Fury In Death (In Death #63)

Prologue

Steve Redman thought: Raising a toddler killed brain cells.

Just past midnight on a hot summer night, and two-year-old Luke wouldn’t settle.

Trying to spare his very pregnant wife, let her sleep—or try to—Steve had pulled out all the stops.

He’d read Luke’s favorite, In the Night Time, three times.

He’d sung various tunes, made shadow animals on the bedroom wall.

He’d resorted to bribery. Go to sleep and we’ll go to the playground tomorrow.

But the kid only wanted his mother.

He’d heard all about the terrible twos, but Luke didn’t qualify. Generally, he snuggled into bed with Carrot, the stuffed rabbit, at eight-thirty every night.

A story, a song, and done.

Not tonight.

His boy had a sweet heart, a thirsty mind, a good dose of silliness. And enough energy to run the world and its satellites for a solid year without a recharge.

He heard Ari singing to their little boy, something that should have made him smile. Instead, he paced in the dark as the problem he’d hoped to keep in the back of his mind for the night pushed to the forefront.

He’d learned something about the company he worked for, the company that had recruited him straight out of college, the company that made it possible for his family to afford the two-story brownstone they’d move into in just two weeks.

He hadn’t wanted to believe what he’d stumbled across. Working late—something he rarely did these days. But Ari had taken Luke to spend a couple days with her mother in Connecticut.

He’d thought he’d enjoy the quiet, but one evening without them had been enough. So he’d stayed late at the lab. His lab, he thought now.

They’d put him in charge, made him the youngest director in the Banner-Wyst corporation.

He did good work—he reminded himself of that. He did work that benefited the planet, the people on it. He’d been proud of that work, proud of the company that funded and supported that work.

Until he’d learned that some with power in the company, some who acquiesced to the power were traitors.

Traitors to the country, the planet, the people on it.

They would use his work, his efforts and skill, not to benefit, but to exploit. To destroy.

The Rainmaker Project was his. He’d found answers, not all, not all quite yet, but he’d found the path toward stabilizing the climate, and more, to manipulating it.

Instead of drought and famine, instead of floods and destruction, flourishing crops and food. Hunger, real hunger, could be eradicated.

He was nearly there.

Nearly there when he’d discovered those he worked for planned to use his work not to end drought and flood and famine, but to cause it.

Selectively.

Power and greed. Sicken or kill the land. Take over whole regions, rule them, and using his work, bring them back to life. Shatter the world order, then piece it back together in their image.

The millions who would die meant nothing compared to the profit and the power.

And he’d given them the weapon.

Or so they believed.

He had the evidence now. It frightened him, but he had it.

He’d shared his discovery with Ari, of course. They had no secrets between them. Because of the enormity of that discovery, he’d sought the counsel of his most trusted friend and colleague.

He’d expected the shock, the disbelief, the flurry of questions. And because of Larry’s nature, he’d expected the calming advice to wait. Wait, discuss, find a viable solution to negate the problem.

But Steve knew he couldn’t wait. With his knowledge of the company’s purpose, he certainly couldn’t continue his work to finalize Rainmaker.

Nor could he allow anyone else to continue it. So though it had scored his soul, he’d inserted a virus into the lab’s computer network.

If anyone other than himself tried to access the data, that data—all the data on Rainmaker—would be fatally corrupted.

Without the data, without his four years of work, without him, they’d have nothing.

In the morning, he’d take the story, and the evidence, to the FBI. All of it, including names. The very rich, the powerful, the politicians, and, sadly for him, the fellow scientists.

They might not take his word, but they’d believe the evidence he’d amassed in the last nerve-racking few days.

He disliked the term whistleblower, but he’d damn well blow that whistle.

He stopped pacing when Ari came in.

In the pale glow of Luke’s night-light, she came to him, framed his face in her hands.

“Stop worrying.”

“Can’t.”

“You’re doing the right thing. Honestly, the only thing. We’ve talked it through a thousand times, and I’m proud of you, Steve. Always have been proud of my genius nerd, and even more proud now. They’re bad people. Damn it, evil ones.”

“I should’ve known.”

“You didn’t,” Ari said in the simple, practical way that always soothed him. “Now you do, so you’re doing what’s right. Give that weird and wonderful brain of yours a rest.”

Maybe he couldn’t, but he could smile for her sake. “It’s not that weird.”

“Oh yeah, it is.”

She kissed him, warm lips, soft hands, the baby between them kicking.

“You got one down—he only wanted Mama—but another one’s up and at ’em.”

“She sure is. She wants ice cream.”

“Seriously?”

“She really does. Strawberry Chocolate Ripple.” As the baby kicked again, Ari laughed, circled a hand on her belly. “She’s very serious.”

“I guess I better go get her some.”

She kissed him again, held him another minute. “You’re the best man, the best partner, the best daddy ever.”

He ran a hand over her hair, honeycomb brown and spilling to her shoulders. He knew she’d given him a mission to help take his mind off what he’d do the next morning.

And he loved her for it.

“I couldn’t do any of this without you.”

“You could, and you would. But you don’t have to because you’re never going to be without me. Me, Luke, and I’m back to leaning toward Chloe. Anyway, you’re stuck with us.”

“I like Chloe. I’ll go get conditionally Chloe some ice cream.”

He grabbed his wallet, his phone, pulled on a pair of sneakers.

“And don’t think we’re going to share. Get your own ice cream.”

“Nutty Butter Chunk.”

She screwed up her nose. “Ew.”

“You’re not wrong about much, Arianna, but you’re wrong about that.” He glanced toward Luke’s room, then back at her. “Six weeks, and we’ll be doing this all over again.”

Grinning, she folded her hands on her belly. “Can’t wait.”

“I’ll be back in a flash. Love you, babe.”

“Love you back.”

He took the stairs down. The elevator would get you there, but it clanged and clunked along the journey. Since it was nearly one in the morning, and he liked his neighbors, why wake them up?

When he stepped outside, the heat hit like a wall. It made him give thanks that the old pre-Urban building had solid climate control.

Then he wished he hadn’t thought about climate control.

No point angsting over it all again. He’d do what he had to do, and he had an amazing woman with him.

He’d never fully understood what had drawn her to him, but he thanked God for it. She’d expanded his world, which had been far too insular. She’d brought in the fun when he tended to be too serious.

She’d pushed him into getting his doctorate, so as of five months before, he was officially Dr. Steven Redman.

Most importantly, she’d given him love, given him a son who was the light of both their lives. And would soon give him a daughter he already cherished.

His life was more than he’d ever dreamed it could be. He wanted to pay it back, to help others achieve their dreams, and more. So he’d do the right thing with no more worry and never a single regret.

In the summer heat, with its hazy moon, he walked the three and a half blocks to the nearest twenty-four/seven.

A few others walked as he did. New York had so much to offer to so many.

He’d grown up in the city, as had Ari. Now they’d raise their children in it.

Teach them to appreciate its benefits, and yes, respect its dangers.

Thinking of it lessened some of the nagging worry. In a few hours, what he knew—and could prove—would be in the hands of the authorities. He’d be out of a job, no question, but he’d get another.

He’d heard good things about the up-and-coming Roarke Industries, so maybe he’d take a closer look there.

But tonight, he’d buy ice cream for his daughter.

Chloe. He rolled the name around again, found it made him smile. Those are my kids, he imagined saying, Luke and Chloe.

Yeah, that seemed downright perfect.

He stepped out of the heat and into the garishly lit freezer that was the twenty-four/seven. He wanted to tell them if they’d just keep the temperature regulated at seventy-two year-round, they’d save money. And the shock of cold.

But he gave the counterman a quick salute as he headed for the ice cream section.

“Raining yet?” the counterman called out.

“Nope, but with the humidity it’s wet enough anyway.”

He got the two pints, then, what the hell, another of Ari’s choice. Luke could have a treat tomorrow, and like his mom, Luke didn’t appreciate the flavorful wonders of Nutty Butter Chunk.

The counterman rang up the three pints. “Pregnancy cravings.”

Steve or Ari, or all three, tended to stop in at least once a week, so Steve nodded, laughed.

“Six weeks to go. Last time it was cheesy fries. I’d hear her out in the kitchen, two in the morning, go out, and she’s buzzing up a plate of cheesy fries.”

“My wife—both times—salt and vinegar chips, with the ripples. Had to have the ripples. You never know, I guess.”

“With Luke the cheesy fries, and way too much salt.”

“Musta worked, ’cause that boy’s a pistol. Enjoy your ice cream.”

“We will. Thanks.”

He smiled as he left. He liked going into a local store, being known, having the clerk say his boy was a pistol. He liked knowing when he got home with the ice cream, he and Ari would sit in bed, spooning it up, probably talk about baby names again.

But he was set on Chloe now, so he’d steer Ari toward a middle name to go with it.

They’d talk about the house, setting up Luke’s big boy room, the baby’s nursery.

And when they settled to sleep, she’d take his hand, lay it on the baby with hers over it.

And somehow, with that unity, with Luke sleeping nearby, he’d know the good in the world—even with all he’d learned—he’d know the good far outweighed the bad.

He quickened his steps, reached into his pocket for his key.

The explosion shot him off his feet. Airborne, his body slammed into a parked car, then bounced forward and down on the sidewalk.

He heard screaming, but it sounded like screams wrapped in thick fog. Screaming, shouting, people running. A second explosion that washed a wave of impossible heat over him.

Confused, as yet numb to the pain, he staggered to his feet.

Fire roared out of broken windows; black smoke belched. Broken, charred bricks scattered like dominoes. For a moment, he simply didn’t comprehend, couldn’t comprehend.

There’s a fire, he thought, and the thought came dully, detached. That building’s on fire. Instinct had him reaching in his pocket for his phone to call nine-one-one.

Then the fog cleared enough for him to realize.

“Ari!” He screamed it, started to run toward the flames. “Ari! Luke!”

Someone grabbed him, and he fought, but then there were two holding him back, back from the flames, the furnace of heat, the choking smoke.

“You can’t go in there, man. Fire department’s coming. You can hear the sirens. They’re coming.”

“My wife, my son. My wife, my son.”

They pulled him back, dragged him back from what the fire greedily consumed.

As he fell to his knees, his world shattered; his mind broke.

And Fury was born.