Free The Guardian's Wildchild by Feather Stone Page B

report?”
    “Plenty. That night she was here all kinds of strange stuff happened. One of the elevators went to the admiral’s floor, then later on it went down to the subbasement when no one was in it. A light had been found on in Admiral Garland’s office. There was a major power failure in the missile room. Every computer and security system was shut down. Nowhere else, just in that room. And there were no marks in the dust or fingerprints on the missiles. She’d have had to touch them to open the locked electrical compartment. You explain that one, sir.”
    “Interesting, Chris. See if you can get Butchart’s interrogation staff to talk. Maybe something was said during the interrogation that’s not in the report.”
    “Yes, sir. That shouldn’t be a problem with those two.”
    “Use discretion, Chris. Has Clay got information on Joy’s killer?”
    “Not exactly. But Captain, you told me Mrs. Waterhouse had known someone who went by the name of Badger, right?”
    Waterhouse’s gut tightened. “What about him?”
    “He’s dead. Apparently he was found in his home, shot in the head — same day your prisoner was captured on this base. Had red lipstick on his face. The killer cleared a patch of blood off his face and kissed him. Christ, that’s sick. The rest of his troop has vanished, maybe dead or gone into hiding.”
    “Any clues on the identity of the killer?”
    “Not yet. His computers are gone. Clay said that since Joy was probably in his files, the killer will come after you once they decode them. Says you’d better watch your back.”
    “Use discretion, Chris.”
    “No problem, Captain. You’re still sure the admiral didn’t have anything to do with Joy’s accident?”
    “Quite sure. He wouldn’t risk his political career. But he’s surely involved in something unusual right now. Perhaps there’s a connection with Badger’s death and this prisoner. And this guest of the admiral’s — a civilian, you say. See if you can find anything more about her.”
    “Yes, sir. And your boys are doing fine. Watching ’em like a hawk, sir.”
    “Thank you. I’ll contact you when I arrive in Acapulco.”
    Butchart disembarked without another word to Waterhouse. The officers and seamen were occupied with tending to the ship and preparing for the storm. The ship was now twenty years old, and though kept immaculate and in good repair, Waterhouse believed one more big storm would be more than the engines could handle. They’d been updated to provide speed, but felt the strain of pushing a hull meant for more leisurely travels.
    In the evening, Waterhouse returned to the infirmary. As he approached Sidney’s bed, he saw she’d been cleaned up. Her hair had been washed and she had a fresh hospital gown on. She no longer needed the respirator and had more color in her face. She was beginning to resemble the photo in Butchart’s records of the attractive woman who’d entered the base on Tuesday. “She looks better, Doctor. You think she can make it?”
    Dr. Duncan was startled and stood at attention.
    “At ease, Doctor.”
    “We cleaned her up.” The doctor shifted from one foot to the other. “She changes from one minute to the next. One moment she seems to be on the verge of taking her last breath, and the next, she seems more stable. I’ve never seen a case like this in my life.”
    “Has she been awake? Talked at all?”
    “Yes, I mean no, haven’t seen any response from her at all.”
    Waterhouse picked up a chair and brought it over to sit close by her bedside. “Take a quick break, Doctor. I’ll watch her. So it doesn’t appear there’s anything we can do for her?”
    “Not that I’ve found. I’ll be just fifteen minutes, Captain.”
    Waterhouse listened to the sounds of the room after Dr. Duncan left — the hum of the ship’s engines, soft grunts and groans from within the ship. The Nonnah was feeling the ocean’s response to the storm. Everything in the room swayed as the