Wounded Earth by Mary Anna Evans Page B

we made good time, considering I had to stop and chat with a raving maniac,” Larabeth said, trying to joke away her lingering jitters.
    “Maybe we'll get some leads this afternoon that will help us track that maniac down,” J.D. said, as he turned the rental car into the N-Deck parking lot.
    “He could be anywhere in the world. Do we really have a chance at finding him?”
    “I've got some ideas. When we get back to New Orleans, I'm going to pay a visit to The Spy Place.”
    “The what place?”
    “The Spy Stop. They sell, you know, James Bond stuff—the latest call tracing and wiretapping products. We can hire their resident expert to come out and sniff your house and office for bugs. If anybody can find this Babykiller guy, Kydd can." He stopped the car in front of a squat, square, 1970s-era office building.
    “The Spy Stop. You're kidding.”
    “No, I'm not. Check the Yellow Pages. They have franchises in all the major cities. Ex-CIA agents have to make a living, too. Hackers and techno-dweebs have to support their habits. Don't worry about a thing. If it can be tapped, traced, or tweaked, the ladies and gentlemen at The Spy Stop can do it for us.” She was still gaping at him.
    “I'll pick you up here at five,” he said.
    Larabeth opened the passenger door and swung one long leg out, still gathering her things. She leaned forward to retrieve her purse and her hair blocked her peripheral vision, or she would have seen the woman coming.
    As it was, J.D. saw her first. He was surprised to see her and particularly surprised by the BioHeal nametag she was wearing. He didn't gather his wits in time to speak, so Larabeth's first inkling of the situation came when an unfamiliar voice said, “Dr. McLeod, I was so honored to receive this assignment to work with you.”
    Or perhaps the voice wasn't wholly unfamiliar. Later, Larabeth fancied that she had recognized the woman's voice in the way you recognize a recording of your own voice. The sound is strange, but it isn't. In the moment it took for Larabeth to look up, she knew.
    Larabeth McLeod raised her head and, for the first time, looked her daughter full in the face.

Chapter 9
     
    It was a blessing that Cynthia had a lot to say, because it spared Larabeth from making small talk as she listened to J.D. speed away. Not that Cynthia was nattering away about inconsequential things. On the contrary, she was competent and she was ambitious and she was hell-bent on impressing the boss. She had read the press reports on the Agent Blue spills and on the Bambi Slasher. She, like Larabeth, had spent some time chatting up the bureaucrats. Cynthia had information to share and she had ideas. She was on a roll.
    Under other circumstances, she might have lost a few brownie points by talking too much, but in this case it didn't matter. Larabeth was busy collecting her wits. She had no objections to having her ears talked off.
    How had this happened? It was poor form to send the boss help she hadn't requested. Neglecting to tell the boss that help was on the way was even poorer form. Maybe BioHeal had grown too big for the casual management style she preferred.
    “So I think we should look into the GAIA people.” Cynthia was still going strong. “They've pulled weird publicity stunts before. Maybe that Langlois man engineered this. He could have set himself up as a victim, just as a smokescreen. GAIA is headquartered in New Orleans. Do you know much about them?”
    “Hmmm?” Larabeth said intelligently. “Oh, GAIA. I know something about them and I know plenty about Guillaume Langlois. He could no more kill a defenseless creature than he could pass up a photo opportunity.”
    “But could he order somebody else to kill defenseless creatures?”
    “No.”
    “Not even for the mother of all photo opportunities?”
    “No,” Larabeth said. Flatly.
    Cynthia was silent for a moment, seeking a new angle to impress the boss.
    Well, this is going swimmingly, Larabeth thought.