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human behavior. She had spent time at several different laboratories across the United States, but only a few years at each, moving often and rarely making lasting relationships. During O’Dell’s investigation she’d had difficulties finding anyone who knew the scientist very well.
    Shaw had never married and had no children. She was an only child; her parents had been killed in a car accident. Her only living relative was a grandfather with advanced-stage dementia. O’Dell had found him at a nursing care facility in Panama City, Florida,close to the community where he had lived, then retired to some ten years earlier. The staff told her that Dr. Shaw had visited at least once a month and in between those times, she sent small gifts. The visits and the gifts stopped after the North Carolina mudslide, and everyone there believed that she was killed in the disaster.
    Shaw had been at the University of Wisconsin in 2012 when she attracted the attention of DARPA, the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, landing her the director position at the research facility in North Carolina. There she had freedom to conduct experiments along with the resources to pay test subjects. One of those subjects, a man named Daniel Tate, had survived the mudslide. More importantly, he had survived the executions that had occurred moments before the slide. Someone had shot one scientist and two test subjects. The FBI believed the killer was Dr. Clare Shaw.
    However, there was a catch. Shaw disappeared that night. Her cell phone had gone silent. Her apartment looked exactly as if she had gone to work and never come home. Nothing of value appeared to be missing. Her car was one of those destroyed in the mudslide. Even her credit card charges stopped the day before the slide.
    The FBI had issued a BOLO (Be On the Look Out) nationwide and contacted other research laboratories across the country in search of Shaw. In five months there hadn’t been a single sighting, not even a false one. O’Dell was beginning to wonder if the woman had perhaps been killed along with her colleague and her test subjects.
    O’Dell’s cell phone interrupted her thoughts. It was a number she didn’t recognize. One with the Chicago area code.
    â€œThis is O’Dell.”
    â€œIn the spirit of sharing, how about we share dinner?”
    It was Platt. The bureaucratic tone was gone, replaced by a warm and inviting one, reminding her that he could be very charming.

16
    FLORIDA PANHANDLE
    C reed had just finished taking care of the dogs for the evening. He had stripped out of the coveralls and protective gear, stuffing everything into a decon bag. From the window in his loft apartment he could see that the light was still on in the building Dr. Avelyn used as their veterinary clinic. She had already told him that it would be a long night. Hannah had offered her guest room, and Creed knew she’d make sure the veterinarian got some sleep.
    Several years ago Creed and Hannah had decided it would be better for their dogs if they didn’t take them off-site for their vaccinations and medical needs. Instead they contracted with Dr. Avelyn Parker. She had her own practice with two other veterinarians in Milton, Florida, but had agreed to handle the needs of K9 CrimeScents. Since then Creed knew she had certainly gotten more than she bargained for, and yet she never complained. She treated these dogs like they were her own.
    His hair was still wet from his shower when he heard the soft tap on the back door to his loft.
    It was Jason, and the kid looked like he had seen a ghost.
    â€œCome on in.” He had to coax him.
    Jason had barely stepped into the room when he said, “Tony’s dead. His mom just called me.”
    His voice was deadpan. His eyes darted everywhere else to avoid meeting Creed’s, but it didn’t matter. Creed had already caught a glimpse of the emotion.
    â€œWhat happened?”
    Creed didn’t