Chapter Ten

6:58 a.m.

Dozer waited, keeping his body and face relaxed. He wanted to show Carmen he was in control, unflustered, and willing to do whatever she needed, even if it was nothing.

It would kill him slowly to do nothing, but if he wanted to stay here, in her office, watch over her, he was going to have to play very, very nice. Thank fuck she’d gotten rid of Rawley as quickly as she did. The guy had him hanging on to his temper by the thinnest of threads.

Ketner showing up with Rawley was interesting.

Carmen sighed. “Coffee and food sounds good. So does someone keeping watch on social and news media. Go give Agent Ketner your report first.”

He gave her a little bow. “I’ll be back with sustenance, o fearless leader.”

She rolled her eyes and turned her attention to her phone.

Dozer gestured at Ketner to precede him, and they left, heading for the floor’s break room. A couple of people waved at him, but he didn’t slow down to chat.

No one else was in the room, but Ketner closed the door after himself anyway.

Dozer took a seat, and Ketner grabbed one across from him. Dozer smiled and waited for the other man to ask him a question.

Ketner examined him with a silent thoroughness that probably made a lot of people uncomfortable.

It just made the man more interesting.

“Was it the FAFO?” Ketner asked after a couple of minutes.

Dozer had to admire the man’s questioning technique. Squeeze them with silence, then ask the most direct question possible. It was unnerving. Not for him, but still.

“My top suspects,” he answered. “My work with the CDC hasn’t put me in anyone else’s crosshairs.”

“Before that?”

“No, nothing there, either. After I got out of the military, I spent most of my time as a trainer for Homeland agents and acting as a liaison between Homeland and any active military operations in certain parts of the world.”

“Which parts?”

“Can’t say.” He frowned. “You know that.”

Ketner tilted his head to one side, his expression blank. “I had to ask.”

How long had the man practiced in front of a mirror to keep his face so empty? “Did you?”

“Yeah, the powers that be want to be sure your noggin wasn’t compromised by your concussion.” He tapped his temple with one finger.

Sonofabitch. Dozer tightened his muscles and tied them into knots to keep from acting on the anger that flashed through him. Questioning the state of his mental faculties was an interrogation tactic. That’s all. He had to admit, the guy was very good at getting information out of people. Especially the stuff the questionee didn’t want to share. So he changed the subject. “Do you think it was the FAFO?”

“No one has claimed responsibility,” Ketner said without a pause. “But…yes, I think it was them. After what happened with the New Orleans investigation, I think they want to get rid of you.”

“Any specific reason, or am I just that irritating?”

Ketner almost smiled. “You’ve gotten in their way a number of times, and you’re part of the team here.” He gestured to the room at large. “Demoralization is a powerful weapon in every terrorist’s arsenal.”

“So what’s the FBI’s plan?”

“We’re watching, and we’re waiting for them to screw up. We’re going to get these people.” He leaned forward slightly. “It’s been a few hours since you were attacked. Can you remember anything new about your attacker?”

Dozer let himself sink into the memory of the fight. It played inside his head like a movie, and he tried to slow it down to see all the details. “Young, Midwestern accent, short hair, but not military short, and had some martial arts training, karate or tae kwon do or something like it.” He examined the fight in his mind. “I don’t think he’d ever been in a real fight before.”

“What makes you say that?”

“He hesitated to throw the first punch.”

Ketner nodded. “That fits with the FAFO.”

“The fuckers like recruiting kids barely old enough to vote.” Dozer would like to have a private chat with the assholes doing the recruiting.

“We’re focusing on colleges and universities but haven’t found more than the standard anti-government crap. But checking with dojos and martial arts clubs is a new place to look.” He got to his feet and looked around. “This isn’t a good idea. You should be resting.”

“Just when I was starting to think you were an okay guy, you had to go and ruin it,” Dozer said in a drawl.

“You’re not healthy.” Ketner’s voice hardened. “You’re not going to do anyone any good if you collapse because you overdid it.”

“I’m not doing anything.” God, he was getting tired of repeating himself. “The most strenuous thing on my agenda today is getting Dr. Rodrigues a cup of coffee.”

“Whatever. Your funeral.” Ketner shook his head. “I’ll let you know if anything comes of the martial-arts angle.” He left.

Dozer scowled, his stomach sore. He just wasn’t sure if it was because of the tussle yesterday or the fucking ulcer all the nagging was giving him.

Maybe he just needed to put something in his belly.

The coffeepot was half full and hot. He poured two cups, fixed Carmen’s the way she liked, left his black, then looked in the fridge for anything edible. Aside from some juice boxes, it was empty.

Someone came into the room.

“Dozer?” Joy Ashiro stood in the doorway with a container of something that looked like muffins.

“I’m a figment of your imagination,” he said, but he stared at the food container.

She glanced down. “A hungry figment?”

“Yeah. Carmen and I didn’t have any time to eat since she got the call about Orlando.”

Joy nodded briskly. “You carry the coffee. I’ll bring the muffins.”

Dozer passed her as he left. “Gunner okay?”

“He’s fine. Worried about you, though.”

Dozer laughed. “We keep asking about each other. People are going to think we’re in a bro-mance.”

Carmen was on the phone with her back to the door as he and Joy entered her office.

It wasn’t until he put her coffee on her desk that she spun around and stared at him blankly. Long enough for Joy to freeze in place.

“Yes, thank you for your call,” Carmen said, still staring at him. The blank look fell away, leaving fear and resignation behind. This was not good news. “I recommend quarantining your patients until we know what we’ve got. Send your samples as soon as possible. I’ll keep you informed regarding the other cases in the area.” She ended the call.

“How many?” he asked.

“Two children from the same family arrived four hours ago with high fevers and an atypical rash at a hospital in Titusville near the Kennedy Space Center.”

Joy put the container on the desk and opened it. She handed a muffin to Carmen and one to Dozer. “Eat. Both of you.”

“How many cases does that make now?” he asked, then took a bite out of his muffin.

“Suspected, seventeen. Confirmed, none.”

“Yet.”

Carmen saluted him with her muffin. “Yet.”

Joy put the lid back on her container and lifted it. “I’m taking the rest of these to the coffee room. Help yourself to another anytime.”

“Thank you,” Carmen said to her.

Joy left, closing the door behind her.

Carmen took a long drink from her coffee.

“What are the chances this isn’t measles?” he asked.

Her reply was immediate. “Not very damned many. Until we get the lab results, we operate as if it were confirmed.” She sighed and rubbed her temples. “I have to deliver that good news to the hospitals in Orlando.”

He wanted to massage her shoulders and neck, give her a moment or two to relax so she could think.

Never going to happen here.

She had coffee, food, and him in the room. That would have to do.

“I’m going to do that cyber snooping.” And put action to the words by waking up his laptop.

She smiled at him, a hugely relived expression, which pissed him off. Why was she so surprised he’d stay and help exactly like he promised? He thought back to the last few months, trying to remember a time when he’d ignored her orders, done his own thing, and fucked something up.

He couldn’t recall a single incident, but he’d seen that surprised look way too often.

His phone rang, then hers. He’d wait until he had the time and privacy to find out what the hell was going on inside her head.

“Dozer,” he said.

“You have ten seconds to explain to me why you’re working instead of healing up.”

His boss.

“I’m not working,” he replied in an even tone. “Rawley in your office?”

“Yes, and making frustrated noises.”

“I’m really not working. Dr. Rodrigues is handling an emerging outbreak in Orlando, Florida. She had to come into her office so she has access to all the information she needs to coordinate an appropriate response.”

“What’s that got to do with you?”

“She’s territorial about her people, and she considers me one of hers. She didn’t feel comfortable leaving me behind when CDC headquarters is a secure building full of doctors, nurses, and other medical personnel. I’m currently sitting on a chair in the corner of her office, surfing social media on my laptop. I’m not doing anything, questioning anyone, or going anywhere.”

“Are you going to get any rest there?”

“I can sleep anywhere I need to. You know that.”

The answering silence lasted for five seconds. “For now, Rawley is the liaison, not you.”

“Whatever you say, boss, but he hasn’t made any friends here. He yelled at me in front of Dr. Rodrigues and her drill sergeant. She wasn’t impressed.”

His boss sighed heavily.

“Why did you assign him the liaison position?”

“He asked for it.”

“Why? He didn’t seem all that interested in what the task force does and hadn’t even bothered to figure out who’s who in the department.”

“Aside from you, he’s the only one who expressed any interest in the position. You should know, he requested you take a fitness assessment.”

Well that was just fucking wonderful.

“I’m. Not. Working,” Dozer said, enunciating each word carefully.

“And you won’t be working until you’re cleared by medical, right?”

Just how many people thought he was an idiot? “You have met Dr. Rodrigues, haven’t you? She isn’t going to let me do anything more strenuous than surf my computer.”

“And stop being a smart-ass.” His boss hung up.

Dozer put down his phone and stared at it. Rawley’s request to work with the Task Force was odd. He hadn’t expressed any interest in the position before, so why did he suddenly want the job?

He glanced at Carmen. She was typing on her computer at a rapid pace, probably an email. She looked tired, but not as pale as she had before having the coffee and muffin.

Dozer tore his gaze away from her profile and focused on his social media feeds. There was plenty of chatter about the normal social and political issues, but what really surprised him was the number of health-related reports. Three cases of E. coli in lettuce in California. Hepatitis A was rising in the homeless population in several states—California, Kentucky, and Indiana. Salmonella typhi in frozen fruit in Los Angeles, and Salmonella enteritidis in eggs in several more states, were being reported. Two homeless people in Los Angeles had died of bubonic plague, thanks to a surge in the rat population, but no mention of measles or incidents of people with high fevers showing up at clinics and ERs.

A headache began to pound behind his eyes. He glanced at the time and discovered he’d spent a couple of hours with his eyes on a computer screen. No wonder his head hurt and his vision was blurry.

Carmen walked over to him, a frown on her pretty face. “John? Are you okay?”

“Just a headache,” he said with a wince. It was getting bad fast.

“Is coffee the only thing you’ve had to drink this morning?”

“Yeah.” Maybe that was why his tongue felt fuzzy.

“You’re probably dehydrated and could use several more hours of sleep. Go drink a bottle of Gatorade and have a nap. I’ll wake you in a few hours with a high-protein meal.”

That sounded really good. Why did that bother him?

“How come you’re being so nice?”

She stared at him like he’d said something ridiculous, then threw up her hands. “I can’t be nice to you? Really?” Before he could say anything else, she continued, “I don’t like that guy Rawley. You, as irritating as you can be, are much better to deal with than him.”

“As irritating as I can be, huh?”

She shot him a look. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I think I do, actually.” He smiled and stood. “I think I will do as the doctor orders and crash on one of those cots in Gunner’s office.”

8:32 a.m.

Someone kicked his boot.

They were still on his feet, despite being horizontal and in a bed. Dozer cracked open his eyes.

DS was standing at the foot of his cot. “Get up. The boss wants you to eat something and take your medication.” He glanced at Dozer’s feet and grinned his evil grin. “You always wear your boots to bed?”

“When I’m sleeping on a cot in an unfamiliar location I do.”

“That’s an Army habit, boy.” He said it like it was a compliment, and for DS, it probably was.

“Good to know I learned something useful when I was in.” He swung his feet to the floor as he sat up, then waited for his body to wake up a bit more. His chest ached, a dull throbbing pain that seemed to reverberate from his ribs straight through the path the bullet had taken. His headache radiated from all over.

DS crouched in front of him, studying his face. “Dizzy? Nauseous?”

“No, just sore. All fucking over.”

“Not giving yourself a chance to heal is just going to keep you in pain for longer.”

Dozer looked at him. “Would you sit in some dark apartment, knowing your”—shit, he’d almost said woman out loud—“boss was in this busy building, working her ass off without protection?”

DS grinned his evil grin.

Yeah, he’d caught Dozer’s almost verbal slipup.

“Can’t say as I would,” the old fart admitted, his grin still in full force. “But are you healthy enough to stop a bad guy from hurting her, assuming they got this far into the building?”

“My father always said I made a pretty good door, rather than a window.”

That made DS laugh out loud.

“How did those guys find me under an assumed name and medical history? How did two guys know when Dr. Rodrigues’s plane was landing? Someone is sharing inside information with the wrong people,” Dozer said softly, so it wouldn’t carry past the open doorway to the hallway outside. “Someone with access to this building. I’m willing to be a speed bump if that’s all I can do.” Then he raised his voice back to a normal conversational level. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt her.”

“Fair enough,” DS said with a respectful nod. “I suppose even someone as banged up as you can still shoot straight.”

Dozer grimaced. “Thanks for that vote of confidence.”

“You’re welcome. I don’t give it lightly.” He moved to the doorway. “Come on, dragline, I’ve got a hot meal for you and the boss in the break room.”

Jesus, the old man was going to go through the entire list of every piece of heavy equipment ever made. It was on the tip of his tongue to give DS a nifty new nickname, but he hesitated. Any man who retired from the Army as a drill sergeant probably knew every trick and smart remark in existence.

He kept his mouth shut and followed down the hall to the break room. A couple of other people were already there, sitting at the large oval table to one side. It could seat twelve easily with room for a couple more if everyone got cozy.

“This is damn good chili, DS,” Henry said. The same Henry who lived across the hall from the apartment Dozer and Carmen had slept in the night before.

“Delicious,” the woman next to him said. She was a new employee and always seemed to be where Henry was. It took Dozer a moment to remember her name—Ruby. “Can I get the recipe?”

“Don’t use one,” DS answered. “I just throw in whatever I feel like.”

On the counter was a large slow cooker, and the smell of chili made Dozer’s stomach rumble in sharp interest.

DS turned to him. “Dig in.”

“Where’s Car—Dr. Rodrigues?”

DS grinned. “Still in her office, but she needs to eat.”

“I’ll get her,” Dozer said, turning to do just that.

Behind him, someone said, “I can do—ouch,”

He glanced behind to see Ruby rubbing what looked like her knee and glaring at Henry.

“Finish your lunch,” Henry said in a tone that had cowed many a new employee.

“Do you ever say anything nice to anyone?” Ruby demanded.

Dozer paused in the doorway. That was the most confrontational thing he’d ever heard her say. It seemed to surprise DS and Henry, too, because they looked at her with similar expressions of surprise to the one he probably wore on his face.

She got up and washed her dirty bowl in the sink, then left without meeting the gaze of any of the men in the room.

“You’re in the doghouse,” DS said to Henry.

“I only work with her,” Henry said, rising to go to the sink with his dishes.

“Work, live,” Dozer said with a shrug. “Doesn’t really matter. Trust me, I know.”

Henry grunted but didn’t give any other indication that he was willing to admit Ruby’s mood might matter to him. Because she did matter to him. That was clear enough, too.

Worry about your own prickly female, he chided himself and walked the relatively short distance down the hall to Carmen’s office.

She was on the phone when he walked in but looked up as he came into the room. She frowned, looked at her watch, and sighed. When she shook her head at him, he took a couple of steps closer and crossed his arms over his chest.

She raised her eyebrows.

He smiled at her.

She glared.

He kept smiling. That’s right, sweetheart. I’m not going away.

She rolled her eyes and finally said, “That’s fine. I’ll get back to you. Thanks.” She ended the call. “Did you eat?”

“Not yet. Waiting for you.”

She glanced at him sharply, like he’d said something contentious.

“DS made chili,” Dozer said, making an effort to lighten his tone. “His own recipe.”

“I see.” She passed him as she left the room. He followed her, a few steps behind, enjoying the view.

She got to the break room several steps ahead of him, and he heard her say hello to whoever was inside.

The only other person left in the room besides Carmen was DS, who was filling a bowl with chili. He handed it to her, then served Dozer.

“Here you go, skid-steer. Feel free to have seconds.”

Carmen, who’d been about to swallow a mouthful of chili, choked before getting it down. “Skid-steer?” she asked.

“Dozer is a little too pedestrian a name for our hero here,” DS said.

“Dozer is actually my name,” Dozer said drily.

“Don’t blame me if your great-great-grandparents weren’t imaginative.”

“There’s something to be said for simplifying things,” Dozer said after a couple of bites of the hot food. It was good. The old geezer could cook. “My great-greats were from Ukraine.”

“I guess you’re lucky they didn’t name your great-grandfather after the cow.”

“How do you know they didn’t?” Dozer asked, eating another bite of the excellent food.

DS laughed like he meant it. “How am I supposed to be mean to you now?”

“Who says you can’t?”

“You made me laugh, steamroller. The unwritten rules of engagement for drill sergeants state that if you make the DS laugh, no retaliation can be made.”

Dozer cocked his head to one side, considering the comment. “Do you always follow the rules?”

“Rules are the bedrock of a society,” DS said with no trace of humor. “Without them, there’s no safety, no cooperation, and no advancement.”

No one said anything.

Carmen stared off into space as she said softly, “That’s why terrorism is difficult to comprehend or predict. It doesn’t follow the rules of our society or, sometimes, any society. It creates the opposite: disorder, decline, and death.”