X-Ops Exposed Page 9

  Tate ignored the decor and focused on the two police officers standing near one of the tables. It wasn’t until they turned his way that Tate got a glimpse of the body laid out there. A sheet covered the man from the waist down, but one look at the slashes crisscrossing his torso told Tate this was the victim.

  The older of the two men stepped forward and held out his hand. Judging by all the brass on his collar and the number of service stripes on the arm of his long-sleeve khaki uniform shirt, he had to be the sheriff. “Agent Evers, I take it?”

  Tate nodded. Like Arnold, the sheriff had a thick Maine accent. “Sheriff Bowers, sorry for making you wait. It took me a bit longer to get here from the airport than I thought it would. I appreciate you arranging for me to see the body tonight.”

  The sheriff nodded before gesturing at the officer with him. “This is Deputy Chase York. He was the responding officer who discovered the body.”

  York was about Tate’s height with green eyes and short blond hair. Tate couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about the deputy screamed former military.

  “Thanks for coming, Deputy York,” Tate said, shaking his hand. “I read your initial report on the flight, but I wouldn’t mind hearing your account firsthand.”

  Tate didn’t necessarily need to hear the deputy’s thoughts, since York probably couldn’t tell him anything that hadn’t been put in the written report, but he’d always found it was a good idea to treat the locals with as much respect and deference as possible. It went a long way to smoothing over ruffled feathers.

  “I don’t mind you talking to my deputy.” Bowers regarded him thoughtfully. “But I’d appreciate a little clarification on exactly how this case involves Homeland. Things so slow in DC that your bosses have you out investigating animal attacks now?”

  Tate knew this question would be coming, so he’d prepared an answer before he got here. Well, kind of. “So, you’ve confirmed it was an animal attack?”

  The sheriff motioned at the dead man on the table. “I think that’s obvious, isn’t it?”

  Tate didn’t reply, instead moving closer to the table to examine the corpse. He ignored the big Y-shaped incision left behind by the coroner’s autopsy, focusing instead on the scratch marks. No way was this a normal animal attack. The guy had definitely been clawed to shreds by something, but if you knew what to look for—and Tate did—it was clear he hadn’t been savaged by a wild animal. There were a few swipes thrown in here and there to make it look good, but there wasn’t a single bite wound. Moreover, the claw marks were almost surgical in nature. Clean, precise, and controlled, the killer had sliced deep into nonvital areas that would produce the most amount of pain with the least amount of life-threatening damage.

  Tate had seen these kinds of wounds before. One of the primary jobs he and his former team had done for the DCO was tracking down shifters who’d gone rogue and started killing people. It was a rare occurrence, but it did happen. Based on those experiences, Tate was left with no doubt now. This guy had been tortured by a shifter or a hybrid.

  While the majority of the damage was to the torso, there were some slash marks on the victim’s shoulders and arms. Taking a pair of gloves from the cardboard box on the shelf under the table, Tate slipped them on, then nudged the body onto its side. There weren’t any marks on the man’s back.

  Tate frowned. The bruising on the man’s arms indicated he’d been strapped down during the attack. Not with ropes or anything else that would leave obvious ligature marks, but something had definitely been wrapped around the arms.

  He leaned in closer to look at the bone-deep slice along the inside of the man’s left thigh. That had been the killing strike, delivered after the shifter or hybrid had gotten whatever information he or she was after. Or had simply tired of torturing the victim.

  “Did the coroner identify the animal?” Tate asked, glancing at the sheriff.

  “The coroner’s report listed the animal as a bobcat or Canadian lynx,” Deputy York said, holding up the folder in his hand. “I’m leaning toward bobcat. Lynx are pretty rare in these parts, and I’ve never heard of one large enough to do this. But bobcats up here can easily get up to forty or fifty pounds.”

  Tate nodded, wondering how the coroner had explained the bruising on the victim’s arms and the deep slash on the inner thigh. What, did he think the bobcat was carrying a switchblade? Not even a fifty-pound bobcat could slice open a person’s leg like that.

  But Tate had seen feline shifters and hybrids do things exactly like this. Of course, that sort of screwed up the likelihood Ashley was the attacker. According to Trevor, she was a coyote shifter like he was. While they were still sharp as hell, the claws on canine-based shifters like coyotes and wolves tended to be thicker. He couldn’t see one of them making a slash this clean and surgical. Then again, he’d never met a female coyote shifter. Maybe Ashley’s claws were more delicate than Trevor’s. That could make the difference.

  Regardless, he couldn’t take her off the table as a suspect yet. Based on everything Trevor had told him about Ashley, the woman was certainly unbalanced enough to do something like this.

  Tate continued to study the dead man’s body, hoping there’d be something that would tell him why the guy had been killed. But other than what he’d already seen, the body had nothing left to tell him.

  He turned his attention to the two cops. “What do we know about this guy?”

  York glanced over at the sheriff. Bowers’s jaw tightened, but he gave the deputy a nod.

  “His name’s McKinley Bell. He was a doctor at the medical center in Scarborough, which is just south of here,” York said. “He was well respected by all accounts and part of several prestigious research and education programs involving genetic testing. He lived alone and had no family I could locate.”

  Well, damn. A doctor with a background in genetic research? It wasn’t anything conclusive, but it definitely increased the possibility this guy had been working with Mahsood on a new hybrid program. Wasn’t much of a hop, skip, and a jump from there to the notion that Bell had been tortured by one of his own creations to get back at him for turning him or her into a monster.

  Tate glanced at the body again. Would a hybrid be patient enough to spend hours slowly slicing a man to ribbons? The hybrids he’d dealt with in the past were a lot of things, but patient wasn’t one of them. Even the ones who worked for the DCO would best be described as mercurial. They could go from fully in control to wild animal in a matter of seconds.

  That left Ashley. He could see her torturing Bell if she thought there was a connection between him and Mahsood.

  “So, Agent Evers,” Sheriff Bowers grumbled. “You ever plan on answering my question about why the Department of Homeland Security spent so much money to send an agent all the way up here to personally look at a man killed by a bobcat?”

  Tate cursed silently. If he didn’t deal with this now, he wouldn’t get any more assistance the rest of the time he was here. He glanced at Arnold standing over by the doorway, then at the two cops.

  “Nothing I’m about to tell you can leave this room,” he said softly. “It’s extremely confidential information provided by protected sources outside the U.S. Is that completely understood?”

  That definitely caught everyone’s attention, and all three men practically leaned forward as they nodded in unison.

  “Homeland, as well as the FBI and NSA, have been tracking a terrorist known as Kyfus through Europe, across the Atlantic, and into Canada. We don’t have confirmation yet, but there’s a good chance he’s already crossed the border into the U.S. en route to his next target.”

  “Kyfus?” The sheriff frowned. “Never heard of him.”

  Tate shook his head. “Not many people have. That’s because he never takes credit for his attacks. He kills, then moves before the dust has even settled. No one knows why he does what he does,
and as far as why he’s in the States, we don’t know that, either. We have no clue what his target might be. Worse, we’re not even sure what he looks like.”

  Tate paused, partially to let his words sink in, but mostly to give himself time to fabricate the rest of the story. He’d come up with the name Kyfus on the drive from the airport, piecing together parts of two different street signs. The whole thing was complete BS, but he had to admit the name sounded pretty damn cool.

  “The only thing we know for sure is that Kyfus frequently travels with a big cat like a mountain lion or jaguar that he’s been known to let loose on those who irritate him. He apparently takes great pleasure in watching his cat kill people.”

  Sheriff Bowers eyed Bell’s body for a moment before turning back to Tate. “And you think this terrorist is here in Oxford County? That he killed this man?”

  “It would be premature to even consider saying something like that,” Tate said quickly. He didn’t want the sheriff declaring martial law or something. That wouldn’t help anything. “I think you’d agree the chances of an international terrorist being in Hiram, Maine, are pretty low. Bell’s death is most likely nothing more than a tragic run-in with one of your local critters. But Homeland doesn’t want to leave any stone unturned, so they sent me here to poke around a bit, that’s all. I don’t expect anything to come of it, and I’m not trying to step on your jurisdictional toes.”

  The sheriff nodded. “I understand, but I’m going to need you to be very discreet. I can’t have anyone getting wind of any of this, or they’ll lose their minds.”

  “No one will get anything from me,” Tate assured him. “You have my word.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Bowers agreed. “And I have no doubt you and Deputy York will have this situation taken care of quickly. I have a feeling you two will work well together.”

  Tate had thought everything was going well up until that moment. The last thing he needed was a local deputy sticking his nose into something that very well might involve shifters, hybrids, illegal human research, corrupt doctors, and a crooked congressional representative from the state of Maine. None of those things were something he wanted York learning about.

  “I understand your concern, Sheriff Bowers,” he said, giving the man a smile. “But I’ll be out of your jurisdiction much faster if I work on my own. I appreciate your offer of assistance, though.”

  Bowers pinned him with a look. “It wasn’t an offer of assistance. I don’t trust you DC people as far as I can throw you. I’m putting Deputy York with you to ensure someone is watching out for the best interests of Oxford County instead of a bunch of folks inside Homeland headquarters. If you don’t like that idea, I’ll drop everything else my entire department is doing and put every officer I have on following you around for the duration of your investigation. Your call.”

  Bowers must have known which way Tate was going to go, since he gave him a nod, then walked out of the room. Arnold left with him, acting like he hadn’t heard a thing.

  “I guess we’ll be working together, Agent Evers,” York said.

  Tate regarded the man he was apparently going to be stuck with for the next few days. Unless he could come up with a way to ditch him, of course. “I guess so, Deputy York.”

  “I can take you out to the cabin where I found the body now if you want. But it’s at least forty minutes north of here by back roads, and the place doesn’t have any power, so it’ll be dark as hell.”

  Tate glanced at his watch, wondering whether he’d get anything useful out of rummaging around a dark cabin with a flashlight. Probably not. He could make better use of his time sitting on a phone with one of the DCO intel analysts digging into Dr. McKinley Bell’s background. He was damn interested in knowing if Bell and Mahsood had ever crossed paths.

  “It would be better to head out to the cabin in the morning,” he told York. “Any idea about where I can find a room for a couple of nights?”

  “There’s a Marriott up in North Conway, across the state line,” York said. “But if you’d rather stay someplace local, the Middleton Inn is your best bet. It’s a simple place, but there’s free Wi-Fi, the rooms are clean, and the price is right.”

  Tate nodded. “You had me at free Wi-Fi. Meet you at the sheriff’s office at eight in the morning?”

  York shook his head. “Too far out of your way and mine. It takes over an hour to drive to Parish from here, and then we’d only have to head back this way. How about I meet you at the Dunkin’ Donuts off Highway 25. That’ll be easier for both of us.”

  Damn, he might have just figured out how to ditch Deputy Chase York already. “Sounds good. See you then.”

  Chapter 5

  Tanner stared out the windshield at the posters on the store’s big front windows advertising discount camping gear and cheap tickets for local kayaking adventures and scenic cruises on Lake Chelan. “You bought your camping supplies here?”

  In the passenger seat, Zarina looked at him, then at the store before swinging her gaze his way again. “Is there something wrong with it?”

  Tanner almost laughed but stopped himself. Zarina was a scientist. She wasn’t used to shopping for outdoor gear. He gestured to the signs plastered all over the place. “Would you buy your lab equipment from a store that advertised their stuff as cheap and discounted?”

  “No, of course not. But what does that have to do with camping supplies?” No sooner were the words out of her mouth than understanding dawned on her face. “Oh, now I see. I shouldn’t buy camping gear from a place I wouldn’t buy lab equipment from.”

  “Something like that,” he muttered. “If nothing else, we can return the crappy flashlight they sold you. The sleeping bag, too. It’s a summer-weight model they never should have given to someone heading up the mountain at this time of year.”

  Zarina looked at him sharply. “Is this another trick? Are you trying to get me to give up my sleeping bag as a way to get me to leave?”

  He sighed and shook his head. “No. You’ll have to use mine as long as you’re here anyway, unless you want to freeze to death. I’m merely trying to get your money back.”

  She relaxed but still looked hesitant. “When I bought my stuff, the clerk was quite specific about the store’s return policy. No refunds or exchanges. He was adamant about that.”

  Tanner clenched his jaw. “I bet he was.”

  Getting out of the truck, Tanner grabbed her pack from the back where he’d tossed it on the off chance he could convince her to leave after they met with his brother. That hadn’t worked out so well.

  They’d spent the past two hours working through the rest of the supplies on the shopping list Chad had given them. It wouldn’t have taken nearly as long if he and Zarina hadn’t spent most of the time arguing. When he hadn’t been harassing her about going back to DC, she’d been badgering him with endless questions about what had happened to put such a rift between him and his family and why he refused to consider taking her antiserum.

  Neither conversation had gone very far, and in the end, they’d agreed to disagree. He didn’t intend to take her new wonder drug or run home to see his family anytime soon, and she wasn’t going to get on a plane back to DC in the foreseeable future.

  He felt like crap for nagging at her about leaving, especially when being with her felt so damn right, but she wasn’t cut out for life up here. Or any life with him, for that matter. The sooner she figured that out, the better. But she was so damn stubborn, it was like talking to a brick wall. If he was lucky, maybe Lillie would tell Zarina the story about how Spencer had nearly killed her a while back, and Zarina would finally figure out what kind of price she might have to pay being around a hybrid like him. It was only a matter of time before he lost it and did the same thing to Zarina—or worse.

  He was just as terrified that something equally bad was going to happen with the assholes who were attackin
g the preppers. But what the hell could he do? He might threaten to drag Zarina down to Seattle and stuff her on a plane, but she knew he would never actually do it. He only hoped he didn’t end up regretting his decision to let her stay.

  Mouth tight, he pulled her sleeping bag and the cheap-ass flashlight out of the pack, then walked around to open Zarina’s door.

  He could practically smell the second-rate quality of the merchandise the moment he stepped inside the store. He usually had a let-the-buyer-beware outlook on business and didn’t mind someone making a profit selling cheap crap to tourists who were simply going on a short hike along the trails. But the clerk had seen Zarina coming and ripped her off, knowing he was sending her into the wilderness with shit for gear. That pissed Tanner off. His inner hybrid wasn’t too happy about it, either.

  Or maybe they were both still mad at Zarina and looking for someone to take it out on. That would work, too.

  Zarina led him past racks of jerky, fishing poles, and brightly colored rain ponchos to the checkout counter, a big monstrosity of a thing made from local fir trees. A skeevy-looking middle-aged man stood behind the counter, flipping through a catalog and ignoring the half dozen customers wandering around the store looking at gear they clearly didn’t know the first thing about. He glanced up at their approach, eyeing Zarina with obvious interest before turning his attention to Tanner. The man straightened to his full height, which still made him a foot shorter than Tanner.

  “I guess you found who you were looking for,” he said to Zarina.

  “She did,” Tanner answered, tossing her sleeping bag and flashlight on the big wood counter.

  The clerk frowned. “What’s that?”

  “The camping equipment you sold me,” Zarina said politely. “I won’t need either of these and would like to return them.”