The next three days had a strange combination of whirlwind and glacial pacing. Hazel and Isabel met with the FBI at the reservoir, and the feds began the process of getting a warrant to drain the lake again, this time bringing it even lower to fully expose the bed in an attempt to gather as many of the remains as possible.
Isabel suggested they screen the materials that had been pumped to the settlement pond in hopes of recovering a chip or other evidence, and a Talon & Drake vacuum truck was brought in to pump up the materials and deliver it to an area where it could be screened and sorted.
Hazel had done her share of screening to look for bone fragments, and she didn’t envy whoever would be tasked with sorting such a massive volume of materials. But the idea that an implant might be recovered provided hope.
Chase was hospitalized under guard as doctors tried to determine how to safely remove the implant. Information on his condition was scant, but she took hope from learning he’d woken up several times—he wasn’t in a coma—but was disoriented, and stress and panic caused his heart rate to spike. Considering his heart had stopped during an infrasound attack three years ago, doctors had opted to sedate him rather than risk another cardiac arrest.
Wednesday was a quiet day. Hazel spent the day in the basement lab, writing up her analysis of the bones. She submitted her report to the FBI late in the evening. She needed to write up her notes while everything was fresh in her mind, as this could become the foundation of the case against Sheriff Taylor, if evidence was found to connect him to the missing persons. If the case went to trial, odds were she’d be called to testify.
Thursday morning began normally. Or as normal as living with Sean in the Virginia compound could be. She woke to kisses and lovemaking followed by breakfast delivered by support staff.
Hazel could get used to this lifestyle, even if Sean’s suite only had tiny, bulletproof windows. The lighting was high quality and mimicked sunlight as much as possible. The food was healthy and delicious, and she didn’t have to cook or wash dishes. And there was Sean, at her beck and call twenty-four seven.
This was her idea of paradise.
She’d dreamed of bones in the night, but the normal kind of dream that came after an intensive day staring at photos and virtual models. The dreams were neither good nor bad. Just her subconscious continuing the work of the day.
They’d taken to meeting in the conference room at ten in the morning for an update. Hazel entered the room, feeling relaxed and a bit more dreamy than she had any right to feel considering how dangerous the situation had been just a few days ago.
She poured a cup of coffee from the ready pot and took a cherry Danish from the platter of pastries, then sat in her usual seat at the table, startled to realize Alec was the only person in the large room. Isabel and Keith should be here, while Alec should not. He’d planned to call in to today’s meeting from his office in the Senate.
His expression was tense. Angry. Concerned.
She set down the pastry that was halfway to her lips, her stomach suddenly sour. “Alec? What’s wrong?”
Sean set his coffee on the table next to her, but didn’t take a seat. “Something happen to Chase?”
Alec stood. He picked up his tablet and circled the table to Hazel’s side. “There is something you need to see. I didn’t want to tell you on the phone. I’m sorry.”
He set the tablet on the table. On the screen was the Voigt Forum banner with the day’s date. The headline said: Senator Ravissant Harbors Known Spy.
She read the subheading and cursed, but it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Apparently, they were accusing her of spying for Ukraine against Russia. “That sucks, but it will be more of a problem for ICMP than for me.”
“There’s more.”
She reached out to scroll down and realized her fingers were shaking. But really, what could Voigt Forum do to her? It was a white nationalist propaganda site. Everyone knew it was crazy-pants bullshit.
The article attacked her integrity and her work. Not surprisingly, they claimed her testimony in a hate crime trial three years before had been false. Standard stuff for Voigt Forum from what she’d heard. She didn’t read it and didn’t know anyone who did besides Alec.
She kept scrolling down, and there was a photo of her with Sean at the rally last Friday. And that…was where it started to get ugly. They attacked Sean’s service in the Navy. Lied about his discharge status and implied he left after being investigated for selling arms to the enemy. It was suggested that Alec and Raptor orchestrated a cover-up, helping Sean to avoid prosecution.
The words were ugly, but they were easily refuted lies. She squeezed Sean’s hand before scrolling further.
She felt a sucker punch at seeing the photo of her and Sean kissing in front of the trail marker. Their first kiss, and Voigt Forum published it with a caption calling her a race traitor and Sean a criminal.
It was vile.
“They must’ve hacked Trina’s or Sean’s phone to get the photo,” Hazel said, her voice thin. But then, she could barely breathe.
“Either that, or Chase got Trina’s phone. I’m sorry,” Alec repeated, then he flicked the screen to bring the final photo into view.
Hazel’s hands were on the tree trunk, Sean’s face buried in her neck, and he pressed against her from behind, his visible hand cupping her breast under the halter of her dress. The photo cut off at the hipline, but it was obvious what they were doing in the forest.
Her vision tunneled. She couldn’t breathe.
A photo of the first time she’d made love with Sean had been posted on a white nationalist website. They’d taken a sacred memory and branded it with their ugly hate.
The violation tasted like copper. Or maybe she’d bit her tongue.
She stood abruptly, spilling her coffee over the tablet. The coffee scalded her, or the mug cut her hand. She wasn’t sure. There was just a sensation that wasn’t pleasant.
She cradled her hand to her chest and tried to take in air. Nothing came. She kicked at the chair that trapped her next to the table.
Arms came for her, but she shoved them away. She needed air. She needed out. She twisted for the door, dodging grabbing arms to lunge for it. Her shoulder slammed into something, causing her to spin. Or maybe her vision was spinning. Her knees gave out. Arms locked around her as the world went black.