Breeding Evil Read online

  DEDICATION:

  To Keith Wolfe, for believing in me.

  Published 2004 by Medallion Press, Inc.

  The MEDALLION PRESS LOGO is a registered trademark of Medallion Press, Inc.

  If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment from this “stripped book.”

  Copyright © 2004 by Liz Wolfe

  Cover design by Adam Mock

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

  Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Typeset in Adobe Garamond Pro

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN: 978-193281505-4

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  First Edition

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:

  I’d like to acknowledge the following people for their assistance and support:

  My editor, Pamela Ficarella, who caught even tiny discrepancies and asked the questions that made this book even better.

  My husband, Keith, for complicating my plots and energizing my fight scenes.

  My daughter, Alana, for her unwavering belief in me.

  My mother and sisters for understanding that edits had to come before vacation fun.

  My writing buddy, Karen, for endless hours on the phone and over coffee.

  And The Bats, for their own unique brand of encouragement.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Since when is the FSA hiring private investigators for black ops?” Shelby Parker closed the file and placed it back on Ethan Calder’s desk.

  “It isn’t really a black op, Shelby.”

  “And I’m not really an FSA operative.” She’d tendered her resignation to the Federal Security Agency six months earlier, after ten years of living on the edge. One op after another. Having no job skills that really applied in corporate America, other than being sneaky and nosy, she’d opened her own security and investigative firm. And here she was, back at FSA headquarters in Denver letting her former handler talk her into one more op.

  Ethan hadn’t changed a bit since she’d been gone, other than a little more gray at the temples of his dark hair, and a few more lines at the corners of his dark eyes. He leaned his elbows on the desk and tapped his long, slender fingers together. No, he hadn’t changed. He would wait for her to come around to his way of thinking, to agree to his proposal.

  She had no doubt that he knew she needed this job. The check for her advance lay on his desk, and even though Shelby couldn’t see the exact amount, the number of zeros she counted made her a little giddy.

  For six months she’d been struggling to survive by keeping tabs on wayward spouses, investigating fraudulent insurance claims, and providing bouncer services to a local bar on wet tee shirt night. If she didn’t get some decent cases soon, she’d be living on the edge of poverty. Still, it was an edge that she had chosen. She hadn’t left the FSA because of Ethan, or even because she didn’t like the work. At thirty-three years old, she’d decided that she wanted to run her own show. She wanted something that was hers, something that she controlled.

  Shelby leaned back in her chair and looked at the majestic Rocky Mountains through the ceiling-to-floor windows behind Ethan’s desk. If she decided to take the job, it would have to be on her own terms.

  “I can give you whatever support you’ll need,” Ethan said.

  “You just said that no one in the FSA knows about this. That you can’t even use an FSA operative.”

  Ethan sighed and folded his hands on the desk. “I need you on this one, Shelby.”

  Shelby stood and moved to stare out the glass wall of his office, turning her back to him. Ethan Calder was the best handler in the Federal Security Agency. He had been hers the entire time she’d worked for the FSA. No one was more aware than Shelby that, while she was out saving the world, he was back at headquarters saving her butt with the latest intelligence and best support he could cajole, bribe, or beat out of anyone who might be helpful. But he was distant and cold, and he leaned a little too heavily on the need-to-know theory of information disbursement for her comfort.

  Still, there was no doubt he would come up with some creative way to provide whatever she might require.

  On the other side of the glass wall, people were hunched over computers, speaking urgently on phones or to co-workers. No one just strolled down the hallways created by the cubicles. Footsteps on the utilitarian beige carpet were hurried and purposeful. The FSA offices were always intense. Because there was always something important on the line—like lives and national security.

  Shelby reluctantly admitted that she missed being a part of it—but not enough to give up on her fledgling agency. And her fledgling agency could certainly use the chunk of money Ethan was offering for this job.

  It wasn’t like she was going back to the FSA. It would just be a case—a lucrative case—and wasn’t that exactly what she needed and wanted?

  “So, will you do it?” Ethan walked back to his desk and sank into the chair. It took her a second to bring her mind back to the conversation.

  “Why me?”

  “The op calls for a chameleon. And, you’re the best.”

  “Is that your idea of a compliment?”

  Ethan had often noted that her appearance was one of her greatest assets. Exceptionally plain was the only way she could describe it. Neither attractive nor unattractive. Five feet six inches tall, neither slender nor plump. Although she tended to have more muscle than most women, that wasn’t noticeable in street clothes. Hair that was a combination of dark blond and light brown, eyes that were neither green nor brown, but somewhere in between. Her face might as well be a blank canvas. Eyes, nose, and lips in proportion to each other, and none of them outstanding in any way.

  Shelby looked at her reflection in the glass wall. Totally unremarkable and utterly forgettable. Someone who was easily lost in a crowd. But given a few products readily available at the drugstore, she could transform herself into just about any kind of person she chose.

  “Fifteen people missing so far?” Shelby turned away from her reflection and walked back to Ethan’s desk. She slid a finger under the folder and flipped it open, scanning the first page.

  “At last count. Including Shannon Masterson and her son, Sam. No death certificates. All of them had some connection to The Center.”

  “Dr. Jonah Thomas is the head of The Center?” She turned over another page in the file. “I’ve heard his name before. A scientist, right?”

  “Years ago he headed up a government-funded re
search facility. He was supposed to verify the existence of psychic phenomena, which he did.”

  “Really?” That woo-woo stuff was a bit much for her to believe in. “I remember him losing the funding for some reason.”

  “Right. It turned out that not only was he verifying the existence of psychic phenomena, he was performing experiments on some of the research subjects. The government dismantled the research facility and sealed all the records.”

  “So, he’s an evil scientist.”

  “And an egocentric megalomaniac.” Ethan leaned forward. “We know that he’s been doing research on psychics for years, along with Dr. Ruth Carlson. He has contacts outside the country that are less than reputable. The Center seems to have unlimited funds that we can’t trace. What we don’t know is what the hell they’re up to.”

  “You’re really hopped up about this.” Shelby couldn’t help grinning at him.

  Ethan sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Shannon is a friend. She was my wife’s roommate in college.”

  “Charlotte wants you to find her?”

  “No, she doesn’t know that Shannon is missing. Shannon’s aunt is married to the Ambassador from the United Kingdom. The aunt called me about it because of Shannon’s friendship with Charlotte.”

  “Has she ever disappeared before?”

  Ethan swiveled his chair to look out the window. “Shannon’s what you’d call a free spirit. She’s taken off before, but never without telling her aunt.”

  “So there was no indication she was taking off on some trip or whatever?”

  “No. In fact when Shannon took trips in the past, she usually asked Charlotte to watch Sam for her.”

  “So, the niece of an Ambassador. Why, exactly, is this a black op again?”

  “It isn’t a black op.”

  “OK, not a black op. Just a secret between you and me.” She lifted her eyebrows in blatant disbelief.

  Ethan turned his chair back, sighed, and shook his head. “All right. The deal is that Ambassador Watkins has already called in the FBI to investigate.

  “So, it’s a black op because the FBI is already investigating? Why not just let them handle it?” The boundaries between the FSA and the FBI were blurred at times, but if one agency already had control, the other agency usually didn’t interfere unless they were asked. Professional and political courtesy.

  “It’s not a black op.”

  “Ethan, if the FBI is already investigating The Center, then sending me in could be the end of your career.”

  Ethan stared at her for a moment, frowned and pressed a hand to the back of his neck, kneading the tense muscles. Shelby bit back a smile. That was a sure sign that he was about to resign himself to actually giving her the information he’d been trying to withhold. She sat down in the chair across from his desk and leaned back, waiting for the story.

  “FBI Director Fields and Ambassador Watkins have a history that is less than congenial. The Ambassador’s wife is concerned that the FBI won’t do everything they can to find Shannon and Sam.”

  “Must have been something pretty heavy in their history to make her feel that way.”

  Ethan nodded. “Ambassador Watkins. Evidently he’s a hard dog to keep on the porch. He had an affair with Director Fields’ niece.”

  “Oh. Isn’t Ambassador Watkins around sixty or so?” Shelby bit back a smile, knowing that Ethan was sensitive about the fact that he was twelve years older than his wife, Charlotte.

  “Fifty-eight. He’s also tall, handsome, and debonair. Not to mention that he is an excellent gift giver.”

  “I see. And Mrs. Watkins is okay with all this?”

  “I wouldn’t presume to ask, but evidently she’s learned to live with it. I believe she’s willing to overlook certain behaviors that aren’t entirely acceptable to her.”

  “So, she called you because of Shannon’s friendship with Charlotte?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Did you mention this to Chambers?”

  “As director of the FSA, he can’t do anything that would step on the FBI’s toes.” Ethan shrugged. “However, he made it clear that he doesn’t want Ambassador Watkins accusing the U.S. of not doing everything in its power to find Shannon.”

  “I see. Chambers doesn’t want to step on Fields’ toes so he’s letting you bring in someone from the outside. If Fields finds out, he can’t accuse the FSA of anything.”

  “I’m just investigating the disappearance of my wife’s friend.” Ethan spread his upturned palms and smiled.

  Shelby shifted in the chair across from Ethan, picked up the file, and looked at the picture stapled to the inside. Shannon sat on a porch swing in a sundress, her strawberry blond hair curling softly around her face, and one arm around her towheaded son who stood next to her, blowing bubbles. It was obvious from the look on her face that her son was the most important thing in the world to her. What would it have been like to grow up with a parent like that?

  Crap. She knew she was about to agree to the job.

  “You know someone could recognize me in Tucson. I lived there for a while.”

  Ethan nodded. “It’s about time you agreed.”

  “I would have agreed two hours ago if you’d just told me everything,” she shot back. “You know, I totally trust you when I go on an op. Don’t you think it’s about time you returned that trust? Don’t you think that maybe our collaboration would work even better—”

  Ethan cut her off with a wave of his hand.

  “We need to get you inside.”

  Shelby leaned back and sighed. “I can’t believe I just agreed to a black op.”

  “It’s not a black op.” Ethan gave her a rare, one-sided grin. “Maybe a little gray, but it’s not black.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Calder.” Monique Peterson smiled and reached for the phone.

  “Afternoon, Monique.” Ethan returned her smile. Monique had been Chamber’s secretary for well over a decade. She probably knew everything that went on in the FSA, since she had Don’s total trust. She completely managed his life at the office, from getting him what or whom he needed to being his sounding board. She was the only person who had complete access to him. Away from Don, everyone referred to her as his office wife.

  “Mr. Calder is here,” she said in a cultured undertone. She replaced the phone and waved a graceful hand toward the double doors behind her. “Go on in, he’s expecting you.”

  “Thanks, Monique.” Ethan shifted the leather folder to his left hand and opened the door to a large, well-appointed office. The walls were paneled in dark, burled walnut. An expensive oriental carpet lay on the hardwood floor. Don Chambers walked around his desk, a phone held to his ear, and gestured for Ethan to come over to the table by the windows.

  Ethan sat in one of the armless chairs covered in soft, green velvet and placed his folder on the table, watching Don pace back and forth as he completed the phone call. Don Chambers was a tall, light-skinned African-American. He had bulky shoulders and muscles that left the impression he’d played college or professional football at some time. His cropped hair was beginning to gray, but he still looked young. Too young to be the director of the FSA. He placed the phone back in the cradle and turned to Ethan.

  “Is Shelby on board?”

  “Yes. Although it took some time to convince her.”

  “I’ll bet that she just let you think it took some time. That girl likes to play hard to get.” Don walked to the windows and pulled the shades against the bright, Colorado sun. “It’s a shame she decided to leave us.”

  “True. However, in this particular instance, it’s lucky for us.” Ethan opened his leather portfolio and took a pen from his pocket. “Do we have any other information?”

  Don seemed lost in thought for a moment. “No. Nothing new.” He sank into the leather chair behind his massive desk. “These people are pissing me off, Ethan.”

  “No doubt.” Ethan was well acquainted with Don’s moods.

  “Whate
ver they’re doing, it can’t be good. Fifteen people missing! And the FBI has just been sitting on their hands. I still don’t understand that.” Don shook his head and sighed. “But all my inquiries have been brushed off. My only other option would be to go to the President, and I think he probably has more important things to deal with.”

  “Like you said, this is our chance.”

  “Our only chance.” Don nodded. “I’ve made all the arrangements. All the department heads have been instructed to supply you with anything you need.”

  “And if anybody asks why later?”

  “Obviously, your friends are doing this out of a sense of camaraderie.” Don spoke with a perfectly straight face. “Your coworkers like and admire you. It’s only natural that they’d want to help you locate your wife’s friend and her child.” A blindingly white smile split Don’s mocha face, followed by a deep, resounding chuckle.

  “God, I hope it never gets to that.”

  “Relax, Ethan. This is all for looks. If it comes right down to it, I’ll take the heat for this.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Shelby stopped just inside the door of Streakers Dance Emporium and scanned the crowd through a haze of cigarette smoke. Everyone who was hip, cool, slick, or just a wannabe, came to Streakers on Saturday night. She’d been in Tucson for several days setting up the op. Everything was ready. Tonight was the point of no return.

  Let the games begin.

  The crowded club was warmer than the cool spring night in spite of the cold air that blasted through the vents. The loud music thrummed in her ears. Multi-colored lights flashed across the mass of writhing bodies on the dance floor, while the tables around it were cast in shadows. There didn’t seem to be an empty table in the place. It was a typical Saturday night at Streakers and exactly the setup she wanted.

  Shelby pushed and wiggled her way to the bar, smiling and murmuring apologies to the fashionably dressed bodies she bumped into along the way.

  “Tall club soda with lime.” She slid a few bills across the bar and took her drink. Turning back to the crowd, she looked for her target and found him just a few moments later, sitting at a table with two other men. All three of them wore tee shirts, baggy jeans, and sneakers. One had on an Arizona Diamondbacks baseball cap; another one wore old-fashioned, aviator-style glasses. Ted Ryan and his friends couldn’t have been easier to spot in this crowd if they’d been naked.