t remember Ty mentioning that Sarah had a niece.”

Ashley clucked her tongue and collected herself. “That is because my uncle, Chris, was killed in a car accident a year after 118

they were married. Chris and Sarah wanted kids, but Chris died before they had a chance.”

Ronan stared at her. “Where was the car accident?”

“Huntington, or just outside of Huntington on Route 152.”

Ronan remembered Ty, at one time, stating that Sarah had gone to graduate school at Marshall. So, she had a connection to that area.

“What’s the name of your dad?”

“His name is Jim.” Ronan nodded. “I will need to speak to him to confirm this.”

Ashley swiped away a tear that had fallen down her cheek.

She released the tight grip on Nick. “He’s dead, sir. Died of a brain aneurysm during my senior year of high school.”

“What about your mother?”

Ashley sniffed. “I haven’t seen her since I was two.”

“Any siblings?”

Ashley shook her head.

Ronan folded his arms and leaned against the wall, trying to contain his disappointment and aggravation.

“Is there anything else?”

Ashley and Nick exchanged glances. Ashley eyed Ronan for a moment and nodded. “No.” Ronan jutted out an index finger and waved it back and forth between them. “I am going to act on this because it’s related to the investigation. If there is anything else I need to know, I’d better be told now. If it comes out later, I can’t promise the Chief of Detectives won’t consider this as obstruction.”

“That’s it, Uncle Ronan. We swear.”

Ronan pulled his stare from Nick and settled it on Ashley. “I need to hear it from her.”

Ashley sniffled again. Two large tears ran down her cheeks until they puddled in the crevice between her chin and lower lip.

“I promise, sir. That’s all there is. I don’t know why I didn’t tell that detective earlier. I should have. I just didn’t.” Ashley began sobbing quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Ronan felt compassion for the girl because she was an innocent bystander in this and had no control over who she was 119

related to by blood. Ronan stepped closer and cupped a hand on her shoulder.

“It’s okay, Ashley. We will find out what happened to Sarah.”

At least Ronan hoped so.

“Both of you stay here. Don’t go anywhere without telling Ty or me. Understand?”

Ashley, still sobbing, leaned into Nick, who had wrapped an arm around her. He met Ronan’s gaze and nodded. “We will.

Promise.”

Ronan moved through the hallway with purpose and climbed the stairs quickly. Ronan opened the bathroom door and a heavy rush of steam puffed around him. The bathroom smelled like ginger soap.

Ronan stripped, washed his face, and brushed his teeth.

Thinking through his next steps, Ronan now had another inquiry to investigate, in addition to the one he already wanted to pursue.

Ronan could make out the physique of Ty through the smoky glass shower door. Seeing Ty and thinking about their argument earlier left Ronan feeling guilty.

Ty didn’t say anything to Ronan. Ronan emerged from the steamy room and closed the door behind him. He walked to the end of the bedroom and opened the closet door. He snatched a blue collared shirt and red tie from a rack and slid on some tan slacks.

When he turned around, Ty stood in the doorway to the closet, wrapped at the waist in the towel. Beads of water dripped from him. He looked stunning, and Ronan wanted nothing more at that moment than to wrap his arms around Ty and pull him close.

“Is everything okay?” Ty said. The hard edge in his voice from earlier had melted away and the soft, calm voice had returned.

“No,” Ronan said.

Ty looked earnest. “Ronan, I don’t want to argue.”

Ronan nodded. “Me either.” He flashed a grin. “But bad things always seem to happen, and I need to go to work.”

Ty watched Ronan pass by him.

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“Where are you going?”

Ronan put on his dark dress shoes and crossed the room to join Ty. He wrapped his arms around his boyfriend and pulled him close. When Ty leaned up, Ronan kissed him. The sensual gesture lasted several seconds and Ronan caressed Ty on the cheek with the back of an open palm.

Ronan broke off the kiss and moved his lips to the smooth skin just below Ty’s ear. “I am so thankful for you,” Ronan whispered. He released their embrace and stepped back. “But I have to go. Keep an eye on Nick and Ashley. Tell Ashley to repeat her story.”

Ty furrowed his brow. “Okay…”

“Make sure she and Nick tell you everything. I don’t want them leaving out any details.” Ronan clipped his police shield and holstered Glock to his belt.

He entered the hallway and stood before the closed door of Nick’s room. Ronan reached out a hand and touched the brass doorknob, then pulled away. He recalled what Ty had said.

Ronan needed to trust Nick.

Ty stood behind Ronan. “When will you be home?”

“I’m not sure. I’m going to the doctor,” Ronan said. “I suddenly don’t feel so well.”

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22 “Jesus Christ,” Eric exclaimed through the phone. “The niece of Sarah Gilmore witnessed Jacob Collier getting his brains blown out and she said nothing to Carter about being related to one of our victims!”

Ronan could hear Eric chewing on the inside of his lip. “Be sure and tell Carter that.”

“Oh, I will,” Eric said, in an exaggerated tone. “Be glad it’s me sharing the good news.”

Ronan throttled down the pedal of the F150. The motor groaned and then purred as it hit another gear and climbed the 36th Street Bridge.

“Got everything else?” Ronan wondered.

“Yes. I got the names of Ashley Gundy’s family, and will check them out.”

“Good. Find out if there is any other connection between these family members and Sarah. Maybe someone inside or outside the family circle blamed Sarah for the car wreck that killed her husband. At this point, who knows, but it’s worth looking into.”

The silence over the line finished the thought Ronan had. “Or tell Carter to look into it.” Ronan had to remind himself, again, that this case was Sean Carter’s investigation. Unfortunately.

“I will,” Eric confirmed as Ronan shifted the cell phone around to cradle it under his ear.

“Who processed the scene at the BTech hospital lab?”

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“I think Carter did,” Eric noted, “but he hasn’t come back in yet.”

“Did they find any evidence?”

Ronan heard Eric turning pages.

“The only physical evidence was the blood that belonged to the stabbed guard, and two shell casings. One from a .57 magnum and one from a .38 caliber handgun.” Eric paused.

“Rex died in surgery.”

Ronan paused. The weight and design of both weapons made it impossible for one person to fire both guns at the same time.

That would devalue Ty’s assumption that one person fired the shots and stabbed Rex. Before Ronan could respond, Eric asked, “Are you coming back to the station?”

“No, not yet. I’m pursuing another lead.”

Before Eric could protest, Ronan let the phone drop from his shoulder and he reached down and pressed the END button.

Through his windshield, the day began to change. Ronan had been awake for so long he wasn’t exactly sure of the day or time. As the traffic went east from the convergence of the West Virginia Turnpike into I-64, the winter wind howled through the naked, tree-lined mountains that stood sentry against the concrete wall of the interstate. The trees swayed and listed as the wind cast its spell across the wide expanse.

The bleak grey sky outside reflected his grey mood. The short nights and seemingly shorter days would eventually give way to spring, but in West Virginia, March held onto winter until the last possible day.

As Ronan veered left onto I-64, he sped through the on-ramp exit, making sure not to get pushed off the road from the merging traffic coming west.

Ronan rehearsed in his mind what he would say when he spoke to Richard Metzger if he was able to speak with him. Ronan knew he needed to confine his questions to Sarah Gilmore and her connection with him and BTech Laboratories. He couldn’t shake off the story Ty had told him about the gunshots, the stabbed security guard, and the Humvee parked at the rear loading dock 123

that sped away after Ty and Tom Mack approached. The thought of Ty being hurt in that scenario made Ronan pulse with anger, and he soon found himself powering past the Charleston State College Stadium exit at seventy-five miles per hour, ten miles faster than the speed limit.

Ronan powered up the Broad Street exit ramp and soon crossed the Interstate and moved down the ramp onto Leon Sullivan Way. As the light changed from green to red, Ronan looked over at the large, jagged hole in front of the Clay Center, where everything started just three days earlier. He felt his throat clench and he looked away, though the image reminded him of his task and his purpose.

Ronan pulled into the parking lot behind Charleston Mercy Hospital and across the street from the building addition that led to BTech Laboratories.

The streetlights that dotted Morris Street became misty in a light snowfall. The clouds had turned a translucent white, and the sky, swollen and bloated, burst open with snow. The falling snowflakes pranced down in soft tumbles. The white light from a late afternoon sun struggled through the murky sky, but the sky still blinded those on the street. The air was cold, and the scene around the hospital seemed barren and lifeless.

When Ronan crossed the street and peered into the sliding glass doors of the new cancer wing, Ronan expected the cancer wing to be protected with the same security presence as the rest of the hospital. Instead, Ronan stepped inside the lobby and observed nurses in blue scrubs milling about the long, wide lobby as patients and their children either huddled around small check-in kiosks or sat nervously in the waiting area, tense parents doing their best to soothe their anxious children.

Ronan moved across the lobby to the elevator. The marquee indicated BTech Laboratories occupied the third floor. Ronan stepped into the small elevator and held in a breath as it slowly rose to the third floor.

When it opened, he found the corridor dimly lit. The marble flooring absorbed much of the ambient light and reflected it off the walls. The oak picture rails glistened in the reflected light.

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Everything looked clean and pristine, almost like the floor was unoccupied.

Two short, squat guards armed with bulletproof vests loomed large at the end of the hall. As Ronan approached, each of them clutched a Sig Sauer P320 pistol with both hands. Both men stiffened and squared their shoulders as Ronan continued toward them.

He wasted no time in unclipping his shield from his belt and bracing it in the palm of his hand.

“Charleston Police Department. I need to see Doctor Metzger.”

The left guard, the shorter and rounder of the two, flexed a vein in his meaty neck. Ronan noticed the only skin protruding through the Kevlar protective vests and dark uniforms were the fleshy rings of neck fat that spilled over the tight collars.

“The doctor only takes visitors by appointment.” He spoke with a thick northern accent. Ronan was familiar with the Boston accent, but this one was faster and clipped, like a New Yorkers.

Ronan cocked his head to the side and smirked. “I think he will make an exception for me.”

The guard on the right, taller and more muscular, clenched the handle of the pistol tighter. Ronan looked down and studied the enhanced grip.

“I hope you don’t have to use that.”

The guard didn’t flinch. “I hope not too.”

“I need to speak with him about a murder. He knew the victim.”

Both men leered at Ronan, but he saw a twitch below the eye of one of the guards.

“Also, I wanted to speak to him about Rex.” Ronan waited a moment. The guards exchanged a glance between them, then looked back at Ronan.

“Rex didn’t make it, fellas. He died in surgery. Cut up like a fish right here on this floor.”

Ronan paused again. This time, the guard on the right flinched. Ronan now knew they were aware of the situation.

He felt their stares pressing into him. “Stand there all day,” the first guard said. “Without an appointment…”

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“Yeah, yeah,” Ronan said, “I heard it correctly the first time.”

Both men took a breath, and Ronan pounced. He charged the guard on the left. His beady eyes widened and he released one hand from the pistol as he tried to push Ronan back. Ronan swiped the arm away and took the back part of his hand and slammed it into the guard’s Adam’s Apple.

Ronan watched his face turn red and he immediately released the gun, grabbing and clutching at his throat.

Ronan pushed the guard to the ground and kicked the pistol across the floor. As the second guard turned to react, Ronan landed a heavy punch at the base of his neck, right in the middle of the soft divot below the man’s throat, just above the clavicle.

The guard collapsed. Bursts of spit and vomit spewed from his mouth. He peered up at Ronan, wide-eyed and paralyzed without air flowing into his lungs.

Both men wheezed and tried to speak. Ronan dropped to one knee between them.

“I need to speak with Dr. Metzger. Now.” Ronan grabbed them both by the neck of their vests and jerked them closer until he could smell the panic pulsing from their pores. “And I am losing my patience,” he hissed.

Ronan waited a few more moments, while both men rolled and convulsed on the floor. Ronan made sure both of their guns were out of reach. He removed his Glock and pointed it at them.

Ronan was aware of the probability that both men had other weapons on them; the gun was to ensure they didn’t try to make a move for them.

The guard on the left, the victim of the chop to the throat, finally changed from a shade of fuchsia to a beet-red. He stumbled to his feet and sloppily removed a phone from his pocket.

He pushed a few buttons. He stammered a bit, but his hoarse, breathless statements managed to become audible to the person on the other line. Ronan could discern the words police, questions, and speak between the clotted breaths of a man who couldn’t quite talk.

The second guard sat up and leaned both hands on bent knees.

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“I think…I’m going….to puke…” he mumbled while sucking gulps of air.

“That’s the idea,” Ronan stated stoically.

The steel door behind them clicked and then slowly broke back away from its frame.

“I’ll see the doctor, now.”

The first guard stepped away from the door as Ronan pushed it back.

He took a quick survey of the hallway. He imagined Ty standing over a bleeding security guard, with shell casings on the floor from two gunshots. He could see down the end of the hallway to where the exit door was located. At the left were two doors. Otherwise, the hallway had no other entry or exit points.

Ronan approached the first door to the left and pulled back on the handle. The door was flung back and Dr. Metzger, with his wide, open face, greeted Ronan with a smile.

“Sergeant McCullough.”

“Doctor.”

Richard drew his thin brows together. “It wasn’t necessary to attack the guards.”

Ronan shrugged. “They were uncooperative.”

“I think I need to press assault charges.”

Ronan stepped toward the doctor. Richard backpedaled until he was up against the edge of the reception desk in the middle of the room.

Ronan leaned in and Richard bent back. Ronan could smell the panic on the doctor’s hot breath.

Ronan took his opportunity.

He slid his hands under the doctor’s arms and pushed him past the desk, into a sliver of flat wall space between two of the glass-paneled doors leading to the lab areas.

Richard spit out air as Ronan pressed him flat against the wall.

“Assault charges are the least of your problems,” Ronan commanded, in a low tone that was just above a whisper. “You have problems in this lab, doc. The guard, Rex, he didn’t make it out of surgery. Someone murdered him. Someone murdered 127

Sarah Gilmore. My friend, Ty Andino, could’ve been killed.

Death seems to surround this operation, doctor, and you are the common link to all of it.”

Ronan felt the muscles in his face tighten as he pulled the doctor away from the wall with a quick tug and then pressed him harder against it.

“I was also assaulted when Mr. Andino came to visit.”

Ronan looked to the left and chewed on his lip. The polished, precise diction from the doctor, tinged with condescension made Ronan want to slap him across the mouth.

“That’s funny. We questioned Ty and he doesn’t remember seeing you in the hallway when the paramedics arrived.”

Richard slipped a finger up at Ronan, wagging it sheepishly.

“The paramedics attended to me. They wanted me to come to the hospital, but I didn’t want to go. I provided them with a statement, which wasn’t much since I was unconscious the entire time.”

Something seemed amiss about what the doctor was saying.

His explanation sounded too pat, too rehearsed. The doctor spoke without a hitch in his delivery or the slightest appearance of tension on his face.

Ronan released his grip on the doctor. He backed up and the doctor rolled his shoulders and smoothed the collar on his lab coat.

As Ronan considered his next move, Richard knocked on one of the lab doors.

A burst of air hit him from behind. When Ronan turned around, a needle pricked his skin.

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23 The sharp prick of the needle against his skin made Ronan yelp. The edge of his index finger was punctured and a waifish young lab assistant, with a pockmarked face and thin wisps of stubble on his chin, held Ronan’s wrist.

“What the hell?”

Another lab door opened and two more assistants emerged.

They were taller and of a thicker build than the other one. They remained stone-faced as they surrounded Ronan.

Richard said, “Good work, team. Escort the Sergeant into the next room.”

The second lab assistant closest to the door pulled back on the handle while the first beefy lab assistant pushed Ronan through the entryway. Inside the small lab, with its perfectly arranged and orderly space of various-sized equipment against the walls and flanked in the middle by square lab tables, smelled artificial, like old plastic. The assistant that stuck Ronan with the needle cradled the bleeding finger.

Ronan jerked his arm away. “Get off of me.”

“Just a second, Sergeant,” Richard called out from behind them with a tinge of glee in his voice.

Before Ronan could step away, the lab assistant holding the bleeding finger slammed Ronan’s arms on the lab table. The chill of the cold surface made Ronan’s hand flex. The assistant took out a slender plastic collection device with an angled tip.

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He then rolled back the plastic cap on the device and pressed Ronan’s finger inside.

Ronan watched as two small splotches of blood filled the inside padding of the device.

Irritated and confused, Ronan yanked his hand from the table and pushed off one of the brawny lab assistants.

“Don’t touch me again,” Ronan warned, reaching for his Glock. “What did I get poked with?”

Dr. Metzger blinked at Ronan, but nobody spoke.

“Unless the three of you, along with those two buffoons guarding the door, want to be charged with obstructing a police investigation, I want an answer. Now!” Ronan let the order hang in the air for a moment as he threw a quick glance over at the three men. Richard looked past Ronan to the scrawny assistant that had recapped the blood sample and nodded.

“I will be right back, doctor,” he said, speaking in a weak, impish voice that matched his appearance.

Richard regarded the other two assistants. “That’s all for now. Back to work.”

They both gave Ronan an icy stare and then sidestepped around the doctor to exit the room.

Richard waited until they were alone before speaking.

“I think our conversation will go smoothly once you see what it is we do here. BTech and this facility is not a place of death, but life.”

“I don’t have time for this, doc.”

Richard pulled open a drawer underneath one of the cabinets and removed a Band-Aid. “This will only take a second.”

He tossed the wrapped Band-Aid in front of Ronan and walked across the room, spun on his heel, and looked back.

“Our mission, here, Sergeant, is to make actionable information accessible to anyone at the time when it matters.”

Ronan watched the doctor. “So what does that mean?”

“We are working to facilitate the early detection and prevention of disease, and empower people everywhere to live their best possible lives.”

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Ronan ripped open the sheath of paper protecting the bandage. “And that’s done by sticking people with needles?”

“Actually, yes.” Richard appeared assured and earnest. “Our goal at BTech labs is to create a new era in lab testing that will allow patients to get accurate and thorough test results faster, and at a fraction of the price.”

“Okay, doc,” Ronan huffed, pushing the paper lining and wrapping aside and pressing his hands flat against the table.

“I’ll play along. So, this technique was created by you, and now what?”

The doctor lazily tapped the side of his head with a finger. “I am just the inventor. It’s the devices that do the real work.”

Ronan arched an eyebrow. “What devices?”

“The SCD and the BVA.” “Alphabet soup,” Ronan intoned dryly.

Richard walked over to the side door and stared through the narrow slit of glass. “The device that Jared used to collect the blood from your finger is called a Sample Collection Device, or SCD. It takes small blood samples from a finger prick. The BVA is a virtual analyzer that communicates through a BTech minilab device.”

The headache that plagued Ronan earlier had returned. His instinct was to pressure the doctor further about what happened to Rex and why Ty was put in jeopardy. There had to be a point to all of this, but he needed to let the doctor get there by talking.

“Is that what Sarah Gilmore was doing here? Analyzing blood samples?”

“Sarah was doing some of that, yes,” he answered. “She hadn’t been working here very long. This technology is new and she’d never seen anything like it during her studies at Marshall.”

Ronan attempted to say something else, but Richard cut him off. “But let’s not lose focus.”

The doctor took a long, deliberate stride to reach under one of the lab tables. Richard groaned as his lifted a boxy contraption from under the table and set it on the surface of the lab table between them.

The presence of the cloth-covered object made the room feel smaller and Ronan began to feel sweat forming on the back of 131

his neck. He hated enclosed spaces and the more time he spent with the doctor, the tighter the room felt.

Richard threw back the sheet in a grandiose gesture and held his arms out wide, away from his body. The white sheet hung loosely over an arm.

“And this, Sergeant, is what does the work.”

Ronan stared down at a large, obtuse piece of equipment, charcoal-gray. The box had a slanted front with a digital display that flashed the words BTECH on the screen. An open slot, similar to the size of an old floppy computer disk drive, stuck out from the front of the machine. The slant made the machine seem larger, but Ronan surmised that the entire piece of equipment was the size of a kitchen microwave.

“This is the BTech minilab, which is capable of processing and analyzing very small amounts of blood.” The doctor stroked the front of a machine like one would a pet.

“Eventually we will be able to create a decentralized diagnostic platform for diagnostic testing outside of a traditional lab setting.”

Ronan looked at the device and suddenly something clicked in his mind. He remembered the conversation with Pete Linville at the state police crime lab about the state budget deficit and how West Virginia would now contract out the blood testing and analysis services. Ronan realized what Richard was doing. He was giving Ronan the same sales pitch lawmakers would have heard during the legislative session.

Richard noticed Ronan thinking hard. “Is there something I said that’s bothersome?”

“There is more to this than just hospitals managing disease,” Ronan said, stepping around the lab table until he stood in front of the device. Richard tensed for a moment and then faltered back as Ronan placed a hand on the mini-lab machine.

“This is how blood evidence in crimes is going to be handled,” Ronan said. “These machines will do the work.”

“Precisely,” the doctor said. “Think about how helpful this can be for the police. When large accidents, mass shootings, terrorism, or any other type of event occurs where there are injuries and a severe loss of life…”

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Ronan stopped him for a moment with a cold stare.

“Not that I wish those things to happen,” Richard clarified, “but if they did happen, no longer will police have to go through such a painstaking process to collect and store blood evidence.

These machines can be used right at the crime scene, and evidence can be collected and processed immediately. Within minutes, you will have all of the characteristics and details of the blood analyzed and available to any investigating officer.”

Ronan tapped his finger on the top of the machine. The plastic surface was rippled but hollow, and the gesture caused an echo to reverberate in the small lab space.

“And I take it this device saves money because police departments and the state crime lab no longer need as many technicians and supplies to process the blood.”

A sly grin etched across Richard’s face. “That’s correct, Sergeant McCullough. What I, or rather, what we are doing at BTech is not manipulating the science, we are just connecting technology with ordinary blood analysis to aid in our understanding of disease and to support police work. It’s a great combination for everyone.”

Ronan dropped to one knee and placed a cupped hand over the open slot in front of the mini-lab. He peered inside but saw only blackness. The slot space smelled like old plastic, which matched the smell in the rest of the lab.

Ronan stuck his finger into the slot and pulled it back. He stared at a puff of dust that collected on the end of a fingernail.

“And BTech chose Charleston, West Virginia to establish a lab. Why?” “Because,” the doctor said, jutting a finger upwards into the air, “the health numbers for this state are terrible. Too many smokers, too many people with diabetes, heart disease, now a surge in violent crime caused by drug use. The company saw this as a perfect place to test our products and also make a significant impact on the health of citizens in a short period of time.”

The words sounded like a rehearsed political speech or sales pitch, but Ronan let it go.

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Ronan was startled from his thinking by a knock on the side door from the lab. Jared stuck is gangly arm through the door as Richard snatched a paper from his hand.

The doctor scanned the paper and furrowed his brows. He pulled back the sleeve of a lab coat and checked the time.

“I have your results, Sergeant.”

Ronan made a face. “Results from what?”

“The blood test,” Richard said, slightly annoyed at the question. “That’s what all of the needle pricking was about. I wanted you to experience the speed and reliability of our testing process.”

Ronan lunged across the table for the paper, but Richard jerked it away.

“Ah, ah,” he mocked, looking at the results again. “Sergeant, your cholesterol is extremely high and so are your triglycerides.

Also, you are vitamin C and D deficient. No wonder you are so grumpy. I imagine you don’t feel well.”

Ronan became annoyed. “I feel fine. Let me see that sheet.”

Richard sighed. “Fine. Here.”

He let the paper fall and flutter in the air. Ronan snatched it and eagerly studied the information.

A variety of numbers, tables, and symbols were printed on the page. He didn’t examine it closely, but instead wadded up the form and shoved it in his pocket. Ronan was impressed with the speed and detail of the report, but not that he’d been forcibly used as a lab test.

“I would like to see more of the lab.”

Ronan noted a shadow move behind the doctor’s eyes. “I’m afraid not today, Sergeant McCullough. We are quite busy.”

Ronan nodded. “Sarah Gilmore was murdered. She was an employee here and is connected to BTech.” Ronan pointed to the back. “A security guard was stabbed outside in that hallway and died. Ty Andino could have been hurt. Shit, you were hurt.

Something is going on here, doctor. I intend to find out what it is.”

Richard blinked. The expansive look of excitement on the doctor’s face was replaced by a flat, stoic stare.

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“Do you have a warrant?”

Ronan huffed again. “No.” Richard nodded and marched across the lab to the rear door behind Ronan. “I know my rights, Sergeant. Without a warrant, there will be no search conducted.”

Ronan dropped his head for a moment. He skulked over to the doorway. As Richard prepared to stand aside and let Ronan pass, Ronan stopped, spun to the right, and leaned in close.

“I’m coming back with a warrant, doc. I will find out what’s going on here and if I learn that Sarah Gilmore or that guard died because of something BTech is doing, then I am coming for you.”

This time, Richard didn’t cower back in fear. He moved closer until his nose nearly touched Ronan’s.

“Thanks for the checkup,” Ronan scoffed and marched out of the room.

Ronan could feel Richard glaring at him as he left the reception area of the lab. Outside the hallway, Ronan watched the pair of slatted shadows under the thin space between the metal door and the floor. The two guards appeared to be upright and had assumed their natural positions.

Ronan pulled out his cell phone and tried calling Eric. The phone chortled then beeped. Ronan looked down to see that no signal was available. Frustrated, he gripped the phone and studied the hallway.

Based on Ty’s descriptions, he tried to imagine where Richard would have been during the incident and how the stabbed and bleeding security guard would have fallen. As Ronan got a sense of the scope and size of the space, he noticed the corridor was smaller and more narrow than he realized. Due to its confinement, it would be easy for someone to knock out the doctor, stab the guard, and escape down the hallway before Ty could see anything.

Ronan looked up and down the hallway. Richard had not followed Ronan out and neither of the guards had come in search of him. The Sergeant quickly but quietly slipped down to the end of the hallway.

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He pushed back the exit door and held onto the narrow steel handrail as he took the stairs. Like the hallway, the stairwell was small and angular and Ronan was able to quickly reach the ground floor.

Ronan took in a breath, checked his holstered Glock, and pushed open the door.

Outside, Ronan was hit with several blasts of cold wind that felt like biting points of lace against his exposed skin. The bitter cold numbed his fingers until they were thick and stiff. The streetlights in the alley were misty in the snowfall and ice began to blanket the sidewalks and pavement.

Ronan hurried away from the building, glancing up and down the alley. Turning left, he continued until he bypassed the back of Charleston Mercy Hospital and reached Brooks Street.

Several cars whooshed by, kicking up tufts of freshly-fallen powdery snow that turned the air milky for a moment until it dissolved and resettled.

There was no sign of the Humvee or any other vehicle in the alley. Had Ty been wrong in his assessment? Perhaps, but his boyfriend had seen something and it was enough to concern him.

Ronan heard his phone chortle again. He looked at it and realized he now had a signal.

Ronan dialed Eric again and began walking back down the alley to stay warm. In the swirling, blowing snow, Ronan let out streams of air as he puffed.

After a few rings, Eric answered.

“Where the hell are you, Ronan?” Eric sounded irritated.

“That’s not important. Listen, we need to investigate BTech labs. Find out everything you can about them. Find out if they have any clinical trials performed on anybody using unproven methods. See if they have any results. I think what happened to Sarah Gilmore might involve more than just one person.”

“Fine,” Eric snapped, but not brushing off the request.

Usually, Eric would remind Ronan that Sean Carter should be given this information since he was the lead detective on the case, but Eric didn’t mention it. Something was amiss.

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“What’s going on, Bonamico?”

Ronan listened as Eric held the phone away, mumbled something inaudible, and then again pressed the phone against his face.

“Get down to the station,” he wheezed. “We have a problem.”

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24 The main entrance to the Charleston police department was at the intersection of Court Street and Virginia Street East. The police department had the responsibility of patrolling thirtythree-miles of city streets and police headquarters rested right in the middle of that radius.

Ronan pulled his F-150 into a metered parking space alongside the department building. Snow continued to drift downtown. Blankets of white covered the sidewalks. As the workday neared 5:00, people began emptying out of the various downtown businesses with scarves twisted tightly around their necks. They sniffled and their noses turned red as a biting chill nipped in the air. On the busy one-way Virginia Street, people walked with wide-eyes and snowy lashes.

As Ronan checked to make sure his door was locked, he shook with a violent chill. He slipped on a black MicroTherm StormDown field jacket. The jacket had been a Christmas gift from Ty because he worried about Ronan never wearing a warm coat. Even with the coat on and zipped, Ronan still felt cold.

Ronan turned and looked back across the street. Through the blinding snow and milky-whiteness of the sky, Ronan saw two shadows emerge. The dark swinging front doors of the magistrate court slammed shut behind the two men. Two uniformed police officers flanked either side of the prominent two shadows.

Ronan walked to the crosswalk and waited as the forms came into focus. Ronan recognized Braxton Campbell, impeccably 138

dressed and draped in a long, tan suit-coat and black gloves.

Standing close to him was Mayor McClure. The mayor held his head low. He wore a dark sweatshirt and tan pants. His white skin matched the white sky overhead.

As Braxton rounded the corner in front of the magistrate court building, he looked back, locking eyes with Ronan.

Ronan could think of nothing more to do than shake his head. Braxton had implored Ronan to persuade Chris Keenan and the police union to support him in a run for Kanawha County Prosecutor. Despite his abhorrence for politics and his general distrust of trial lawyers, Ronan did as asked by typing the letter of recommendation and putting it in Chris’s mailbox.

Ronan would forever owe Braxton a great debt for representing Nick on the trumped-up murder charges in September.

But Ronan now found it odd and opportunistic that Braxton was taking every opportunity to be seen with the mayor in public.

Braxton froze for a moment.

Ronan turned away and skipped up the snow-covered steps of the Charleston Police Department. He’d always thought the light-stone and brick multi-floor structure was one of the prettiest buildings downtown. Inside, in addition to its high ceilings, the building featured large windows dotting the front façade, repetitively placed throughout. The three brass-colored front doors sported high-quality, honeycombed mullions at each archway.

A warm surge of air curled around Ronan has he stepped inside. The sudden change in temperature made him wheeze and his nose began to trickle. Beth, the desk sergeant, with her pudgy face and blond hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, eyed Ronan carefully before waving him back.

The main area of the department was quiet, except for two detectives hunched over telephones and file folders at their desks, scribbling notes on pads and exchanging frustrated glances.

Eric emerged from the swinging doors on the right side of the building where the Criminal Investigations Unit was housed.

He grabbed Ronan by the arm and led him back to the inner recesses of the building.

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“It’s about time,” Eric said, whispering. “I couldn’t hold him off any longer.”

Ronan stopped the march by planting his shoes on the chipped tile floor. The screeching noise that followed ricocheted across the room. The two detectives looked over at them, then resumed their work.

“Who is he, Bonamico?”

Eric faced Ronan, his face a knot of worry and his normally coiffed hair loose and slipshod. “Ashby. Captain Ashby wants to see you and he’s mad.”

“Shit.”

As they rounded the corner, Ron Ashby came into view, perched on the edge of his desk, arms folded, a scowl etched across his face.

Ronan surveyed the office and found Sean Carter sitting back in a faded padded chair that was angled across from the captain. His neatly pressed purple shirt and grey tie stayed tight against his frame, and his watery eyes glistened as the two men entered the space.

The captain pointed to the door. “Close the door, Eric, and make sure nobody is lurking outside.”

Eric peeked into the hallway and pushed shut the heavy office door. Eric rolled over the other padded chair and sat down.

Ronan squared his shoulders and folded his arms, mimicking the stance of the captain.

“I’m glad we can all be together,” Ashby smirked. The grin faded and the scowl returned.

Ronan sensed the reason for the meeting, but he decided to break the silence that pooled in the room.

“What’s this about, Captain?”

“I just wanted to ask the group when it became the policy of the Charleston Police Department to prep witnesses for questioning before the actual questioning begins?”

Ronan felt a heave of pressure on his chest. He flicked a look to the Styrofoam cups spilling out over the edge of the trashcan next to the desk. Sean noticed, cleared his throat, and leaned into the conversation.

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Sensing everyone in the room knew the details, Ronan focused on the captain. “Captain, yes, I talked to Ty Andino right after Mack and Keenan brought him in, but before Eric could question him.”

Those words seemed to take minutes to come out and hover over the room. A sense of shame instantly raced through Ronan like a current. He never wanted Ty to be involved with his work and now Ronan had confirmed to his superior what had transpired in that interview room.

“Well, that saved us some time,” Ashby said, pulling his sliding chair closer to the desk as he sat down. “I thought I’d have to drag it out of you, McCullough.”

Ronan felt his face redden. “I assume everyone wants an explanation.”

Sean raised a hand. “I’d like one.”

Sean bent forward and draped his arms over his knees, raising his eyebrows to indicate it was okay to begin. Eric shifted uncomfortably in the chair beside him.

Sean moved his hand in a circular motion. “Well…”

Ronan took a deep breath and let his gaze lower to the floor.

“Ty Andino was the first person I saw after that car slammed into the Clay Center and tore the place to hell. As the only legitimate law enforcement officer on the scene, I asked him to assist the injured until help arrived. I learned he was a nurse.” Ronan regretted the words the minute he spoke them.

Ronan looked around the room. Captain Ashby had leaned back in his chair and folded his arms again. Sean pressed his hands together and leaned so far forward, Ronan worried he would tumble out of his seat. Eric nervously tapped a foot and fixed his attention on an imaginary piece of lint.

“Ty Andino saved a lot of people that night at the Clay Center,” Ronan added, trying to broaden the topic. “He didn’t have to help those injured people, but he did.”

Sean bolted up from his seat. “And that’s all fine and good for him and those people. But more to the point: how did he get from that situation to being brought down here for questioning

by Keenan and Mack?”

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Eric sighed. “Jesus Christ, Carter, Ty was at the BTech labs when that guard was stabbed. The paramedics told Mack he would’ve died instantly had Ty not been there.”

Sean shook his head. He shrugged his shoulders. “Am I the only one missing something here?”

Ashby leaned forward again and nodded for Sean to continue.

Sean pointed at Ronan with a grandiose gesture. “McCullough was at the scene at the Clay Center with Ty Andino. Fine. Ty Andino helped those injured people. Fine. But then, Ty is at the BTech labs asking questions about the Sarah Gilmore murder and nearly gets killed himself. We’ve let some fucking coconut nigger stick his nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Hearing the words coconut nigger roiled Ronan. He sprung up from his seat and charged Sean.

Eric stood up and blocked Ronan in an effort to intervene, but Ronan brushed him aside and stuck a finger at Sean. “Don’t fucking talk about people dying, or Ty getting killed like it’s a traffic stop,” Ronan barked.

Sean held up both arms in a sign of submission and Ronan pushed him back until the bend in Sean’s knees hit the edge of the chair and he dropped down into it.

Ronan hovered over Sean like a hawk ready to strike. Eric finally made his way to the other side of the chair and got his arms in-between the two men.

“Stop it, damnit. Both of you!” Ashby yelled, from behind the desk.

The presence of Eric’s arms kept Ronan from rearing back and punching Carter in the face. Ronan cut a look at Eric, his eyes enraged, mouth drawn back.

“Let me do it!” Ronan demanded.

Sean managed to clench both fists and held them up in front of his face. “McCullough, you don’t have the balls to do it!”

The dare made Ronan’s heart beat faster and harder. Ronan pushed Eric with one hand. “I only need one swing.”

“Damnit, I said enough. Cut it out, or I’ll have both of you put in holding cells for the night.”

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Ronan swallowed, feeling spittle collect on his chin. He turned to Sean, whose eyes had grown hard. His normally smooth face was a crease of wrinkles and tension and his lips were set hard in his face.

“Come on, Ronan. Enough,” Eric managed to say in a calm, reassuring tone.

Ronan stepped back and perched himself back on the seat across the room. Captain Ashby had come around and occupied the corner of the desk. Eric retreated to his seat and Sean leaned back in the chair.

Ronan let out several heavy pants and felt the adrenaline coursing through him. The veins in his neck were pulsing.

Captain Ashby said nothing for a long minute.

“Nobody is leaving here until we discuss this, and the next time either of you charges the other, I’m going make you all regret it. Got it?”

Nobody said anything.

“Got it?!” Ashby shouted, his gravelly voice loud, in an octave that made the words sound strained.

Ronan nodded first, followed by Sean, and then Eric.

Ashby let everyone in the room think about it while he gathered some folders from his desk.

“Ty and Sarah Gilmore worked together in the ER at Charleston Mercy,” Ronan mumbled, still trying to breathe normally. “She and Ty were close. The two of them stuck together when the Krok users were being brought into the hospital. I think he just wanted answers about her death.”

Carter slowly pressed his hands against the arms of the chair and pushed himself up. “How did he know about Dr. Richard Metzger?”

Ronan said, “Ty is a smart person.”

Sean scoffed. “Maybe he is. How would you know?”

Ronan looked away.

“But that still doesn’t give you the right to prep him for questioning, especially if he volunteered to come down and talk about what happened at BTech labs. He could’ve said more about Sarah Gilmore, his conversation with Metzger, all of it.

Who knows if something you said spooked him.”

143

The advantage Ronan had over Sean was that nobody knew Ty as well as Ronan. Ty was disciplined enough to only answer what he was asked.

“Ty was forthcoming,” Eric said. “He answered all of the questions asked to him by Keenan and Mack and myself.”

The captain opened the file with the typed interview. “I looked over the report, Carter. Ty Andino didn’t provide any revealing information. He did clarify what we already suspected happened at the scene.”

Ashby closed the file and placed it on the desk. “This isn’t nursery school, and I’m not going to babysit, people,” the captain said, standing up at the desk and jutting his chin outward. “But we’ve got to do a better job of working together and talking to each other.

“—if we catch the killer,” Sean added.

Ronan said, “When we catch the killer.”

The captain held up a diplomatic hand. “I want the three of you working as a team. Everyone is involved in this case.

I’ve got three of my best cops sitting in this room and I made a mistake by not putting us in a room together earlier. I assumed the three of you could figure out how to work with one another, but I guess not.”

Ronan huffed.

The captain kicked his boot against the front of the desk. The thud made Eric flinch.

“Something to add, McCullough?”

Ronan shook his head.

“All right, then. This conversation will not happen again.

Understood?”

The three shook their heads in unison.

“Good.” Captain Ashby picked up a second file from the desk.

“Where are we with the bullet casings collected at the BTech labs?”

Sean cleared his throat. “I got the report back from ballistics.

They put a rush on it for us. Shit, I’ve called in all the favors I can for this case.”

144

Ronan rolled his eyes.

“Stay on point,” Ashby reminded Carter.

“Fine. Anyways, the bullets found at the BTech labs came from a .38 caliber gun and a .57 magnum weapon, and .9 millimeter handgun.”

“But the guard was stabbed?”

“Right,” Carter added. “The bullets could have been fired as a distraction. I talked to the doctor in the ER at Mercy. He said he’s never seen internal organ damage like he saw on that guard.

The doctor said the organs and tissues had gaping holes…like the knife had shredded everything from inside the body.”

Ronan and Eric exchanged glances. Eric swallowed hard.

“I talked with Althea Curtis. She said similar organ damage, caused by a knife, was done to Sarah Gilmore.”

“And the bullet from the .38 caliber handgun matches a bullet that was pulled from the skull of Marvin Null,” Eric added. “According to Althea.”

“A .38 caliber bullet was also pulled from Jacob Collier’s head,” Ronan blurted. Eric shot him a look. “He was stabbed also, just like Sarah and Rex.” Ronan felt his face flush as he waited for Carter to pounce and question how he acquired that information. Instead, Carter just stared straight ahead, chewing the inside of his lip.

The captain nodded thoughtfully. “The main floor of that children’s cancer wing is right below the BTech labs. Why didn’t anybody downstairs hear those gunshots or any other commotion coming from upstairs?”

“I looked into that, as well,” Sean said. “BTech requested their floor of the building be completely soundproof. I contacted the contractor that oversaw construction. The BTech labs have sound-absorbing wall cover, sound barriers, acoustic insulation placed between wall joints and drywall, and the company even put sound masking underneath the floors.”

The captain frowned. “Any idea why?”

Sean seemed intent on watching a spot on the wall. His eyes fluttered back and forth. “BTech told the contractor that because of federal HIPAA laws, they couldn’t take a chance that confidential information about patients is overheard.”

145

Ronan looked over at Sean. “And Charleston Mercy agreed to their demands?”

Eric cut in, “As long as BTech wrote a big enough check to finish the cancer wing, Charleston Mercy would’ve let them paint the floor pink if they’d wanted.”

Ashby nodded. “Now we are getting somewhere. So based on the fact that nobody heard any gunshots or sounds of disturbance, we think the same person or the same persons are involved in the murders of Jacob Collier, Marvin Null, Sarah Gilmore, and that guard.”

“It’s a possibility,” Sean added, “and it’s the best theory we’ve had to go on so far.”

Sean ran a hand through his hair and sat back down. Ashby turned some pages in the second file. He caught Ronan watching him as he read.

“That still doesn’t explain how Sarah Gilmore’s body ended up in the back of that Hummer driven by Jacob Collier?”

“Collier didn’t own that truck,” Ronan blurted. “We discovered that at the Clay Center when the plates were run.”

“I know that,” Sean snapped, in exasperation. “It belonged to Bert Wolfe over on Patrick Street, from the west side.”

Ronan picked at the band-aid that covered his finger. “Do we know anything about Collier?”

“Basically a vagabond,” the captain said, tracing the report folder with a finger. “Eric found his driver’s license had expired three years ago. The DMV has no record of his renewal. No priors. He didn’t work. No family. No spouse. We did learn he lived in three states before coming moving to West Virginia three years ago.”

“The perfect person to be a setup man or driver for a dead body,” Ronan said, pulling off the band-aid. The small pinprick at the top of the finger had scabbed over. Ronan stared at it for a moment. He looked up to see Eric and Sean staring at him.

Ronan wadded up the band-aid.

“Cut my finger,” he said.

Eric and Sean gave their attention back to the captain.

146

“Althea Curtis says there was no physical evidence showing Jacob Collier came into contact with Sarah Gilmore, so perhaps he had no clue the body was in the trunk?”

Eric rubbed his chin. “Or maybe he did, and someone killed him to silence him.”

The captain closed the file. “Well, we certainly have more answers than we did three days ago when this started, but there is still a lot of work to do.”

“And there is something else,” Ronan said, standing up. The adrenaline pumping through his body and sitting in a supine position too long had left his legs wobbly. He steadied himself by placing a hand on the wall.

Sean leaned in. “What?”

“Sarah Gilmore has a niece.”

Sean’s mouth went agape. “I checked out her locker at the hospital. There were no personal effects to show she had any family. How long…”

“—Ashley Gundy is her name.”

Sean pulled his mouth up and attempted to speak, but then stopped.

Ronan let that statement sink in. Sean shook his head. “The same Ashley Gundy that came in with Nick Copeland?”

Ronan nodded. “That’s right. Sarah was Ashley’s aunt by marriage. Sarah Robinson married Chris Gilmore.”

A stunned Sean failed to speak. Ronan tipped his head to Eric, who swallowed hard and continued.

“Chris Gilmore was killed in a single-vehicle accident off of Route 152, near Huntington.”

Eric looked back at Ronan and flicked his eyes, eager to pass off the focus of the room. “Apparently, the Gundy family blames Sarah for Chris’s death. Sarah and Ashley had very little contact with each other. Sarah does have a brother named Aiden. Sarah’s address is a house over on Park Avenue on the west side.”

Eric pointed to the files piled up on Ashby’s desk. “The information is in the report.”

Sean visibly paled and he squeezed his eyes shut.

“When was I going to be told all of this?”

147

“Carter,” Eric whispered. “We are all on the same side here.”

Sean glanced up at the ceiling and shook his head.

“McCullough and I are trying to help. When we uncover new information, we track it down and check it out.”

As Sean seethed, Ronan said to the Captain, “I haven’t called Carter as much as I should, but I will try in the future.”

“McCullough,” Sean reprimanded, “hasn’t called me once since this investigation started.”

“That changes starting now,” the captain said. “I think we’ve all taken up enough of each other’s time. Keep working and keep in touch.”

Ronan bolted up first from the chair and flung open the office door. Eric was right on his heels.

Ronan went over to his desk across the room and reached into the drawer. He pushed back a pile of stale ketchup packets and found a sheet of notebook paper and a pen.

He slammed the door shut. Eric came over and hovered over the desk.

“I’m glad Sean is going to be included going forward.”

Ronan dabbed the end of the pen on the tip of his tongue and scribbled something on the paper. A streak of ink appeared.

“I have no intention of including him on anything.”

Ronan looked up. Eric frowned, appearing ready to say something, but then holding back.

“Carter doesn’t want to get his hands dirty. He wants to try to solve this by circling the edges. The only way this is going to be solved is by getting in the middle of it.”

Eric couldn’t contain his disappointment. “Ronan, we all want results.”

Ronan rested the tip of the pen against the edge of the page.

“I need to know where Aiden Robinson is staying. He should’ve been contacted about Sarah’s death by now.”

“Ronan…”

Ronan dropped the pen and stood up. “Shit, fine then. I can get it myself.”

Eric scowled and held up a hand, palm extended, at Ronan.

“I think that’s best.”

148

Ronan watched in silence as Eric turned and tromped away from the desk.

He would wait a little while to let Eric calm down. Ronan knew when the time came; Eric would want to go along to pay Aiden Robinson an early morning visit.

149

25 Richard Metzger glanced up and down the narrow hallway.

The lab was empty and the frenzied activity and movement from the other BTech lab technicians had subsided. Now the lab space underneath the Slack Street warehouse felt cold and stale, like a tomb.

A chill crept up his spine as the doctor walked to the end of the corridor and locked the last door to the rear lab. He powered down the Virtual Analyzer that jutted out from the wall. The device was bolted to a metal stand and it couldn’t be removed without force, but Richard felt better knowing that the motor in the device wouldn’t be left on to churn overnight Even though the analyzer was a remote server that could communicate with the minilab through secured wired or wireless connections, Richard printed out the data and placed it in a translucent folder. His training and experience as a former blood technician with the American Red Cross had taught him that technology could fail at any time, and the doctor wanted a paper copy to backup any analysis that had been done that day.

He checked his watch. The time read 6:30 p.m. The delivery guard from the second-floor lab attached to Charleston Mercy Hospital would be here any minute. The guard had come to the Slack Street lab earlier to collect the manipulated blood samples.

Richard had already completed his report for the Charleston Police Department. The five men discovered and arrested by the police at the South Ruffner house had been his focus for most of 150

the afternoon. The police needed the analysis of the blood, and they needed it fast. Richard was happy to oblige.

The clean blood vials discovered by police had been planted by the men as a distraction. Richard obtained blood samples from colleagues at the American Red Cross Charleston office.

The samples matched the blood types of the men.

The blood samples taken by the doctors at Charleston Mercy Hospital from the injured men at the safe house at the hospital were sent to his lab. Richard altered the report to indicate that there was no presence of drugs or other illegal substances.

Richard tucked the folder under one arm. Another folder lay on the counter. This folder contained DUI blood tests that had been submitted by the Roane County Sheriff. Since no instructions had been provided for Richard, he assumed this blood was to be tested and accurately recorded. This was science he adored. The Roane County Sheriff had submitted those results to him yesterday, and he would provide the blood alcohol levels within twenty-four hours, leading to a faster prosecution.

The doctor found a brown envelope with the round purple and teal BTech emblem in the upper-left corner, folded the tests results, and sealed the envelope. One of his assistants would take it to out the mail in the morning.

Richard turned his attention back to the altered blood test results. There was one test he didn’t alter—the blood sample for twenty-year-old Josh Vitelli. Richard was told to accurately corroborate a real blood test taken from one of the men at the hospital, which showed traces of desomorphine, marijuana, nicotine, and oxycodone in his blood. He had assured Paul the truthful test results would make Josh the scapegoat for the group and the police would grasp onto him as the real perpetrator of the Krok-pushing ring.

The doctor shook his head. He found it sad that the young man had thrown his life away for a temporary high that did nothing but break down the physical and psychological health of the body. But the situation was not his to evaluate or judge.

His hefty fee would be paid in cash for complying with the instructions, and Richard had done what was asked of him.

151

Richard walked to the end of the hallway. Thin wisps of dust were splotched over his dark dress shoes and he tugged his lab coat close to him so that none of it could creep up onto his pants. The lab facility had been built and equipped to his exact specifications, but Richard underestimated how much dust could settle on a concrete floor in a space that was built fifty feet underground.

Two round trashcans in the corner of the room caught his eye. The red can before him contained needles, blood, and urine.

The yellow can to his left contained cultures and anything else that couldn’t be buried. Items from the red trash can would be cooked and then buried. The items in the yellow can would be incinerated. The cans were light for now, but as BTech continued to gain more business from law enforcement agencies in the state, Richard knew the need to dispose of waste in a controlled and regulated process would increase.

With gloved hands, he bent down and checked the lids on each bin. This task he did himself at the end of each day. He didn’t want the assistants handling the biological lab waste until they gained more experience.

Richard had one more bag to check. He reached into a large drawer underneath the lab desk and pulled out a clear plastic, zip-tied bag. A crumpled lab coat filled the upper part of the bag, while a variety of other smaller items rested at the bottom.

Richard held up the bag to the overhead light. Some unframed photos, a hairbrush, a hair tie, and other office supplies appeared at the bottom of the bag.

The items belonged to Sarah Gilmore. After the visits by policeman Ronan McCullough and her friend and former colleague Ty Andino, the doctor began to get concerned. He had shared this with Paul and he’d responded with an order to destroy any reminders of Sarah Gilmore ever having worked as a BTech lab technician. Luckily, Sarah hadn’t been with BTech long, and most of her personal possessions were innocuous and easy to move.

152

Richard dragged the bag with his long arm across the floor, and out into the reception area. The incinerator behind the building would destroy anything connecting Sarah to BTech.

The sudden presence of heavy footfalls filled the end of the hallway. Richard looked up to see a large, slender shadow coming down the steps from the main level of the warehouse.

A stocky guard with wide shoulders and a thick neck stuck his head around the door. Richard couldn’t remember his name, but it didn’t matter because the guard never said much.

“The delivery man is here,” he said.

Richard couldn’t help but smile. He would now get his money.

“Good. Send him in.”

Richard went to the desk at the font of the underground office and pulled out a small envelope. He kept some of the money and deposited the rest in an offshore account in the Cayman Islands that Paul had set up for him.

When Richard turned around, his heart raced.

Standing in front of him was not the waifish, dark-dressed delivery man he was used to seeing, nor was it the guard who positioned himself at the bottom of the stairway as long as Richard or another technician was working underground. The man standing in front of him was fairly thickset, with a round, chunky face, a low-forehead, and small eyes. He wore a grey sweater, dark pants and boots, with dark leather gloves.

“Where’s Stan?”

The man blinked.

“Where’s Stan? The delivery guy that usually collects my reports and brings me the money?”

The man’s eyes were fixed in a wistful expression and his fleshy lips were half-open.

“He couldn’t make it,” the man said, his voice unexpectedly small, but tense. “I’m his replacement. You can call me Bear.

Richard flicked his tongue at the corners of his mouth. “What about the man I talk to regularly? Where is he? I haven’t seen him in a while.”

The substitute pressed his lips together. “Paul? Sorry. Change of plans.”

153

The doctor began to sweat. Blisters of moisture lined his forehead and began trickling down his chin. A sense of dread filled his chest.

“Where is the money?”

The man reached into his pocket and pulled out two fistfuls of cash. He snickered as he tossed it. Some of the tighter clumps slapped against the floor, while the crumpled bills peeled away from the stack to rest momentarily suspended in the air, only to drift down like falling leaves.

“Go for it.”

The doctor hesitated and then reached down and scooped up a clump of money from the floor. He snatched two bills as they fell around him.

Richard crouched down on the floor, his knees creaking as they knocked against the cold concrete floor. He scurried to collect the money. A noise overhead made him look up, and he saw the pointed edge of the knife blade and the circular holes above it. It was the same knife the hooded man, or Paul had used to cut the face of the guard who tried to create a showdown between a battalion of BTech guards and the other guards.

Richard felt his heart sink and his voice catch.

“No…” Richard dropped the money and fell back. He pushed himself across the floor and tried reaching behind the ledge of the desk to raise himself up.

The man walked deliberately toward him.

Richard extended a leg and struck the toe of his shoe into the gut of the charging man. Bear recoiled and Richard saw the knife loosen from his grip.

Richard stumbled to his feet. “Help! Help me! Guard. Help!”

In that instant, he remembered the guard was not hired by BTech, but instead a firm provided by Paul and his syndicate.

The man grabbed Richard by the hair and slammed his face over a knee. The bones in his nose snapped like twigs and the pain was searing as blood gushed from his face, blurring his focus.

154

Richard looked up and saw the blade of the knife glint in front of him. Richard managed to move his head, but the blade struck his cheek, sending another powerful surge of pain through him.

He tried grabbing the letter opener from the desk, but the man shoved it aside. He reached an arm around Richard’s neck.

In desperation, Richard bit down on the gloved hand, but the leather was too thick for him to do any damage.

The man groaned and breathed heavy as the pressure around Richard’s neck grew tight and forceful. Richard tried pushing back against the desk to dislodge the man’s grip, but suddenly Richard felt a sharp prick in the back of his neck.

He yelped and tried yelling for help one more time, but his tongue became thick and his muscles wouldn’t respond.

Richard felt his head being pulled back again before it was slammed into the desk one final time. *** Ty waited as Aiden Robinson took one last look inside the locker.

Aiden zipped the black duffle bag and hoisted it over his shoulder.

“Thank you for letting me come down and clear out Sarah’s locker,” he said, his pale green eyes dim and the corners of his mouth turned down into a frown. “I know I showed up unannounced.”

“It’s fine,” Ty said. “No apology is necessary.”

Aiden appeared a few years younger than Sarah. He was an elegant man, with high-planed cheeks, wide eyes and light curly brown hair. His yellow-collared dress shirt and jeans held the scent of stale cigarette smoke.

“I’m sorry about Sarah,” Ty said, with a hitch in his voice that stemmed from sadness. “She was a great friend and colleague.”

Aiden made nervous eye contact with Ty and then nodded.

“Thanks. Sarah and I weren’t close, but I know she loved helping people.” He gazed off into the distance as if trying to catch a memory that seemed out of reach.

155

“I can remember when we were kids; she always wanted to play doctor. She would get scotch tape from the kitchen drawer and bandage my fingers together. She told me they were broken and she would have to examine them before I could use them again.”

Ty watched as his lip quivered when recounting the story.

Aiden said, “I know she was a good nurse.”

“She was a great nurse,” Ty added. Ty opened the woodpaneled door with the narrow glass that divided the nurse and clinical-support staff locker room from the rest of the emergency room.

“As you can probably see based on the level of security we have here now, what we do in the emergency room has changed, based on the patients we see and their ailments,” Ty said. “What happened here in the last few months…I couldn’t have made it without Sarah.”

Aiden said, “She called me not long after all that Krok shit was going down. Sarah was having trouble sleeping. She wondered if the job was going to be too much and if she was really cut out to be a nurse.”

Ty held the stare, waiting for more.

Aiden exhaled a quick breath. “Sarah mentioned you. She said ‘as long as Ty is in charge, we will be fine. He’s such a good leader.’”

The comment made Ty blush. Ty knew this was the not the time to ask questions, but he never knew Sarah had a brother and he was unsure if he would ever see Aiden Gilmore again.

“The last time I talked to Sarah, she seemed excited about working for BTech labs.”

Aiden shrugged. “She got her Masters in Forensic Science at Marshall. Hell, when Sarah graduated, she didn’t even invite me to the ceremony.” His expression hardened. “As I said, she and I weren’t really close.”

Ty watched him slip the duffle bag strap off one shoulder and swing it over to the other shoulder.

“I guess it doesn’t matter much now.” Aiden stuck out a hand.

Ty took it, although Aiden’s skin was cold and clammy. “Thank you again, Ty. I appreciate the kindness and understanding.”

156

Ty stepped back against the door as Aiden passed over the threshold. “Is there anything else I can do to help?”

“No, thanks. I am on my way to the medical examiner’s office. I need to contact a funeral home and discuss burial arrangements. I’ll be in town for the next few days staying at Sarah’s house on Park Avenue.”

Ty nodded.

“Oh, I did have a question,” Aiden said as the bag slid from his shoulder down to his forearm. “The BTech lab entrance is just around the corner from the main hospital entrance, right?”

“Yeah,” Ty said. “Turn the corner at Morris Street and it’s the first door on the right. The cancer center is on the first floor and the BTech lab is above it.”

Giving those directions caused a lump to form in Ty’s throat and the sounds and images of that place, including a bleeding Rex, filled his mind.

Aiden furrowed his brow and rubbed his face. “I stopped by there before I came into the ER,” he said. His eyes darted around the room. “The stairwell door to the third floor was locked and the elevator wouldn’t open when it reached the third floor.”

He waited for an explanation.

“Richard Metzger is the doctor in charge of the BTech lab.

Maybe he was out of the office.”

Aiden shrugged. “I guess I can try later.”

Aiden held up a hand in farewell as he padded away. Ty watched him walk across the emergency room floor, toward the security guard on the far end of the room. The shadows behind him grew larger and his image shrunk with each step.

Ty took in a breath as sadness struck him like a sting. Talking with Aiden and seeing Sarah’s locker empty was a final indicator that Sarah was never coming back and he’d never see her again.

Ty looked at the clock in the locker room. It read 7:00 p.m.

The nurses and clinical staff coming in for the third watch shift would be here soon.

At the middle locker in the first row, Ty reached up and pulled the nameplate with Sarah Gilmore in italics from the honeycombed face. Ty made a mental note to turn it into Human Resources tomorrow.

157

He held in a breath and closed his eyes. Ty reached forward and pushed in on the locker. The hard click of the lock had sounded earlier when Aiden closed the door, but Ty wanted to be certain it was secure.

He opened his eyes and stepped back. As he did, something white caught his eye. Jutting out from the edge of the locker, a slip of paper protruded from the narrow crevice between the edge of the locker and the place where it was bolted to the wall.

Ty reached down and pinched it out with his fingers. A small, smooth sheet slinked its way out.

He pulled back the folded corner. A typed number was on the front: 0816751.

Ty stared at the number then placed it in the palm of his hand and gripped it tightly. His first instinct was to tell Ronan. But that number could mean anything, and Ronan had become enraged at Ty for meeting with Richard Metzger and his subsequent involvement. Ty decided to keep the slip of paper and not tell Ronan yet. Ty skipped across the room and flung open the door, hoping it wasn’t too late to catch up with Aiden.

158

26 By the time Ronan pulled his F-150 into the driveway of his home on Kanawha Avenue, the square porch light was on, bathing the asphalt in front of the door in a lemony-yellow color.

The lingering evening light was engulfed by the rapidly falling night. The salmon and purple bands of sky streaked across the mountainside rising above I-64 and across from the Kanawha River had transformed the sky into a vast expanse of inky black.

The grass in the front yard was pale and stiffened with frost as the snow continued to fall. The last few brown twigs that had been blown into the driveway by passing cars on Kanawha Avenue clung to the black ice on the driveway. The roof of the house glittered and sparkled with frost. As Ronan stamped to the front door, his lungs burned as they filled with sharp cold.

Ronan slammed the key into the door and shoved at it with force. It swung open and the stale warmth from the house hit Ronan square in the face. The sensation made him feel better.

Ty and Nick hated to be cold and they often left the thermostat in the house several degrees higher than necessary, but now he appreciated that decision.

Ronan stumbled in and pushed the door closed behind him.

“Nick? Ty? Anybody here?”

The house was quiet. Ronan walked through the hallway and glanced into the living room. Nobody was there. He passed the 159

kitchen where a round glass filled with ice and a dark substance was sitting on the edge of a counter.

Ronan went over to the stairs. He looked up to see Ty coming down the steps.

“Hey,” Ty said with that smile Ronan loved. Ty was always glad to see Ronan, and he needed that right now.

“Ty,” Ronan said. He met his partner halfway up the steps and lifted him up.

“What in the…”

Ronan pulled Ty close and planted a deep, satisfying kiss on his mouth. Pressed tightly together, their momentum slammed Ronan into the wall along the stairs. Ronan’s hands slid up the front of Ty’s shirt and his fingers traced over the defined abdominal muscles. Ty moaned in delight as Ronan kissed harder, probing his mouth with his tongue.

Ronan lifted off Ty’s shirt as his hands explored the smooth, soft skin of his shoulders. Ty tugged at Ronan’s shirt and loosened it. The shirt bloused for a moment before Ronan lost his balance.

Ty managed to wriggle free from Ronan.

Ronan broke the kiss and the embrace.

“Shit.” His felt his face burn with embarrassment.

Ty let out a breath and sucked in another one.

Ronan slammed the back portion of his fist into the wall.

“Damn. Ruined it.”

Ty placed a hand on Ronan’s cheek and turned his face toward him. “Nothing is ruined.” Ty looked at Ronan with a sincerity that drew out the best of his dark, Polynesian features. At that moment, Ronan was reminded of the stunning handsomeness of Ty Andino.

Ty let the expression fade as he bent down and picked up his shirt to put it back on. Ronan wanted nothing more than to pick Ty up and hold him again, but he sensed a sudden tenseness pass between them.

Ty kissed Ronan on the forehead as he stepped aside; his light footfalls echoed in the stairwell. Ty turned right and then swerved left around the base of the handrail before disappearing.

“Ty,” Ronan called out to him. “What is it?”

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Ronan followed Ty to the kitchen, where he lifted the glass from the table and passed Ronan, not looking up. Ronan went into the kitchen, pulled out a longneck Budweiser from the refrigerator and popped open the cap. Thin wisps of air plumed around the mouth of the bottle before Ronan tossed it back and swallowed a large gulp.

In the living room, Ronan joined Ty sitting on the overstuffed chair by the window. Ty had one leg bent under the other, clenching the glass with both hands. The television was turned to the Weather Channel, the sound muted. An animated, buxom blond weather girl dragged her arm across the states of Nebraska and Oklahoma, prattling on about a potential upcoming summer drought.

Ronan took another swig of beer. The frothy foam cooled his throat.

Ty sensed Ronan standing there and finally looked up, his dark eyes hooded by a scowl.

“Ty, what’s going on? I’m sorry about earlier…”

Ty shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I love nothing more than being with you.” He rubbed his eyes. “I guess I wasn’t in the mood.”

“That’s fine,” Ronan said. Ronan snatched the pewter gray footstool, pushed it in front of the couch, and flopped down.

Ty blinked hard, trying to focus. “Nick and Ashley told me about Aiden and the car accident.”

Ronan wanted to speak, but was unsure of what to say.

“I saw Aiden today.”

The news piqued Ronan’s interest, but he remained still and somber.

“Why was he at the hospital?”

Ty rubbed his thumbs over the side of the glass. “He came to get her personal belongings from her locker.”

“Did the two of you talk?”

Ty shrugged. “A little. Aiden didn’t stay long. I got the impression he wanted to leave as quickly as possible.”

Ronan leaned in. Now was not the time to push Ty about the details.

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“I’m sorry. I know having that conversation with him about Sarah had to be upsetting.”

Ty scrunched up his face and swiped at the air with a hand.

“Please don’t patronize me, Ronan.”

Ronan winced and leaned back on the loveseat. Ty sensed his hurt and stared at him.

“I’m sorry. What I said was uncalled for,” Ty remarked softly. Ty set the glass down on the floor next to the couch and untucked the folded leg, sliding to the end of the seat. He reached for Ronan’s hands and took them in his.

His hands felt warm and smooth as Ty lightly caressed Ronan’s knuckles with the pads of his thumbs. “I didn’t mean that.”

Ronan nodded. “What’s bothering you?”

Ty flung his head back to look up at the ceiling. Ronan was surprised his eyes were watery.

“It was hard because I know Sarah is never coming back.

I’m reminded of that finality every day in the emergency room.”

Ronan responded, “Those are patients and you do everything possible to save them. But in the end, they are strangers. Sarah was different.”

Ty stopped rubbing Ronan’s knuckles and just stared at their interlocked hands.

“Sarah was different,” Ty said, rolling his shoulders. “She and I had been through so much together, especially in September when the Krok victims came in by the dozens. Sometimes I felt like Sarah was the only person there I could count on.”

Ronan tried to push away the memories from that terrible experience. We all went through a lot.”

Ty locked his gaze on Ronan. “And it’s not over. I mean, the Krok drug is going to be around for a long time.”

Ronan nodded. His boyfriend was right. The police faced new challenges daily that filled the vacuum left by the war on Krok.

Eric Bonamico and Captain Ashby had battled the encroaching crime in the weeks after Ronan survived being drowned in that wet marsh in Jackson County by members of the Krok syndicate.

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“Even then,” Ty said, his voice stronger now, “I thought Sarah and I could make it through anything if we could survive that.”

Ronan cocked his head to the side and asked, “But?” “But then she left and went to work for BTech.”

“Colleagues aren’t with us forever, Ty.” His face tightened and the pain Ronan saw earlier on his face returned. “But then Sarah was killed. And now I find out she had a brother and a niece, and that our nephew, Nick, is dating that niece. All that time we spent working together, and she never mentioned any of it.”

Ty’s focus was far away. “I see so much pain and suffering every day at the hospital. I can usually stuff those feelings and move on to the next patient—the next shift, the next day. But this really struck me.”

Ronan watched his eyes flicker.

“I wish Sarah had trusted me enough to tell me more about her life. I’m torn between feeling like a fool for never asking and feeling hurt that she didn’t confide in me. Now, I’ll never be able to resolve that with her.”

A hitch in his voice stopped Ty from speaking. He took in a deep breath, held it and let it out.

Ronan let the silence pool around them, having learned the source of Ty’s sadness. Ronan’s words rolled around in his mind before he spoke, as he hoped to sound supportive and not judgmental.

“The friendship came about because both of you worked together in an intense environment.”

Ty stared at Ronan hard.

Ronan held up a hand in a plea for understanding. “It made the both of you form a deep bond that led to a great relationship.

For whatever reason, Sarah decided to move on and suddenly all that was gone. I get it. I really do, Ty.” Ty reached down, pulled up the sweating glass from the floor, and took a sip.

“I know. It just doesn’t make the hurt or sadness go away.”

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Ronan reached an arm around his lover and pulled him close.

Ty rested his head on Ronan’s shoulder while his hand stroked his muscular chest.

“I’m sorry for being so morose,” Ty said.

Ronan kissed him on the head. “It’s fine. Really.”

Ronan decided to wait before asking for details about the conversation Ty had with Aiden.

He looked at the television again. The local forecast from the Weather Channel flashed on the screen. The time in the lower portion read 8:23.

“Speaking of the hospital, doesn’t your shift start soon?”

Ty shook his head, his hair tickling Ronan’s neck. “I took a personal day. I needed to come home and clear my mind. And I’m here for another reason.”

Ty sprang up, took the glass back down the hallway and into the kitchen. When Ty returned, the purposeful stride in his gait had returned.

“I found this in Sarah’s locker.” Ty stuck out the wadded piece of paper. Ronan stared at it intently.

“I don’t understand,” Ronan said, looking up at Ty for an explanation.

Ty explained how he found the slip of paper in Sarah’s locker and that Aiden either didn’t see it or thought it was unimportant.

Ronan took the paper and chinned toward the wall. “Turn on the lights.”

Ty went over and flipped the switch. The bright burst of white lights overhead stung Ronan’s eyes before they adjusted, and he was able to make out the numbers.

0816751.

Ronan stroked his chin. “No clue. This is not long enough to be a phone number or a social security number.” He stood up and looked at Ty square in the eye.

“Nothing else was attached this number? No other sheets of paper?”

Ty shook his head. “It could be nothing.”

Ronan furrowed his brow. “Or it could be something. I’ll follow up on it.”

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Ronan felt his eyes burn from fatigue. The alcohol from the beer had settled in his stomach, relaxing him but also unleashing all the weariness that had settled in his bones.

“I’m going to sleep,” Ronan said, his eyes moving between Ty and the hallway.

His boyfriend picked up the inference. “I’ll be up in a little bit.”

Ronan rubbed his eyes and let out a yawn. His throat felt dry and he couldn’t remember the last time he had brushed his teeth.

“Where’s Nick?”

Ty didn’t reply. Ronan raised his eyebrows, waiting.

“He is with Ashley,” Ty admitted.

Ronan clenched the paper in his hand and turned to leave.

Ty tried to temper the anger boiling inside of Ronan. “Please don’t be mad. Nick and Ashley told me about their conversation with you and that they had been told not to go out, but Ashley had a night class tonight and Nick didn’t want her driving to the school by herself.”

Ronan left the living room. He stopped in the middle of the hallway and popped his head around the corner.

“It’s fine, Ty. I expected Nick to be with her. Two might be company, but three is going to be a crowd.”

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27 Eric Bonamico winced. “I have no idea what these numbers mean.”

“Exactly,” Ronan said, blowing into his clasped hands.

Eric had made a copy of the original slip of paper at the police station. He gave a copy of the numbers to Sean Carter.

Ronan and Carter barely spoke as Eric explained to Sean how the number had been obtained. Ronan didn’t tell Bonamico Ty found it, only that another member of the Charleston Mercy Hospital staff had come across it after cleaning out the locker.

Eric held the copied, larger paper away from himself, trying to get enough angled early morning light to view the numbers clearly again.

“I’ve got nothing,” Eric said. “It doesn’t look like a combination I recognize.”

Ronan shifted his weight between his feet. As they stood on the sidewalk in front of the Park Avenue residence that had belonged to Sarah Gilmore, Ronan shivered. The snow from yesterday had stopped, but the cold remained. Cold air licked his face and crept under his clothes, spreading across his skin like a burst of air from an arctic beach. His green shirt, grey tie, and wool coat provided little protection against the chill. He did feel better after sleeping through the night.

Ronan’s chapped lips, tinged with a slight burn, were tightly closed in an attempt to stop his teeth from chattering. The sun 166

hung low in the sky, like a dim beacon, washed away by thick gray clouds that choked the light.

The cold bothered Eric as well, who tugged at the strap of his thick wool suit coat jacket, tightening it.

“Sean will look into it, though” The chill running through Ronan shook him, but he managed a snort.

“Ronan…”

“I didn’t say anything.”

Eric shook his head and Ronan looked to the front of the house on Park Avenue. It had a Pottery Barn aspect. The Cape Cod home was centered on a level front yard. A wooden privacy fence bracketed the front of the property. The dull pink hue of the frame butting up against the five front windows stood out brightly against the milky overcast sky. From a farther distance, the windows might appear to be on fire.

“Carter and the techs searched the house?”

“They did,” Eric said, bending down to loosen the latch on the swinging gate of the fence. “No fingerprints found inside, other than those belonging to Sarah Gilmore. No traces of blood, either. The house was well-maintained; nothing’s been disturbed or ransacked.”

Ronan trailed behind Eric as they both moved up the sidewalk.

Ronan was familiar with the West Side of Charleston. This had been his first assignment as a patrol officer with the Charleston Police Department and his first territory as an undercover cop.

West Side homes were primarily made up of small to mediumsized single-family homes and small apartment buildings. Yet vacant apartments and homes were a fact of life there, too. The per capita income of residents was low. The business district of the West Side had seen some revitalization under the efforts of a non-profit organization called West Side Main Street, but many of the families lived in poverty. The downturn in the economy of the state had driven the more stable, middle-class families across state lines to the south, in search of work. The West Side stood out among all the areas of Charleston for the depth of its problems manifested there.

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Park Avenue was a thoroughfare that divided the lower-class portions of the West Side from the more pristine and desirable Edgewood neighborhood.

Ronan stuck his hands in his pockets and took a moment to collect himself. He turned to his partner and nodded. Bonamico rang the doorbell.

A girl wearing a Charleston State College maroon sweatshirt and jeans answered the door. Her thick hair had been pulled back and knotted in a long ponytail.

Her face turned ashen as she pulled open the wooden-green front door and peered out through the glass screen door.

Eric followed protocol and flashed his shield at Ashley Gundy.

“Can we come in?” Ronan shouted, unsure if Ashley could hear him through the glass.

Ashley chewed on her lip. He fingers twitched with anxiety.

“Sergeant McCullough, I’m sorry we left yesterday.”

Her voice was muffled behind the paned glass.

“I know you told us to stay, but I had class last night and Nick didn’t want me walking alone…”

Ronan held up a hand. “I know all of that. Can we please come in? It’s freezing out here.”

Ashley gave a tight approving nod and pushed open the glass screen door.

“Thank you,” Eric said politely, as they moved past Ashley.

“Nick is here,” Ashley said, matter-of-factly. Eric spun on a heel and glared at Ronan.

“It’s okay,” Ronan said, matching his stare. “Ashley and Nick are an item, I guess. I’ve got to get used to it.”

Ashley blushed and Ronan surveyed the foyer. A set of stairs, braced with a green-painted wooden railing greeted them immediately as Ashley closed the door behind them. Ahead, a narrow hallway disappeared into a dimly lit room at the back of the house.

“The living room is under the archway to the left,” Ashley said.

Eric entered first and Ronan followed. The living room was small and square, with mauve-colored walls and cherry-stained 168

wood floors that appeared to be in pristine condition. A bay window was guarded by a leather couch that ran along the length of the left wall. Across from the couch were two leather chairs and a wooden coffee table, draped with a decorative cloth. On top of the cloth was a glowing green candle, which omitted a fragrance of pine trees.

Ashley pointed to the chairs.

“Thank you,” Eric said, sitting in one of the overstuffed leather chairs. He fell back in the seat, his feet flying up from the floor, before he was able to regain his momentum and sit upright.

When Ashley looked at Ronan, he declined the offer. “No, thanks. I’ll stand.”

Ronan heard the heavy footfalls of someone coming down the small hallway on the other side of the arch.

Before Ronan could walk over to peer into the foyer, a tall and lean man burst into the room. He wore Levi’s and a slim gray blazer over a plaid shirt. His face was a layout of symmetrical creases and folds and his black hair was slicked back and moussed into place.

“Finally,” he said. “The police are here about my stolen car.”

Bonamico arched an eyebrow. “No, that’s not why we are here, Mr. Robinson.”

The man blinked through clear blue eyes and cut them back and forth between Eric and Ronan.

“You,” he said pointing to Eric, “called me to tell me about Sarah. I recognize the voice.” Aiden cut another look at Ronan.

“You, I don’t know.”

Ronan turned to Eric and then over at Ashley, as she leaned against the far wall and crossed her hands over her lap in a pious position.

“This is Sergeant Ronan McCullough,” Eric said, nodding at his partner. “He is assisting Lieutenant Carter and me in the investigation.”

Aiden didn’t look at Ronan. “What about my stolen car?”

“We will get to that,” Ronan snapped. He wanted to keep this visit on point, and the line of questioning clear and concise.

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Ronan hated when questioning was thrown off track by side conversations or other misdirections.

“I understand you visited the emergency room at Charleston Mercy Hospital yesterday,” Ronan said.

Aiden stiffened. “I did.” He backed up slowly and held up his hands, palms extended. “Wait. Do I need a lawyer?”

Ronan and Eric exchanged glances. Eric cleared his throat.

“The right to legal counsel is entirely permissible.”

“—But you are not a suspect in anything,” Ronan said.

“It’s fine, Aiden,” Ashley said softly. “Sergeant McCullough and his partner are just trying to help.”

Aiden appeared to relax. “Okay. To answer the question: yes, I went to the emergency room at Charleston Mercy to see if Sarah had left anything behind. She had a locker there.”

Aiden walked across the room and flopped down on the couch. He ran a hand through his coiffed hair, but the gesture didn’t loosen one strand.

He sighed. “As next of kin, I am just trying to collect my sister’s belongings and make the funeral arrangements. I thought the hospital where she worked would be the logical place to go first.”

Aiden seemed sincere. Ronan felt a bit sorry for him. The chaos and confusion of a sudden death creates a whirlwind of decisions and protocols for the next of kin and when the death is a brutal killing, those feelings and emotions become magnified.

Ronan went over to the couch. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”

Aiden sprung up. “Ashley told me the killer is still on the loose.”

Ronan shot a glance at Ashley. The sudden defensiveness from Aiden caused Ronan to try a different tack.

Eric stepped in. “Mr. Robinson…”

“Call me Aiden.”

“Fine. Aiden…”

“—Lieutenant Bonamico tells me that our department had some problems reaching you,” Ronan cut in. Aiden froze and slowly turned. Ronan had changed his tone to accusatory, and it got Aiden’s attention.

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“Aiden was out of the country,” Ashley blurted out. All three men then looked at her. Ashley grew pale. “I mean, Aiden is a parts salesman for the Ford Motor Company.”

“That’s right,” Aiden said, as he padded across the room and leaned against the wall. “I was in Cancun, Mexico meeting with representatives from one of our manufacturing warehouses.

That’s part of my job as owner of thirteen dealerships in three states. I got here as soon as I could.”

Ronan prepared to speak again when Aiden cut him off.

“Try flying into Charleston, West Virginia. It’s a nightmare.

It took me three layovers at three different airports before I made it. On my last connection in Charlotte, the flight didn’t have enough passengers to make it profitable to fly, so American Airlines just canceled it.” Aiden appeared angry at the memory.

“No city of reputable size would tolerate a flight being canceled for those reasons, but the gate agent told me the flights from Charlotte to Charleston are canceled all the time.”

Aiden pounded a clenched fist on the wall. “What a joke.”

He turned to Ronan and flashed a mocking smirk. “So, I’m sorry if I didn’t make it to Charleston right after Sarah’s murder.”

Eric crossed the room until Ashley was out of his range of sight.

He looked at Ronan with a wide expression, an indication that he wanted Ronan to dial back the aggressive questioning. Ronan looked away. This version of Aiden Robinson didn’t completely match the good-hearted but emotionally overwhelmed person that Ty described.

Ronan and Eric let the tension in the room wane for a moment. Ronan watched the faces of Aiden and Ashley. Neither of them flinched. So far, Ronan thought, they were telling the truth.

“Aiden, did Sarah have an active social life?”

Aiden shrugged. “Like I said, we weren’t close.”

Ronan paused. “Actually, neither of us have heard that.”

Aiden pressed his lips together and looked down. “Sorry. I must have told that other detective that.”

Or told Ty, Ronan thought. “My partner and I know about Chris and the accident that killed him. Sarah and Chris fought 171

the night of the accident and she was blamed for it and disowned by the rest of the family.”

Ronan turned to Ashley. “Was she involved in any clubs or organizations? Did she go out at night? Party on the weekends?”

“I don’t understand,” Ashley said, softly.

Ronan sighed. “We are trying to figure out how Sarah wound up in the trunk of a car the night she was killed. The medical examiner told me Sarah had been killed earlier in the day.”

Ronan could feel Eric giving him a hard stare after that comment, especially since Ronan had talked with Althea Curtis alone.

“I am trying to see if an acquaintance, maybe a friend or boyfriend, or romantic interest, might have seen her in the hours before she was killed.”

Aiden looked over to Ashley. Ronan watched as they locked eyes with blank stares. Aiden motioned for Ashley to speak first.

“I just know that for the last several years she had been focused on getting her Master’s Degree in forensic science from Marshall. I would assume she went to work at the hospital, studied, and that’s it.”

Eric stopped writing for a moment. “That is a big assumption.

A pretty girl like Sarah must have had a social life.”

Ronan didn’t push that point. Eric and Sean Carter would take a trip to Huntington.

Ronan stood up and unbuttoned his wool coat. He pulled out a copy of the slip of paper he’d found, from the inside pocket.

Aiden stared at Ronan intently as he unfolded the paper, creased it back with one hand, and held it out in front of him.

“What’s this?” Aiden looked at the paper with the same expression one would use on a poisonous snake.

“It’s the main reason we’re here,” Eric said from behind Ronan.

Aiden fixed a look on Ronan and then snatched the paper from his hand. He stared at the numbers for a long second.

“What am I looking at?”

“We don’t know,” Eric said, moving closer to Aiden. “We hoped you might know.”

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“An employee at the hospital found it when cleaning out the nurses’ locker room.” Ronan tapped the paper with a finger.

“That number was handwritten on a small piece of paper and found in the bottom corner of Sarah’s locker.

Aiden let out a long sigh. “0816751. I know what the number means. Now, can we please talk about my stolen car?”

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28 Ty was glad to get the call from the day-charge nurse on duty, Melanie Rhodes, about coming in and starting a morning shift. Ty had slept fitfully for a few hours with Ronan after they talked about Aiden. Ty gave Ronan the crumpled paper with the handwritten number and he assumed that doing so would help his mind relax.

Ronan had held Ty tight against him; listening to Ronan’s small snores usually lulled Ty to sleep. But thoughts were running through his mind like a runaway train and Ty could not get settled into the deep sleep his body needed.

When Ty arrived at the hospital, the emergency room was crowded and frantic with activity. Ty wasn’t sure where to go next.

Charleston Mercy Hospital was the highest level Trauma Center in the region. The hospital could handle and treat patients who had suffered traumatic injuries as the result of accidents, fires, gunshots, or any other physical trauma. The hospital was also a nationally-accredited Medical Rehabilitation and Stroke Center and the West Virginia’s only Kidney Transplant Center, so it could handle all levels of behavioral medicine and psychiatry.

Today, it seemed like every one of the patients needing those services had been brought into the emergency room at the same time.

Every treatment room in the emergency room was occupied.

Ty had just left one of the curtained cubical treatment rooms, 174

where he’d been monitoring an elderly man who had suffered a heart attack during an anniversary dinner with his wife at Pies and Pints in downtown Charleston. With his vitals now stable, Ty could hear moans from another patient in an adjacent bed.

As Ty went back into the hallway, he took note of the activity.

Despite the exhaustion that would follow, Ty believed these chaotic moments saw the hospital staff at their best. Nurses and doctors moved from room to room with a serene purposefulness that was calming and reassuring. Ty marveled at how the staff, despite the circumstances, never faltered in their genuine concern and humanity for the patients.

A phone at the nurses’ desk in the corner of the emergency room jolted Ty from his thoughts.

Even though he was not the charge nurse on duty for the morning shift, the medical assistants, doctors, and the staff had been leaning on him for the last two hours amidst the controlled chaos in the emergency room.

Ty picked up the phone and took in a breath, ready to recite from rote memory the greeting.

“Charleston Mercy ER nurses station. This is a charge nurse.”

Ty could hear the high-pitched wailing ambulance siren in the background.

“Mercy ER, this is KCEAA Ambulance 30.” The paramedic spoke in a deep voice, but clearly with a hard edge to his words.

Ty grabbed a notepad. Ambulance 30 was a critical-care transport ambulance that transported patients requiring critical care monitoring and interventions, which meant the patient would be unstable or have a high risk of becoming unstable.

Ty wrote the number 3 on the pad and circled it; the patient would be arriving with a registered nurse, a critical-care trained paramedic, and an emergency medical technician.

“Go ahead,” Ty said, ready to write more.

“En route with a fifty-three-year-old male who was found face-down by a passing motorist. Patient is unconscious.

Deformity to the nose, active bleeding internally, intubated with a chest tube. Physical exam determined broken ribs.”

Ty swallowed hard.

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“Current vital signs: blood pressure 190/99, pulse 58, respiration 10, skin is pale, cold and wet. ETA five minutes.”

Ty swallowed hard. This patient was badly hurt and barely alive. “Thank you,” Ty said and clicked off the call.

Ty ripped off the sheet of paper and dropped the pad at the same time that he placed the phone receiver back into its cradle.

In an instant, he pulled back the receiver and pressed a blue button on the phone.

“ER Code 3. ER Code 3.”

Ty dropped the handle back into the cradle. Code 3 would mobilize the operating room and have the lead doctor, a radiologist, a trauma surgeon, medical assistants, and other nurses gather in one available room, ready for the patient.

Ty walked into the middle of the room and scanned it. Some patients were pushed against the far wall on trolleys, some tended to by strained relatives, and some alone. The confined space magnified the moans, cries, and soft conversations between patients and their guests. Ty needed to find a room quickly.

Lester Arthur appeared from one of the trauma rooms at the far end of the emergency room. He peered up and down the hallway and when he saw Ty, he waved.

Ty snapped his fingers. “I need that room, Lester,” he hollered above the cacophony of voices in the room.

Lester motioned Ty back with a hand. “The room is ready.

Put the Code 3 in here.”

In a moment, the heavy swinging doors that divided the hallway from the ER itself burst open. Two armed security guards came in first, hands hovering over their guns as their eyes darted around the room. When the scene looked safe, they flanked out, away from the gurney.

Both of the paramedics’ shirts were dappled with blood. The body on the gurney was strapped tight and the man’s shirt was stained with blood. His face was red, rheumy, and swollen and the chest tube and oxygen mask swallowed up any identifying features.

Dr. Ed Michaels, the lead ER physician on duty, watched as they made a wide right turn with the gurney.

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Ty took in a breath. His instincts and training kicked in. He was ready to help the patient in what little time he had left. Based on the notes Ty took from the phone call, that wouldn’t be long.

“He was unconscious when we found him,” one of the paramedics said, his voice trailing off as they pushed the rolling gurney into the room. “His ID says his name is Richard Metzger.”

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29 Ronan stood a few inches away from Aiden Robinson. He could hear the air wheezing from his nose.

“Take another good look at those numbers.”

Aiden made a face and looked at Ronan.

“Recite them for me.”

Aiden shook his head dismissively. “I can read, Sergeant.

Those numbers, with the exception of the last digit, correspond to Sarah’s birthday.”

Ronan knitted his eyebrows together. “Positive.”

Aiden was annoyed. “Yes, positive. 0816751. Sarah was born on August 16 in 1975. I have no idea what the number one would mean.”

Ronan felt a pang of frustration in his gut. Eric should have considered the correlation of numbers when Ronan showed them to him.

“Fine.”

Ronan looked over at Eric. “Anything else?”

“Not right now,” Eric said, removing a card from his jacket pocket and handing it to Aiden. Aiden took it and looked down at the information like it was written in a foreign language. Ashley stirred nervously behind them.

“That’s my card. If you think of anything else, no matter how insignificant, please give me a call.”

Aiden nodded in agreement, although he did not look up.

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Ronan lumbered across the room to where Ashley was standing. She tensed as he leaned in close to her.

“I’d like to take my nephew home, please.”

Ashley pulled her hair back with both hands and released it.

It fell back behind her shoulders in one clump. “I’ll get Nick.”

Ronan watched her intently as she went back under the arch by the front door and up the stairs. Ronan decided some progress had been made. Even though Aiden Gilmore seemed like a flake, he appeared to be toggling through the cycle of emotions most surviving family members experience when a loved one is brutally murdered. In addition to the pain and anguish of the death, there were decisions that had to be made, and important questions answered.

Ronan was snapped out of his reverie by an overly-excited Aiden Gilmore flapping his arms.

“I want to talk about my stolen car,” he demanded.

Eric stepped back. “Have you filed a report?”

“Yes. Yesterday. I still haven’t heard…”

Ronan stepped in to intervene. “It will take some time, Aiden.”

Aiden huffed. “Everything always takes time around here. I feel like I’m in Mayberry.”

Ronan looked at Eric and nodded. “What type of car is it?”

A voice called out from behind, “Uncle Ronan.”

Ronan turned to find Nick staring at him. He wore a grey Charleston State College sweatshirt embroidered with red lettering and light blue jeans. The blond swath of hair normally pushed across his head stood heaped in a lump on top. His eyes looked sleep-smeared.

A lump formed in his throat. Has Nick been sleeping? With Ashley? Ronan swallowed hard and tried not to show his concern.

“Get ready,” he called out to Nick. “We are leaving.”

“But…” “Don’t argue with me, Nick.”

The pointed words made Nick straighten up. Ashley stepped to his side and curled her arm inside Nick’s, bent slightly at the elbow. Ashley flashed that same pious look from earlier and it made Ronan trust her even less than he already did.

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“Fine,” Eric said from behind Ronan. “I promise I will look into the stolen car. You are sure about the details?”

“My God,” Aiden cried out. “Why is everyone treating me like I have dementia? Yes, what I said is true. I don’t need to repeat it twice, and I don’t need to think about it again.”

Eric turned to Ronan and pointed to the front door. “Let’s go.”

Ronan waited until Eric turned him around and pushed him softly in the back. “Right now, McCullough. Let’s move.”

Ronan walked through the archway and gave Ashley a long stare as he cupped a hand on Nick’s shoulder.

“Where is your coat?” Ronan asked.

“I didn’t wear one,” he replied, in a soft voice.

Ronan shook his head. He stepped back and motioned to the door. “Go with Lieutenant Bonamico to the car.”

This time, Nick didn’t say a word and followed Eric outside.

Ronan swung his gaze over at Aiden, who paced the living room.

“Remember what my partner said. Call us with any details.”

Ronan smirked as Aiden’s face turned red and he sucked in a breath to vent again about being asked to remember and repeat things twice.

As Aiden began repeating the stream of complaints, Ronan pulled back the screen door and stepped out onto the sidewalk.

The warmth of the home had allowed the dull ache in his muscles to subside. The frigid air outside did not sting as much as he thought it would.

He stomped down to the car to find Nick in the backseat, buckled in, and touching the screen on his cell phone.

Ronan looked back at the house to see the silhouette of Ashley Gundy framing the glass of the screen door.

Eric sprang out of the car as Ronan came alongside the passenger door.

“I think I got what we needed.”

Ronan pursed his lips. “From Aiden?”

“Yup. The car he reported stolen was a Hummer, and it was the same make and model of the one that crashed into the Clay Center.”

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30 Ty walked into the room and ticked off the objectives the trauma team would try to achieve.

They needed to rapidly identify the life-threatening injuries and initiate adequate supportive therapy, and then establish a definitive therapy or transfer the patient to a place where therapy could be provided.

Ty took a moment and pushed the name Richard Metzger out of his mind. Despite what Ty thought of him, he was another patient in dire trouble that needed help.

The paramedics had efficiently and effectively removed Richard from the gurney and placed him on the hospital bed. As the team mobilized around the bed, Ty waited for instructions.

Another nurse came into the room. Ty would attach himself individually to whichever doctor needed his help. Dr. Michaels looked over the bed at Ty. The frantic beeps, chirps, and hisses of the ventilator and vital monitors began to drown out the words of the team.

As Ty glanced down, a wide-eyed stare from Richard Metzger greeted him. He had a blank look in his eyes. His face was so swollen that the skin around it looked like it had pulled away from the bones in his face and clumped together into an inflamed heap. The monitor across the bed blipped infrequently.

Richard barely had a pulse.

“Ty, start an IV,” Michaels commanded.

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Ty had already put on a pair of sterile, disposable gloves and found the catheter and secured a bag of fluid. He slipped around Lester Arthur, who had come into the room to provide any assistance and grab any extra equipment or supplies.

“Help me, Lester,” Ty ordered.

Richard struggled to breathe as Dr. Michaels turned on the ventilator. Richard’s arms flailed and rolled on the edges of the bed. The mood in the room grew more charged and frantic.

Lester managed to fully extend Richard’s arm and hold it flat. Ty got the non-latex tourniquet wrapped around the elbow.

Ty caught sight of a bulging dark blue vein running parallel to the elbow. He pricked the skin with the needle and kept it securely in the vein.

Lester increased the pressure on the arm, holding it flat as Richard tried to thrash it away. Using his other hand, Ty carefully pulled the needle out of the vein. He removed the protective cover from the end of the tubing and carefully inserted the catheter hub.

Ty gasped.

As the blood began to fill the opaque tube, it was thick and shockingly red.

Lester’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the blood.

“Ed…take a look at this.”

Across the bed, the doctor monitored the breathing of Richard as his lungs strained to absorb the oxygen.

Ed locked a gaze on Ty and then looked down. The surprise on his face told Ty something was wrong.

“What the hell is that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you get it inserted in the right spot?”

“I did,” Ty said, forced to raise his voice over the human and mechanical movements filling the air. “I got the needle put in the vein properly, and pulled back the cover and then this.”

“I shouldn’t be seeing blood this red,” Ed Michaels called out. He looked up and down the left side of the bed and repeated the phrase. “His blood shouldn’t have that bright-red saturation.”

Ty didn’t know what to do or say. Lester gawked at the brightred blood as Ty disposed of the needle in the proper container 182

across the room. When he returned, the heart monitor screeched loudly.

“We’re losing him!” Ed called out.

Lester threw a sharp look at Ty, who came over and continued to hold Richard’s arm down on the bed to make sure the blood continued coagulating into the tube.

Lester swung his body around the bed and snatched the defibrillator.

“Faster, Lester. Get that damn thing ready. He’s coding.”

Ty held his breath and waited. *** Eric had decided to avoid the frequent stoplights of MacCorkle Avenue and instead came into Kanawha City by taking Exit 95 off of I-64. Exit 95 was the last southbound exit before I-64 merged into I-77 near the West Virginia Turnpike.

A chill ran over Ronan. Eric had the heat blazing inside the Ford Focus. Ronan sat with his knees pressed tightly to his chest, despite the fact he had pushed the car seat position back. Nick sat slightly slouched in the backseat. He had not looked up from his cell phone since they left Park Avenue.

By the time Eric pulled into the driveway on Kanawha Avenue, Ronan was already planning the next few steps.

“If that is the same Hummer that crashed into the Clay Center, we need to check with Bert Wolfe.”

“It doesn’t make sense, though,” Eric said, killing the ignition in the car.

“Aiden told me at the house that one of his accounts in this area is Burt Wolfe Ford. If Jacob Collier got the Hummer used in the Clay Center crash from Bert Wolfe, either legally or illegally, how can that same car belong to Aiden Robinson?”

Nick pushed open the door behind Ronan and got out. “I don’t know. Maybe the car was not for sale. If Aiden was their account rep, maybe that car was provided for him as part of an expense account.” Ronan shrugged. “But we need to look into it.”

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He paused and rubbed his eyes. “I mean, Carter needs to look into it. I think a trip to Huntington would be good, too. Find out who Sarah knew and talked to during her graduate school experience.”

Eric nodded, watching as the cold air crept unabated around the windshield of the car, fogging over the glass. Ronan could make out Nick’s figure leaning over the front door, trying to insert the key and push it open before the glass frosted over.

“Keep me posted.”

Ronan pushed open the door. Eric grabbed his arm as Ronan swung his legs out to exit. “Where are you going?”

“I need to have a talk with my nephew,” Ronan said, trying to extend his legs onto the driveway pavement. “It’s one he and I should’ve had a long time ago.”

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31 Nick leaned up against the corner of the counter in the kitchen and stared at Ronan.

Ronan drained the second bottle of Budweiser and tossed it into the trashcan. “It’s never too early for one of those,” he said, smacking his lips. “It helps take the edge off.”

The house sparkled and held the fragrance of orange citrus.

Betsey, the housekeeper, had cleaned today and the trademark scent left behind from her efforts made Ronan’s nose tingle.

Nick said stonily, “I’m not sure why you’re so upset.”

Ronan looked at his nephew expectantly. “I’m not upset if what you say is true.”

Nick sighed. “I swear. Ashley and I didn’t sleep together today.”

“What about yesterday?”

Nick shook his head. “Nope.”

“The day before that?”

Nick shook his head again.

“Then explain to me what happened at her house today?”

“Nothing,” Nick said, dragging out each syllable for effect.

“I was watching a movie upstairs. The room up there is like a family room, only smaller. When Ashley’s uncle Aiden came in, she went downstairs to talk to him. Ashley brought me a pillow from one of the bedrooms and I leaned on it while we watched the movie.”

“What movie?”

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“What?”

Ronan paused. “What movie did you watch?”

“Bridesmaids,” Nick replied, harshly. “It was funny.”

Ronan pressed a hand flat against the counter and leaned on it. “Are the two of you having sex?”

Nick shoved the swath of blond hair back to its usual place behind his left ear. “No, Uncle Ronan.”

Ronan stared harder at Nick and knitted his brows together.

“I need the truth, Nick. It’s fine either way. I really don’t care, but I want to make sure that you are using protection…”

“Oh my God,” Nick blurted out, “I am not having sex with Ashley. I don’t know her well enough to do that.” He rolled his eyes and tossed his head back. “I can’t believe that’s what you think.”

“I’m not sure what to think,” Ronan said, stepping closer to his nephew. “Ashley Gundy and her family are part of a murder investigation, Nick. Her family has to deal with issues that stem from Sarah’s murder. I don’t think it’s a good idea that you be there all the time. I am one of the police investigating what happened, and your being close to one of the family members of the victim can put you at risk. After what those Krok dealers did to us in September, I promised myself I would keep you and Ty safe, no matter what.”

“Hate to say it, but Uncle Ty and I are involved again anyway.” Nick pushed himself away from the counter and trotted out of the kitchen. “Ashley is going through a tough time. I am just trying to be a good friend to her.”

“Friend or boyfriend?”

Nick nearly made it to the front door before he stopped and turned around, his face flushed. “We are not there yet, Uncle Ronan.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

Nick sighed. “Ashley and I haven’t even talked about dating yet.” Nick’s normally soft and delicate features hardened. “We are just talking right now. I’m not even sure she’s my girlfriend.”

“I really like her,” he pleaded. “She’s fun…and smart…and pretty. I like being around her. Then Sarah got killed.”

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His voice trailed off. “Please, Uncle Ronan, don’t be mad at me. I know how you feel. And I know what I’m doing.”

At that moment, Ronan was reminded that Nick did know what he was doing. He had come to Charleston on a Greyhound Bus from Florida in September, fleeing a bad situation created by his mother Melissa when she married Bruce Copeland. Bruce had no interest in Nick at all, and Nick managed to make it to Charleston with no money and nothing more than a backpack of his belongings.

“Fine,” Ronan said, exasperated. “If it becomes a relationship, and the two of you do decide to have sex…”

Nick blew out a thin stream of air. “I know, I know.”

“Good,” Ronan said, pleased with himself. “I’m glad that’s settled.”

The front door opened, and Ty entered from outside. The cold air, biting and close, rushed in behind him.

Ty draped his plush blue coat over his shoulder and shut the door behind him. He scanned the room, making quick eye contact with Ronan and Nick before hanging his coat on the coatrack.

He appeared disheveled and defeated. His blue nurse’s uniform was rumpled and the right pocket on his pants was torn—the flap hanging haphazardly.

The usual sharp focus in Ty’s eyes had waned. His always ramrod-straight posture was now a slouch. To Ronan, it appeared Ty could collapse from exhaustion.

Ty tossed a quick look at them both. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Ronan replied, defiantly.

Ty dismissed the remark. “I know better. I can feel the tension in this room.”

Ronan tried to minimize Ty’s assertion. “Nick and I were having a discussion, that’s all. Uncle-to-nephew.” Ronan looked over at Nick for backup. “Right, Nick?”

“Sex,” Nick said. “Uncle Ronan and I were talking about sex.”

Ty looked hard at Nick. “What? What about sex?”

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“Yes,” Nick continued, “Uncle Ronan thinks I am having sex with Ashley Gundy, and because she’s Aiden’s niece and I was at her house, he thinks we did it.”

Ty suddenly seemed uncomfortable.

“It’s nothing,” Ronan added, cutting a sharp look at Nick.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Ronan wanted to clarify further, but Ty rubbed his head in his hands and let out a groan. Nick prepared to make a move toward Ty, but Ronan got there first. He put his arms around Ty and pulled him close. “Ty, what is it?”

Ronan ran his hand through Ty’s hair, which despite the cold air outside, was damp with sweat.

Ty leaned back from the embrace to settle a gaze on Nick, and then up at Ronan. Ty took a moment to recalibrate.

“It’s Dr. Metzger…”

Ronan cocked his head to the side. “What about him?”

“He was brought into the emergency room. He’s dead, Ronan. We couldn’t save him.”

Ronan felt gut-punched. Even though he was suspicious of the doctor and what he was doing at the BTech lab, Richard Metzger was one of the few people that could account for the professional and personal details of Sarah Gilmore’s life.

His skin felt clammy. Ronan looked over to Nick, who bore a slack-jawed expression as he waited for Ty to say more.

“Someone found his body and called 911. Dr. Metzger was in terrible condition when the paramedics brought him in.” Ty bent down and unlaced his shoes. “His body was failing and I tried to put an IV into his arm to get medicine into his system to stabilize him. His blood came out a color of red I’ve never seen before.”

Ronan listened patiently. “What happened?”

“I brought it to the attention of Dr. Michaels in the trauma room,” Ty said, his face resigned. “We are all too busy trying to save him. Dr. Michels ordered a blood test. Cyanide was in his blood, Ronan. Dr. Metzger was poisoned. The cyanide is what made his blood so neon red.”

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Nick leaned in, listening with rapt attention. Ronan looked down at his boyfriend. “Ty, I’m here. Take your time.”

Ty swallowed hard and smacked his lips. “Richard eventually went into cardiac arrest. I gave him chest compressions so that the heart would start pumping blood again. When that didn’t work, Lester tried. Then, Dr. Michaels took over. Eventually, his vital signs flat-lined and we lost him.”

Ronan cupped both hands lightly on Ty’s shoulders. Seeing Ty so dejected bothered Ronan.

“With patients in that condition, there is never any guarantee, but losing him after everything else that’s gone on…”

“I know,” Ronan said quietly. He drew Ty close again and held him in a warm bear hug. I’m sure the team did everything they could to save him.”

“It just wasn’t enough,” Ty said, with his cheek pressed into Ronan’s chest.

Ronan looked over at Nick and then back to Ty. “I need to go,” Ronan stated.

“Go where, Uncle Ronan?”

“I’m with Nick,” Ty interjected. “Right now?”

“Yes,” Ronan replied, with a nod. “Whoever is responsible for this is trying to cover his bases. Killing the doctor might be part of a coverup.”

“Ronan,” Ty pleaded. “What does that mean? Where are you going?”

Ronan slipped on his coat and adjusted the holster belt holding his Glock and police shield.

“I’m going back to the place where this all started.”

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32 Paul Bennington locked the last lab door. He told one of the guards to stay positioned at the back door of the BTech lab and make sure nobody tried to gain access. The Charleston Police Department now knew that rear entry to the lab existed, and Paul didn’t want any uninvited guests.

Dominic Purcell sat on the edge of a chair he had pulled into the reception area of the lab. He leaned forward in his seat, cracking the knuckles of his thick, meaty hands.

“This whole fucking mess has me nervous,” Paul said loudly.

“We can’t get established here because of all of the mistakes.”

Dominic winced, but didn’t look up. “I took care of one of the mistakes.”

“Yes,” Paul acknowledged, “but I wanted a message sent to Metzger, and instead you bashed in his face and turned his guts to Jell-O.” Dominic let out a sinister laugh. “It can get a little rough.”

Paul moved about, pacing the ornate tile flooring in the office.

He regarded the hulking mass of Dominic Purcell sitting across from him. The two men couldn’t be more different, physically or personally. Paul had always hated Dominic’s frame and the sleepy brown eyes that seemed perpetually amused. Sensing that Paul was boring a stare into him, Dominic slowly lifted his eyes. Paul watched as the movement pressed the rolls of fat and muscle together in his neck.

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“Relax. If Metzger’s not dead, he’s still not in any condition to turn on us. I made sure he wouldn’t talk.”

“I’m not convinced he would have turned,” Paul said. “At the warehouse when the BTech guards tried to push our guys around, Richard was pretty compliant.”

Dominic scoffed. “Richard started getting greedy, always pumping Stan and the other delivery boys about money, asking when he would get paid. I don’t want the delivery team worrying about money or being distracted by questions about money. They need to focus on getting the shipments of clean blood samples delivered and exchanging the fixed blood samples.”

Paul stood over Dominic. “But we need Richard. He is the science behind this operation. The other lab techs are going to ask questions.”

A coy smile crossed his face. “Then handle it. Those lab techs want to be paid and the interns want credits for school.

Tell them Metzger went out of town or took a vacation.”

Dominic pushed himself up from the chair. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Metzger trained some of the other techs to process the blood samples. The swaps still have to be processed.

Marvin is dead. The open loops are closing.”

Paul arched an eyebrow. “You mean I have to get those swaps processed. We can’t take the risk of you being seen.”

Dominic’s face beamed. “I have someone filling in for Metzger who is knowledgeable and won’t ask questions. Be prepared for communication.”

Paul nodded.

Dominic looked around the room, appraising it as if he were in unknown territory. “The U.S. Marshals think I fled Detroit when I escaped from prison and that I’m in Canada right now.” He pushed past Paul and picked up a black duffel bag that rested on the floor in front of the reception desk. “I did go there, at first, and now I’m going back.”

Paul walked over to the door and stood in front of it. “I think Ronan McCullough talked to Metzger. When I questioned

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some of the lab techs earlier today, they mentioned a cop was here. The description fit.”

“Fucking Ronan McCullough,” he said. “He should’ve drowned in that farm swamp.”

Paul backed closer to the door as he noted the wild terror in Dominic’s eyes.

“If he gets too close, kill him. Tell the guards I want him dead. Kill anyone else with him, too.”

“Am I hearing this right?” Paul hedged. “We are to kill Ronan McCullough and any other cop that gets in the way?”

Dominic pursed his lips. The deep wrinkles around his eyes hardened, revealing a slight hollowing of his cheeks. “Yes. Did Metzger find the file?”

The question caught Paul by surprise. Dominic repeated it.

“The file that belonged to Sarah Gilmore. Did Metzger find it?”

Paul glanced away. “No.” Dominic snickered. “All the more reason to kill the bastard.

Now that loop is closed. By the time Ronan or anyone else discovers the connection, it will be too late.”

Paul tried to steady the room swirling around him and quell his anger. The meeting had been a strategy session on the steps they were to take, not to change the parameters and short-term goals of the operation.

Dominic stuffed a bag into Paul’s hands. Paul let out a quick chirp of air, not expecting the bag to hit him with such force.

“This is more seed money to keep things moving. Another team is working on establishing a BTech center as an affiliate to the Illinois State Police Forensics Services Unit. That’s the only state in worse financial shape than West Virginia.”

Paul clenched the bag as Dominic pushed him away from the door. As Dominic opened it, he whipped around and displayed the sharp-pointed knife with its wide blade. Paul saw the silver holes in the knife glow under the yellow-infused recessed lights.

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“I won’t come back here again to clean up,” he said, his voice low and sinister. “Handle it. All of it. If I have to come back, the end of this knife will gut you like a dead animal.”

Before Paul could catch a breath, Dominic disappeared into the corridor.

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33 Ronan leaned over the dashboard of his truck.

He had been careful to angle his truck behind a large green dumpster near the end of the alley. The rutted road curved around the corner of Brooks Street and buttressed up against the oneway traffic whirring by on Washington Street East.

The alley behind Charleston Mercy Hospital was a one-way thoroughfare and Ronan had the nose of his truck pointed east, opposite the direction of traffic. He checked the rearview mirror and the side mirrors of his vehicle to ensure no traffic traveling down the alley would see him.

The sky overhead was a uniform grey and the chipped and cracked alley concrete was still coated in snow. Ronan took in a deep breath, paying attention to the silence that hung thick in the frigid air of the narrow alley.

Now Ronan had parked himself at the place where everything connected. Marvin Null was shot in cold blood and Sarah Gilmore had been brutally murdered and stuffed into a Hummer, which crashed into the Clay Center after its driver Jacob Collier was shot. He’d just learned, in this timeline of bad news, that now the BTech lab director Richard Metzger was dead.

Ronan ran back the details in his mind. All of these murders connected to this second-floor laboratory, constructed for BTech as a quid-pro-quo for the remaining funding for the Charleston Mercy Hospital Children’s Cancer Center wing. BTech further cemented their position in Charleston by agreeing to handle all 194

the forensic and blood analysis testing once provided by the West Virginia State Police crime lab in South Charleston. BTech had ingratiated themselves into the fabric of the community through an altruistic gesture and then capitalized on that favor by inserting themselves into the criminal investigations of police departments throughout the state.

Ronan felt nausea roiling in his stomach. He didn’t completely trust BTech or Richard Metzger. Something about their sudden emergence in Charleston, with the medical community and local politicians fawning over the goals and priorities of the company didn’t set well with him. They swooped in with promises to take over the blood analysis for various law enforcement agencies in the state. Ronan was sure that whatever their true motives might be, they would be found here in this lab.

An armed guard stood watch over the back door leading up the second floor, where the labs were located. Ronan knew that door led to the lot where Ty said he spotted a dark Humvee speed away. Ronan had gone through the doorway on the second floor during his visit to the lab.

The fact that BTech would have a guard, clad in dark clothing with a bulletproof vest and a semi-automatic rifle draped over his shoulder, standing in front of the door, indicated to him that BTech wanted to control who and what came in and out of that area.

Ronan had been studying the guard and his movements for at least thirty minutes. He was willing to stay all day if necessary.

Someone had to come in or out eventually, and Ronan wanted to make sure he saw it when it happened.

He settled back into his seat and checked the three mirrors.

Other than cars passing by on Washington Street, there was little noise or movement.

Ronan heard a loud bang on the glass window. He instinctively flinched and reached for his Glock. ***

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Ty checked the oven he had pre-heated to 350 degrees.

Cooking always brought him back to his emotional equilibrium. When stress from work or general anxiety about Ronan dealing with dangerous situations and heinous people overwhelmed him, Ty went to the kitchen. Using his hands to create something that provided comfort and joy for others balanced him. The bonus was it didn’t involve medicine, healthcare, or treatment of sick and injured people.

Behind Ty, Nick combined brown sugar, mustard, and ketchup in a small bowl.

“What do I do with this?”

Ty looked over his shoulder at Nick. “Set it aside. We will mix it again and pour it over the meatloaf when it’s cooked.”

In a large bowl, Ty had combined beef, egg, onion, and milk with cracker crumbs. He seasoned the beef with salt and pepper and placed the wet, malleable meat into a greased 5x9 loaf pan.

“That should do it,” he said, pulling down the stainless-steel door of the oven and sliding the raw meat slab inside. “In an hour, we should have dinner.”

Nick placed a hand on his stomach. “Good. I’m hungry.”

Ty smiled. “That’s nothing new.”

The doorbell clanged. Ty looked down at his hands, still flaked with raw beef from the meatloaf.

Ty gave Nick a nod. “Okay,” Nick said. “I can get it.”

Nick left the kitchen to head down the hallway. Ty went over to the large sink, turned on the warm water with his elbow to the handle, and began rinsing his hands.

From the other side of the house, Ty could hear Nick speaking, followed by the muffled words of another party. Ty finished washing his hands and rubbed them against his dark grey sweatpants, still slightly damp from his earlier shower.

Ty padded down the hallway and into the front room. Nick had flipped on the recessed ceiling light and Ty could make out the curly brown hair protruding out from under a green knitted hat. The acrid smell of cigarette smoke wafted in and made Ty’s eyes water.

Nick looked back at Ty and stepped away.

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“Hello, Ty.” Ty looked suspiciously at the figure framing the doorframe.

“Aiden. What’s going on? What are you doing here?”

Aiden shifted his weight between his feet and blew into his chapped hands. “Can I come in? It’s really cold out here.”

“Yes, please come inside.”

Nick reached over and pulled the door back as Aiden clomped in, one booted foot stamping the floor, followed by the other.

“Nick, please go back to the kitchen and watch the meatloaf.

I need to speak with Aiden. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Nick seemed disappointed, but did as Ty instructed.

Aiden unzipped his heavy winter coat and jerked the cap from his head. The rest of his brown curls snapped under the static electricity.

Aiden looked earnestly at Ty. “Before you ask, Ashley told me how to get here. I wouldn’t have come unless it was important.”

Ty cocked his head. “I am not sure what’s going on—” “I need to speak to Ronan,” Aiden insisted, the words coming out in one big rush. “It’s urgent.”

Ty felt his chest tighten. He wondered if Aiden knew that he and Ronan were a couple. If so, would Aiden say anything? Who would he tell? Was it too late to stop him?

Protecting that secret from others was a priority for Ronan.

Ty decided to act like nothing was out of the ordinary.

“Ronan is not here,” Ty said absently. “I am not sure where he is.”

Aiden wadded up the knitted cap in one hand. “He came to my house earlier, to question me about Sarah. Ronan and that other cop told me that if I remembered anything, to contact them.”

“I can provide directions to the police department.”

“I don’t have time for that,” he barked. The tone of his voice made Ty step back.

Aiden held up a hand. Ty stared at the open palm like it was a weapon.

“Look, I’m sorry. I’m just a little overwhelmed.”

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His voice trailed off. Ty remained silent and just stared at him.

“Can you give Ronan a message for me? If he comes back, tell him I saw a story on the news. They were talking about the car that smashed through the arts center downtown. I went online and watched the story again and again. I studied it closely.”

Feeling uneasy about having a relative stranger in his house unannounced, Ty was eager to end the conversation.

“Aiden, I need to get back into the kitchen, dinner’s almost ready.”

“Please, just another minute.”

Ty crossed his arms and looked at Aiden expectantly.

“The car that crashed into the Clay Center is the car. It’s the car that Burt Wolfe normally lets me use when I’m in town for business. And the driver, Jacob Collier, I know him. He did some work for the dealership.”

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34 Ronan placed a hand on his chest and struggled to take in a breath.

Two fiercely poignant green eyes blinked through the glass.

Sean Carter tapped the glass, softer this time.

Ronan rolled down the window of the truck. “What the fuck…”

Sean looked back down the alley in the direction of the armed guard. “Unlock the door.”

Ronan grimaced and unlocked the door. As Sean Carter plopped into the seat, Ronan rolled the window up again.

“I guessed right,” he said to himself, grinning and pulling the ends of his LLBean coat out from under the seat.

“Guessed right about what?” Ronan asked coolly, not really wanting to hear the answer.

“That you would be here. Eric told me about the little chat with Aiden Robinson. If I learned anything about you from the Krok investigation, it’s that you will go back to the beginning of an investigation and retrace your steps. Other than the Clay Center, this lab is the one place, the one thread that ties these murders together. It would make sense to come back here.”

Ronan gripped the steering wheel tight with both hands and stared ahead down the alley.

“Thanks for cooperating and keeping Eric and me in the loop,” Sean said, pulling out a pair of small binoculars and 199

putting them to his eyes. His lined face folded deeper as he strained to peer through the lenses.

“Our boy hasn’t moved much,” he said. “He’s armed, though.

Something’s going down.”

“Carter,” Ronan said, looking over at him. “Where did you come from?”

“I drove down Washington Street a couple of times,” he said, adjusting the swivel knob on the top of the binoculars to sharpen their focus. “I thought I recognized the back of your truck. When I came around the block for the third time, I noticed the truck parked at an angle behind this dumpster. That’s when I knew.”

The space between Ronan and Sean seemed to grow smaller.

“Where’s Eric?”

“I’ve had him looking into the accident report on what killed Chris Gilmore. The state police handled the investigation.”

“And?” Carter removed the binoculars and blinked hard, trying to refocus his eyes. “Nothing unusual. A toxicology screen on Chris found nothing suspicious. Chris had been speeding and it appears that he just lost control of the car when taking a sharp curve on 152, before proceeding onto Wayne.”

“Ashley Gundy says the family blamed Sarah for the accident.”

“They did,” Carter added. “They filed a civil suit against Sarah. Jackson and Kelly represented the family, but it never went before a judge. It was most probably an intimidation tactic to let Sarah know that Chris’s family considers her at fault for his death.”

Sean clucked his tongue. “There was also a life insurance policy for $40,000. Chris Gilmore worked at Marshall University in the admissions office as a recruiter. He had $10,000 in a guaranteed death benefit from the state and he purchased an additional $30,000 policy.”

Ronan gave a curt nod. “Certainly Sarah would not become rich overnight if Chris died.”

“Right.” Sean took in a breath. “So that’s where we are right now. I have Eric and Chris Keenan going to the Marshall forensic 200

science building to talk to her classmates and professors. If there’s anything we missed that could have led to her death, they might know about it.”

Ronan looked ahead. The guard was flexing his legs.

“How long have you been watching?” Sean asked, handing over the binoculars.

Ronan gave him a curious look and then took the binoculars from Sean. “For about an hour or so. There is a reason he is standing there armed. He wants to prevent someone from getting out.”

“Or, he wants to control who comes in.”

Ronan lifted the binoculars to his eyes when his cell phone blinked and jostled in the cup well next to his seat. Ronan and Sean both looked down at it. Ronan felt a lump form in his throat.

The name Ty flashed on the screen.

Ronan dropped the binoculars and they fell into the well of the truck below his feet. Ronan reached down and fumbled with the phone as it continued to blink and whirl. Sean watched Ronan with interest until Ronan was finally able to swipe the red x below the name, dismissing the call.

Ronan felt his chest burn. If Sean inquired about why Ty would call, Ronan had to come up with a logical response.

Silence filled the space between Ronan and Sean. Ronan felt worse as the seconds ticked by.

After a few moments, Sean spoke. “I know Ty means a great deal to you.”

The words hit Ronan with such force, he didn’t know whether to lunge at Sean or bolt from the truck.

“In September, I was the investigating detective at the house on Autumn Road when that man broke in and knocked Ty unconscious and chained up your sister. Ty was consumed with worry when we couldn’t tell him where you were.”

The memory of that night made bile from Ronan’s stomach catch in his throat. Two high-level enforcers in the desomorphine crime syndicate had learned where Ronan lived. Ty and his sister, Melissa, had been home. Ty was knocked unconscious and Melissa had been chained to a chair like a wild animal.

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Ronan had managed to snap the neck of one of the men, but when Ronan struggled to free Melissa, a needle full of succinylcholine had been jabbed into his neck.

Sean paused. “When Ashby wanted to review Ty’s interview with us in his office, I watched you, carefully.”

“But then you called Ty a coconut nigger.”

Sean looked away for a second. “I needed to test my theory.

I could tell he meant more to you than just an ordinary witness and your reaction proved it.”

A cold shiver ran up Ronan’s back at the memory.

Sean set his jaw. “I think you feel the same way about Ty.” Ronan looked away. “I don’t want to talk about this. It’s my business.”

Sean persisted. “Being in a committed relationship with a cop is not easy.”

Ronan slapped his hand on the steering wheel. He leaned over to Sean, setting a hard look on him. Ronan could feel the veins protruding out from his neck and his heart pumping with fury.

“I said I don’t want to talk about it. Pretend that cell phone never rang.”

Sean slid back until he was crumpled against the door of the truck, his eyes wide. “Fine. I’ll drop it.”

Ronan held the stare for a moment to make sure Sean got the message. Ronan slowly moved back across the cab of the truck to settle in his seat.

A few minutes passed. Both Sean and Ronan stared out the window. A cold wind swirled through the alley and began to cloud over the glass windshield inside the truck. Ronan reached into the floorboard of the seat behind him and brought up a rag.

“Ronan.”

“I need to wipe off the glass,” he answered curtly. “If I start the engine to run the defroster, the guard will know he’s being watched.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Sean said softly.

Ronan took two wide swipes with the cloth and managed to wipe away a large portion of the frost.

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“Ronan, put that damn rag down and look at me.”

Frustrated, Ronan threw the rag at the glass. It landed in a harmless clump on the dashboard. Ronan slowly turned until he eyed Sean.

“I don’t need to know what’s going on with Ty Andino, and if you don’t want to tell me about the relationship you two have, that’s fine. That way, if anyone inside the department ever asks me, I don’t have to lie.”

Sean appeared sincere and his words sounded genuine.

He seemed to weigh the direction of the conversation before continuing.

“But please, don’t take me for an idiot.”

Sean arched an eyebrow and Ronan nodded curtly.

“Besides,” Sean continued, “being gay is just a part of who you are, it doesn’t define who you are.” He turned his attention back to the windshield and focused on the stoic guard standing by the door. “I think you’re still a damn good cop. A pain in the ass, no doubt, but a good cop. Love is love. Who you choose to be with doesn’t matter and it’s not anyone else’s business.”

Sean perched an arm on the door and rested his chin on a closed fist.

Ronan felt overwhelmed and relieved. He had worked for so long at keeping his secret from the rank-and-file of the department.

Ronan realized this was the first time he and Sean had spoken on a matter that did not involve a police investigation.

“Thanks,” Ronan said, haltingly. “I appreciate your understanding.”

“I meant it. Every word.”

“I know.”

Sean nodded. “This stays between us,” he said. “It’s not to be used as leverage. It’s just two people talking.”

Ronan felt his heart beating faster. He leaned forward in the car and flexed his back. His eyes instinctively flickered back to the rearview mirror and that’s when he saw the fluorescent white headlights come around the side of the building.

Ronan reached over and slapped Sean on the arm. “I think 203

we’ve got something.”

Sean turned his head and watched intently as a black Humvee slowly crept down the alley and pulled to a stop.

“I’ll be damned,” Ronan said. “Ty said he saw a Humvee leave the scene after he and Tom Mack gave chase to the shooter that killed the security guard at the BTech labs.”

“He was right,” Sean said, glancing over at Ronan.

Both men held their breath. As they leaned in to watch the action, a man dressed identically to the guard by the door retreated to the back of the Humvee, opened the doors, and removed a large, square box requiring both his hands.

“Let’s follow that truck when it leaves,” Ronan ordered.

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35 Ronan trailed behind the Humvee as they turned east onto Court Street from Washington Street West.

Ronan drove slowly and stayed far enough behind the Humvee so as not to alert the driver. Ronan allowed the car to move through an intersection and then waited for the traffic light to change to red, to put a city block of distance between them.

“Make sure we don’t lose them,” Sean called out with urgency.

“I got it,” Ronan replied. “We want to keep the car in our sights, but not tip him off that he’s being followed.”

Sean tapped the glass with a finger. “It looks like he’s going under the old train bridge by the West Virginia American Water Company.” Sean glanced down at Ronan’s phone and picked it up. “I’m going to call this in.”

Ronan grabbed Sean by the wrist, loosening his grip on the phone. It tumbled back into the cup holder.

“Don’t,” he said, tossing a quick look at the detective. “If he hears sirens blaring, he will know we are on to him. Let’s see where he goes. This is the first time we have witnessed a drop off and exchange, and I want to find out the final steps in the transaction.”

Sean appeared dissatisfied with the reasoning, but he didn’t try reaching for the phone again.

“Where the hell are we going?”

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Ronan pressed down heavily on the brake as they came down the steep slope of the road. The faded blue steel railroad bridge darkened the interior of the truck for a moment and Ronan released his pressure on the brake and he accelerated. The truck engine moaned and whirred as it scaled the opposite side of the road.

The Humvee had already turned right onto Piedmont Road and began to disappear under the interstate when the truck came to a stop at the top of the hill at the intersection with Piedmont Road.

“Step on it, McCullough. We are going to lose him.”

Ronan hit the accelerator hard and whipped the wheel sharply to the right. The motion threw Carter against the side door of the truck.

“Why is he turning onto Slack Street?”

Slack Street was a small, narrow two-lane road that pitched a sharp left from Piedmont Road. The Humvee rumbled past the faded brick Midtown Mini-Storage building perched high on the corner of Piedmont Road and Slack Street.

Ronan followed, this time unable to maintain a distance.

Slack Street eventually narrowed into a wide, one-lane road. The Humvee, speeding faster now, took nearly the entire width of the road.

They drove for a few minutes longer.

“Why is he turning right onto Hinton Terrace?” Ronan asked.

Sean shrugged. “I don’t know, but don’t lose him.”

The road leading to Hinton Terrace banked sharply to the right and then snaked around the mountain to the left. The snowpack that had lain frozen on the road for the last two days caused the truck tires to slip and Ronan had to pump the brakes twice to allow the treads to regain traction. Carter rested a hand on the dashboard, trying to maintain his balance.

The road slanted to the right again. Ronan pulled the truck farther to the right, hugging the jagged rocky hillside in case he lost control of the truck on the slick pavement.

The Humvee swerved left, went down the hillside, and onto a narrow gravel road. Ronan stopped the car and waited.

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Ronan looked over to an eager Sean Carter. “Give him time to get ahead. Then, we move in.”

Ronan pulled the truck to the right of the road and clicked on the hazard lights to prevent anyone from assuming the truck was idling.

Ronan could hear Sean suck in a tight breath. “Let’s go.”

Ronan turned the steering wheel on the truck and it went down a sharp embankment that cut into the earth along Hinton Terrace. The rutted path was layered with gravel, and Ronan could hear the tires churn and crunch under the cab.

Eventually, the road widened and a large warehouse emerged from the shadows. The late winter afternoon sun hadn’t penetrated the sky and the warehouse took on a darker hue than usual.

They pulled off from the side of the road. “Let’s go in slow,” Sean said, his voice low. “The driver doesn’t know we followed him, nor does he realize we saw the contents he is transporting.

If he confronts us, we’ll identify ourselves and tell him our visit is part of the investigation.”

Much of what Sean was saying was standard procedure, so Ronan didn’t object. In the cup holder, his cell phone rang again.

It was Ty calling. Ronan thought about answering it, but now was not the time.

“We can wait,” Sean said, looking down at the screen and back up at Ronan.

Ronan swiped the call rejection button across the screen face. “I’ll call him later. Let’s go.”

Ronan ran his hand to the side of his waistband, to ensure his Glock was there. To his right, Sean Carter did the same.

Both men inhaled deeply and quietly got out of the truck.

They looked down and followed the deep, muddy tire impressions left by the Humvee in the soft earth. As they approached, the trees surrounding the clearing became shadows, the air grew colder, and the natural beauty of the landscape was replaced by a brooding sense of isolation. Ronan felt his heart pounding. Soon the path and his own feet melted into blackness as the highsloped roof of the warehouse shrouded them from light.

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The tracks left by the Humvee stopped in front of a large metal sliding door. To the right was a stained rusted door featuring a round silver handle, but no window. To the left, a gravel driveway curved to the left over a spine of soil and rock near the back of the warehouse. Above them was a small, square window framed near the top of the warehouse.

Sean looked over at Ronan. “Got a ladder?”

Ronan peered up. “We are not getting in that way.”

Ronan stared ahead. “See if the door opens.”

Sean whipped his head back around as an expression of uncertainty crossed his face.

“Try the damn handle and see if it opens. Maybe our guy forgot to lock it.”

Sean Carter plodded over to the door and grabbed the handle like he was expecting it to burn his skin. The door pulled back and Ronan and Sean felt a breath of air hit them as they stepped into the doorway.

“Oh my God,” Ronan said.

Inside the warehouse, the concrete floor was dotted with a host of intermodal shipping containers in multi-colors, in dramatic contrast to the otherwise sterile interior of the warehouse. The containers were strewn about the warehouse floor in a haphazard pattern—some of them crossing the room horizontally, while other containers bisected them vertically. Ronan thought the floor looked like a bowl of Legos pieces dumped by a careless child.

To the right wall of the warehouse, two sets of containers were stacked on top of one another. Another set of containers sat next to it. Throughout the rest of the floor, containers were arranged in horizontal and vertical patterns that made no sense.

“Where’s the driver?”

Ronan craned his neck up. From that distance, he couldn’t see if the Humvee was parked near the back wall of the warehouse.

“I don’t know,” he said softly, “but keep an eye out.”

Ronan could sense Sean glaring at him. “Someone has been busy.”

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As Sean took a step ahead, Ronan extended an arm, stopping Sean from going forward.

“Listen.”

Sean surveyed the room to the left and right. “I don’t hear anything.”

“Shut up and listen closely.”

A strange sound filled the space. A rattling could be heard for a few seconds, and then it stopped. A dripping sound soon followed. The height and expanse of the warehouse made it difficult to discern where the sounds originated.

Sean said, “McCullough, look at this.”

They approached a 40-foot shipping container. Sean walked to the side of the container where a large square unit blistered out from the skin. Drops of water came from the base of the unit dripping onto the floor.

“It looks like water.”

“It’s water from a condensation process.” Ronan reached up and touched the side of the container. “The metal is ice-cold.”

Sean made a face. He walked up behind Ronan and also pressed a hand against the surface. “Shit, it is.”

Sean looked down at the twist-lock on the front of the container. A retractable lock, heavily corroded with rust, had been turned all the way to the right. Ronan glanced up; each of the eight corners of the face had a twist-lock, but they all had been loosened. Ronan regarded Carter, who stared at the one closest to them.

Carter smacked his lips. “I think our driver has been here.”

“That lock has been turned,” Ronan said. “I think we can open it.”

Sean flashed Ronan a look of concern. “This is private property. We don’t have a search warrant or probable cause.”

Ronan huffed. Sean was right. In a fit of disgust, Ronan slapped the lock with his hand. The vibration loosened the lock and slowly the door edged open. Ronan stepped to the side as the door swung back and Sean edged up against the opening, reluctantly sticking his head into the dark.

“Jesus Christ. I can’t believe this. McCullough…”

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Ronan felt a pulse fill the air. Before he could take another breath, the back side of the container was smattered with bullets.

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36 Ronan grabbed Carter by the arm and dived behind the container as gunfire peppered its walls.

They put their backs against the steel surface as the pungent smell of Nitroglycerin from the discharged bullets slamming into metal wafted through the air.

“Shit,” Carter said, panting for breath.

“I think our driver doesn’t want us discovering anything else.”

“Or someone else.”

Ronan cupped a hand on his shoulder. Carter looked down at it and then over at Ronan.

“What was in the container?”

“Blood.”

Ronan frowned. “What?”

“Blood. Bags of it. The type that would be stored at a hospital or a blood bank.”

Ronan sucked in a breath. “Police. Hold your fire!”

Ronan didn’t have time to say anything more before another spray of bullets riddled the back of the container.

They could hear shell casings skip off the concrete floor.

Carter reached for his cell phone. “I’ve got to call this in. We need backup.”

Ronan quickly assessed the situation. He and Carter had made the poor decision to examine the container in the middle of the warehouse. To the left was another container, angled sideways.

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Then another container was flush against the wall to the right.

The door they had entered lay straight ahead, but making a run for it would leave them open and exposed to an unseen shooter with an advantage.

Sean Carter identified himself to dispatchers and began explaining where they were—his voice a raspy whisper. Another spray of bullets hit the back of the container.

“The door,” Carter whispered to Ronan as he ended the call.

“It’s our only escape route.”

Ronan nodded. “Our shooter knows that too.” Ronan closed his eyes for a moment and took in a breath, trying to get his pounding heart to slow down.

He looked at Sean with a focused stare. “Let’s each take a side of the container. Fire across the warehouse. The shooter doesn’t know we’re armed, and if he’s surprised, it might buy us time.”

Carter looked to the left at the long shadow that cut along the floor, made by the juxtaposition of the overhead light against the side of the container.

“Then what?”

“Then make a break for it.”

Sean seemed uncomfortable with the idea.

“Run. A full-on sprint. Don’t stop or turn around. Get out that door and back to the road. Show our backup where to go.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll stay and keep him distracted until the cavalry arrives. If he thinks we both got away, he’ll have the advantage.”

“Right. We would be outside and exposed.”

“And he knows the territory; we don’t.”

Sean thought for a moment. “Shit. This isn’t such a good option, is it?”

Ronan pulled the slide on his Glock. “I’m open to better.”

Sean shook off the comment. He dislodged his Glock Model 38 from his shoulder harness. “There are no better options.” He glanced over at Ronan. “On three. One. Two. Three!”

Ronan leaned around to the left side of the container and

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fired three shots into the distance. Sean did the same to the right, although he got off four shots.

They ducked back behind the container. Ronan said, “Okay.

I’ll fire two more shots. When I do, run.”

Sweat dripped down Carter’s face as he loosened the tie around his neck. “Okay. Got it.”

“On three.”

Ronan counted silently to himself and then swung his arm around to fire two additional shots.

From a crouched position, Carter scrambled upright and began to sprint. Ronan could feel the rush of air behind him.

Carter’s heavy footfalls grew softer.

Another round of bullets hit the side of the container. One of the bullets ricocheted off the straight piece of metal that bracketed the edge of the container and clipped Ronan.

He grunted and grabbed his arm.

Don’t stop running, Carter, Ronan thought silently.

He looked down to see that the bullet had sliced through his shirt and left a jagged hole in his arm, just above the elbow. A pool of blood glazed his skin. Ronan looked closer. It appeared to be just a flesh wound.

Ronan could hear the pattering of Carter’s feet stop. Ronan looked up to see Sean halfway between the door and the container. His momentum and angle of the run had him list to the right of the container. Half of his body was without cover.

Ronan crawled to his knees and flailed his arms at Carter, urging him to stay back and keep moving. Carter instead retreated towards Ronan.

Carter lifted his gun up and fired two more rounds across the warehouse. He pinned Ronan with eyes of wide-eyed concern as he inched closer.

A slow burn formed in Ronan’s throat. Ronan shook his head as Carter steadied himself. And then it happened.

A fury of gunfire erupted from across the room. The first bullet hit Carter in the right shoulder. The force of the impact swung him to the right. Another spray of bullets. The second and third bullets nailed him in the lower back. Carter bellowed out a guttural scream.

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Ronan watched in horror as the final bullet blew out an enormous hole in the side of his neck, sending skin and tissue spraying out onto the floor. Carter collapsed; his face smacking into the concrete.

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37 Panic and anger seized Ronan.

“Carter!”

The smoky haze from the gunfire floated ominously in tight ropes around the warehouse. Ronan didn’t care if the shooter aimed at him; he was going to help his colleague.

Ronan crawled on his hands and knees, waiting to see if he would be the next target. Silence filled the room.

Ronan finally reached the crumpled body of Sean Carter.

Blood pooled from the wound to his face. When Ronan turned Sean over, he saw the side of his neck had been completely blown out. One eye remained hopelessly still and open.

Blood poured from the wounds in Carter’s back and shoulder.

Ronan pressed two fingers into the side of Carter’s neck. His mouth was frozen into an open gape, as if Carter were trying to scream out a word.

“Fuck, Carter!”

Ronan felt like his mind and hands were moving in slow motion. He blinked back tears and the sweat ran down his nose and chin dropped onto the body. Ronan’s fingers pressed into the spongy, tender flesh at the base of his neck. Ronan felt what was left of Carter’s carotid artery, in search of a pulse. Ronan felt nothing. Sean Carter was dead.

Ronan had never seen so much blood. His knees and shins were stained crimson as the pooling blood soaked his clothing.

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He fought back the urge to charge across the warehouse and find the shooter. If Ronan located him, he would tear him apart limb by limb.

Ronan hadn’t heard the police sirens in the distance.

A SWAT team charged through the small door at the back of the warehouse, followed by unformed officers with guns drawn.

“Find a way to get this damn door opened,” Ron Ashby called out. Ronan was glad to hear the voice of his captain.

Ashby rushed in, the Kevlar vest pressing the knot in his brown tie tightly around his neck and pleating his white dress shirt. Ronan looked up at Ashby. The captain lowered his revolver as he stared down at the bloody mess on the floor.

“I need a truck in here, now!”

Ronan locked eyes with Ashby. The precision that accompanied every interaction with the captain had waned.

Now, fear and sadness registered on his face.

Ronan shook his head. “He’s dead, Cap.” Ashby knelt down next to the body. He turned back to the door. “Where is that damn truck?!”

Someone called out from behind as the paramedics came in and surrounded the body. Ronan had been on enough scenes like this one to know that the paramedics don’t want an assessment or assumptions made about the body. They are more than capable of determining that themselves.

Ashby reached around and tugged Ronan by the crook of his elbow. “Come on,” he said, his voice calm and measured. “Let’s get you checked out.”

Another team of paramedics rushed into the room. Ashby held up a hand and gave it a twist to signal them.

Ronan watched as the movement and voices around him flashed in fragmented bursts. He became consumed with anger; his eyes flared, his mouth quivered, trying to articulate slurred syllables into a language that could not be understood.

The muscles in his legs and arms were on fire. The slow burn of anger in the pit of his stomach made him want to explode, releasing his emotions on anything standing in his way.

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Ronan pushed past the paramedics as they started to ask the standard questions. He fixed his eyes on the doorway and holstered his Glock onto his belt.

Ronan stalked over to the door. Captain Ashby called out to Ronan, but he was too mad, too focused to make out the words.

He emerged from the warehouse to find dusk beginning to fall. The pulsing, moving red and blue lights from the tops of the emergency vehicles streamed in concentric circles onto the building and the grounds.

Several uniformed police approached Ronan wanting to talk, but he ignored them. He set his jaw and looked around.

Where is the shooter and where is the Humvee?

As Ronan scoured the scene, he got his answer. From a thicket of naked branches hanging from a sagging tree limb behind the warehouse, two beams of light shone in the distance.

A low rumbling sound echoed from the woods. Ronan watched as the poles of light began to bend and move.

Ronan rocked on the heels of his feet then spun around. He pushed a few officers out of the way as he raced back to his truck.

He flung open the door, fired up the engine and hit the gas pedal. The tires spun and grinded against the soft earth as Ronan throttled the pedal harder. Wisps of smoke rose from under the cab as the truck lurched and then flew forward.

Captain Ashby came around the edge of the warehouse. From his peripheral vision, Ronan could see the captain, mouth agape, turning his head helplessly as Ronan whizzed by, pursuing the Humvee.

Ronan looked back in his rearview mirror to see two cops getting into the silver Dodge Charger patrol car and spinning out, following Ronan.

He returned his attention to the road ahead and watched the Humvee drop over the hillside at the back of the property, churning up gravel.

Ronan sucked in a breath. He didn’t know where the road led, but the chase was on.

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*** Ty dropped his cell on the table.

The force of the impact startled Nick, who was busy stuffing pieces of hot meatloaf into his mouth.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, through puffed cheeks and a full palate.

Ty looked down dejectedly at his phone. “Ronan won’t answer his cell phone. I can’t reach Eric at the police station either.” Ty sighed, resigned to the circumstances. “I need at least one of them to call me back.”

After Aiden left, Ty wrote down the information.

Ty compared notes with Nick. Once they both agreed they heard the same details from Aiden, they had come into the kitchen to eat. Ty had barely touched his food.

He looked at the clock on the wall. It was now 5:00. He had to be in the emergency room at Charleston Mercy Hospital in an hour for his shift.

Ty took a sheet of paper from a notepad in the living room and wrote down a number in large numbers with a pencil: 0816751.

He pushed it across the table to Nick, who wiped his chin with the back of his hand. Ty smirked. When Nick was hungry, he forgot basic table manners, which was exactly what his uncle Ronan did.

“Do those numbers mean anything?”

Nick peered down at the numbers again. He swallowed and smacked his lips. “Not really.”

Ty rested his head on a clenched fist. But these numbers correspond with Sarah’s birthdate.”

Nick swirled the edge of his dinner roll around the plate, soaking up tomato sauce and bits of meat left on the plate. He popped the soggy roll into his mouth.

“Yep. I was standing at the top of the staircase listening to Uncle Ronan question Aiden over at the house. I wrote down the numbers and put them in my pocket. I wasn’t sure where Ashley was during it all, but I thought the numbers might help her.”

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Ty nodded. “But if Sarah was born on August 16, 1975, what does the one mean?”

Nick reached over and pulled the paper across the table. He brushed back the swath of blond hair with one hand. “It might be a code. Some type of encryption.”

Ty made a face. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“In my advanced network security class, we use encryption codes all the time.” Nick shoved his plate to the middle of the table and leaned back in his chair. “An encryption is a secret code for the computer in a file. Encryption is used for data security.

To read it, you must have access to a secret key or password that allows it to be decrypted.”

Ty thought for a moment. “That assumes there was a computer file associated with her birthdate.”

“Yup. Encryption codes only work with computer files.”

Ty stood up from the table, collected Nick’s plate, and took it over to the deep well sink. He stared at the plates, lost in thought.

Charleston Mercy Hospital coded files to diagnose procedures for inpatient records. The hospital had secondary codes for billing and charging third-party vendors, like insurance companies.

Ty remembered from his hospital orientation training that the human resources department also assigns a code to the personnel file of each employee. That number was seventeen digits corresponding to the employee’s name and not the birthdate.

Nick tapped the paper with the edge of the pencil as Ty walked back to the table and sat down.

“Maybe the last number was a mistake. Maybe it’s a typo.

With computer encryption, one digit typed into the code wrong renders it useless.”

Ty scowled. He looked up and checked the clock again. It was now 5:15. Already dressed in his blue scrubs and shoes, Ty was set to head to the hospital.

“I’m going to work,” he said to Nick. Nick gave an absent finger wave at Ty as he continued to study the numbers intently.

“If Ronan calls, please notify me by my cell. If I don’t answer, leave a message. I need to talk to him.”

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Nick finally looked up. “Okay, but Uncle Ty, aren’t you going to work a little early?”

Ty snatched his keys from the table and swung the ring on his finger. “I am. But I need to stop by the IT department at the hospital before it closes for the day.”

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38 The truck bobbed and weaved down the uneven, sloped gravel road.

The trees, thick and set back against the road, provided little space to maneuver, but the black Humvee, with the driver Ronan assumed was the shooter, had a good lead.

Ronan turned the truck sharply left down a curve. In the distance, he could see paved road still snow-covered. The headlights reflected off the double-striped yellow dividing lines that peeked through the snow.

This path leads back to Slack Street.

Ronan gripped the steering wheel tightly. He could hear the wailing sirens from the police car behind him. The Dodge Charger would navigate the gravel slope easier than his truck, and they would be behind him in seconds.

He didn’t want to take the chance that the car would try to get Ronan to pull over and let them take the lead in the chase.

Ronan craned his neck forward and looked to the left and right.

He saw two red OEM taillights disappearing in the distance.

“He’s heading back to town,” Ronan called out as he stepped on the gas pedal.

The truck spun in place for a moment before Ronan jerked the wheel to the left. With the sun easing behind the horizon and the road still wet and snow-covered, Slack Street was becoming hard and slick.

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Ronan pulled the wheel back slightly to the right as his truck settled onto the pavement. He couldn’t risk spinning out or hydroplaning.

The truck moved down Slack Street. Ronan rolled down the truck window and could hear the engine of the Humvee thrumming against the hillside and bouncing off the sloped hillsides next to the road. The car was close, but Ronan was closing in.

Ahead, Ronan saw the Humvee slow as it came to the angled ramp that led from Slack Street to Hinton Terrace. The vehicle’s back tire swerved to the left and the driver braked hard, causing the tires to squeal and the rubber to burn against the pavement.

He’s not used to driving in snow or familiar with this road, Ronan thought. He decided to use it to his advantage.

Ronan revved the truck’s engine and slammed on the accelerator. In seconds, he was a mere five yards away from the rear of the Humvee.

The driver panicked and slammed on the gas. The back end of the Humvee slid to the right before finally leveling out. They came around the curve with Ronan close behind.

The Humvee gained some distance and Ronan hit the gas to keep up. As he did, he felt the rear tires under the cab begin to quiver and slide. He released pressure on the pedal and the truck stabilized.

Ronan checked his rearview mirror to find the headlights of the patrol car growing larger as it gained speed. Ronan looked back through the windshield, past the Humvee and felt his heart fill his throat.

At the end of Slack Street, before Piedmont Road, a FedEx truck was parked at the mouth of the road, in the middle of the street next to Midtown Storage.

The Humvee slammed on its brakes.

Ronan bit down on the inside of his cheek and hit the accelerator of the truck. His plan was to nudge the Humvee just enough to convince the driver to end the chase.

In seconds, the front of the truck clipped the right bumper of the Humvee.

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The force of the collision from behind and the centrifugal force of the heavy Humvee trying to stop quickly propelled the car onto Piedmont Road.

The Humvee kept moving through the intersection before it slammed into one of the metal train-crossing signal poles. The Humvee listed to the right.

Ronan blinked as he saw the driver whip open the door and bail out of the cab as the Humvee spun in the mud near the base of one of the Interstate 64 support pillars.

Ronan zoomed through the intersection and parked the truck, jumping out. Ronan could see a blocky, black smear moving underneath the interstate bridge. Following the railroad tracks, Ronan gave chase.

The soft earth next to the railroad tracks would slow the runner. Ronan chose to follow in between the metal railings of the train tracks for better footing.

Ronan ran hard, his heart pumping; the steady burn on the muscles in his legs felt like fire.

“Stop. Police!” Ronan called.

The driver slowed his pace. As Ronan closed the distance, he could see something pointed at him.

BLAM! BLAM! Ronan dropped to his stomach as bullets rang out. The echo underneath the interstate made the shots seem loud and close.

For a moment, it sounded like an explosion that would bring the whole interstate down on top of them.

Ronan scraped his hands against the wood planks that ran the width of the train tracks. Ronan cursed under his breath at seeing them bleed.

He took in several gulps of air. Dropping down onto the tracks had given him a chance to catch his breath and halted the momentum of the driver. Ronan pulled himself up to a crouched position. He watched the dark shadow of the driver coming closer.

Ronan closed his eyes and counted slowly. Knowing the driver was returning to see if the bullets had hit him, Ronan would wait and then charge.

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After a silent count to five, Ronan dug his shoes into the ground and sprang up. The driver was only a few feet away and Ronan was able to rush him and knock him off his feet.

Ronan stood up. For the first time, Ronan got a chance to look at him. He was a small, muscular man with ruddy cheeks and shaggy brown hair overhanging his brow. His hooded eyes straightened as he locked them on Ronan.

“It’s over,” Ronan said, between breaths.

The driver lunged at Ronan. Ronan stepped to the side, causing the man to charge into the empty space near the railroad tracks. As he stumbled to break his fall, Ronan slammed a foot down on his back, knocking him to the ground.

Ronan grabbed the dark lapels of his uniform and turned him over.

Crouched over him, Ronan barked out, “Who are you working for?”

The driver made a face and spat at Ronan. Instinctively, Ronan closed his eyes as a wet wad of saliva hit him in the face.

The man slammed a fist into Ronan’s temple. The force of the blow knocked Ronan off-balance and he released his grip.

The man tried to run, but Ronan was able to take hold of his foot. The man flopped down onto his stomach. As Ronan pulled him close, the man kicked Ronan in the face.

The force of the flat-toed boot on the side of his head made his peripheral vision go dark with intermittent flashes of light.

Instead of fleeing, the man stalked around Ronan.

Ronan blinked several times, trying to regain his focus. As he did, Ronan saw a clenched fist rise into the air. Ronan lurched to land a gut punch into the man’s stomach.

The driver let out a groan as the air escaped him like a leaking balloon. With all of his strength, Ronan reared back his fist and slammed it into the man’s face.

The crunch of bones in his nose breaking stopped his movement. Breathing heavily, Ronan punched the man again in the same spot.

He yelped and let out a cry as he fell to one knee. Ronan kicked him twice in the ribs.

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The man coughed and gasped, spitting out the blood that ran down from his nose.

“Get up!”

The man didn’t move. Ronan kicked him again. “I said ‘get up,’ you son-of-a-bitch.”

The man moaned and slowly staggered to his feet. Ronan’s head throbbed and he could feel the side of his head swelling.

The man, staggering, swung wildly into the air. Ronan watched with amusement, like a predator ready to make the final kill.

Ronan went behind the man and spun him around. He clamped his forearm around the man’s throat and locked his other hand over his head. Ronan gave it all the force he could muster.

“You killed a cop in that warehouse,” Ronan hissed. “So I think I’ll just kill you now and we’ll be even.”

The man coughed and gagged and struggled to escape. The more he flailed, the harder Ronan squeezed.

As Ronan felt the man relax and grow limp, the sound of a car door echoed in the distance, followed by another gunshot.

BLAM! Unsure of its direction, Ronan released the choke hold and the man fell to his knees.

“Fuck you,” the man blurted out through coughs and wheezes. He repeated it several times as his voice gained more strength.

Ronan crouched down on one knee, scanning the wide, desolate expanse of snow-covered earth and gravel underneath the Interstate.

His eyes eventually made it back to the road where he could see another Humvee parked on a grassy knoll right off of Piedmont Road.

When Ronan stood up, another shot rang out. Ronan dropped down quickly.

A voice called out from the road. “Come on, let’s go.”

Ronan’s eyes tried to focus as the pain in his head continued to throb and his vision blurred.

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The man, clutching his ribs, wobbled awkwardly away from Ronan. Not knowing if the last bullet came from the new Humvee or somewhere else, Ronan remained still. The only sound he could hear was the faint humming of the parked car engine and the heavy whoosh of cars passing over the I-64 Interstate above him.

Ronan decided to make a move.

He ran, closing the distance between himself and the man he was sure killed Sean Carter in the warehouse. As he reached out to grab the man, Ronan could see a narrow-shaped object sticking out from the driver’s window of the Hummer.

“Shit.”

The end of the object flared a flicker of white light. Ronan was able to duck behind one of the large, cylinder support columns that supported the Interstate. The bullet clipped the side of the cylinder, knocking away a chunk of concrete inches away from Ronan’s head.

Ronan counted silently to three to see if there was to be another shot. Nothing.

Ronan peered around the pillar and saw a second driver, shorter and thinner than the other, push the injured driver into the backseat of the Humvee and fling open the driver’s side door.

“Hey!” he yelled out. “Stop! Police!”

A silver Charleston Police Cruiser pulled in. It drove all the way over the gravel and sped parallel to the railroad tracks.

Ronan looked back and waved at the cruiser.

It took a wide right turn in front of him and stopped. Ronan raced over and fell into the backseat.

“Follow that black Humvee. Go! Drive!”

The baby-faced driver of the cruiser slammed his foot on the gas and the tires spun out and ground forward. The Humvee followed the right curve on Piedmont Road. Ronan could make out the sign reading Greens Feed and Seed.

Ronan pulled himself upright. Flecks of light flashed in his vision and a sharp pain throbbed at the top of his head. He closed his eyes. When he opened them, he felt nauseous.

“Any idea where they’re going?” the young driver asked.

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Ronan looked ahead. The Humvee blew through the fourway stop and passed under the Court Street viaduct. Ronan fought through the stabbing pain in his head and cloudy thinking to assess a possible route.

“Smith Street. There is an interstate on-ramp there. Go!” The patrolman hit the accelerator hard again, throwing Ronan against the door. The Humvee again avoided the stop sign at the bottom of the viaduct, nearly sideswiping a Habitat for Humanity Truck at the intersection.

The truck blared its horn. “Jesus, watch out,” the second patrolman in the front of the car hollered.

“I’m trying not to lose him,” the driver said, through gritted teeth.

Ahead, Ronan could see the Humvee taking the Smith Street on-ramp onto I-64.

Ronan leaned between the seats. “Don’t lose them!”

The cruiser banked a sharp right, made the hairpin turn and climbed the onramp.

Turn on the lightbar and blare the siren,” Ronan said. “We need a clear path so we can stay on them.”

The second patrolman flicked a switch and turned on the button. The piercing wail of the police sirens followed.

The Humvee began to increase speed. The cruiser kept up and they arrived at the I-64 and I-77 split. The Humvee veered to the left, crossing three lanes of traffic.

“There he goes!” Ronan exclaimed.

The Humvee slowed and veered sharply to the right.

“Oh fuck,” the second patrolman cried out.

As they approached the concrete barrier that buttressed the green lane divider sign, the Humvee cut sharply across three lanes of traffic, heading for I-77.

Several cars blared their horns. The driver of a small red car maneuvered wildly to avoiding hitting the Humvee and crashed into the barrier wall.

The police cruiser had been going too fast in the left lane to correct itself.

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Ronan crawled across the back seat and looked out the right window as the Humvee curved right onto I-77 and disappeared.

“Fuck!” Ronan shouted as he slammed a hand into the back of the padded seat in front of him.

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39 Ty felt guilty.

For the first time in his ten-year career as a nurse and charge nurse, he’d asked for a favor.

It was something he didn’t like to do, mainly because asking for a favor meant he was doing something that was slightly unprofessional. In this case, his favor was also slightly unethical.

Using his authority as the charge nurse and a former supervisor of Sarah Gilmore, Ty had asked Brian Crasky, the head of the IT Department, to look into the last day Sarah had logged into the hospital computer systems as a nurse in the emergency room before she transferred to BTech labs. Ty feared his request might seem suspicious, but Brian immediately complied and asked no questions.

Brian and Ty had both been in an orientation cohort group at the hospital. Since Ty’s last name began with an A and Brian’s with a C, they were seated next to each other for the week of orientation and became fast friends. They had developed an even stronger friendship since then.

Now Ty felt like he had chipped away at the foundation of that friendship by asking a question that was unnecessary. Brian trusted Ty, allowing him to view the screen with the completed data fields, including Sarah’s computer account code assigned to her by the hospital. Ty discovered, reading the screen as Brian looked for her last log-in date, the hospital assigns a four-digit 229

code to each employee. Sarah’s code number was 1246, which had no correlation to her birthdate or the extra number associated with it.

Ty left the IT department on the fourth floor of the hospital with no answers. The numbers still didn’t make sense. Ty took one of the rear elevators at the back of the hallway to the first floor. He wanted to walk the length of the building before going back to the emergency room, in hopes of clearing his head before the upcoming shift.

As he stepped off the elevator and made his way down the hallway, he felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket.

Ty looked down at the screen to where Nick’s cell phone number appeared.

Ty anxiously swiped his finger over it.

“Nick. Did Ronan call? Is he home?”

Ty could hear the muffled sounds of the television in the background. “Uh, not exactly.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I know where Uncle Ronan is.”

Ty felt relieved. “Okay. Have you talked to him? When is he coming home?”

A beat passed. “Uncle Ty, are you near a television?”

The question struck Ty as odd, but then a sour acid filled his stomach. “I’m not now, but I can be. Why?” “Turn on the news. Channel 3, it’s Uncle Ronan. Something has happened. *** After leaving the hospital fearing the worst, Ty sat in the living room, mouth agape as the breaking news story played out in front of him on the television screen.

The current image on the screen showed the coroner from the Medical Examiner’s Office removing a body from a warehouse near Slack Street, wrapped in a dark plastic bag and strapped to a gurney. The WSAZ reporter mentioned that the body belonged

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to Detective Sean Carter, head of the Criminal Investigations Unit for the Charleston Police Department.

That development alone was horrifying. The reporter added that Sean Carter and another cop, Sergeant Ronan McCullough, had been ambushed by a gunman.

Ty didn’t completely process what he was seeing as if his thinking capacity had shorted out. The scenes on the television and the pace at which the reporter spoke seemed to speed up, as if in overdrive. Ty felt helpless.

How could this happen? Ty wondered.

As he continued to watch, he could hear the front door open.

Ty bolted up from the couch and raced into the foyer by the front door. A taut, cold wind rushed in as a disheveled Ronan emerged through the frame.

“Oh my God. Ronan, you’re okay.”

Ty reached to the control panel near a side wall and turned on the overhead light. The angled beam of yellow light dropping down from the ceiling revealed a terrible sight.

Ronan tried to walk steadily, but he stumbled into the house and fell into a trembling heap on the floor. The side of his head was gashed and discolored in a ghastly shade of yellow and purple. The tops of his hands were bleeding and his shirt was torn and stained crimson. Ty pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes trying not to let Ronan see his tears form.

Ronan’s skin was grey, his mouth slack with lips slightly parted, and his eyes were as wide as they could stretch.

Ronan sat back on his legs, facing Ty. Ty crouched in front of Ronan.

“Ty…” “I’m right here, Ronan.”

Ronan continued to stare straight ahead like he hadn’t registered Ty’s presence.

“Ty.” Ty placed his hands around Ronan’s face and locked eyes with him. Ty felt the muscles in Ronan’s face tighten.

“I’m here, Ronan. It’s okay. You’re home now. You’re safe.”

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Ty wasn’t sure he believed the last statement.

Ronan interlocked hands with Ty. His fingers trembled and jumped nervously and Ty squeezed tighter.

“I love you.”

The comment struck Ty with a sense of panic. Ronan’s voice was flat and distant, like from a catatonic state.

Ty leaned forward until their foreheads met. Ty didn’t know if Ronan was in emotional shock.

“I know. I love you too, Ronan.”

Ronan slowly nodded. “As long as we are together...”

Ty kissed him. Ronan didn’t close his lips.

“That’s right. We can do anything together.”

Ty kissed him again. The time, Ronan closed his mouth and reciprocated. His lips were dry and cracked.

“They killed him.”

Ty leaned back and regarded Ronan. “Who did?”

Ronan looked past Ty. His eyes seemed to retreat from the present.

“The guards. They shot Sean.”

“I know, Ronan. I know it.”

Ronan met Ty’s gaze.

“He knew.”

Ty cocked his head to the side and reached out a hand to stroke Ronan’s hair. “Who knew what?”

“Sean. He knew about me. About us.”

At hearing this, a lump formed in Ty’s throat. Ronan had been so consumed with worry over someone in the police department, other than Eric Bonamico, discovering their relationship. Now the secret was known, and the keeper of the secret was dead.

“I’m sorry. What’s important is that you are home and with me.”

“I tried to save him,” Ronan shrieked, his face fixed in an expression of disbelief. “In that building. We saw a transfer, out of the BTech labs, loaded into a Humvee. We followed it and…”

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Ronan stopped and swallowed. His chest heaved and Ronan struggled to catch his breath. He scratched the side of his head that was bruised and swollen and winced when he touched it.

Ty leaned in closer. He noticed the glazed and glossy look in Ronan’s eyes. Ty stroked his hair to soothe him.

“I think you might have a concussion,” Ty said.

Nick padded into the room. His eyes were wide with shock.

“Uncle Ronan!”

“I’m fine,” Ronan said, with a groan. “Help me up.”

Nick came over and, along with Ty, wrapped his arms around Ronan and pulled him to a standing position. Ty and Nick stepped back as Ronan wobbled uneasily on his feet. When Ronan had steadied himself, Ronan noticed Nick regarding him.

“I’m fine. Just a little sore.”

“Uh huh,” Ty scoffed.

Ronan’s clothes were dirty, tattered, and stained with blood.

Ty held out his hand. “Come on, let’s get you out of those clothes.”

Ronan held up a hand. “Really, I’m fine. I just need to change and clean up.”

Ty shook his head. “Ronan…”

Ronan stepped closer to Ty. He pulled Ty in and held him.

“I love you,” he whispered. “The best part of my life is you.

Always.”

Ty felt Ronan strengthen the embrace. “I’m scared. I don’t want…” “…and it won’t,” Ronan said, breaking off the hug and stepping back. Ronan’s rough and chapped hands caressed his cheek. “I just needed to be with you, now.”

Ronan blanched. “I’m nothing without you, and I promise I’ll come home to you and Nick and our life. But they’re out there right now, and I’ve got to go to work.”

Ty crossed his arms and bit down on his lip. At this point, Ty knew it would be useless to argue with Ronan.

Ronan cut a sharp glance at Nick. “I have to do this for Sarah and Sean and for us.”

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Ty wiped away a tear that ran down his cheek. “Yeah. I know,” he said, his voice catching.

Ronan pushed silently past Nick and continued up the stairs.

Ty watched, wondering if they would ever be safe.

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40 Paul paced around the floor of the lab space under the warehouse.

A lab technician approached him cautiously. He stood a few feet away from Paul, shifting his weight uncomfortably between both feet.

Paul scowled at him. “What is it?”

The technician, broad-shouldered and thickset, cowered. “I have the blood samples ready.” He held up a rack of test tubes half-filled with dark crimson blood that had been manipulated using the BTech minilab machine.

“Fine,” Paul replied gruffly. “Where does it go?”

The technician paled. “I’m not sure, sir.” He looked behind him, down the narrow hallway where other technicians were loading blood into the minilab machines, the virtual analyzer humming as it processed the data.

“I would need to go back and…”

Paul’s face twisted with fury. “Just do it. We can’t have altered blood samples going to the wrong place. Find out if this sample is going to a police department or the hospital, or someplace else.”

Sweat formed on the man’s brow and he nodded, backing away from Paul.

Paul watched him scurry down the hallway. At first, he had been unsure about Dominic’s decision to murder Richard Metzger, but given the lax behavior and attention to detail 235

demonstrated by the technicians Richard had hired and trained, Paul now saw the need for more oversight and control of daily operations inside the lab. Paul was relieved that the story the techs had been told about Richard’s absence had not led to any follow-up questions or requests for more details.

One of the armed guards walked down the hallway. He collapsed a cell phone in the palm of his hand. “The truck is here.”

“Good. Get up there and check it out. Walk them down here.”

The guard quickly headed up the stairs.

Paul took a moment to collect his thoughts. After a BTech guard had shot a nosey detective, he was in no mood for delays.

Following the shooting, the police had been to the warehouse and searched all of the shipping containers. Kyle Barrett, the lead lab technician Paul had appointed to supervise and train the new technicians, had provided the paperwork to the police, showing BTech’s contract to transport and store blood on behalf of the American Red Cross. It had been Paul’s idea to move the blood immediately when it arrived, so if the police closed in, there would be nothing for them to find.

The reinforced steel door that blended into the wall upstairs kept the police out of the lab, although Captain Ron Ashby had asked Kyle multiple times how a shooter could get outside of the building. The guard driving the truck had also wisely called 911 to report a break-in at the warehouse before the truck made it back from the lab downtown. That deflected suspicion, suggesting instead a burglar had broken in and begun shooting.

It created enough doubt to throw off the police and buy more time.

Paul stood at the base of the stairwell leading up to the main floor of the warehouse just as heavy footfalls came clomping down the steps.

Two uniformed guards stumbled into the space below the step, the barrel of a semi-automatic gun pointed at them.

“Everything is clear upstairs,” the guard said.

“Thank you, Jenkins,” Paul said. “Go back upstairs to watch the shipping containers and wait for further instructions.”

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Jenkins looked over at the men one more time and then slowly stomped back up the stairs.

Paul waited until he heard the sliding steel door lock into place before speaking. He studied the guard closest to the door.

He was sturdy with a wide, open face and shiny black hair.

“That’s some good shooting; I must say,” Paul said, with a sinister edge to his words.

The guard looked stricken. “I’ve never actually killed a man before.”

Paul dismissed the comment with a wave. “It’s nothing.”

He came close and raised a hand to the guard’s cheek. His eyes remained wide-open and frozen as Paul drew back his hand and slapped the guard.

“Compartmentalize it,” Paul said. “Move it away from your thinking and get back to work.”

The guard held his gaze, but looked stricken.

“Shooting that cop was a good move.”

The guard standing next to him grimaced. “I don’t understand.”

“Because,” Paul said, turning his back on them to pick up a clipboard from the lab table, “now the police have a reason to come back. More importantly, Ronan McCullough has a reason to come back.”

Paul turned up a page on the clipboard. He asked the beefy guard, “You’re positive that Ronan was here with that other cop?”

“Yes,” he said. “From behind the door upstairs, I could see him. His voice sounded the same. I watched the news clips of him being interviewed in September. The tone of his voice matched.”

“Good,” he said. “And the Humvee?”

The second guard looked over at his partner and then slowly back at Paul. “We drove it to the Flatwoods exit and took it to that abandoned site at Sutton Lake. It was switched out.”

“Excellent,” Paul said, pulling out a pencil from the clipboard and drawing a line through a license plate number on the page.

“By the time the cops put out an APB and start looking for it, it will be long gone.”

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The second guard stammered. “What’s next?”

“We wait.”

Both guards looked confused.

“Ronan McCullough will come. Then, we will finish him.”

They maintained their frozen stares.

“And that’s exactly what we want.”

Paul wanted the Charleston territory for his own. He wanted to maintain all the royalty payments BTech would get for contracted services with hospitals, law enforcement, and the state of West Virginia. But Paul wanted something more. He wanted to prove that he was worthy of the title while doing what Dominic had been unable to do.

Kill Ronan McCullough.

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41 Ronan tipped back the cup and swallowed the last drop of Mountain Dew. He had showered, changed clothes, and put on a thick sweater and jeans, then said goodbye to Ty and Nick. Ronan drove down Kanawha Avenue and onto 50th Street. At the intersection of 50th Street and MacCorkle Avenue, he stopped at the 7-11 store and purchased a sixty-four-once Mountain Dew from the fountain drink machines. He needed the caffeine, unsure of when he would have time to rest again.

Ronan had spent the last several hours at his desk researching the BTech corporation. Not knowing if Eric or Sean or anyone else in the department had pursued it, Ronan approached the case with the fresh-eyed optimism of a new college student taking his first science class.

Ronan had a difficult time understanding the technical complexities of what BTech did, but a blurry picture was coming into focus.

Ronan wanted more time, but he had what he needed—for now.

The scene inside the headquarters of the Charleston Police Department was somber. Officers and detectives went about their daily routine, but the normal conversations in passing or among small groups were now nearly non-existent.

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Ronan looked around the room, wondering how or if the force would recover from seeing one of their own gunned down in the line of duty.

The heavy door of Captain Ashby’s office scraped against the floor, commanding Ronan’s attention.

The Captain was calling Ronan back into his office.

Ronan took the printed information on BTech from the computer and stuffed it into a stained, faded filer folder that lay on his desk. He also took a moment to write the number Ty had discovered, 0816751, on the inside of the folder.

When Ronan entered the room, Captain Ashby sat perched on his desk. Eric Bonamico stood against the far wall and Chris Keenan sat in the chair in the middle of the room, arms folded across his lap, as he stared at the floor.

“Close the door,” the captain asked, softly.

When Ronan did, Eric looked at Ronan warily as the captain surveyed the room.

“Chief Toler is going to make a statement in the morning about what happened at the warehouse. He asked me to invite any officers that would like to stand behind him during the press conference to meet out on the front steps at 7:30.”

Ronan looked over at Eric, who lowered his head.

The captain sniffed and wiped his hands over his eyes. “If anyone needs time off, please take it. We can manage if you need a few days to collect yourself. It can be a lot to take in…for anybody. Grief counselors from Clayman and Associates will be here in the morning to provide that if needed.”

The captain paused. Eric and Chris simply shook their heads.

“I think Sean would’ve wanted us to keep working the case and not quit,” Eric said, glaring at Ronan.

“I agree,” Ronan said. “I think the shooter and whoever is behind all of this wants Sean’s murder to force us to give up and stop the investigation.”

The captain arched an eyebrow. “Are you all absolutely sure?”

“Yes,” Eric said. Ronan and Chris joined in with a curt nod.

“Okay.”

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The captain sighed. “We need to stay focused. Communicate with each other. Got it?”

The group nodded.

Ashby addressed Chris. “I pulled Chris into the case to give us some extra help in the short-term. Do you have a problem with it? Tell me now. I don’t want any passive-aggressive bullshit when we leave this office.”

Ronan reached over to Chris and clapped his hand on his shoulder. “Keenan is a good cop. Welcome to the team.”

At that, Chris blushed and a tight smile crossed his face.

Ronan felt a pang of anger seize him. “For starters, Captain, who the fuck shot Carter?”

Eric stiffened at hearing the question from Ronan, but steadied himself against the wall.

“We’re not sure. BTech labs employ ACADEMI as a private security contractor for its facilities.”

Keenan piped up. “Otherwise known as Blackwater.”

Ronan snapped his head up. “As in the Blackwater contractors that provided security during the Iraq War?” “Questionable security,” Keenan added. “But this ACADEMI is the same outfit, just with a different name.”

Ronan stepped around a chair and gingerly dropped down into it, wincing. “That would explain why the guard Carter and I saw watching the rear exit at their lab behind the hospital was dressed like he was ready for war.” He turned to face them all.

“I still don’t know how that guard got out of the warehouse.

Sean and I saw no other exits other than the front and rear doors.

Those doors were huge—heavy metal. We would’ve heard him go out the back.”

“The guard might not have been the shooter,” Eric said.

The three men looked at him with faces of confusion.

“Someone called 911 and reported a break-in at the warehouse. It’s possible the items inside those containers were the reason for the shooting. We searched the building and couldn’t find any other exit points. The shooter may have taken the guard hostage and forced him to drive.”

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Ronan rubbed the side of his swollen face. “I did see two people in the back of the Humvee on the Interstate. But the guy I chased from the Piedmont underpass got into the back of the Humvee and the driver appeared to know him.” Ronan scoffed.

“Then again, my vision wasn’t the best.”

Ashby nodded at Chris.

“Back to ACADEMI. In terms of carrying heavy equipment, I served a year with the army in Iraq in 2006, so I am familiar with that security company.”

Ronan swung a look at Chris. “I didn’t know that.”

Keenan replied, “It was a horrible year—one I would like to forget. Anyway, according to information I got from their website, ACADEMI provides stability and protection to those experiencing turmoil.”

Ronan said, “I didn’t know that providing security for blood analysis work for law enforcement and hospitals counts as turmoil.”

Eric shot a look at Ronan. “I’ve done my homework on BTech.”

“According to the website,” Keenan said, standing up, “they work with federal, state and local governments worldwide.”

Chris pulled out a sheet of paper that had been placed under the chair and gave it to the Captain. Ashby scanned it, set his jaw, and set it down on the desk behind him.

Eric pushed off from the wall. “What doesn’t make sense is why BTech would need a heavily trained, armed security force to protect their property?”

“Wait a minute,” Ronan said, standing up as well. “They lost one of their guards in that shootout in the hallway.” He snapped his fingers. “Tom Mack responded. ACADEMI has not responded to losing one of their own men?”

“I looked into that,” Keenan said. “They gave me the number to their lawyers. Some big firm out of Washington.”

Ronan sighed. “Great. What was found in those storage containers at the warehouse? Sean said…or saw…” His voice broke off. Ronan felt sadness invade him. “Carter said it was blood.”

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“It was,” Ashby said, pulling out a form from a file folder.

“Only one of the shipping containers contained blood. BTech has a shipping and storage agreement with the American Red Cross to transport and store blood. They can ship it anywhere in the country by plane, train, bus, whatever. A National Inventory Management System locates blood supplies nationwide. The systems are updated every day to ensure it arrives at the right destination, usually within 48-72 hours.”

“And Charleston Mercy ordered a large supply,” Eric said, nodding to the papers in Ashby’s hand.

“That makes sense,” Keenan added, “since they are the only Trauma Level One hospital in the state.”

“So BTech was within their rights to store that blood in that warehouse?”

“Yep,” Eric said. “As soon as I came back from Huntington, the captain sent me over to the hospital to look into it. We are hoping that we can get a copy of their contract with the hospital without a search warrant. We’ll see.”

Ashby added, “Bonamico found that Dr. Richard Metzger used to work for the American Red Cross.”

“That partly explains his presence in Charleston,” Eric added.

Ronan asked, “So why kill Metzger? If he was the connection between the Red Cross and BTech and knew how their blood analysis processes work, why get rid of him?”

Ashby crinkled his eyes. “We are not sure that his death was connected. So far, there are no suspects and we found no forensic evidence at the location where his body was discovered.”

Ronan scoffed. “My understanding is the body was beaten badly. Someone wanted him out of the way.”

Ronan looked over at Keenan, who nodded thoughtfully.

“Then why did that guard shoot at Carter and me? And why?”

Ashby crossed both arms over his barrel-chest. “Maybe he didn’t know you were police?”

“No. I screamed at him that we were police.”

Ashby stood up from the corner of the desk and sat in the nearby chair. “Nothing has come back on the APB we put out for that Humvee.”

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Ronan slapped a hand against the file folder in disgust. “That damn Humvee is long gone by now.”

Eric leaned against the Captain’s desk. “What did you learn about BTech?”

Ronan opened the folder. “They are basically trying to take over the diagnostic testing industry, which, according to the article I read from Time Magazine, is a $75-billion-dollar-ayear business. Their goal is to diagnose everything with just one blood drop. Instead of hospitals and crime labs hiring lab techs and spending money on equipment, BTech takes care of it all.”

“Let me guess,” Eric scoffed. “The machine needed to read the tests is also provided by BTech and BTech only.”

“Right. Apparently, the technology has been approved for use by the FDA, and BTech spent 25 million bucks on an ad campaign to get hospitals and law enforcement groups to contract services through them.” Ronan pulled the folder a little closer. “They are up for a review from a federal regulator in a few months.”

As the Captain wrote notes on a notepad, Chris and Eric absorbed the information. Ronan brought up the numbers that were found in Sarah Gilmore’s locker, and their significance.

Ashby stopped writing and looked up. “And this Aiden Robinson fellow, he really doesn’t know anything?”

“He’s playing the grieving brother,” Eric said.

Ronan looked over at Eric. “How was Huntington?”

“Lovely.”

“What did you learn about Sarah?”

“Not much,” Eric said. “I managed to speak to her landlord and some of her professors in the forensic science program at Marshall. Everyone loved Sarah. They said she was kind and smart and never irresponsible. When I asked them about Sarah being involved with any strange people, everyone claimed they couldn’t imagine Sarah doing that, because it would be unlike her. But I did discover BTech hired her during the last semester of her grad program at Marshall. She was taking classes, doing her clinical at the state police crime lab, and putting in hours for BTech.”

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Ashby stood up and walked around the desk again. “It’s not unusual for graduate students to work before they graduate.”

The room fell quiet. “So, for the sake of argument, let’s say that Sarah Gilmore and Richard Metzger were dirty and they were killed for it,” Ashby continued. “Then, why create that big scene at the Clay Center?”

“There have been four big scenes,” Eric said, making eye contact with everyone. “The scene at the Clay Center, then Marvin Null gets his skull blown off, followed by the guard getting shot at the BTech labs, and now….Carter.”

Ashby pursed his lips. “Four scenes. Nothing to connect them all except that BTech seems to be the motive used to cover up something else.”

The room fell silent again.

“McCullough?”

Ronan did not respond.

Chris leaned over. “Sergeant?”

When Ronan still didn’t answer, Keenan touched his arm.

Ronan refocused.

Ashby furrowed his brows. “Go someplace?”

Ronan stood up. His vision blurred as the blood rushed to his head and then settled. A dull, throbbing ache gripped the back of his eyes and his neck.

“I think we are making too much of this.”

Eric cleared his throat. “Excuse me?”

Ronan surveyed the room. “Think about what the captain said. Those are all the results of some unknown actor, creating and managing from behind the scenes. “ Eric looked confused. “I’m not…”

Ashby held up a hand. “Okay. So what?”

“Remember, this whole mess started when we rushed that safe house in South Ruffner and made those arrests. The hospital took blood tests and we sent them to the crime lab for processing.”

“Come on, McCullough,” Bonamico whined. “We already know this.”

Ashby shot him a stern look.

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“I think it’s connected. Those blood samples are probably connected to BTech in some way, just like the containers of blood Carter and I discovered in the warehouse. We now know that BTech is in the business of not only analyzing blood, but also transporting and storing it.”

Keenan scrunched his face and scratched his chin. “Sergeant, I think I’m lost, too.”

Ronan retreated to the near wall and leaned up against it.

“What does all of this have in common? Don’t think about the events, think about tactics. Explosions in public settings, shootings in open spaces, heavy weaponry, killing cops. The tactics are all similar to what happened back in September.”

Bonamico asked, “So, you think the same people that pushed Krok into Charleston are involved here as well?”

“It could be a stretch, but I think we need to consider it.”

“I agree,” Ashby said, taking on the tone of judge rendering a decision. “Keenan, go back and look at the files from the Krok investigation. Examine the methods and evidence discovered at all of those sites. Cross-reference it with what we know about the methods used in these open murders now. Let’s test Ronan’s theory. And work fast. Round up additional detectives to help you.”

Keenan bolted upright. “I’m on it.”

“I need to go,” Ronan blurted out, as he trailed behind Keenan.

“Hold it,” Ashby said. “Take Bonamico with you. Report back to me within the hour.”

Eric nodded at the captain and left the office. He grabbed the sleeve of Ronan’s dark sweater. Ronan spun around.

“What’s up?”

“Ty called me,” Eric said quietly. “Several times over the last couple of hours.”

Ronan shrugged. “I just saw him.”

“I know that, but I don’t think he’s ever called me on my office phone since the two of you…”

“Got it. So call him back. He was probably looking for me.”

Ronan recalled Ty calling his cell phone when he and Carter 246

were in pursuit of the Humvee.

“I really need to go. There is another piece of evidence that might provide a clue on the tactics.”

“The number.”

“That’s right. That number from Sarah Gilmore’s locker means something. I know it.”

“So where are you going?”

Ronan let out a short breath. “To check on what Carter told me when we were staking out the BTech labs.”

Bonamico appeared hurt. “Going alone? Without me?”

Ronan put a hand on Eric’s shoulder and peered down at him. “I’m not cutting you out. It would be better if I went alone.”

He clapped Eric Bonamico on the shoulder and walked away.

“At least tell me where you are going?”

Ronan swiveled his head called back, “To see my lawyer.”

As Ronan turned to continue forward, he collided with a figure in a thick wool coat.

“Excuse me.”

The figure wouldn’t move.

“Just the man I need to see,” Aiden Robinson said.

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42 As Ronan stood in a hallway inside Laidley Tower, he was glad he ignored Aiden at the police station.

“Come in, please.”

“I’m not here on a social call, Braxton.”

His smile faded and the skin around his eyes crinkled. “Okay.

How did you know I’d be here?”

Ronan walked into the room. “I didn’t. I remember that you worked plenty of late hours in September on Nick’s case. I guessed that working late was a way of life for you.”

Braxton exhaled, softening his features. “It is. I can get a lot of work done in the evenings. I don’t have to worry about the phone ringing or any of the other usual interruptions.”

He motioned to a padded leather chair in front of his desk.

“Come in, Sergeant. Have a seat, please.”

Ronan moved into the room and sat down. The pressure change that took place from being outside in the cold to now sitting inside a warm, confined space made his headache worse.

A large glass window framed Braxton, the lights shining in from street lamps along downtown Charleston and the flickers of car headlights as they bounced off the Kanawha Expressway.

Braxton’s large oak desk was littered with papers and Styrofoam cups. On the wall closest to the desk, Braxton displayed his law degree from West Virginia University framed in an oversized, ornate frame with certificates of awards and accomplishments positioned strategically around it. A bookshelf littered with texts 248

was bracketed by several rows of file cabinets. The plush beige carpeting on the floor felt soft under Ronan’s feet. The room smelled like old books and paper.

Braxton leaned back into his cherry-leather chair and folded his hands onto his stomach. His grey shirt was crumpled and his red tie hung low on the collar, the button near the top of the shirt hanging loose. He looked tired, but engaged.

Ronan blinked back some dizziness that crowded his vision until he was able to see clearly again.

“If this visit is concerning my relationship with the mayor, there is not much more I can say.”

“I’ll be thinking about it for the next five seconds. But that’s not why I’m here.”

Braxton leaned forward. “Okay.”

“This firm represented the Gilmore family in a civil suit against Sarah Robinson Gilmore when her husband Chris died in a car accident on Route 151 near Lavalette in Wayne County.

Why?” Braxton stared up at the ceiling, trying to recall the details.

“That wasn’t my case.”

“I want to know why this firm would take on that case when the police and the medical examiner ruled it was an accident.

There was a life insurance policy. Why would the family sue Sarah? She had just lost her husband.”

Braxton leveled a look at Ronan and then made a face. “I can’t discuss it because it wasn’t my case. We have 90 lawyers on staff at this firm. It’s likely one of my colleagues handled the case. I can find out the name of the lawyer that represented the family.”

“Don’t bother,” Ronan said.

Braxton sighed. His large, dark eyes lowered.

“I know that the retainer fee for hiring someone from here is around $10,000. I know that because Ty paid it for legal counsel for Nick in September. Trial lawyers never show any compassion for people. It’s all about money.”

Braxton pursed his lips. “I’m busy right now. I don’t have time for a lecture on the perceived ethics of my profession.”

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Braxton grew serious. “I think it’s time to go. I am not going to be insulted like this. Besides, have you looked at yourself?”

Ronan could feel the stinging pain emanating from his swollen face. “I’ve had a rough day. One of our lead detectives was killed off of Slack Street.”

“I know,” Braxton said. “It’s all over the news.”

“That’s not your concern, and please don’t change the subject, counselor.”

Before Braxton could say anything else, Ronan dug into his pocket in search of the typed number Ty had obtained from Sarah’s locker. Ronan flopped the wadded piece of paper in front of Braxton.

“I’m really here about this.”

He eyed the numbers and furrowed his brow. “What is this?”

“It’s Sarah Gilmore’s birthday. But the 1 at the end doesn’t make any sense. At first, I thought it might be a typo, but now, I’m not so sure. Since this firm sued Sarah, the number might make sense to someone that handled the case.

Braxton scooped up the paper and held it under his desk light. His eyes searched up and down the paper.”

“The number 1 is a state agency code.”

Ronan snapped to attention. “What in the hell are you talking about?”

“Our firm used to represent different state agencies in litigation with vendors that provided equipment and contracted services to state agencies. Each state agency had a code number and that number was assigned to every employee within that department. That way, if we needed to speak to an employee who had direct interaction with the vendors in question, the information could be tracked. We would be able to determine where the employee worked within the state government.”

“So why would Sarah Gilmore be given that number? She worked with Ty at Charleston Mercy and then for BTech as a lab tech.”

Braxton shrugged. “I have no idea, but the number 1 is the code assigned to the state police crime lab employees.”

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43 Exasperated, Ty looked at the man on the examination table. The patient had been strapped down to the gurney by paramedics so he could be transferred to an examination table in the emergency room.

The man had flailed his arms, spat in the face of everyone, and screamed that the government would make him disappear.

It took two paramedics, along with Ty and two other people, to get the man here.

At the request of Dr. Stevens, the night on-call doctor in the emergency room, Ty had administered Haloperidol to calm him so the doctors could examine him.

Lester came into the room and shook his head. “Seems the injection sedated Mr. Albrecht.”

Ty nodded. “I checked his legs and feet for signs of desomorphine use, but I didn’t notice anything.” Ty regarded the man for a moment. His ruddy cheeks were flushed and a sweaty plane of brown hair overhung his brow. The drug had widened his blue eyes to the point that the overhead lights appeared to shine through them.

Ty reached down with a latex-gloved hand and touched the bend of his right arm. “Needle injection marks, but no diseased or rotting flesh.”

Lester bent down and looked closely. “Probably a heroin user. Not Krok.”

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“Yeah,” Ty said. “Sad, really.” Ty removed the gloves and placed them through the slit in the red trash can designated for hazardous material.

Ty passed through the treatment rooms and noted that all the patients were given an initial consultation with the nursing staff. That first visit always reassured nervous patients and their family members, but a wait would begin until Dr. Stevens was able to visit each patient.

Ty walked through the double-doors of the emergency room department. His held up a lanyard that contained his hospital ID and the security guard allowed him to pass through the corridor into the main waiting area. The room was busy, but not crammed with people as it had been when Ty first came back to work.

Outside, a pocket of cold air hit Ty. He ran the edge of his tongue over his dry lips. He didn’t want to stay outside long, but a jolt of cold air would reinvigorate his senses to help him get through the night shift.

The chill carved through the thin fabric of his uniform.

Ty walked down the length of the overhang that served as the drop-off location for ambulances. When he turned the corner and looked up Brooks Street, Ty couldn’t help but glance at the new children’s cancer center wing jutting out from behind the hospital. The sense of pride he felt in seeing that place become a reality was now overshadowed by disdain over BTech occupying the second floor of the building. A nagging suspicion told Ty they had something to do with Sarah’s death.

As Ty turned around to head back under the overhang, someone grabbed him.

Ty didn’t have time to look, but his instincts told him to pull away.

Ty clenched a fist and took a defensive posture.

“Hey, Ty. It’s me.”

Ty focused his gaze and saw Aiden standing in front of him, bundled up in a thick dark coat. A toboggan was pulled tight around his head and wisps of hair jutted out from underneath the hat. His face was partially shadowed by the streetlights behind him.

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“Aiden.” Ty let out a breath and put a hand on his chest. “I’m sorry.”

“No, I apologize. I shouldn’t have come up on you like that.”

Ty felt his heartbeat begin to slow. “Is everything okay?”

His face hardened. “No. Not really. I just came from the police department.”

The statement surprised Ty. “Has there been a new development in Sarah’s case?” In making that statement, Ty worried he might be digging too deep into the investigation.

“I couldn’t find out because Ronan rushed right past me. He refused to even listen to me.”

“I would contact Lieutenant Bonamico. He is a good cop and a great listener.”

“I don’t want to talk to him. I want to talk to Ronan.”

Ty could see the frustration on Aiden’s face. “Ronan has been through a lot lately. His colleague was shot and killed in a building near Slack Street...”

Aiden nodded. “I know. That’s the reason I am not more upset with his lack of courtesy.”

“I don’t think that’s a fair statement, Aiden. Ronan is dedicated to his job and the families of victims.”

Aiden laughed. “Could’ve fooled me.” Aiden reached into the puffed pocket of his coat and dislodged a cigarette from a pack. He bent down and lit it, pulling in a long drag and tilting his head back, sending a streaming rush of acrid-smelling smoke into the air.

Ty titled his head to the side. “So, why are you here?”

“For leverage.”

“Excuse me?”

Aiden took another long drag. The smoke curled out from his nostrils he spoke. “I need Ronan to stop investigating my family.”

Ty shook his head, trying to make sense of the statement.

“That is part of what Ronan does. He chases down leads and questions people.”

“That’s true,” Aiden said, poking a finger in the air at Ty. “But the fact that Sarah was sued by Chris’s family has no bearing on the murder case.”

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Aiden took another quick drag and blew the smoke at Ty. Ty felt his nose burn and eyes water.

“Tell Ronan to get back to finding Sarah’s killer…”

“Or else?” Ty said mockingly. “Is that what this is, Aiden?

Trying to threaten Ronan by going through me?”

Ty shivered, not just from the cold but also from the chilly tone of the conversation.

Aiden leaned closer. “If Ronan doesn’t back off, I will be forced to tell anyone that will listen that one of Charleston’s finest is a faggot.”

The words hit Ty squarely in the chest. He felt a pang of worry and then frustration sting him.

“That wouldn’t be wise.” Those words rang hollow.

Aiden gave a sinister grin and then dropped the cigarette, stamping it out with his foot. “I knew that would get your attention.”

“Telling people about Ronan could ruin his career.”

“I know.” Aiden flashed an impish grin. “And your relationship.”

The corners of his lips turned up. “It’s funny how Sarah’s death has brought us all together: Ronan, me, you. I mean, Ronan’s nephew is even chasing the skirt of my niece. It would be a shame if everything changed.”

Ty scowled at Aiden for a long second.

“Hey, I don’t care who dates who, but if I am a suit sitting in one of the upper floors of the hospital, I would wonder how many patients were denied good care because our charge nurse was trying to help a cop, his boyfriend, by playing Doctor Watson on company time.”

Ty felt rage build up inside him. He took a breath and swallowed it down.

“I told Ronan and Eric about your visit to the house.”

Aiden shrugged. “So?” “If I had to guess right now, I would say you knew Jacob Collier. I think you knew him as more than just someone who did odd jobs at a dealership. And if that’s true, then I can promise Ronan will find out. If he has one bit of doubt, he won’t give up until he discovers the connection.”

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“Ty, I’m not scared.”

Ty crossed his arms. “I hope you are telling the truth about Jacob Collier.”

Ty stared at Aiden as the cold wind whistled around them.

“Oh,” Ty said. He looked back to see an ambulance pulling into the drop-off bay under the overhang in front of the hospital.

Ty pointed at it. “Unless you’re inside one of those, don’t ever come back here again.”

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44 Braxton Campbell had given Ronan his most solid lead in recent days regarding the murder of Sarah Gilmore.

Ronan burst through the doors of the police station, looking for Eric. The night shift had begun and the main floor of the department was devoid of people, except for a few officers and plain-clothed detectives milling around.

Near the back of the room, Ronan saw a mash of tousled, dark hair that had come loose, most likely from hands raking through it. The head bobbed up and down.

“Bonamico,” Ronan said, rushing back to their desks.

Eric held up a hand. “Good. Yes. I will need to speak to the owner at the open of business tomorrow. Thank you for your time.”

Eric stood up and faced Ronan. Locking eyes with his friend, Ronan noticed a flicker of excitement in his gaze.

“Ty did great.”

Ronan turned his head. “What did Ty do?”

Eric shook his. “Didn’t you listen to his phone messages?”

Ronan shook his head. He was terrible at listening to voicemails, but now wished he had been more diligent.

“Aiden Robinson went to the house to speak to you. He and Ty had a conversation. Aiden admitted he knew Jacob Collier.”

“Holy shit.”

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Bonamico took a few seconds to recount the conversation Aiden had with Ty, which Ty described in detail over voicemail.

“So, I went over to Burt Wolfe and talked to some of the management.”

Ronan walked past Eric and sat down in his chair, resting his arms on the desk and leaning in. “I’m listening.”

“Aiden was right. Burt Wolfe had hired Jacob Collier to wash and fill up some of the cars, polish them down as they sat on the lot. Basically, shit work that nobody else at the dealership would want to do.”

Ronan nodded.

“But some of the sales staff told me Aiden Robinson spent time during his sales visits talking with Jacob.”

Ronan shrugged. “Why is that unusual?”

“Because,” Eric said, looking over some notes scribbled on a sheet of paper, “according to one of the salesmen, the national sales rep only needs to speak with the owner and president of the company. A national sales rep would have no reason to talk to a basic grunt employee other than to say hello.”

Ronan thought about this. “That’s a thin reason for suspicion, at best.”

“There’s more,” Bonamico said, the sparkle returning to his dark Italian eyes. “One of the salesmen told me that during the last two visits Aiden made to the dealership, he walked out onto the parking lot with Collier and they talked for a long time.

The sales guy says that Aiden gave him something. A wad of something.”

Ronan bit off a laugh. “A wad of something.”

“The salesman couldn’t say, but given the fact, when questioned by the staff…”

“Aiden refused to share any details about Jacob Collier with them…”

“It’s something. It certainly makes Aiden much more interesting to the case than before.”

“And the salesman swears Aiden was at the dealership two weeks ago.”

Ronan arched an eyebrow. “That makes him one of the last 257

people to see Collier alive.”

“Right.”

The dull throb in the back of Ronan’s head flared up again.

“I think I need to pay him another visit,” Eric said.

Ronan shook his head. “I agree. Be sure Ashby knows about it.” A thought crossed his mind. “Wait. Aiden was here…”

“He left pissed,” Eric finished. “He didn’t appreciate being ignored.”

“I’m busy,” Ronan said. “And until now, we thought he had no more additional useful information.”

Eric watched as Ronan flexed his hands.

“What’s up. I know that gesture.”

“I just got back from a visit with Braxton Campbell.”

Eric’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit.”

Ronan frowned. “It was fine. Jackson and Kelly represented the Gilmore family when they sued Sarah after the accident. The case never went before a judge.”

It was Eric’s turn to look confused. “Okay. So what does that have to do with anything?”

“I’m not sure, but it’s not the real reason I went over there.

I wanted to see if Braxton or anyone at the firm that had sued Sarah could identify the number next to her birthdate.”

Bonamico now leaned closer. “What did Braxton say?”

Ronan recounted the information that Braxton shared with him about state vendor contracts and personnel being assigned a number based on their division of employment.

“That means Sarah had a file.”

“She did. And we need to find it and find out why she kept the number in her locker at Charleston Mercy.”

Ronan stopped talking as something in his mind clicked. He felt his face flush red. Eric noticed the change.

“What is it, McCullough?”

Ronan reached into his pocket and removed the wadded piece of paper. “The number 1 connects to the state police crime lab.”

Eric responded, “I would need to get my notes, but Sarah did

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a clinical there during her Master’s program.”

Ronan cut a glance at Eric, squinting in thought. “And an employee remembered her being there.”

Eric swallowed hard.

Ronan clenched his fist around the piece of paper. “Pete Linville.”

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45 Ty walked through the emergency room and back to the nurse’s station.

He felt uneasy. Something Aiden said bothered him. Ty looked up at the clock on the wall. He was two minutes past his fifteen-minute break time, but he needed to do something before he went back to work.

Ty picked up the telephone receiver on the desk and called Nick.

“Oh,” he said, the volume falling in his voice. “Is everything okay? Has something happened?”

“No, but where are you right now?”

A beat passed. “I’m at school. Ashley has a night class that should be ending soon. I came to campus to pick her up.”

Ty had caught a break.

“Good. Listen, I want you to pick up Ashley and go home.

Bring her with you to the house. Don’t leave once you get there.

Order some pizza, watch movies, it doesn’t matter. If Ashley is tired, she can sleep in your bed and you can sleep on the couch.

I just want you to lock the doors and stay put until I get home from work.”

Another long pause filled the line. “Uh…bring Ashley over.

Uncle Ronan said…”

“I know,” Ty finished, trying not to sound irritated. “It’s fine.

I just need you to do it, okay?”

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“Oh. Okay,” Nick replied, uncertainty in his voice. “Is everything really okay, Uncle Ty?” “I think so, or at least it will be. While Ronan is working, I need to make sure you’re safe.”

Ty felt his stomach drop. He sounded like Ronan repeating the line he always told Ty and Nick; this time, it was Ty reciting it and wondering if it would work. Ty worried about Ronan, but he didn’t want to bother him over what might turn out to be nothing.

“Okay. I will get Ashley from class and head home.”

Ty felt relieved. “Great. Thanks, Nick.”

“Bye.” Ty cradled the receiver and took in a deep breath. It would be a shame if everything changed. The way Aiden had spoken those words and his expression fixed on Ty, made Ty tense. He had never seen Aiden so focused, and his message was cryptic.

Ty wanted to take precautions, at least until morning, when he’d have a chance to tell Ronan what happened.

Ty turned around and stared into the stirring going on in the emergency room. He collected himself. He really wanted to talk to Ronan, but knew it would have to wait. *** The top of the burner phone blinked a dull red. Paul Bennington reached over and answered it.

“Yes.” The croaky voice was low and rough. “It’s me.”

Paul looked at his watch and peered up the corridor to where the technicians were working in the lab. He needed to ensure the next shipment of blood would make it back to the faux lab at the hospital. Paul was also waiting on the message that money had been deposited into the off-shore account so the technicians could be paid first thing in the morning.

“I’m busy.”

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“What I have to say is important,” the voice said, coughing through the line. Paul wondered if the man was sick.

“I’m listening, but don’t test my patience.”

“I saw him.”

“Who?” “Aiden. The sales guy for Ford. He was at the hospital.”

Paul swallowed and sucked in a breath. He wondered if one of the guards had accosted Aiden and gotten sloppy with the gun.

Afraid to ask, Paul did anyway. “What’s he doing at the hospital?”

“Talking to a nurse.”

The tenseness in his body subsided. “About what?”

“I couldn’t make out everything, because of the traffic going by on the street and ambulances going in and out of the building.”

Paul grew impatient. “Tell me what you heard.”

“Aiden threatened the nurse and the nurse said something about telling Ronan.”

That got Paul’s attention. He stood up a little straighter and turned away from the activity of the lab techs.

“You’re sure.”

“I’m positive. That’s what I heard. That name is not common.”

Paul wondered about the connection between the three, but he didn’t have time to formulate any further thoughts.

“Good work, Spencer. Now, call the bank.”

“Now?” “Yes, call them now. We are canceling the loans and calling in the note. Aiden over leveraged the dealerships under his supervision. Our money has kept them solvent, until now.”

Spencer hedged. “Sure, Paul. I’ll do it.”

Paul pressed the phone tighter to his ear and put the bottom of it close to his lips. “Don’t get weak on me. Aiden is our last connection to Jacob Collier. I want Ronan to find the connection, but I don’t want Aiden around to fuck it up. Got it?”

“Yeah,” Spencer finished. “Got it.”

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Paul ended the call. Several of the lab techs had stopped to eavesdrop on the phone conversation.

“Get back to work,” Paul barked.

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46 Ty left the emergency room at Charleston Mercy Hospital, tired but relieved. The man that had overdosed on heroin was being kept another day for observation, and two police officers had shown up to question him. With the shift ending, the day charge nurse would be responsible for coordinating treatment.

He was exhausted and he could feel the weariness in his legs and feet, but the adrenaline that ran through him as a result of having to be on all of the time left him more aware of everything going on around him.

As Ty walked around the front of the hospital to the parking garage, he breathed in the fresh air. With morning approaching, the sky was bruised a light purple but the air was cold and still.

Ty made it to his Jaguar, got in and called Nick.

Nick sounded sleep-smeared when he answered. “Hello?”

“Nick…

“Uncle Ty, I was going to call you but I didn’t want to bother you at the hospital.” The words rolled out from Nick in rapid succession.

“Nick, slow down. What’s wrong?”

“I’m still at school.”

Ty froze in the car seat. “What? Why? I told you to take Ashley home last night and stay there.”

“Ashley didn’t come out of her class last night.”

“Wait,” Ty said. “I thought you agreed to take her home after class?”

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“I did,” Nick added. “She called me during a break when the class was half over. I went to Riggleman Hall and waited outside the classroom for her after nine. She never came out.”

Nick’s voice became tight and strained. “I didn’t know what to do. I asked some of her classmates if they had seen her and nobody saw her come back into the classroom after the break.”

“Okay,” Ty said, trying to remain calm. “Have you tried contacting her cell phone?”

“Yes. It goes straight to voicemail.”

Ty took in a deep breath. His nursing instincts kicked in.

“Perhaps she got sick and went home.”

“I went to her house on the West Side. I had a cab take me last night. I knocked on the door. Nobody answered.”

Ty dropped his head, both angry at Nick for not going home, but also relieved that Aiden was not at the house when Nick knocked.

“There has to be a logical explanation. Ashley didn’t just vanish.”

“I know.” Nick’s voice sounded even more frightened than before. “But I can’t help but think something bad has happened to her.” *** Ronan had paced headquarters for several hours. His heart raced and his palms were sweaty, indicating he was in a full-on adrenaline high.

Eric had gone home to have breakfast with his wife and kids and to get some rest. Chris Keenan had sat before Ronan’s desk and reported what he discovered.

The public and lethal tactics used by the desomorphine syndicate against the police and citizens of Charleston in September had begun with a flourish and then increased in its brutality and frequency.

Chris had mapped it out on the wall, using a dry-erase board to pull together the disparate threads. The desomorphine syndicate had targeted more police, killing a state trooper. The 265

murder of Michael Warner at a football stadium had been an effort to silence anyone with connections or knowledge of what was going on. Then, Raina Dalton was murdered in an attempt to silence another voice inside the organization. The police became divided until Ronan was able to break through the division and ultimately track down the perpetrators.

As Ronan looked at the white board, a riot of colored arrows and circles around names in Chris Keenan’s sloppy handwriting, the similarities became clear.

The arrest of those drug dealers in the South Ruffner neighborhood of Charleston was first. Then, Marvin Null, the man that was a suspect in her assault. Then, Sarah and Jacob Collier killed in a spectacular stunt at the Clay Center. Now, Sean Carter was killed and the police found themselves chasing leads in several directions.

While only a hunch, Ronan needed to see the connections displayed in front of him. Ronan didn’t believe in coincidences, and the fact that there were too many between these investigations made his head hurt. The connections didn’t prove anything, but didn’t disprove anything either.

Ronan spent the rest of the night into the morning learning more about BTech. Surprisingly, he didn’t find much more from the first search of the company. BTech had yet to release an annual report listing their earnings, revenues, and expenses.

Perhaps what Richard Metzger had told Ronan was correct: BTech was really starting their company in Charleston and looking to expand it to other places.

His head continued to ache. The pain felt more like razor blades cutting into the side of his head and face. When Ronan touched the skin, the swelling had subsided, but the pain remained. It nearly made his eyes water to put any pressure on that side of his face.

The late-evening hours waned and a flurry of activity filled the main floor of the police department. The night shift was ending and the day shift beginning, and in those few minutes before the official change, officers that normally didn’t see much of each other took time to exchange greetings and hold brief conversations.

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The early morning sunlight came through the windows that lined the far wall of the precinct. Rays of honey-yellow cast slants of light onto the faded tile floor, reflecting onto objects around the room. Ronan stared into the brightness to signal to his body that it was time to wake up. He blinked a few times to help his eyes adjust.

Two men and one woman entered the main floor of headquarters, dressed in business suits. The men had a confident air about them and appeared ready to cast their disapproval on whatever they might find.

“Must be the shrinks,” Ronan mumbled to himself as he picked up the phone on his desk.

He didn’t have Pete Linville’s number saved on his cell phone, but he did have it programmed on his desk phone.

Ronan was unsure, given BTech’s emerging presence, if Pete would still be working at the crime lab in South Charleston. He was pleasantly surprised when Pete answered.

The tone of his “hello” indicated surprise that someone had called so early in the morning.

“Pete. It’s Ronan. We need to talk. Now.” *** By the time Ty arrived at Charleston State College, Nick was out in front of the student center building, waving his hands.

He stood up and brushed off the front of his dark jeans.

“I’m really worried,” Nick blurted out as he crumpled into the front seat of the Jaguar, bending his knees until they rested under his chin.

Ty looked over at Nick. His eyes were red and rheumy.

“Does Ashley drive a car?”

“Yes. She parks it over in the garage on the near side of campus.”

As Ty veered left, several maintenance members and custodial staff were walking throughout the campus, moving in and around the various stone and brick buildings that lined both sides of the narrow street.

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Ty turned right and pulled into the parking garage. Most of the spaces were empty.

“What type of car does she drive?” Ty asked, looking through the windshield to the left and right.

“A Jeep Compass, a black one,” Nick said. “It should be easy to find the car if it’s still here. The only cars parked in the lot this early in the morning belong to the students that live in the dorms.”

The first row to the right was nearly empty, except for a cream-colored maintenance truck that belonged to the college.

To the left, three cars were lined up facing inward against the wall, but none were black.

Nick moved his foot nervously on the floorboard of the car.

Ty pushed the gas pedal down further and the engine purred, banking a sharp left up a slope onto the second floor.

When they reached an open, flat space on the second floor, Nick tapped Ty on the shoulder.

“It’s there. The second car to the right.”

Ty pulled into the parking space next to the Jeep Compass.

The exterior of the car was spotless and its deep black luster glistened under the yellow ceiling light.

Nick jumped out of the Jaguar as if he expected to see Ashley.

Ty killed the engine and stepped out. Nick ran around the rear of the car, peering in through the windshield.

“None of her stuff is in the car. Her books and notebooks for class, her purse, none of it is here.”

Nick looked at Ty with a pleading expression. “Uncle Ty…” Ty put a hand on his shoulder and leveled a look at him.

“Take a deep breath, Nick. Try to stay calm. Being overanxious and envisioning scenarios will not help us find her and it won’t make you feel better.”

Nick closed his eyes for a moment. Ty watched his nostrils flare.

“Okay. I’ll try. It’s just…”

“Let’s look inside the car and see if there are any clues as to where she might be.”

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Nick nodded.

They circled the car. The inside of the car was as clean and pristine as the outside.

Ty couldn’t help but think like Ronan in this situation.

“This car is spotless.”

“Yeah. Since her uncle has connections with Ford, she can take it over to the Burt Wolfe place on the west side any time she wants and they wash her car for free.”

Ty made a note of that.

“Is this car new?”

“I don’t think so,” he said, as he peered into the backseat from the window on the driver’s side. “It’s an older model. 2007, maybe?” There was a tense panic in his tone. “I can’t remember what she told me.”

Ty took his time looking through the glass. Inside the back seat, tucked under a corner flap of the floor mat, was a pink receipt.

Nick came around the car as Ty got into the glove box of the Jaguar and removed a small flashlight.

“What’s up, Uncle Ty? Did you find something?

Ty clicked on the small light and sent its narrow beam through the glass. The corner of the receipt featured dark blue lettering.

“Nick, what do those letters say?”

Nick cupped his hands on the glass and stared in for a second.

Ty tried to keep the flashlight steady.

He pulled away. “I’m not sure, but I I saw the word Aiden and a number with a colon sign. The name and number was circled. I could make out the heading on the pink paper. It said Burt Wolfe at the top. It’s a little fuzzy through the glass, but I think that’s what it says.”

Ty clicked off the light. He looked at Nick with an earnest look.

“We need to call the police.”

The peachy color from Nick’s face drained to a white pallor.

“Ashley is in trouble, isn’t she?”

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For the first time, Ty didn’t mask his concern. “She could be.

Call 911. Tell them Ashley is missing.”

Ty watched as Nick fumbled for his cell phone in his pocket.

As he did, Ty reached back into the Jaguar and pulled out his phone.

“Who are you calling, Uncle Ty?” Ty brought the phone up to his ear. “Ronan.”

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47 Ronan had told Pete Linville they needed to meet in a secluded place where they would have time and space to talk.

Pete had formerly been an adjunct faculty member teaching graduate courses in biology at the South Charleston campus of Marshall University. Pete suggested the library as a good place to meet, and Ronan agreed.

Ronan felt his cell phone vibrate against his chest inside his jacket pocket. He let it go to voicemail. He needed to be focused and sharp for this meeting and he didn’t want his mind distracted by other details.

Ronan stepped inside the first-floor library and looked around. An older lady with a thin face and round glasses dressed in a plain suit stared back at Ronan, her face serious. A moment passed and then she turned her attention back to her computer screen. Ronan could hear a student turning pages in his textbook at a table near the front door, and a chair scraped against the floor on the other side of the room. The faint smell of perfume filled the space, probably wafting from the clothes of the librarian.

Ronan spotted Pete sitting at a table in the back of the library.

Ronan felt a swell of guilt in his gut. In September, Pete had been able to isolate the mud on Ty’s pants as Appalachian Blue Mud, which helped Eric and the police rescue Ronan from that muddy water pit in Jackson County. Ronan would always be grateful and indebted to Pete. Now, Ronan felt conflicted about 271

Pete because of what he might know about Sarah Gilmore that he hadn’t shared with him earlier.

Pete noticed Ronan and waved him over. Ronan quietly stepped back to the rear of the library.

Pete’s face was littered with fresh pimples. His hair, normally slicked and greased, was dry and static and laid in a flat, straight pattern on his head.

His eyes flickered with interest as Ronan sat down.

“Thanks for meeting me on such short notice.”

Pete folded his hands on the table and leaned in. “Of course, Sergeant.”

“How’s life?”

Pete frowned. “I’m not excited about being unemployed, but I’m sending out resumes and cover letters. Finding another job takes time.”

Ronan nodded and pulled out a notepad from his jacket pocket. The temperature inside the library was hot, but it felt good to Ronan and he left his coat on.

“I wanted to talk with you further about Sarah Gilmore.”

Ronan waited to gauge a reaction from Pete upon hearing her name. His mouth twitched, but his eyes remained steady.

“From what I see on the news stations, her murder remains unsolved.”

“Yeah,” Ronan said, removing a pen from his jacket pocket.

“And her death has raised more questions and led to more murders.”

Pete nodded thoughtfully. “Yes. It’s a pity that has happened.

I’m sorry about your friend that was shot in that building.”

Pete lowered his head for a moment as if to give Sean Carter a moment of silence, and then raised it up until his eyes were once again locked with Ronan’s.

Ronan tried another tact. “When Eric and I came to see you a few days ago, you mentioned Sarah had done a clinical at the state police lab?”

Pete looked up at the ceiling as if trying to recall the information from the past. “Yes. It was several months ago, but you are correct. I would see her in the lunch room or in 272

the hallway. I was not her clinical supervisor, so we did not communicate much.”

Ronan made a note on his pad. “So, there was never a time the two of you talked?”

Pete arched an eyebrow. “Sarah and I exchanged pleasantries, yes.” He clucked his tongue. “Sergeant, a crime lab is a busy place. To get our work done, it requires us to work hard every day. There was little time for idle chit-chat.”

Ronan looked down at the notepad and wrote another note.

“Did she ever confide in you anything about her program or her work at the lab, what might be going on?”

Pete seemed confused by the question. “I don’t understand. I told you we didn’t talk…”

“I know what you told me,” Ronan said, his voice taking on an edge. “But there are details missing in what you gave us.”

Pete leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. “Such as?”

This time, Ronan leaned closer. “Such as that Sarah was already working for BTech during her last semester at school, which also coincided with the internship she was doing at the crime lab.”

Pete let out a short, disapproving laugh. “Sergeant McCullough, as I already said, Sarah’s work in our lab was several months ago. With all of the names and records I was responsible for, how could I remember everything?”

Ronan closed the notebook and put it back into his pocket.

He noticed Pete watching every movement with a cautious gaze.

“That’s interesting.” Ronan thought for a moment and decided to move forward carefully.

Ronan looked down, cleared his throat, and stared at Pete intently.

“Here’s the issue, Pete. We found out Sarah had an employee computer file registered with the state. The file name coincides with her birthdate, and I was able to determine the number 1 is designated by the state for all employees working in the crime lab.”

Ronan watched Pete’s eyes flicker.

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“My partner obtained a search warrant and our computer forensics guys are going through those files as we speak. What’s interesting is that Sarah sent you several emails about BTech and what was going on in the lab.”

The panic that glinted in his eyes earlier now washed across his face. Pete looked down, his eyes darting back and forth across the table.

“Pete, look at me.”

Pete craned his neck up and blinked back tears. His hands shook and his skin took on a ghastly color.

When he finally cut a quick glance at Ronan, Ronan continued.

“Pete, I need to know why Sarah sent you those emails about BTech. Were they sent to tip you off about BTech handling the blood work and crime scene analysis for the state?”

Pete blinked hard and made a face. “Goodness, no. Sarah didn’t know anything about that and neither did I.” “I need to know everything, Pete. I can help you. But if I don’t get the truth and there is incriminating evidence in those messages, or if she told you specific details that you’ve been keeping from the police…”

“Fine,” Pete said, slamming his hand down on the table.

Ronan could hear a shushing noise coming from behind him, most likely the librarian warning him to be quiet.

“I’ll tell you what you need to know.” *** “Come on, Ronan. Answer me, please.”

Ty dropped the phone into the cup holder of the Jaguar in disgust. Nick looked down at the phone and then gave a curious look over at Ty. Ty needed to remain calm so as not to worry Nick.

Nick stared out the window at the Kanawha River as Ty crossed the Patrick Street Bridge onto Charleston’s West Side.

Thick grey clouds cast the sky in metallic silver, reflected in the river below. The early morning light struggled to strangle out the last bit of darkness.

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“Are you sure Ashley will be here?”

“I am not sure of anything at the moment. But that pink receipt we saw in the backseat of her car gives us our best clue.

If Ashley was to meet Aiden and she’s not at home...that’s all we have.”

Nick nervously chewed on the end of a fingernail and his eyes dropped to the floor. Ty reached over and patted his knee.

“It’s going to be okay, Nick. We will find Ashley.”

Ty wasn’t sure he believed that statement, but he wanted to offer hope.

They turned left on the corner of Seventh Avenue and Patrick Street. On the train tracks next to the road, a CSX train engine hissed along the tracks, grinding its brakes as it pulled a load of coal-stuffed metal cars behind it.

Near the Burt Wolfe car dealership was a Kmart and a McDonalds. The morning was early and only a few cars filled the expanse of the parking lot. Ty could make out bright white lights shining through the square windows of the restaurant.

A noise caught Ty’s attention. He stopped the car a few feet away from the entrance to Burt Wolfe.

Nick looked over with a mix of panic and surprise. “Why are we stopping?”

Ty rolled down the window. “Listen.”

In the distance, they heard the piercing bleat of an alarm screaming into the sky. The passing train muffled the sound, but the sharp shrill of the alarm siren echoed in the distance.

Ty wished Ronan had answered his phone.

Ty tossed a look at Nick. “Did you call Lieutenant Bonamico?”

Nick nodded. “He said he would come.”

Ty wondered when he would show. There were many times Ronan would tell him he would be home soon, only to be delayed by a new development in an open investigation. Ty swallowed hard, hoping the police would arrive soon.

“We need to stay here and wait for the detectives. I bet that alarm has triggered a call to 911.”

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Nick spun around, his knees slamming into the glove compartment of the car, and focused on Ty. “Uncle Ty, please, we have to go in,” Nick whined. “Ashley could be in there. She could be in trouble.”

Ty sucked in a breath. Several beats passed. Nick was right, but Ty was weighing the pull he felt to move in versus the rational decision to wait for the police.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Nick’s face balled up with worry and his cheeks flushed red.

“Okay. I’ll drive in slowly. The minute the police arrive, we are out of there.”

A rush of relief washed over Nick’s face. “Awesome. Thanks, Uncle Ty. Don’t thank me yet, he thought to himself.

Ty put the car into drive and they rolled through the dealership. Ty noticed that nobody was on the lot yet, or in the main building as Nick squinted through the glass, searching the various rows of parked, polished vehicles with balloons tied to the mirror and large numbers emblazoned with blue and yellow prices in the windshield.

Nick turned to the windshield and poked the glass with a finger.

“Uncle Ty, look. Up there!”

Ahead, a maintenance garage at the end of the property had an open bay door with light spilling out from the inside. On the top of the roof, a white light flashed and flickered, blinking in a manner that indicated this was a secured area. An elongated shadow filled the space.

Ty pulled over to the side of the building. Before he could kill the engine, Nick opened the door and sprang out.

“Nick, wait!” Ty called, although his voice was drowned out by the screeching alarm.

Ty chased after Nick, who had disappeared into the bay.

Once inside, the garage bay provided some cover against the alarm.

Inside, he saw Ashley in the middle of the room, her hands tied behind her back and a thick, hooped chain wrapped tightly around her neck.

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“Ashley…” Ty managed to blurt out before he heard a click and felt something press into the side of his shoulder.

“That’s far enough.”

Ty turned his neck to the left. Nick lay motionless on the floor. Ty instinctively tried to go to him, but the cold metal of a gun barrel pressed harder into his skin.

“Don’t move, Ty.” Ty looked over to see Aiden holding the gun.

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48 Ronan watched Pete drum his fingers against the table, and his face grow red from anger.

“I’m waiting, Pete. I don’t have all day.”

Pete sat back again in the seat and scowled at Ronan for a long minute.

“I need some concessions from you first.”

“Such as?”

“I want the police to know that I cooperated, and I don’t want to be named in any lawsuits concerning my sharing classified company information with the police.”

Ronan snorted a laugh. Pete sounded like he had watched too many cop shows on TV. “I can assure you I will let everyone know we talked and that you were cooperative. In terms of being sued, that’s outside anything I can promise. But, what I hear had better be good, and if I get the sense that I’m hearing a load of bullshit told to cover your ass, then I walk away and it will be like we never talked. Those are the rules.”

Pete thought about it. “Fine.”

Ronan nodded and crossed his arms. “Now talk.”

Pete took in a breath. “Sarah had been interested in forensic analysis and how technicians can use blood evidence to diagnose diseases and help craft treatment plans for sick patients.”

“That makes sense,” Ronan said, “and that comes from her work as a nurse.”

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“Right, but she also became interested in how that information can help the police. Those are some of the issues we talked about, she and I, during her internship. Sarah wanted to know what I thought the chances might be of someone like her being able to work in law enforcement using her skills once she got her degree.”

Ronan nodded. “That also makes sense, because she and the ER staff at Charleston Mercy were on the front lines of the Krok outbreak and they are the first to deal with OD’s.”

“As I told you earlier, BTech promised to offer hundreds of fast, cheap and accurate blood tests, using a few drops of blood, instead of vials. Once Sarah took the job at BTech, she started looking into the company. Two federal regulators began investigating BTech and examining their technology and their methods.”

Pete smacked his lips and leaned to close to the table as if to share a secret that nobody else knew.

“She found that one of the regulators, the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services, discovered that in clinical trials, BTech gave the results of blood-clot testing to dozens of patients, despite inaccurate results from quality-control checks.”

Ronan felt his throat catch. He remembered Richard Metzger sharing results from his blood work. Perhaps the doctor had been sharing bad information as a way to scare Ronan.

“Then, the FDA got involved. They began inspecting the technology and the devices used.” Pete held up a finger.

“Remember, the entire premise of BTech is that with one drop of blood, you could test for all of types of ailments and diseases.

“The FDA determined that one drop of blood can be still be taken, but the testing lab in California was determined deficient and caused problems to patient health and safety. The FDA began inspecting their Nanocontainer and other devices for accuracy in their results. It turns out that in some earlier trials, the only illness that BTech’s equipment could test was herpes. BTech had an agreement with CVS Pharmacy to install mobile wellness centers in their stores so that customers could get health reports from the blood tests without having to go to the doctor. Once the 279

news came out about the failed tests in California, CVS canceled the contact. Supposedly, the contract was worth around $300 million.”

Ronan found the sloppiness ridiculous. “So, they spend all of this money, go through this huge marketing process to get their name known to hospitals, and the only disease they can diagnose is herpes? Plus they risk 300 million dollars by not being ready?”

“Precisely.”

“How did BTech keep this quiet?”

“By promising the regulators and the FDA they would do whatever was necessary to fix the testing procedures to improve the results. The scientific community is a small one, Sergeant, and people talk. But the FDA was convinced that a formal statement on BTech’s problems wasn’t necessary at the time.”

“And they convinced Charleston Mercy Hospital and the state that their methods were fixed?”

“Yes,” Pete said. “BTech has requested that the regulators revisit their labs and reexamine their testing methods. The FDA did not shut them down, just asked for more data and improvements. It’s a similar process to health department inspections at restaurants. Just because a restaurant is issued a violation by the health department doesn’t mean the place is shut down. As long as the restaurant makes the necessary changes and allows inspectors to return for a follow-up visit, the restaurant can still operate.”

Ronan let that thought pool for a moment. “And how did Sarah find all of this out?”

Pete shrugged. “Through research and what she observed at the BTech lab. I assume her contacts with the med school at Marshall also helped. She had compiled all of this information and decided to share her concerns with BTech.”

Ronan felt like the conversation was going somewhere.

“More like she shared her concerns with Richard Metzger.”

“Perhaps. Sarah was so ashamed to be working for a company that had this sordid past with regulators, that she wanted to quit.

But she also wanted to share the information with the media.

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Perhaps stop the state and Charleston Mercy Hospital from entering into an agreement with the company.”

Ronan rubbed his face for a moment, glad the swelling had subsided despite the fact that the pain remained. “I’ve done some research on BTech myself. I found some information about how BTech expected scrutiny, but they said six independent medical people had examined their work and they were blown away.”

Pete leaned back and stabbed a finger at the end of the table.

“That’s the information BTech used to convince the state to hand over the crime lab duties to BTech. Plus, they promised they could save the state two-hundred-million dollars over ten years in equipment and personnel costs by shifting the services of the crime lab to BTech.”

Ronan sat up straighter in the chair. “Pete, do you think someone connected with BTech would kill Sarah to keep that information away from the press and the public?”

Pete thought for a moment. He looked up again at the ceiling, trying to formulate a thought. Ronan watched his eyes dart back and forth. He could sense him thinking hard.

“I don’t know. But if you are BTech and your goal is to disrupt the $75 billion diagnostics industry, then I think they would do anything to avoid more negative press.”

Ronan considered the ramifications. Clearly, BTech was fighting to maintain its reputation and prove the claims against them were junk science. They had a large financial interest in the business model succeeding. Ronan remembered what Pete had said about public health and patient safety. Ronan knew from Ty that those two ideals were the reasons nurses worked with sick and injured people and, even though Sarah took a job outside of hospital work, her training would have left her with a sense of wrongdoing if BTech wasn’t maintaining those standards.

Yet everything Pete said proved what Ronan already thought, BTech was a shady place and bad at certain aspects of business, but it didn’t prove that Sarah was killed over it.

Ronan decided for one more try with Pete.

“The file, Pete.”

Pete blinked hard, twice, trying to reset his thoughts.

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it?”

“That file that was coded to Sarah by the state. Did you see

Ronan saw the blood drain from his face.

“Think carefully before you answer. We are already examining the emails exchanged between you and Sarah.”

Pete’s lips twitched and his brows knit together. Ronan could see his chest swell and extend, a sure sign that he was irritated by the question.

“I knew of it, yes,” Pete said. “Sarah was putting her findings in a file for safekeeping and to possibly share with the media if BTech would not cooperate. But I never read anything there.”

Ronan pressed his lips together in a thin line and leaned closer. The gesture made Pete tense and rear back.

“I swear! I never saw it.”

Ronan slapped his hand on Pete’s thin, frail forearm. Slackjawed, Pete looked down, shaken by the show of strength. The librarian heard the noise and she walked back to where they were sitting. She circled the table, shot both of them a disapproving look, and then moved to the other side of the room before heading back to the front.

“Where is it? The file. I want to see it.”

Pete stared down his arm.

“Tell me where it is, or our deal is off.”

Pete jerked his arm back. He held it out to his side and shook it as if the skin was on fire. “Fine. It is in a locked file cabinet at the crime lab. I will take you there. I just want all of this to be over.”

“Show me the file, Pete, and it will be over for you.”

After their conversation and Pete’s attempts at being evasive, Ronan had planned on arresting him for obstruction of a murder case, but now, he needed Pete to cooperate.

Pete stood up first and Ronan followed him outside the library. Pete pointed to the left side of the building. “I’m parked over there.”

Ronan looked over and then back at Pete. “Come around and I will be here waiting. I’ll follow you.”

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Ronan got into his truck and exited the parking space, careful to align his car parallel to the side of the building so Pete could drive alongside him, and Ronan could follow.

Pete drove a beat-up white Geo Metro and it hobbled down the parking lot. Ronan pulled in behind it.

As they came down the hill, Ronan reached for his cell phone. He kept one eye on the road as he scrolled down the screen. Ty had called, but didn’t leave a message. Ronan needed to call him back.

At the bottom of the hill where the access road to the campus led to Kanawha Turnpike, Ronan watched Pete swerve his car to the left. The front end of his car stood out in the middle of the road as two black Jeep Grand Cherokees sped east past the stopped car, and slammed on their brakes.

It appeared Pete might have had his car clipped by one or both of the speeding cars. Pete got out, flailing his hands up and down.

Ronan also got out of his car. “Is everything okay?” Ronan hollered. “Did they hit you?”

Pete marched to the intersection. As Ronan followed, Pete sidestepped the road to the left and hid behind a thicket of leafless branches.

When Ronan reached the intersection, his eyed widened.

Three BTech security guards stood with semi-automatic weapons drawn and pointed at Ronan.

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49 Ty felt an unsettling feeling welling inside.

Aiden pressed the barrel of the Beretta M9.22 harder into Ty. This time, Ty felt a tinge of pain shoot through his arm.

Aiden chinned across the room. “Stand over there.”

Ty cut a look at Aiden. His eyes were wide and bloodshot and spittle had collected in the corners of his mouth. “I’m not going to ask again. I will shoot you.”

“Nick, I am worried about Nick.”

Aiden huffed. “He’s fine. I hit him just hard enough to knock him down.”

Aiden took the toe of his boot and nudged Nick under the ribs. Nick stirred on the oil-stained floor and moaned.

“Get up,” Aiden barked. Nick seemed to realize where he was and pulled himself up into a seated position. When he turned, Aiden had taken a step back and held the gun between them. Nick went pale.

“He stays here,” Aiden ordered, glancing at Ty. “You, over there.”

Aiden pressed the barrel harder into Ty. “I swear to God, I’ll kill you if you don’t move!”

Ty slowly stepped backward across the garage, his eyes darting between the gun, Nick, and Ashley.

Ashley thrashed against the chain around her neck.

“Don’t,” Aiden said. “The more you squirm, the tighter I will pull on the chain.”

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Nick slowly got up off of the floor. Aiden waved the barrel of the gun at him, motioning for him to move across the room.

Ty thought about making a step forward, but Aiden sensed it and gave him a look that made Ty freeze.

When Aiden and Nick moved, Ty noticed a pulley system with a lever. The chain ran across the length of the ceiling. Ty assumed that all Aiden had to do was push down the lever and the chain around Ashley’s neck would lift up, strangling her. The atmosphere in the garage felt dense and strange.

Ty needed to get Aiden talking to stall for time until Eric arrived. He decided to treat Aiden like a patient.

“I’m sorry, Aiden. I truly am. For everything.”

“Shut up,” he yelled, the words hurtling out with force. “I don’t think anyone is too sorry.”

Aiden pulled the lever. A flash of terror washed over Ashley’s face as the engine in the pulley ground to life, slightly lifting Ashley off of the floor. Her toes now barely touched the surface of the garage.

Ashley wailed and sobbed. “Please. It hurts so bad. I can’t breathe.”

Aiden pointed the gun at her, “Another crank of the lever and it’s lights out for you, permanently.”

“Stop. Stop it!” Nick commanded. “Ashley has done nothing wrong. She hasn’t hurt you.”

“She did,” Aiden said, looking over at Nick. “She got involved with you.”

“I agree with Nick,” Ty said. “Ashley and Nick have nothing to do with what happened to Sarah. But I know you are upset.”

Aiden held up the gun and fired a bullet into the ceiling.

The crack of the shot hitting the roof of the metal garage was deafening. Ashley stopped her sobbing, and Nick froze, exchanging a sullen look with Ty. “I’m upset because you talked to Ronan.”

Ty cocked his head to the side. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Remember our conversation at the hospital. I said tell Ronan to stay away from my family and to stop treating us like 285

criminals.” Aiden held the gun with both hands and stepped closer to Ty. Ty felt his heart begin pounding at a rapid pace. “I also remember our conversation included a threat.”

Aiden nodded. “That’s right. I promised to share who Ronan really is with everyone.”

A beat passed. Aiden’s face and skin were sweat-smeared and his eyes were pulsing with rage.

“And you talked to him!”

Ty felt his hands and legs tremble, but he tried to remain calm. “I didn’t. I haven’t spoken to Ronan at all. In fact, I finished my shift at the hospital and then Nick called and told me Ashley was missing. We have been looking for her…”

Aiden hit the butt of the gun across Ty’s face. His head whipped back and the force knocked Ty to one knee.

Specks of light flashed in front of Ty and a dull, searing pain roared to life. Ty felt something warm trickling down his face.

He touched his hand to his cheek to find blood droplets staining his fingers.

“The bank contacted me this morning. They are calling in the loans I have on the dealerships.”

Ty wasn’t following the conversation. He stumbled when trying to stand up, the flat surfaces and dark shapes inside the garage becoming a blur. “Aiden, I can swear to you I didn’t tell Ronan anything.”

“He didn’t, I swear,” Nick called out from behind them, his voice sounding hoarse and pinched. “Uncle Ty has been with me since this morning.”

Aiden spun around and moved toward Nick. “Shut up! You shut up!” Ty looked across the garage to find Aiden pressing the barrel of the gun into Nick’s chest.

“Ty told Ronan I threatened him. I bet he told you and Ronan that I knew Jacob Collier, too. My life is over. My career is finished.”

As Ty steadied himself, he blinked hard, trying to push away the flashing colors and blurring that crippled his vision. He noticed an open bottle of battery acid sitting on the edge of a faded red worktable. He backed up in front of it.

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“Even if I had called Ronan, he wouldn’t care about your business relationship with a bank unless it was part of the investigation.”

“Is that so?” Aiden asked, turning away from Nick and facing Ty. Aiden regarded Ashley for a moment and then shook the chain above her. She whimpered silently and kept wiggling against the chain around her neck and the hand restraints.

Aiden lowered the shotgun to his side. “I have some very strict investors that provided collateral for me to be able to buy these businesses. If I step out of line, they can refuse to provide further capital so I can make payments on the loan. Then the bank can call in my loan.”

“I don’t know anything about that and neither would Ronan.”

Ty realized Aiden’s talk with him outside the hospital had nothing to do with Ronan and the police investigating Sarah’s being sued, but it had everything to do with Aiden’s shady business dealings.

Ty could hear Aiden breathing heavily. “It doesn’t matter.

I am going to kill all of you, one by one.” Aiden raised the shotgun and pointed it at Ty’s face. Ty closed his eyes, thought about Ronan, how much he loved him and how much he would miss him and Nick.

“Drop the weapon!”

Ty opened his eyes and looked at the open garage bay door.

Eric Bonamico stood in the space, flanked by two uniformed officers with weapons drawn. Each wore a padded vest with the word POLICE emblazoned across the front. Eric seemed taller and stronger than Ty had ever seen him.

Nick and Ashley swung their eyes to Eric. Aiden remained motionless.

“Aiden! Drop the weapon. Now! It’s over. The building is surrounded. I know about Jacob Collier. I know you had been paying him money. I know you were one of the last people to see him alive before he was killed. We need to talk about it, Aiden.

We can’t talk about anything if you harm these people!”

“Ty watched as Aiden fingered the trigger on the Beretta and prepared to pull. Eric took a step closer to them, which made Aiden flinch, for just a moment. That moment was all Ty needed.

287

He pushed Aiden backward. Aiden stumbled, as Ty reached for the bottle of battery acid and flung it forward.

The clear liquid landed on Aiden’s sweater, but the back splash singed the base of his neck and jaw.

Aiden screamed and clutched at his throat. His neck became a fiery shade of pink and Ty thought he could hear the sizzle of the skin on his neck and hands being eaten away by the chemicals in the acid.

Eric lowered his weapon and sidestepped the thrashing Aiden. Eric and Ty quickly exchanged a glance. The screams grew louder, more primal.

“You son of a bitch,” Aiden blurted out.

Before Eric could get close, Aiden lunged for the lever on the far side of the room and managed to flip the switch as he fell to the floor.

The engine grinded again and Ashley found herself being lifted from the floor. She rolled her neck to the right, gagging and choking as she moved higher. Nick stepped forward and grabbed the lever, pushing it back to an even position.

Nick wailed and took his hand back from the stick. Drops of battery acid from Aiden’s hands remained on the handle. Nick ran over to Ashley, unbinding her hands as she furtively loosed the chain from around her neck.

Aiden squirmed to get up and before he could, Eric Bonamico put his foot in the middle of the Aiden’s back, pressing him against the floor.

288

50 Ronan sat in the backseat of the Jeep, his hands bound behind his back with what felt like electrical cording. A guard, resembling the one that shot and killed Sean Carter, pointed a semi-automatic handgun at Ronan. Ronan began to wonder if all of these guys were alike.

Another guard drove Pete’s car away from the graduate college after Pete took a seat in the front seat of the second Jeep.

They got to him, Ronan thought.

It had been a trap from the beginning and Ronan walked right into it. Now was not the time for pity. His mind reeled back to the pattern of crimes and violence committed in September and the connections Chris Keenan had made with the events taking place now. If there was a connection and the same group was responsible, there would be more trouble ahead and Ronan needed to stay focused and aware.

The driver of the Jeep, a thin-faced man with sleepy eyes and a large forehead, flicked his gaze back to Ronan.

“Where are we going?”

The driver gripped the steering wheel tighter and remained silent. Ronan cut a sideways glance over to the guard holding the gun.

“Is that really necessary? I’m not going anywhere.”

The guard frowned and stuck the round barrel of the gun deeper into Ronan’s side.

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“I don’t know what you want with me,” Ronan said, trying to get them talking. “I know so little about any of this; I can’t be of much help.”

The driver looked back at Ronan through the rearview mirror and snorted. “Someone wants to speak with you.”

“Great. Can’t wait.”

The Jeep drove onto Interstate 64 near the Montrose bridge exit. Ronan leaned forward to see the first Jeep peel off, and head down over the Montrose bridge, toward Route 60.

Smart, Ronan thought. They are trying to avoid suspicion.

The Jeep took the Lee Street Exit, crossed over the bridge near the Charleston Civic Center and pulled into the left lane.

The vehicle increased its speed, flew past the Marriott hotel and made a sharp turn onto Broad Street in front of the Embassy Suites hotel.

“Are we going back to the warehouse?”

Silence.

“It’s fine. I’ve been there before.”

The guard with the gun bristled. “Stop talking.”

“Or what? You’ll shoot me? That’s not wise. Your men have already shot and killed a cop. Want to make it two in a row, go ahead.”

Ronan felt a lump form in his throat as he thought about Mike and Sean being dead. Ronan gauged the response from the guards. Both remain stone-faced.

The Jeep pulled onto Slack Street, headed most likely for the warehouse. The traffic on the road was quiet with the morning workday well underway for most people.

As the Jeep lifted up and then collapsed onto the gravel road off of Hinton Terrace, Ronan felt his muscles go tight. He had to wait for a chance to get the advantage on the guards. They knew the warehouse better than he and if they managed to get him sealed inside, Ronan’s moment to escape might never come.

The Jeep turned to the right at a wide-angle that churned up dirt and rocks. The driver hopped out of the car. Another guard emerged from the small door near the rear of the warehouse, also carrying a semi-automatic weapon tossed over his shoulder in a harness.

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The guard with the gun on Ronan slowly slid out of the backseat, holding the nose of the revolver steadily on him. When he managed to get his footing, he gestured for Ronan to step out.

Ronan sucked in a breath and prepared to scan the surroundings, looking for anything that would give him an advantage over the guards. The rutted path below his feet had been stripped of any hard layers of dirt and was now nothing more than soft earth churned up from the heavy tires of Humvees and other vehicles.

Ronan looked over at the third guard, a tall, barrel-chested man that wore the same uniform as the rest but bore a mean disposition etched onto his face.

“I guess the welcoming party is here to greet me. How nice.”

The eyes of the guard flared and he charged over at Ronan and punched his jaw. Ronan’s head snapped back. He spat out a wad of blood then steadied himself. Luckily, the punch was on the opposite side of the face that had been kicked. Ronan felt every muscle in his body tighten and coil.

“It ends here,” the driver indicated. He stood with his back against the door. The early morning sunlight framed his face in a mix of shadows and highlights, and he resembled a pit bull snarling at its aggressor.

The second guard gestured with the gun toward the door.

“Move it.”

Ronan walked between the other two guards, while the other pushed it open. The metal hinges ground and chafed against the doorframe. The sound sent a chill running through Ronan as he remembered what happened the last time he and Sean Carter entered here.

Ronan sauntered ahead, waiting for the guards to take up positions around him. The door guard’s expression grew more menacing as Ronan drew close. He saw an opening of a foot or so between the door jamb and the open door.

Ronan immediately slowed his gait. The guard with the gun bumped into Ronan, resulting in a grunt and an admonishment from him and he shoved Ronan roughly in the shoulder.

“Keep moving.”

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Ronan took a few more clumsy steps and then purposefully wedged the end of his toe into the door.

“Damnit,” he screamed with overzealous emphasis. “My fucking foot is stuck.”

The guard growled, without concern. “Get it out.”

“Shit,” Ronan said. “If Barney Fife behind me hadn’t been sticking that gun into my back and pushing me along, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Shut up,” the guard ordered.

To make the ruse more believable, Ronan bent down and tried pulling on his toe. “It’s in there tight.” Ronan gave an exaggerated shake of his leg.

He addressed the door guard and the driver, “Fellas, can I get some help?”

The guard at the door nodded at the other two, indicating he was the decision-maker, to which Ronan made a mental note.

The driver guard came over and slid a blade into the knot of cable that bound Ronan’s hands together behind his back. His hands dropped and hung loosely by his side.

The guard reached under Ronan’s knee. “Pull and I will lift,” Ronan said.

As the guard slipped his hand under Ronan’s knee, Ronan could feel him lowering the gun. Ronan held his breath. He needed the driver to put his hands under his knee, but not press into it.

It happened. Ronan reacted. He leaned back and took the edge of his elbow and struck the driver on the bridge of his nose. Ronan heard the bones snap and the sound carried into the warehouse.

As the door guard started to lift his hands up for a response, Ronan delivered a head-butt with the crown of his forehead into the man’s face. The movement came with such force that the face was left a smashed, red mess. Blood splattered everywhere.

Ronan swung around and pushed the nose of the gun barrel down. He hit the guard in the mouth twice, sending him staggering back. Ronan took the gun from him. The guard with the bloody face charged Ronan. Ronan took the handle of the 292

semi-automatic and thrust it into his face. He fell into a crumpled heap.

The guard with the broken nose had released the safety on his weapon and Ronan pulled the trigger. A spray of bullets hit the driver in the chest and face. Ronan shot the snarling guard twice in the chest, knocking him to the ground.

Wispy smoke trails hung suspended between the bloodied bodies. The silence in the warehouse thickened.

Ronan dropped to one knee, panting, trying to make sense of what had just happened. His brain was scrambling, reeling.

Ronan didn’t know if he wanted to cry, scream, or stand up and fill their three bodies with bullets, just as their colleague had done to Sean Carter.

Ronan took a moment to compose himself. He finally stood up, no longer incapacitated, and looked for a way out.

293

51 Eric rushed Ty and Nick into one of the interrogation rooms at the police station.

“I’m going to need a statement from both of you.”

Ty had explained to Eric at the scene how they determined what happened to Ashley and that the event started when Aiden approached Ty outside the hospital.

“I’ve got two guards with Aiden at the hospital and two staying with Ashley, just in case Aiden sent people after her,” Eric said to Ty and Nick, who had pulled up two chairs against the faded, rusted table.

Eric’s expression was grim. “It’s not looking good for Aiden.

He’s likely going to have severe and possibly permanent eyesight damage from the battery acid. It nearly ate a hole through his mouth when he swallowed it.”

Ty raked a hand through his hair, as despair crashed into him.

“Hey,” Eric said, leaning over the table toward them. “You did what you had to do.”

Ty shook his head. “It still doesn’t make it right. I reacted out of fear instead of waiting for the police to handle it.”

Nick put an arm around Ty. Ty grabbed hold of Nick’s hand.

“Eric, I am worried about Ronan. I called him and he didn’t answer his cell phone.”

“I know,” Eric said, sounding exasperated. “I’ve been trying to reach him, too. I left a message telling him that you both are 294

down here at the station.” Eric looked over his shoulder, to check for someone watching or listening.

“I know he doesn’t want you two down here, so that message will get a reply.”

A knock came at the door. An officer entered and whispered something to Eric.

“Excuse me. I’ll be right back to take your statements.”

When Eric left and closed the door, Ty removed Nick’s draped arm and stood up.

“I’m very sorry about what happened to Ashley,” Ty said softly. He faced Nick. “I had no idea…”

“It’s okay, Uncle Ty. Thank you for helping me find her. If we hadn’t, he would’ve killed her.”

“I don’t think this is over.”

Nick looked confused. “This?”

“Aiden is a part of something larger and I am afraid Ronan is involved in what might be larger.”

The thought made Ty’s stomach lurch. Ronan usually answered the phone when Ty called, and if not, he always called back within minutes.

Eric Bonamico came back into the room. The lines in his forehead were drawn and his dark Italian skin seemed rheumy at the edges.

He pursed his lips. “I have some news.”

Ty felt his heart stop and his lungs clench. Nick stood up.

“Dispatchers just got a call from a librarian at the Marshall graduate college in South Charleston. Apparently, there was a car accident at the bottom of the hill involving Ronan and a man that matches the description of Pete Linville.”

Nick made a pained cry and Ty put his fingers to his lips, his eyes wide with worry.

“The car involved in the accident has no driver and Ronan is missing.” ***

295

Ronan put the gun down and raced over to the Jeep. The doors remained unlocked, but when he opened the driver’s side door, he didn’t see any keys in the ignition.

Ronan cursed under his breath. He flung open the back doors and reached his hands under the seats, to see if the keys had fallen out and slipped underneath. He looked around for his cell phone or any other communicative device but found nothing.

He turned back to the three dead bodies. One of the guards likely had the keys in his pocket.

Ronan approached the body of the guard that had been holding the gun. He searched his pockets, but they were empty.

The second guard he searched was the one Ronan assumed was in charge. When he reached over, he found the guard staring blankly at the sky through eyes the color of seawater. His nose had been mashed inside his skull and his face was a bloody mess of flabby tissue and broken facial bones.

As Ronan searched his pockets for keys, he noticed something blinking from his uniform shirt pocket.

The flashing red light pulsed and shone through the fabric of the shirt. Ronan reached inside and removed it. The device was shaped like a walkie-talkie but didn’t have any of the components needed for two-way communication. Instead, the glass orb in the center of the console just blinked and Ronan knew that meant trouble.

The guard had probably turned it on when Ronan made his move. Unsure of its tracking capabilities, Ronan tossed the device into the woods as far as he could throw it.

Ronan found himself rigid and stiff and his mind scrambled.

He could step past the guard and into the warehouse, but it might be a trap. If so, Ronan would be a sitting duck, entering a space that was unfamiliar to him, despite being armed.

He moved around to the left side of the building, where he saw the Humvee emerge when Sean Carter had been killed. The narrow patch of grass and gravel was deserted. Ronan had hoped to find another car he could access.

Ronan continued around the building. He decided to head back to the main road to see if he could attract attention from oncoming traffic.

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As he did, he saw the dark shape of a Jeep Liberty come up the road and make a sharp turn toward the warehouse.

Ronan darted back to the side of the building, nearly falling in the process. He needed to get to the clearing on the other side of the warehouse and find that semi-automatic before it was too late.

He ran as hard as he could, feeling his body quivering and his eyes flashing as the cold wind hit his face. He flattened his back against the side of the warehouse after picking up the gun.

Ronan swallowed hard and tried to catch his breath. He could see the pointed shadow of the Jeep coming around the side. Ronan steadied the gun. The front of the Jeep appeared at the edge of the warehouse. As it did, Ronan fired.

Bullets slammed into the tires first, popping two of the side tires. The force of air coming out hissed into the sky as the driver swerved the car to the right. Ronan looked at the windshield and fired.

This time, no bullets came out. Ronan steadied it again and pulled back on the trigger. No bullets again.

His mouth quivered as two guards popped out of the Jeep, disheveled, but dislodging their Glocks from their hip holsters.

Ronan threw the empty gun like a tomahawk at the guards, trying to disorient them. He had only one place to go, inside the warehouse.

He stepped over the dead guard and hurried into the warehouse. Unlike his last visit with Sean Carter, all the overhead lights were on in the warehouse, allowing Ronan a sense of its wide expanse.

Several of the metal shipping containers were gone, but a few remained stacked in rows along the outer walls of the floor.

Ronan heard heavy footfalls behind him. He slipped behind one of the shipping containers. Pressing his hands against it, he was surprised to find surface was not cold like before. Above, Ronan didn’t see a cooling unit on the side of the container.

Ronan held his breath. He felt his hands and legs trembling from the rush of adrenaline that pulsed through his body.

Ronan heard scampering feet around the warehouse. The hushed voices of two men filled the room. Ronan assumed they 297

were discussing the discovered bodies of the three dead guards.

Then the small door near the back of the warehouse slammed shut and Ronan could hear a lock click. He was trapped.

He let out a breath and collected his thoughts. There had to be another way out. The guard that fired the shots at him and Sean Carter had escaped the warehouse. Ronan had to find that same escape point.

He slowly moved down the perimeter of the container. As he peeked around the corner, Ronan saw a long shadow splayed on the wall. It was moving to the left, meaning one of the guards would be coming at Ronan from the left.

Ronan saw another container against the wall. He needed to keep moving. He crouched down low to the floor and scurried across the concrete, making it behind the second container without being detected or shot.

Ronan could feel his heart pounding in his chest and his stomach a knot of tension. He heard a click, then the patter of feet growing louder.

A hand grabbed him by the shoulder and spun him around.

Two new ACADEMI guards stood with Glocks pointed at Ronan. In the middle of them stood Pete Linville.

298

52 Ronan awoke. His mind was fragmented and hazy with blurred thoughts and images as he tried to blink away the colored spots that flashed in front of him.

He didn’t remember much other than he noticed Pete and the two guards standing in front of a dark, hollowed-out space in the wall. Ronan tried resisting the men. His hands hurt, meaning he put up a fight, but now found himself strapped to a gurney in a cold room.

Ronan looked over to find both fists clenched, but each arm straightened out and strapped to the side. He looked down to find his feet strapped to the gurney as well as a tight strap around his waist, preventing him from sitting up.

Ronan jerked at the restraints, but they wouldn’t give.

“Ronan, make this easier on yourself and don’t resist.”

Ronan could hear a dull thrum coming from behind the gurney. Slowly, it began to rise. Ronan pulled again on the wrist and feet restraints, and the gurney shook under the force of the strain.

“Please Ronan.”

The words were quieter and the voice more impish than before. When the gurney stopped moving, Ronan was sitting up facing Pete.

“How did I get here?”

“One of the guards choked you unconscious. He nearly squeezed too hard.”

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Ronan blinked, trying to assess his surroundings. The cinder block room was cold and nondescript. The room felt slightly dusty and he noticed that cinder block dust had pooled on the bottoms of his pants. Ronan looked over to see Pete bringing a needle close to the bend of his right arm.

“You are going to feel a little prick.”

“Pete, what are you doing?”

Ronan wiggled his wrist and Pete pulled the needle back.

“Don’t resist. It’s going to make this worse.”

Ronan watched as Pete placed the needle into the skin and then pulled back on the syringe, quickly placing a glass vial at the end of the tube. It filled with crimson-red blood, the color of rust.

Pete quickly capped the vial. He was wearing a white lab coat and immediately stuck the vial in his pocket.

“Pete, what is this? What’s going on?”

Pete came around to the front of the gurney. His weasel-like, greasy appearance had changed and Ronan regarded his darker, more sinister appearance. Pete scowled, his brows knitting together and the lines in his face moving as Pete set his jaw and gritted his teeth.

“I needed some blood so we can manipulate what’s going to happen.”

Ronan flopped his head back against the gurney. “What is going to happen?”

“I, I can’t say for certain.”

Ronan watched Pete take out a pen, remove the vial of blood and write something on its front.

“This isn’t you, Pete. What are you doing? You’re throwing away your career.”

Pete leveled a look at him. “What career? The state took that from me because those ignorant fucks in the legislature can’t balance the state’s checkbook.”

Ronan had never heard Pete speak with such intensity and it surprised him.

“I’m sorry, Pete. I really am.” Ronan turned his head sharply to the left and to the right. “But this isn’t you. Think of 300

the really bad people that have been put away because of your understanding of science.”

Pete walked across the room to a small drawer bolted to the wall and pulled out a sheet of stickers. He peeled one off the sheet and wrapped it around the vial of blood.

“What we are doing here is science,” Pete said. “Imagine being able to diagnose illness and disease with a single drop of blood at a fraction of the cost it takes doctors and hospitals to diagnose and treat disease.”

Pete turned to face Ronan, carrying the cylinder in his hand.

“That is science, and I am going to be a part of it. My expertise is valued and I am compensated well for it.”

Ronan jerked at the restraints again. “I heard Dr. Metzger say the same things to me,” Ronan said, as air wheezed through his clenched teeth. “And he’s dead. They poisoned him and gutted him like a wild animal. What do they want you to do, Pete?

Work for them and alter forensic evidence so that perps we catch can’t be prosecuted and convicted?

Pete bristled.

“Is that what you’re doing, Pete? And rationalizing it? If these people are interested in real science, then why did they choose you?”

Pete glared at Ronan. “I am a scientist. I just happened to work with the police for a long time.”

“And that experience has been in helping law enforcement, which tells me they chose you because of that understanding.

You know what we need from a crime scene and you know what helps and hurts regarding evidence.”

Pete blanched and Ronan realized he had struck a nerve.

“There is still time to get out of this, Pete. Unstrap me and we can stop whatever is happening. I owe you, Pete. I owe you my life. Your understanding of science and mud particles helped save me from those goons on that farm in Jackson County in September. Let me repay the favor and get us out of here.”

A door on the far right side of the room opened.

“Thank you, Pete,” the voice echoed from the hall. “That will be all.”

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Paul Bennington walked in, carrying several filled vials and a sharp, cycle-shaped knife with circular holes dotting the metal.

“I’ll take it from here.”

302

53 Nick paced the interrogation room like a caged animal hoping to escape.

“That’s not helping,” Ty remarked, as he sat in the chair behind the table and stared at his hands. “We need to be calm and wait for Lieutenant Bonamico to return.”

Nick rested his arm on the wall and leaned his forehead into it. “It’s taking too long.”

The door pushed open and Eric came in. This time, he wore a bulletproof vest over his shirt and the knot on his tie stuck out at the neck from the pressure applied by the vest.

“Okay. We are ready.”

“Good,” Nick said, clapping his hands. Eric exchanged a curious look with Ty. “That doesn’t include the two of you.”

Eric gave Ty a pleading look as if expecting Ty to object.

“We understand, Eric. What are the next steps?”

Eric looked back into the hallway and closed the door. “We have men going to the second-floor lab behind Charleston Mercy.

We will also to set up a perimeter around the building. That is one of the known places where BTech conducts business. The other is Hinton Terrance, which branches off of Slack Street.”

Eric swallowed hard.

“Where Detective Carter was killed.”

Eric glanced at Ty, but didn’t respond. “We are going to set up a perimeter in that area as well. I’m not sure, hell, nobody is 303

sure that’s where Ronan is, but if he was taken against his will, those are the places he might be.”

“And if he is there?” Ty asked.

“We will have a tactical team ready to go into the warehouse and extract him.”

Ty stood up from the table. “Is that safe?”

“Ty, nothing is guaranteed…”

“Eric…”

The lieutenant held up his hand. “Look, there is a chance something could happen to Ronan. If he’s being held, a lot of things could happen.”

“Or go wrong.”

Eric walked over to Ty. “I promise, we will do everything we can to ensure Ronan’s safety.”

Ty stared down at the desk as his stomach became nauseous.

“I’m sorry, Eric. I know you will. It’s just…”

“It’s okay,” Eric said, placing a hand on Ty’s shoulder. “I feel the same way. But we are going to do this right.”

Nick walked around the table, facing them. “What if Uncle Ronan is not there?”

Eric’s shoulders slouched and he rubbed his eyes. “We will deal with that reality if it comes to that. Right now, we think this our best chance of finding Ronan and who has him. And the best thing you two can do is go home. I’ll be in touch.”

Eric left the room and closed the door. Ty touched Nick on the arm.

“Let’s go.”

“No.” Ty turned to find Nick standing defiant, his arms folded.

“Nick, please. Eric told us to— “I heard him,” Nick snapped. “But I don’t agree.”

Ty sighed. “Okay. Why not?”

Nick stepped closer to Ty, and Ty saw his eyes pulse with sincerity. A flicker of concern passed across them.

“If this were reversed, Uncle Ronan would do anything to find us.”

Ty nodded. “That’s true, but—” 304

“—But nothing. Uncle Ronan loves us both and would do whatever he could to help us if he were missing.”

Ty thought for a moment. Nick was right, but Ty didn’t know what they could do, especially with the police in pursuit of Ronan.

“I agree. But we don’t know where Ronan is and we do not want to get in their way.”

“Please, Uncle Ty. We need to support him in any way we can.”

Ty watched as concern on Nick’s face creased his features.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

305

54 Ronan sat in stunned silence as Paul entered the room. His eyes darted down to the edge of the knife blade.

He stood by the gurney and regarded the scene. “Look at this, Ronan McCullough. Strapped down and splayed out like Jesus Christ himself.”

Paul looked at the small circle of blood oozing from the pinprick Pete had made. “Bleeds like him, too.”

Paul cupped Ronan by the back of the neck and jerked his head closer. Ronan could feel the palm heat on his skin.

“Except nobody is saving you this time.”

Paul pulled the blade around and held the tip under Ronan’s nose. “When I am finished, nobody will recognize you.”

Ronan felt his nostrils flare. Despite being scared, the rage rising inside him overtook all of his other emotions.

“Son of a bitch,” he snarled. “Go ahead and do it. Cut me up like Sarah Gilmore was cut up. Better yet, slice me up like the good doctor Metzger. Or how about a bullet to the skull like Jacob Collier or Marvin Null? I’m sure you were responsible for all of them.”

Ronan saw something flash across Paul’s brown eyes, a flicker of concern.

“Sarah knew too much for her own good. We had to do something about it and send a message that snitches would not be tolerated.”

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Ronan blanched. “All of those innocent people hurt and killed when that car slammed into the Clay Center.”

“The cost of doing business.”

Ronan was enraged. He wanted nothing more than to break free and smash in the face of Paul Bennington.

“Seeing the knife. Taking my blood. It all makes sense now.

We found those vials of blood in the safe-house. And Sarah.

She caught onto to what BTech is really doing. This isn’t about science or anything related to it. This is a chop shop, but instead of cars, its blood that’s being taken and broken down.”

Ronan jerked on the wrist restraints again. Paul took the tip of the knife and traced it down the exposed skin of Ronan’s upturned forearm. Oddly, the sensation made Ronan relax for a moment. Paul placed the tip of the blade into the spot where Pete had taken the needle that pierced the skin.

Ronan watched in horror as the tip of the blade hovered over the tiny hole. He rattled the restraints again, knocking the knife blade to the side and grazing the leather.

Paul leaned back from the bed and swiped the blade of the knife across Ronan’s cheek. He yelped. A warm stream of blood slid down his face and onto his shirt.

“Very good, Mr. Policeman.” Paul removed a cloth from his pocket and wiped off the blood from the tip of the knife. He looked over at Pete. “Get out of here.”

Pete looked perplexed and his eyes cut back and forth between the knife’s blade and Ronan.

“Paul,” Pete stammered. “I just need to—” “Now!” Pete mumbled something to himself and sauntered to the door. He looked back over his shoulder at Ronan one more time and sighed. He opened the door and then closed it.

Ronan ran a tongue over his dry lips. “Paul. Paul Bennington.”

Hearing his name made Paul’s head snap in his direction.

“Aw, don’t be sad. Pete will be back. He is going to do a quick analysis of your blood and then we are going to decide what to put into your body.”

Ronan jerked harder on the restraints and screamed, “Why aren’t you in prison? Where’s Dominic Purcell? I haven’t 307

forgotten what the two of you unleashed on Charleston. All the people Krok infected. The lives ruined.”

“I appreciate the concern for Dominic. He sends his regards, but he is out of the country right now and couldn’t be with us.”

Ronan flopped his head back. He could feel the anger and adrenaline pulsing through his body, increasing his heart rate and breathing. Ronan’s sweat pooled on his brow as he breathed heavily.

“Great, isn’t it?” Paul said, circling the bed. “Dominic and I underestimated your resolve in stopping what happened, so we decided to beat the police at their own game and we are using the police’s reliance on blood and forensic evidence against them.

The black market for manipulated evidence is worth millions.”

Paul shrugged nonchalantly. “And, we will help hospitals diagnose and treat disease. After all, it’s part of BTech’s mission.”

Ronan looked up at the ceiling. He thought of Ty and Nick.

He thought about promising Ty that he would get justice for Sarah. Now, he was likely going to die on this gurney.

Pete Linville came back into the room. He refused to make eye contact with Ronan. “Nothing too abnormal in the blood. I can begin the transfusion in a few minutes.”

The word transfusion made Ronan’s breathing increase. He looked over to see that his arm had stopped bleeding and the blood had begun to dry on his face. When he looked to the right, he noticed the edge of a rusted bolt connected to one of the arms of the gurney sticking out. Ronan squinted, seeing that the knife had cut into the restraint.

Ronan rolled his arm back until it pinched with pain and began to hurt, but he slowly ran the back of the restraint against the bolt.

“Are the samples ready?” Paul spoke in a hushed tone to Pete. “All of them?”

“Yes. I can begin as soon as the selection is made.”

Ronan continued to move the restraint over the jagged edge of the arm bolt, stopping periodically when he thought the bed was shaking too hard and would draw attention.

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Paul looked over at Ronan. “We are going to conduct our final experiment of the day. On you. A little blood transfusion that will either kill you or change your body forever. Something like Ebola or a lethal strain of the West Nile Virus. Maybe HIV. Then you can experience, personally, how BTech science works.”

Paul walked over to Ronan again. Ronan tensed as Paul leaned in close. “Then, if I get bored before it’s done, I’ll just kill you myself.”

Paul flashed the knife blade in front of Ronan again. “Maybe I’ll go ahead and start with where the break in the skin on your face ended.”

Ronan heard a stir in the hallway. Paul ignored it and Pete turned to face it.

One of the ACADEMI guards peered into the room.

“Sir. We have a problem.”

Paul growled, “I said do not bother me!”

“The police have surrounded the warehouse and the streets.”

Ronan felt his gut tingle with excitement.

“Damnit. Get everyone armed and ready. Execute the plan we’ve rehearsed.”

The guard left and Paul looked at Ronan, eyes bulging with intensity and gripping the knife tightly.

“Pete,” he yelled. “Take care of him!”

Pete stared at Paul, crestfallen. “How?” “There’s no time for the transfusion, just kill him.”

Pete watched as Paul exited the room. Pete patted down the pockets of his jacket and finally pulled out a syringe and vial of clear liquid.

As he filled it, Ronan went back to sawing the strap. He started to feel the tightness in it give.

Pete walked over and flicked the syringe with a finger and pressed down on the tip, sending a short burst of liquid into the air.

His hands shook as Ronan continued to work the restraint over the bolt. Pete didn’t seem to notice.

Ronan could feel the restraint begin to give. Pete took in a quick breath and looked down at Ronan.

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“I’m sorry, Ronan. I really am. I hope you understand.”

Pete arched the syringe in his hand and gripped it like a knife. He charged the bed and held it above Ronan, preparing to jab the bend of his arm.

Ronan felt the restraint snap. His instincts kicked in and he raised the hand to block Pete from thrusting the needle into his arm.

Wide-eyed, Pete pushed down hard on Ronan’s forearm.

He leaned into the gurney for leverage. The force Ronan was applying with just one arm to block the needle pulled his right hand against the restraints so hard that Ronan could feel the leather breaking the skin.

Ronan thrashed his head from side to side. Pete pressed down harder on Ronan’s one arm, the tip of the needle mere inches from his neck.

Pete heaved and wheezed like an animal preparing to strike.

Ronan ground his teeth with such force he thought they would break.

From the corner of one eye, Ronan could see Pete become off-balance as he leaned over the bed.

With a burst of strength, Ronan managed to turn on his side and throw his arm up, knocking Pete back.

Dazed momentarily, Pete bit down on his lip and came at Ronan again. This time, as he got close, Ronan jabbed his elbow into Pete’s mouth.

Pete groaned and dropped the syringe. Bright red streams of blood seeped through his fingers as he covered his mouth and whimpered.

Ronan flipped over and freed his right hand. He kept looking at Pete, who had turned to the far wall, crying and mumbling about how much pain he was in.

Ronan reached down and loosened the foot restraints. He stood up from the bed, his limbs woozy and unsteady from the lack of blood flow. He approached Pete from behind and struck him over the back of the head, knocking him unconscious.

Pete fell to the floor in a heap, a small puddle of blood collecting under him. Ronan checked his pulse to find him still 310

breathing. Ronan stepped back and kicked away two teeth he had dislodged from Pete’s mouth. He picked up the syringe, careful not to touch the tip, and placed the plastic cap over the top.

Ronan pushed open the doorway on the left side of the room.

The hallway featured smaller rooms that resembled individual labs. Ronan saw several minilab devices and sample collection devices in the rooms. Several filled vials rested in tubes near the machines. The rooms looked to be an exact replication of what Ronan had seen on the second-floor lab near the hospital, but on a much larger scale. People had been here working, but it appeared the rooms had been abandoned, and quickly.

Ronan went back up the hallway and through the room where he was held. He opened the far door, hoping Paul Bennington didn’t have too great a head start.

Ronan raced through the door and up the stairs. That’s when a thick plume of white smoke surrounded him, dropping him to his knees.

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55 Ronan covered his mouth and coughed violently, struggling to maintain his focus on the scene around him.

Tear gas. The police have gassed the warehouse.

Ronan covered his mouth with his arm and blinked back the tears. The gas was thick and burned Ronan’s eyes. He tried to ignore the searing, burning pain.

Ronan knew he had to find Paul Bennington. He stayed crouched, low to the ground and slinked up the stairs.

The tear gas was now inside his lungs and it felt like someone was squeezing them with great force. As he continued to climb, he saw a light coming from the top of the stairwell.

Ronan pushed ahead. When he got to the top of the stairs, he noticed a door bearing to the left, past the entrance that led to the main floor of the warehouse. Ronan heard gunshots fired from outside the warehouse.

The loud bang of gunfire repeated for a few seconds and then stopped. Ronan saw the main floor filled with tear gas. The police either were inside already, or would be soon, and someone was trying to stop them.

Ronan coughed again. He couldn’t wait for them to get inside. Paul might be gone by then. Ronan stepped quickly down the hallway.

A dim light showed the hallway was cinder block like the rest Ronan had seen, but it grew shorter and narrower.

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Ronan found himself low to the ground. He crawled slowly down the space, scraping a hand against the wall as a way to steady himself.

At the end of the hallway, a square entryway carved against the brick was the only space remaining. Ronan blinked through the gas that still hovered near his eyes.

A room opened up at the end of the corridor. It was filled with boxes of ammunition and a variety of semi-automatic weapons strewn about. Ronan could see a shadow kneeling at the window.

“Don’t move, Paul,” Ronan screeched, his parched voice and throat irritated from the tear gas. “The police are here. It’s over.”

Paul spun around and looked at Ronan with a deadpan expression.

Ronan held out the syringe and dangled it between them.

“Pete missed.”

Paul responded with a pinched expression and pulled out a device that looked similar to the one Ronan took from the sneering guard and tossed into the woods.

This time, the face of the device pulsed with a blue light.

“It’s not over yet,” Paul said, his skinny hands and long fingers wrapping around the device.

Ronan watched the blue light pulse.

“Whatever it is, don’t.”

“It’s too late,” Paul said. “I’m not going to let you win this time.”

“Give me the device.”

“Why? It can’t be stopped. It’s a timer and it’s already been started.”

Ronan stared at Paul for a moment. Something welled up inside of him, a rage and anger that Ronan had never experienced.

It pierced his gut and overtook his thinking. At that moment, he didn’t care what would happen to him; he just wanted to end this.

Ronan slid over to the weapons against the floor, blocking Paul from having access. Ronan removed the syringe.

“No guns this time. Just the two of us.”

313

Paul eyed the syringe and removed the sickle-shaped knife Ronan had seen earlier.

Paul gripped the handle and charged at Ronan, driving himself into his mid-section, knocking the syringe from Ronan’s hand and onto the floor.

Paul pushed Ronan back until they slammed into the brick.

Ronan felt the air knocked out of him. Ronan heaved, trying to get his breath. Paul stood upright and reached back, swiping the knife at Ronan.

Ronan ducked and Paul’s hand hit the brick. He yelped in pain as Ronan landed a knee to his ribs. Paul wobbled awkwardly to the side and Ronan punched him on the side of the face, just below the ear.

Paul dropped to a knee. His all-black guard uniform prevented Ronan from seeing his movement. Paul managed to get hold of the syringe. He lifted himself from the floor. As he did, Paul stabbed Ronan in the hand with the needle.

Ronan yelled and reached down to jerk the needle from his skin. A small circle of blood formed at the injection site. Ronan now felt woozy. Paul stood up, ambling over to Ronan.

Through his foggy thinking, Ronan managed to watch Paul.

As he got within striking range, Ronan flailed his leg forward, unsure if it would connect.

The toe of his shoe slammed into Paul’s crotch. He let out a primal scream and tossed his head back.

Paul panted and took deep heaves, trying to get air. As Ronan stepped closer, Paul stuck out the knife and stumbled toward Ronan.

Ronan backpedaled, trying to stay away from the moving blade. He could feel himself getting close to the back wall.

Paul had regained his traction and sliced a hole in the leg of Ronan’s pants. Paul’s eyes were cast down as he tried to determine if the cut had done damage.

Ronan punched Paul, knocking his head to the side. Paul was unfazed and thrust the knife at Ronan.

Ronan managed to slap his hands around Paul’s wrists.

Ronan, pressed against the far wall, struggled to thwart the oncoming pressure Paul was applying.

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Ronan pushed down with all of his might, and the tip of the blade moved down. Ronan was able to kick the side of Paul’s leg, weakening the grip. Paul thrust the knife upward one more time and Ronan grabbed his wrist, turned it inward, and jabbed the weapon into Paul’s gut.

Paul’s eyes went wide with horror and shock. Ronan shoved the knife in deeper, hearing the blade shred muscle and tissue.

Paul’s eyes turned hollow and then lifeless as Ronan stared into them one final time. Paul flopped onto the floor.

Ronan’s feet felt heavy and his limbs sluggish. He staggered over to the device and picked it up. The blue light pulsed faster and faster.

Ronan took one of the semi-automatic pistols and broke the glass window with the butt of the gun.

It shattered. Ronan leaned his head outside, risking being shot but needing the air.

The cool, biting air slammed into his face. He allowed himself a moment to let it reinvigorate him. Below, he saw several Charleston police department cruisers forming an arch around the property. Two guards lay dead on the field below.

Ronan saw Captain Ashby, standing on the outside of the arch, monitoring the situation and giving orders.

“Captain,” Ronan yelled. “It’s me. I’m still inside.”

The captain picked up the bullhorn. “McCullough, are you hurt?”

Ronan considered his condition. “No. Paul Bennington is dead. Pete Linville is trapped in the basement lab. He’s hurt.”

“Okay.” Ashby put the megaphone down and spoke to someone, pointing at Ronan.

As Ronan allowed his body to lag and the adrenaline and anger in his body to dissipate, he felt limp, hanging on the window.

Something on the ground to the left of the property made his lungs clench. Ronan could see the dirt slightly disturbed at the surface and the earth below it wide at the bottom, moving in a consistent pattern around the police perimeter.

Ronan looked over at the flashing device, then looked back.

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His throat clenched. Paul had triggered explosives around the warehouse.

“Hey,” Ronan hollered. “Get out of here. Now! All of you!”

A few uniformed and plain-clothed officers glanced up at Ronan, but most of them ignored him.

“Goddamnit, get out of here. The place is rigged to blow up!”

Ronan banged his hand alongside the wall on the outside and pointed at the trench that ran around the property.

“There is a hidden wire triggered to an explosive. It’s going to go off!”

Ronan reached back into the room and removed the flashing device. When he did, several officers looked up and pointed, hollering at the men to move.

Ronan’s vision began to blur. His tongue felt thick and the sky appeared to go dark around the edges. Ronan leaned into the window and fell back against it. He breathed hard, staring at the device in his hands.

He could hear the engines of police cars revving up and the sounds of churned dirt kicked up by screeching tires.

Ronan felt drained. He heard more scurrying. Then, a long silence. Finally, a loud explosion rattled the warehouse.

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56 Ronan awoke to find Ty stroking the side of his cheek.

Ronan took in a long breath and grabbed Ty’s hand and laid it on his chest.

“Feel that?” Ronan said sleepily.

“I do.”

Ronan smiled. “That’s my heart, which belongs to you.”

Ty grinned and leaned down to kiss Ronan sensually.

He leaned back and scooted himself to the edge of the bed.

“How do you feel?”

Ronan made a face. “I’m sore and exhausted, but fine. And even better because I’m with you.”

Ty lay horizontal on the edge of the bed, his feet sliding against the various discarded editions of the Charleston Gazette scattered on the floor.

Ty rested his head on Ronan’s shoulder. Ronan reached up and wrapped his hand loosely on Ty’s shoulder, his fingers slipping under the shirt and stroking his cool, smooth skin.

“Please be on paid administrative leave more often. It’s been great having you home,” Ty said.

“I think three days of sleep is enough. What has been going on in the world?”

“Oh, nothing,” Ty said. “The television stations are calling you a hero. They say you saved a bunch of police from being killed at that warehouse by screaming at them. I was there. You did.”

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Ronan made a face. “You were there?”

“So was Nick. We were able to get to Hinton Terrace before the police blocked off the streets. We were hidden.”

Ronan moaned. “Ty…that is dangerous. I don’t want…”

“We did it because if the situation were different, you would have done the same for us.”

Ronan let some air wheeze out his teeth. “Yeah. That’s true.”

Ronan felt this throat clench. Ty noticed it too.

“What is it, Ronan?”

“I couldn’t save Sean, I left you and Nick alone with that prick Aiden, and Dominic Purcell is still out there.”

Ty gazed down at Ronan, his soulful, dark eyes earnest.

“Nobody could save Sean. But Sarah got justice, Ronan.

The newspaper said the police arrested all of the lab technicians that were manipulating the blood evidence. More importantly, BTech will be no more. The legislature is holding an emergency special session at the end of the month to terminate the BTech contract and transfer the responsibilities of the crime lab back to the state police. The feds are going to shut down the company.”

Ronan frowned. “I still put our family in jeopardy. I don’t want my job involving the people I love most.”

Ty kissed Ronan softly. “We are always going to be involved, in some way. But Nick and I know that you always try to keep us safe.”

Ronan looked deeply into Ty’s eyes. “You always believe in me.”

Ty grinned. “Always.”

Ronan stroked the side of Ty’s face and ran his hand through his hair.

“Never forget how much I love you, Ty Andino.”

Ty’s face blushed and he flashed a wide smile. “Never, Ronan McCullough.”

Ronan pushed himself up off the mattress. “Now, speaking of, I need to go to the mall.”

Ty helped Ronan up. “The mall? As in the Town Center Mall?”

“That’s right.”

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Ty cocked his head to the side. “I don’t remember you ever wanting to go to the mall.”

“I’m meeting Nick there, and it’s important, and you can’t come along and I can’t tell you what it’s about.”

Ronan displayed a devilish smile. Ty shrugged.

“Fine. But I made dinner and I expect both of you here to eat it.”

“Deal.”

Ronan showered and put on a green sweater, jeans, and tennis shoes. On his way out the door to his truck, he called Nick.

“Hi, Uncle Ronan.”

“Where are you?”

“At the jewelry store in the mall.”

Ronan was relieved. “Do they have the rings?”

“Yep. I’m looking at them right now.”

Ronan climbed into the truck and closed the door. “And you gave the jeweler Ty’s ring size?”

“Yup.” Ronan smiled. “Great. I’m on the way. Tell them I will pay in full today.”

As Ronan pulled out onto Kanawha Avenue and reached the first stop sign, his cell phone rang again. It was Eric Bonamico.

“Hey, Lieutenant. Calling to check up on me?”

Eric let out a soft laugh. “I did, Detective.”

Ronan cradled the phone against his ear and gripped the steering wheel tighter.

“What?”

“Shit. Sorry. I wasn’t supposed to say anything until your mandated leave was over, but Chief Toler is promoting you to Junior Detective.”

Ronan waited a beat. “That means you are now Senior Detective?”

“That’s right.”

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

Ronan could hear noise and hushed voices in the background.

“What’s going on?”

“That’s the reason I called. I’m here to investigate a body we 319

found on the corner of Park Avenue and Virginia Street, near the railroad tracks. I know you’re supposed to be off, but…”

“I’ll be right there.”

When Ronan arrived at the scene, yellow police tape had roped off the scene. An awful, acrid odor came from the field just next to the railroad tracks. The place smelled like charcoal and sulfur.

When Ronan showed his shield to one of the officers and asked for Eric Bonamico, he was cut off by Chris Keenan.

“Hey, Ronan. Take a look at this. It’s the ID on the body we found. It’s been badly burned.”

Ronan examined the identification through the clear-plastic evidence bag. One side of the charred ID had the name Jeremy Gerrard faded at the bottom. When he turned the bag over, he saw a faded blue seal emblazoned on the back with the words Department of Homeland Security printed below.

Ronan clenched the bag in his hand and dropped his chin.

“Shit.”

320

Six months after a drug cartel infiltrated Charleston, WV, Ronan McCullough continues to fight the drug war that plagues the city. His investigations are halted when the body of a mutual acquaintance, Sarah Gilmore, is found in the back of a wrecked car. In an investigation that takes him deep into the professional and personal life of the victim, McCullough discovers secrets lurking in her past, and a tangled web of personal and professional conflicts, suspicion, and betrayal. Was Sarah killed for those reasons or something larger? As Ronan seeks answers, his life and the lives of those closest to him are used as pawns in a deadly game that has no ending.

A RONAN MCCULLOUGH NOVEL

“This book was a gripping, and gritty police thriller that kept me rapt in its pages until the end” —Lisa Brown-Gilbert, Pacific Book Review “As a man who lives and works in Appalachia, Parker puts that knowledge and his storytelling skills to work in this cracking good book.”

—The Richmond Times “Ronan McCullough is an interesting protagonist and you will want to keep on reading after the intriguing beginning,” —Peter Senftleben, editor and publishing consultant

ELIOT PARKER

Eliot Parker, a native of West Virginia, is the author of four novels. He attended the Bluegrass Writers Studio at Eastern Kentucky University, where he graduated with an M.F.A. in Creative Writing. A winner of the West Virginia Literary Merit Award and a finalist for the Southern Book Prize in thriller writing, he teaches writing and literature at Mountwest Community and Technical College.

ELIOT PARKER