Elizabeth smiled. “Exactly like Frankenstein’s Bride.” She didn’t bother to correct her that Frankenstein was the doctor, not the monster. Because in truth, he was the monstrous one. It was the monster who was noble. The monster who was good. The monster who was… Adam.
“You’re a strange one. You’re the only woman I’ve met to go anime-eyed over Frankenstein.” She holstered her weapon. “But I can’t blame you.”
“Oh? A supernatural crush of your own?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Mad Dog eased back and looked out at the fireworks as they disappeared in the distance.
“I probably would. A little girl-bonding couldn’t hurt.”
“We went all this time without talking about men. Let’s not ruin it.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Come on. I’m dying to know.”
“Your monster is real, though. Isn’t he? He was the big, dark shadow on the security footage.”
Elizabeth had a split second to make the decision whether or not to trust Mad Dog Whitman, SWAT Commander and fellow Bureau 7 employee. She knew full well she could be a plant to ferret out any information about Adam.
Elizabeth had some otherworldly perception about the woman. She knew instinctively, that as long as she wasn’t trying to hurt anyone with her secret, she would keep it to herself.
“Yes.”
“Well, don’t worry. I erased the tapes.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Call it a hunch.” She shrugged. “In all the years I’ve worked for 7, I’ve never heard of this monster. If he was the kind of thing I hunt, I’d have heard about him.”
“So tell me,” Elizabeth prompted.
“Oh, for shit’s sake.” She sighed. “His name is Karl. He’s not real. He was my imaginary friend when I was a kid. I’m probably just wired wrong. Most people who do what I do are.”
“No, you’re not getting off that easily.”
“Okay, I’ve never actually said this out loud. If I tell you this, that’s it. We’re friends. You’re coming at the holidays to meet my family and it’s a forever thing.” Whitman took a deep breath. “Karl Prinzehausen is his full name and he’s the Headless Horseman.”
Elizabeth kept her face neutral. “Seriously? Like, Sleepy Hollow Horseman?”
“Yeah. My parents own a B&B and an orchard just at the edge of town. Wanna come for Halloween?”
“Can I bring a date?”
“Sleepy Hollow won’t know what hit them.” She grinned. “Since we’re best friends now, or something, I guess you can call me Mads.”
“If you call me Lizzie, I’ll kill you.”
“Fair enough, Elizabeth.” Something came over the radio and Mads answered. “10-4. I’ll escort her myself.”
“What’s happened?”
“Roanridge wants you stateside for debriefing. There’s a private plane in Athens waiting for you.”
“Do you know where my patients are going?”
“Don’t worry about them, Doc. We’ve got no orders to terminate. They’re headed to the Shetland Islands. I’m sure you’ll be there shortly. I guess you’ll have to come home with me next Halloween.”
“I hope you weren’t kidding about that because I’m coming.”
“Good.”
“Good.” She laughed. But her stomach was unsettled. She was not looking forward to debriefing. Why did he want to do it in person?
She guessed she’d soon find out.
Chapter Nine
Shetland Islands, Scotland
Bureau 7, Roanridge Island Installation
The cold wind whipped at her face as the boat forced its way through from St. Magnus Bay to the Norwegian Sea.
Elizabeth was headed home from the Roanridge Island Installation. She’d learned her lesson about living on site. She had her own tiny island and, like Roanridge, it was on no map. She’d named it Legacy. It had craggy desolate shores and tall, ancient trees. Just being there instilled a sense of rightness in her, and she knew what to ask for when Director Roanridge had offered her a bonus to continue working on the project.
It was either continue the project or become part of it, anyway. That had been the Director’s ultimatum. So she’d moved to the frigid north, closer to Norway than to Scotland. It was different here than Greece, the island living. It was more rugged. Harsher. Living alone on an island here was like waving your middle finger in the face of mother nature and daring her to strike you down.
But that was in the Wollstonecraft blood, too, apparently.
If Elizabeth hadn’t had the survivors of Kythnos quarantined in Sector 4Z, she might have wondered if it had all been a fevered dream.
She rubbed the scar on her wrist absently, and thought about him—Adam.
Had a man made of death really come to save her?
Her logical mind said it was the fever as her body fought of the infection, but the infection itself, the fact that she was immune, that was enough to remind her that she was something else. Something different.
And that he had happened.
He was more than a figment of her imagination.