Wounded Earth by Mary Anna Evans Page A

other people an unpleasant surprise this morning. Do they get to have these cozy chats with you like I do?”
    “Of course not, Doc. I told you last week that you were special. I'm surprised you forgot, but you've been under a lot of stress. I picked you because I admire you. I've got big plans, plans that will dwarf this little animal-slashing stunt—whoever is behind it. If you review our conversations—mentally, because I'm sure you're too honorable to record them—you will note that I haven't admitted responsibility for anything illegal. Yet. Nevertheless, you're smart enough to appreciate the planning that goes into these things and you're perceptive enough to understand my motives. You're almost smart enough to catch me.”
    “Thanks a bunch,” she mumbled.
    “No problem,” he said. ”With that bit of self-revelation, Doc, I really must go. You're a charming woman. That's another reason I like to talk to you. And if I let you, I'm afraid you'd charm me into saying too much. Stay close to the phone, dear.”
    Larabeth distractedly clicked her phone off, after a futile glance to confirm that Babykiller's phone number was blocked from her phone's Caller ID function. She looked at the tiny microphone attached by suction cup to the mouthpiece. A fine cord snaked from the microphone to the recorder in her purse. She didn't have to listen to the tape to know that she had nothing—no unequivocal confession, no clue to Babykiller's identity, no information on his whereabouts.
    She had no guarantee that a car wouldn't pull up beside her, in the next second, and put a bullet in her brain. She had no protection from a man who could have her dead body delivered tomorrow to the doorstep of anyone in America. Her only connection with the lunatic slowly seizing control of her life was the phone clenched in her trembling hands, but every atom of her knew that there was not a chance that she would let him steal her power.
    She hurled the defenseless phone to the floorboard of the passenger side, risking the destruction of J.D.’s fancy recording device. She would have stomped on it in frustration, but that would have required climbing over the console into the other bucket seat, no small task in a compact car while wearing a skirt.
    Instead, she cranked the car. J.D. was waiting for her.
    * * *
    Babykiller regarded the phone in his hand. It was a cheap, clunky model and he would be glad to be rid of it. He needed to finish his preflight routine, and he needed a nap before tonight's flight. Cancer did have a tendency to slow one down, but before he allowed himself the luxury of sleep, he had some business to wrap up. He owed Gerald a bonus for orchestrating the events ofthe morning. And he wanted to remind Gerald of the importance of rewarding good work.
    CNN had reported that some of the slaughtered creatures had been traced to Sea World. What a stroke of brilliance—they might as well have kidnapped Mickey Mouse from the Magic Kingdom and crucified him. Gerald owed a hefty bonus to the person who orchestrated the Sea World heist.
    “If you don't acknowledge genius, it will turn on you,” Babykiller muttered to himself.
    Gerald was a capable kid. Babykiller dialed an access code and deposited a tidy sum in his account, enough to fund a couple of bonuses for Gerald's best people and one for himself. After that, he would give Gerald a personal call to offer congratulations and advice.
    As he dialed, he wondered whether Gerald had followed the first advice he'd given him: Make sure your workers never learn your name and never see your face. Unless you're prepared to kill them.
    He kept the conversation short and to the point, then resumed his pre-flight prep. Careful precautions were critical when you were flying Babykiller's way: alone, at night, and without filing a flight plan.
    * * *
    J.D. exited the freeway while Larabeth downed a greasy burger. She checked her watch.
    “Across town and back in just over an hour. I'd say