Dead alert, p.1
Dead Alert, page 1
Dead Alert
BIANCA D’ARC
KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Teaser chapter
Teaser chapter
Teaser chapter
Copyright Page
This book is dedicated, as is all my work, with loving thanks to my mother, who I lost much too soon. She was my inspiration and my guide and I have been very lost without her these past months. And to Dad, who’s been my rock through all of this adjustment and readjustment to the new normal. I love you, Dad.
I’d also like to remember Sherry Palmer Walter and her mother, Anna Palmer, who by all accounts had a lovely smile. Anna left us while this book was being written. While some might say it is inevitable that daughters lose their mothers, knowing that doesn’t make it any easier. I’d like to think that our loved ones are always with us, guiding us, if only we are open enough to listen. Many thanks for your kindness during my grief, Sherry. I hope by the time this book comes out, you will have found some measure of consolation.
Thanks also to Suzanne, Shanda, Susan, and all my Facebook friends. I don’t know what I’d have done these past months without you. Special thanks to Joy Roach, who came through for me—again—at the last minute. You are a lifesaver and a wonderful human being.
And last but definitely not least, many heartfelt thanks to my editor, Megan, for challenging me to try something a little out of my comfort zone. Thanks also for making allowances for my grief. I will never forget your kindness and forbearance during this time. Without you, my version of the zombie legend would never have seen the light of day—or perhaps I should say, the dark of night.
Prologue
Fort Bragg, North Carolina
“I’ve got a special project for you, Sam.” The commander, a former Navy SEAL named Matt Sykes, began talking before Sam was through the door to Matt’s private office. “Sit down and shut the door.”
Sam sat in a wooden chair across the cluttered desk from his commanding officer. Lt. Sam Archer, US Army Green Beret, was currently assigned to a top secret, mixed team of Special Forces soldiers and elite scientists. There were also a few others from different organizations, including one former cop and a CIA black ops guy. It was an extremely specialized group, recruited to work on a classified project of the highest order.
“I understand you’re a pilot.” Matt flipped through a file as he spoke.
“Yes, sir.” Sam could have said more but he didn’t doubt Matt had access to every last bit of Sam’s file, even the top secret parts. He had probably known before even sending for him that Sam could fly anything with wings. Another member of his old unit was a blade pilot who flew all kinds of choppers, but fixed wing aircraft were Sam’s specialty.
“How do you like the idea of going undercover as a charter pilot?”
“Sir?” Sam sat forward in the chair, intrigued.
“The name of a certain charter airline keeps popping up.” Matt put down the file and faced Sam as his gaze hardened. “Too often for my comfort. Ever heard of a company called Praxis Air?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“It’s a small outfit, based out of Wichita—at least that’s where they repair and maintain their aircraft in a companyowned hangar. They have branch offices at most of the major airports and cater mostly to an elite business clientele. They do the odd private cargo flight and who knows what else. They keep their business very hush-hush, ‘providing the ultimate in privacy for their corporate clients,’ or so their brochure advertises.” Matt pushed a glossy tri-fold across the desk toward Sam.
“Looks pretty slick.”
“That they are,” Matt agreed. “So slick that even John Petit, with his multitude of CIA connections, can’t get a bead on exactly what they’ve been up to of late. I’ve been piecing together bits here and there. Admiral Chester, the traitor, accepted more than a few free flights from them in the past few months, as did Ensign Bartles, who it turns out, was killed in a Praxis Air jet that crashed the night we took down Dr. Rodriguez and his friends. She wasn’t listed on the manifest and only the pilot was claimed by the company, but on a hunch I asked a friend on the National Transportation Safety Board to allow us to do some DNA testing. Sure enough, we found remnants of Beverly Bartles’s DNA at the crash site, though her body had to have been moved sometime prior to the NTSB getting there. The locals were either paid off or preempted. Either option is troubling, to say the least.”
“You think they’re mixed up with our undead friends?” They were still seeking members of the science team that had created the formula that killed and then turned its victims into the walking dead. Nobody had figured out exactly how they were traveling so freely around the country when they were on every watch list possible.
“It’s a very real possibility. Which is why I want to send you in undercover. I don’t need to remind you, time is of the essence. We have a narrow window to stuff this genie back into its bottle. The longer this goes on, the more likely it is the technology will be sold to the highest bidder and then, God help us.”
Sam shivered. The idea of the zombie technology in the hands of a hostile government or psycho terrorists—especially after seeing what he’d seen of these past months—was unthinkable.
“If my going undercover will help end this, I’m your man.” He’d do anything to stop the contagion from killing any more people.
Sam opened the flyer and noted the different kinds of jets the company offered. The majority of the planes looked like Lear 35’s in different configurations. Some were equipped for cargo. Some had all the bells and whistles any corporate executive could wish for and a few were basically miniature luxury liners set up for spoiled celebrities and their friends.
“I hoped you’d say that. I’ve arranged a little extra training for you at Flight Safety in Houston. They’ve got Level D flight simulators that have full motion and full visual. They can give you the Type Rating you’ll need on your license to work for Praxis Air legitimately.”
“I’ve been to Flight Safety before. It’s a good outfit.” Sam put the brochure back on Matt’s desk.
“We’ll give you a suitable job history and cover, which you will commit to memory. You’ll also have regular check-ins while in the field, but for the most part you’ll be on your own. I want you to discover who, if any, of their personnel are involved and to what extent.” Matt paused briefly before continuing. “Just to be clear, this isn’t a regular job I’m asking you to do, Sam. It’s not even close to what you signed on for when we were assigned as zombie hunters. I won’t order you to do this. It’s a total immersion mission. Chances are, there will be no immediate backup if you get into trouble. You’ll be completely on your own most of the time.”
“Understood, sir. I’m still up for it. I like a challenge.”
Matt cracked a smile. “I hear that. And I appreciate the enthusiasm. Here’s the preliminary packet to get you started.” He handed a bulging envelope across the desk. “We’ll get the rest set up while you’re in flight training. It’ll be ready by the time you are. You leave tomorrow for Houston.”
“Yes, sir.” Sam stood, hearing the tone of dismissal in the commander’s voice.
“You can call this whole thing off up until the end of your flight training. After that, wheels will have been set in motion and can’t be easily stopped. If you change your mind, let me know as soon as possible.”
“Thank you, sir.” Unspoken was the certainty that Sam wouldn’t be changing his mind any time soon.
Chapter One
“Got that new pilot coming in today, Em. My friend at Hobby Airport says he’s sharp.” As the head mechanic for Praxis Air and an old family friend, Buddy Hollister treated Emily Parkington more like a daughter than one of the senior pilots and part-owners of the charter airline.
Buddy was a pilot turned mechanic who was gifted when it came to keeping jets in good working order. He was a key member of the Praxis Air team and Emily thought of him as part of the family.
“I’m glad to hear it. That last guy was awful. I hate firing people.” She shivered in memory, making Buddy laugh, as she’d intended.
Opening the refrigerator in the small break room off the main repair hangar in Wichita, she grabbed a cold soda and popped the top, drinking deeply. It was hot in the huge building today.
The outer door opened and a man walked in. She could see him through the large window that separated the break room from the main area of the hangar. The temperature spiked higher as she got her first good look at the new pilot. The guy was smoking hot. Muscles filled out his tall frame to perfection and he had that confident pilot swagger down pat.
A grin revealed pearly whites as he strode across the room toward the office that was directly next door to the break room.
“I bet that’s him,” Buddy observed. “You bette
Sissy was the receptionist. She was divorcing husband number four at the moment and had been chasing all the single pilots and a few of the not-so-single ones too. No doubt she’d have her polished red hooks in the new guy the moment she laid eyes on him. It was only charitable to go save him.
Emily shook her head in disgust as she pushed through the adjoining door into the small office. There it was. Sissy had her hand on the new guy’s arm as he filled out some forms. A counter separated them but that didn’t stop Sissy the Merciless. Eyelashes batted and giggles abounded as she flirted for all she was worth. It was a little sad, actually.
God help her if Emily ever got so desperate to catch a man’s attention. Of course, Emily’s love life was nothing to crow about. A never-married workaholic was almost as pathetic to Emily’s way of thinking, so who was she to cast stones?
Shrugging off her depressing thoughts, she decided to save the new guy before Sissy either scared him off or led him into the broom closet. Emily moved into the room and cleared her throat.
“Hi. I’m Emily Parkington. You’re Sam Archer, right?” She walked up to the counter and held out her hand.
The new guy turned and that bright white smile dazed her for a brief moment. Whew. The man was even more potent at close range. Blond, blue eyed, and rugged, he was definitely easy on the eyes. He clasped her hand in his and the warmth of his callused grip made her weak in the knees.
“Pleased to meet you, Captain Parkington.”
Oh, she liked the respect in his tone. She didn’t often get that kind of response from the men she worked with. At least not until they knew who she was and that she owned a not-inconsiderable stake in the company. They treated her with more respect once they realized she could hire and fire them.
“Please, call me Emily.” She remembered to smile as she regained possession of her tingling hand.
Damn. She was going to have to share a tiny cockpit with this mountain of a man. She’d have to get her inconvenient attraction to him under control.
“I’m Sam. Good to meet you.”
“Sissy squared away most of your paperwork yesterday and Buddy said you did great on your check ride.” She looked for a way to get him into the cockpit without making him feel like she was testing him. She was, but she didn’t want him to know it.
Emily liked to do all the check rides for new pilots personally but every once in a while last minute charters interfered. When that happened, Buddy or one of the other long-time pilot employees filled in, but she still took the new pilots up on their first day to be certain they had the chops.
“The jet you passed on the way in was released from repair this morning. How about we take her up for a shakedown ride before we tackle the remainder of the paperwork?”
His charming smile only deepened. “Love to.” He motioned for her to precede him out the door and into the hangar. The man had good manners, she’d give him that.
“You’ve had some military experience, haven’t you?” A short stint in the Army was listed on his employment application and he definitely gave off the soldier vibe. Most of the guys she flew with who’d been in the service were Air Force or even former naval aviators. She didn’t have much experience with Army guys.
“I was in for a couple of years,” he agreed. Like many of the ex-military men she worked with, Sam Archer appeared to be a man of few words.
“I respect that. Thank you for serving.” And she meant it too. She’d always admired those who chose to serve in the military and probably would’ve joined herself, if not for extenuating family circumstances. The death of her mother, for one. Her pesky brother and his Air Force aspirations, for another.
“My pleasure, ma’am.”
She could tell he meant it. There was something in his voice that said more than his simple words.
“You miss it? The Army, I mean.” She looked at him as they walked across the hangar. He was a tall man with long legs and normally she would’ve had to take two steps for every one of his but he was measuring his gait to accommodate her, which was extremely thoughtful.
One of his eyebrows quirked upward as he returned her gaze. “I loved everything about the service. The adventure. The travel.”
“The waking up at oh-dark-thirty to exercise in the rain,” she joked. “My brother is in the Air Force. He’s told me a lot about that kind of thing. Or should I say, he’s complained to me about it over and over again.”
She chuckled at the memory and Sam grinned back at her. Time seemed to stand still as she gazed into his eyes.
A dropped hammer clattered loudly somewhere on the concrete floor of the hangar, breaking the spell. Wow. She really had to get control of herself around this guy if they were going to be flying together.
“I never mind physical training. PT is something I’d do anyway—drill sergeant pushing me harder or not.”
She’d just bet he would. And probably did. The man had to be the most physically fit specimen she’d ever encountered in the flesh. Up close she could see the bulges of his muscles against the cotton of his shirt. When he raised his arms and those giant biceps flexed, she feared for his seams.
“So be all that you can be isn’t just an ad slogan to you, eh?”
He joined in her laughter as they approached the jet she was aiming for.
“I’ve always liked a challenge. The Army gave me that. I think this job will too.” His answer was only the slightest bit cagey.
She turned to look up at him suspiciously. She was getting mixed feelings about him. Usually a good judge of character, she trusted her instincts on new hires and people she met in her work, but she couldn’t read him well at all. Something about him set her radar off. It could be the all too feminine discomfort of being so close to a devastatingly attractive male. Or it could be something far more sinister. Too many odd things had been going on at Praxis Air of late.
She didn’t know this man. She hadn’t hired him. That decision had been made by someone higher up the food chain. There weren’t many people who had more pull in the company her mother had co-founded than she did, so her suspect list was short. All she knew was that something funny was going on at her beloved airline and she was going to figure out what it was come hell or high water.
This new guy could be innocent or he could have been brought in to further the conspiracy—whatever it was. She feared it had something to do with drug running, which would destroy the company if they got caught by the authorities. She couldn’t let that happen. She’d been discreetly trying to find out what was going on for the past few weeks and was planning to handle it quietly, once she knew who was involved and exactly what they were doing. She’d hold her judgment about this handsome new pilot until she got to know him better.
“Well, the Lear 35 is challenging enough for me, but I’ve read your file. I noticed that you recently got the Type Rating for this jet. What were you flying before?” She knew, of course, but she wanted to hear it from him.
A pilot’s log book recorded everything about their time spent in the air. It was sacred to each pilot. Something they kept with them at all times when on the job and reread to bring back memories of their early days. She reminisced over her logs from when she was a teen every once in a while. Those times spent with her mother, learning how to fly, were some of the happiest moments in her life.
“Cargo planes mostly. Big lumbering whales. I wanted something a little sleeker in my next job. I’ve heard the Lear 35 is a fun ride.”
“That she is,” Emily readily agreed. “Sturdy and dependable but small and fast. We fly a couple different configurations but they’re all basically the same plane. This one is outfitted to carry rock stars.” She gestured for him to board the little jet through the passenger hatch.
