Page 32 of Raven's Curse
She stopped him with her palm on his chest. “Before I do this, there’re a few ground rules. One, nothing you hear goes beyond the team.”
Chase arched a brow. “The entire team?”
“I’m not an idiot. I know how you guys operate, and I know you’ll share the intel with Kash, Zain and the others. But if I hear any rumors, I’ll arrest your asses for obstruction.”
Foster nodded. “Understood.”
“Second… I know you guys are tough sons of bitches, but…” She glanced over her shoulder for a moment. “It’s different when it’s someone you love on the table. And yeah, I know firsthand how that feels, so… Be very sure before you step inside because you can’t uncross this line.”
Chase looked over at Foster, his buddy’s answer already evident in the way he narrowed his eyes as he drew himself up. “Not sure it can be any worse than finding him…”
Chase didn’t finish, the truth already hanging between them like an omen. “Anything else?”
Greer opened the door wider, waving them in. “Yeah. Don’t make me regret this.”
Chase nodded, then followed Foster into the room. The bright lights glinted off the expanse of metal surfaces, that chemical scent saturating the air as they headed toward the tall man standing behind a silver slab. A white sheet glowed in the harsh light, the silhouette beneath more than a bit familiar.
Dr. Jonas Pike looked up, waving them over as he squared his shoulders, shoving the bridge of his glasses against his face. “Beckett. Remington.”
Foster stopped a couple feet back. “Thanks for bending the rules for us.”
Pike shrugged. “It’s not something I do lightly, but considering the results, I felt you should be adequately prepared, just in case.”
Chase swallowed, nearly choking on the lump in his throat. “So, these deaths are linked?”
Pike crossed his arms. “We’ll get to that, but to start…” He waved at the sheet. “May I?”
Foster flashed Chase a quick side-eye, waiting until Chase nodded before answering. “We’re ready.”
Pike grabbed the edge of the sheet, then eased it down until he’d exposed Rhett’s torso. That number glaring up at Chase like a hieroglyphic curse. Sharp. Unforgiving. He spared a quick glance at Rhett’s face, swallowing against the crest of bile at the back of his throat.
Twenty years in the service. Rescues and missions that had scarred him in ways he couldn’t put into words. Brothers he’d lost. Nightmares that haunted even his waking moments. And yet, seeing Rhett lying there, silent, almost vulnerable, eviscerated Chase to his core. Reminded him of all those reasons he’d stayed distant, just like Foster had claimed.
Without making eye contact, Greer shifted closer and squeezed his hand. Just her small palm brushing across his for a second before easing free. As if she knew even that light contact was too much.
That it threatened to take him to his knees.
Yet, her gentle touch anchored him. Calmed the panicky roil of his gut in a way no one else ever had.
Pike motioned toward Rhett. “You’re already aware of Mr. Oliver’s obvious injuries — the gunshot and knife wounds — but it’s what I discovered during the autopsy that’s relevant.” He pointed to a small mark on Rhett’s arm. “Do you know what this is?”
Chase leaned in closer, staring at the tiny hole for a few seconds. “Looks like a needle stick.”
“Good eye. We’re talking extremely small gauge.”
“But the nurses always used the IV to give him any meds.”
“Which I already confirmed with Dr. Tremblay, myself. So, how did he get it?”
“Wait.” Chase inched forward. “Are you saying Rhett was injected with something that killed him?”
Pike blew out a long breath, glancing at Greer, and Chase knew everything was about to change. “Potassium chloride, actually, which is hard to determine as natural levels rise astronomically after death. But using liquid from the eye and some other techniques, I’m confident that whoever attacked him gave him a lethal injection likely five to ten minutes before you reached him. Just enough time to give the illusion of life before his body succumbed to the overdose.”
Pike stood there, staring, before sighing. “What I’m saying is, there was no way your teammate could have been saved. No amount of intervention that would have brought him back. Diabolical, really.”
Foster scrubbed a hand down his face. “Christ. What about Stacey?”
Pike shifted to the table behind him. “I haven’t done the full autopsy, yet, but I did check her for puncture marks, and she’s clean except for a suspicious one between her toes. Now, that’s a popular injection site for anyone abusing a substance who hopes to keep it hidden. Nothing suggests that, but I won’t know if it’s the same MO or if this is something different until I get the results back. I can tell you that she recently got a tattoo on her hip of the number fifty-five.”
