Jenny Plague-Bringer: (Jenny Pox #4) by J. Bryan

dredge all this up,” Darrell Morton said. “If she was alive, I’d
     know it.”  He started to close the wooden front door inside the screen.
    Ward opened the screen door and blocked him from closing the inner door.
    “Mr. Morton, if there’s even the smallest chance your daughter is still alive, wouldn’t
     you want to know about it?  I have three kids of my own, and as a parent, I just can’t
     understand your reaction.” Ward actually had no children, and was not even married.
    “I know what happened,” Darrell said, still trying to close the door as Ward held
     it open. “Please.  You can’t stir up all this.”
    “Mr. Morton.” Ward gave the door a hard shove, swinging it wide open and sending the
     man stumbling backward into his own house.  Darrell caught himself on the arm of a
     worn old sofa.
    Ward advanced into the house, followed by Buchanan and Avery.
    “Hey, you can’t come in here!  This is private property,” Darrell said. “You got to
     have a warrant.”
    “If you want to be picky about it, yes,” Ward said, moving closer still to the scared
     man.  Ward’s hand eased toward the shoulder holster hidden beneath his coat.  It held
     a rare German machine pistol, the VP70M, a classic piece that had cost him a chunk
     of money, but he loved it.  He rarely got to use it, unfortunately.  He had no intention
     of shooting Darrell Morton today, but country dwellers sometimes had impressive arsenals
     in their homes, and it was best to be ready for it.
    “Get out of my house,” Darrell said quietly, folding his arms. “Unless you got a warrant.”
    “There is a slight problem with the warrant situation,” Ward said. “You see, we’re
     not actually from the FBI.”
    Darrell turned and ran toward the hall—probably to his bedroom to grab a firearm,
     Ward assumed.  Ward drew his pistol and fired a three-round burst into the ceiling
     above Darrell’s head.  The man ducked low, slowing enough that Avery and Buchanan
     had no trouble grabbing him and hauling him back.  They turned him to face Ward.
    This was exactly why Ward traveled with two men instead of just Buchanan.  Two trained
     soldiers were capable of restraining just about any normal individual so Ward could
     concentrate on his own special work.
    “Mr. Morton,” Ward said. “You must know that your daughter is a mass murderer.  You
     must know that she is a potential threat to national security.  Your own wife ran
     away after her birth...or did she run away at all, Mr. Morton?  What about that fire
     at the county hospital, Mr. Morton?  A doctor and a nurse both dead.  It was twenty
     years ago, right about the time little Jenny was born...am I right?”
    Darrell just stared at him.
    “I think Jenny killed your wife, didn’t she?” Ward spoke in a lower voice, moving
     closer to Darrell. “And you hid it.  All to protect a baby who would one day grow
     up and kill your town.  And what will she do next, Mr. Morton?  How many more people
     must die?  Why do you protect her?”
    “She’s dead,” Darrell said. “There’s nothing I can do.”
    “Don’t lie to me!” Ward punched the man in the mouth, hard enough to draw blood from
     his lip. “I can’t stand liars, Mr. Morton.”
    “I got nothing else to say to you,” Darrell said.  He spat blood in Ward’s face.
    Ward charged as a blind fury descended over him.  He pounded on Darrell’s face, then
     punched him in the stomach.  By the time Ward regained his senses, he had Darrell
     lying on the floor and was repeatedly kicking the man’s ribs with his steel-toed leather
     loafer, with additional assistance from a chuckling Avery. 
    “Stop, stop,” Ward said, shaking his head. “Need him alive.  For a few more minutes,
     anyway.”
    Ward squatted on the floor next to the groaning, bleeding Darrell Morton.
    “We know your daughter is alive,” Ward told him. “We need to know where she is before
     she kills again.  This is your