Tate stifled a snort. Mahsood had been out of the country prior to that because he’d been in Costa Rica creating a group of insane hybrids. Tate couldn’t believe Mahsood had been ballsy enough to go straight from that bloodbath to a formal award ceremony, like everything that had gone on down there had been nothing more than a day at the office. Heck, maybe for Mahsood, creating monsters was just another day at the office.
Regardless, it was now a certainty that Mahsood and Bell knew each other, and the chances were getting better and better that the link was the thing that had gotten the man tortured and killed.
Tate was still considering the ramifications of that as Abby led them out of the office and toward the administrative section. Even if he went with the assumption that Bell and Mahsood had been working together on a new hybrid program, that didn’t explain how Bell ended up in a cabin in the middle of nowhere sliced and diced. The theory that they were creating a new hybrid out for revenge didn’t feel right. And he seriously doubted Mahsood had killed Bell.
He was still wondering where that left him when they walked past a brass plaque mounted on the wall with the name Brannon Memorial Wing emblazoned on it. Tate stopped to take a closer look, noticing Chase must have been catching onto how he worked, because the deputy swerved before he mowed him over.
“Ms. Warner, is this Brannon as in Rebecca Brannon?” Tate asked.
He seriously doubted it could be anyone else. How many Brannons could there be in this part of the world?
Abby beamed. “Yes. Do you know her? She’s an amazing woman, isn’t she? This whole wing of the facility was built with funding from her charitable organization.”
“Really?” Tate said. “A whole wing?”
He’d be a lot more impressed if he didn’t know the woman so well.
Abby nodded, her head bobbing like one of those toys. “She’s very generous, but that’s to be expected. The Brannons have lived in the area for generations and have always been very supportive of the local community. They’ve funded the construction of hospitals, libraries, children’s centers, as well as domestic violence and homeless shelters for decades. Everyone adores them.”
Tate wondered if people would revere the Brannons as much if they knew how many people had died at the hands of Rebecca’s hybrid research projects or that she’d abandoned her own daughter in a mental institute for most of her life, almost certainly because she didn’t want the girl getting in the way of her political career.
He reached into his jacket pocket and took out his notebook, then flipped through it until he found the picture of Ashley he’d taped in it that morning before leaving his hotel room. It was a crappy photo, taken from a cheap convenience store camera a few hours after the shifter had escaped the mental institution. It was a grainy, black-and-white image, but it was the best shot they had of her.
“Have you seen this woman around by any chance, possibly with Dr. Bell?” he asked Abby.
This was Rebecca Brannon’s hometown. Maybe Ashley had come back here looking for Mommy Dearest instead of Mahsood, and Bell had simply been collateral damage.
Abby frowned at the picture and shook her head. “I’m sorry. She looks familiar, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen her. Who is she?”
Tate slipped his notebook back into his pocket. “Just a person of interest on another case.”
The woman nodded and continued leading the way down the hall, but one look in Chase’s direction suggested the cop wasn’t so gullible. While Tate doubted the deputy recognized Ashley as a relative of Rebecca’s, he was smart enough to know Tate wouldn’t flash her picture if she wasn’t important.
“So, you going to tell me yet what the hell all that was about in there?” Chase asked when they left the research center a little while later. “Who the hell is this Mahsood guy, and what’s his involvement in all this? Don’t try to tell me he’s not involved, because your face lit up like a Christmas tree when you saw him and Bell in that picture. And how do Congresswoman Brannon and that woman in the surveillance photo fit into this?”
Tate came to a halt beside the passenger side of the police car, trying to figure out how much of the story to get into. He didn’t want Chase walking into a situation totally blind, because confusion at the wrong moment could get the guy—and possibly him—killed. But full disclosure wasn’t an option, either.
Ultimately, he decided to tell Chase enough to give him a clue what kind of crap he was wading into without revealing details that would completely freak him out.
“Mahsood has been involved in some extremely unconventional medical research both here in the United States and abroad,” he said after they’d both climbed in the police cruiser. “Research that has led to a lot of people ending up dead—or worse.”
Chase regarded him thoughtfully. “Does this research Mahsood is doing have anything to do with the way Bell was killed?”
Damn, this guy was dangerously good when it came to his gut.
“Yes,” Tate said, not elaborating further.
Chase didn’t push for more on the subject. “Okay. What about the woman in the photo?”
“The picture came from the security camera of a convenience store a few hours from here. She stumbled in there a little while after escaping from one of Mahsood’s research facilities.”
“Escaping? She was held there against her will?”
Tate inclined his head.
Chase sighed. “And Brannon? How is she involved in this?”
“You sure you want to know?” Tate asked. “And before you answer, stop and seriously think about this. Brannon is a powerful woman. You get on the wrong side of this, and kissing your career goodbye will be the least of your concerns.”
“I’m sure,” Chase answered without hesitation. “If I only wanted to walk down the safe paths, I never
