“They could have just sent a text,” I grumbled, pressing a hand to my head.
He nodded at the wound. “You should have that looked at.”
“I will, if you will.”
He made a face. I knew that would shut him up.
My mood brightened as my phone came on with full bars. There were three messages from Evans. One was a vague apology for not replying sooner. The next was a complaint about how I was “exploring a spooky, abandoned slaughterhouse less than a week before Halloween—without me.” The third was a worried voicemail sent twelve minutes ago, stating, “If I don’t hear from you in five, I’m sending the cavalry.”
Creed’s phone buzzed. “It’s Barnes.” From the volume of the captain’s voice bleeding out the speaker when he answered, Evans wasn’t the only one to notice our absence. As I grabbed my keys and we stepped outside, I understood why. The sun was low. The evening air was moving in fast with a deep chill. Still, it was balmy compared to the freezer.
I left Creed to his phone call and walked over to inspect the jeep. There was no damage. The tires weren’t slashed. The engine wasn’t disabled. Nothing was missing. So weird.
Creed moved toward me, swiftly, with that narrow, focused look I’d come to know so well. Sliding his phone in his pocket, he said, “We need to go.”
“You don’t want to wait for Harper? Or the EMTs?”
His stare moved off me, drawn by the scream of fast-approaching sirens. “Let them secure the place. My shoulder’s fine. The bullet barely skimmed me. And I’m not getting stuck here regurgitating this mess, while there’s a fresh one waiting for us on the bridge ramp.” Opening the passenger door, he paused. “Unless, you don’t want to come along?”
“From a slaughterhouse full of corpses, to a bridge ramp at rush hour.” I got in and started the engine. “Don’t let anyone tell you Alex Creed doesn’t know how to show a girl a good time.”
Eleven
“You’re right. This is a mess,” I said, surveying the snarl of brake lights. Horns blared. Outrage escaped rolled-down windows, as angry motorists were turned away.
Closing the main artery out of the city at five o’clock on a Tuesday wasn’t a popular move, but the public had no business on the bridge now—or anywhere near the tractor trailer entangled in the guard rail. Even a glimpse of what was inside could spark another panic. And the Sentinel had barely recovered from the last one.
Creed made some calls on the way, to fill in the blanks left by his conversation with Barnes. Apparently, the arresting officer tried for blocks to get the driver to pull over. As the truck entered the bridge, he knew allowing a semi with no brake lights onto a span known for bumper to bumper traffic was a disaster waiting to happen. When he sped ahead and blocked the truck’s access, things escalated. What should have been a routine stop became a multi-vehicle accident, complete with the arresting officer’s patrol car wrapped around a toll booth.
The contents of the trailer had gotten tossed around in the accident. Medical waste was erupting from the burst seams of overstuffed garbage bags. Blood and tissue leaked from overturned barrels. Plastic containers were broken and empty, with what I assumed was their contents splattered on the walls. Empty buckets and bottles of cleaning supplies were strewn about. In the middle of it all was a haphazard pile of plastic-wrapped carcasses, their shape and size identical to what we’d seen hanging from hooks a few hours before.
Creed maneuvered around the mess, walking the length of the trailer with a hand over his mouth and nose. At the end, he spun around. “This has to be what they cleaned out of the slaughterhouse.”
“Or from another site we haven’t discovered yet.”
His stare tightened, not liking the idea. “We’re the reason they’re on the move. The river, the factory, the slaughterhouse. If their locations have all been compromised, they could be moving the entire operation outside the city.”
“With broken tail lights? You don’t move a cargo like this and not check something so basic. A vehicle this large, in the city at rush hour with no brake lights is—”
“Asking to be pulled over?”
I caught the expression in his eager raised brows. “You think someone tampered with the truck. The same someone who left the deadbolt open on the freezer?”
“And clogged the sewer drain. And left remains at the river in a rainstorm.”
“And got his van caught on camera?”
“I know it all sounds convenient,” he said, “but that’s the point. No one runs an operation this large and fucks up this much. Unless it’s on purpose.”
“I agree. But if you’re talking about someone on the inside, who would risk tattling on these guys? Monsters or not, if they do this shit to their victims,” I waved a hand around the truck, “I can’t imagine what they’d do to a snitch.” A few barrels were still upright. I opened the one beside me. Rank smells overlapped. The shapes inside were impossible to make out, coated in dark liquid and dimmed by shadow. “We can’t let forensics in here, not yet.”
“We have to.” Rummaging in one of the bags, Creed winced as something dripped off his glove. “What’s in here could make our whole case.”
“And expose things that shouldn’t be.” He looked up, and I said what I couldn’t have two months ago. “Let me make a call. Harper’s team has a lot on their plate. It might be time to bring in some outside help to take the load off.”
“I’m guessing outside doesn’t mean FBI?”
“We could call them that, if you want.” Creed’s glare was blinding even in the dark. But I didn’t have time for it. “We’ll still get the evidence we need, but it will make things go more smoothly.”
“Make the cover up go smoothly. Call it what it is, Nite.”
“I call it saving lives.”
“I’m not arguing the outcome. It’s the secrets I don’t like.”
“You don’t have to like them, Alex. But you do have to keep them.”
I waited for the anger, but he swallowed it and resumed examining the evidence. Lifting a long, stringy clump out of the bag with two fingers, he eyed it a moment, then let it fall back inside with a grunt of disgust.
“Wait,” I said. “What was that?”
“Hair. And a bit of scalp.”
“What color is it?”
He frowned at me. “Red.”
“I meant before it went swimming in a garbage bag of blood.”
Creed reached back in and fished out the strands. He ran a glove over them, wiping the mass as clean as he could. Despite the residue and poor lighting, the color was obvious.
“Blue.” I let out a breath. “Shit.”
“Shit as in, ‘what a lousy dye job’? Or shit as in, you know what this belongs to—and it’s not human?”
“I might know what it belongs to. And if I’m right,” I ripped off my gloves, “shit as in, I had her in my hands, and she slipped away.”
“A creature?” he whispered, like he needed me to say it.
“Yes, and I was trying to help her. But she was scared. She ran.”
“Even if this is hers, it doesn’t mean she’s dead.”
“Right. They could be keeping her alive and carving her up slowly.”
He froze. “You don’t really think that’s what’s happening here, do you?”
“I don’t know. Let’s hope not.” I jumped down onto the pavement. “Has the driver said anything?”
Creed landed beside me, and we rounded the truck. “Not yet. EMT’s were itching to take him away when we got here. We’ll only have a minute.”
“Let me see him alone, and that’s all we need.”
“You’re joking, right?”
“Depends on your answer.” It wasn’t going to happen, so I played off my request with a grin. “What do we know about him?”
“Nicholas Dane. Thirty-two. Last known residence is some shithole motel downtown. He’s got an impressive list of priors, primarily for being an asshole.” I raised my brows and he
elaborated. “Disorderly conduct, assault. He’s put a handful of exes in the hospital.”
“Sounds charming. And not very discreet.”
“So why would anyone trust him to move something so incriminating?”
My lips pursed. “They wouldn’t.”
“Exactly.”
The back doors were open on the ambulance. The man inside was propped up on a stretcher. Cuts from the broken windshield marred his face. Blood colored a large section of his unkempt, curly, blond hair, as well as the skin around the large bandage on his forehead. Pain held his lanky body taut. But it was hostility that squeezed his face, giving prominence to the curved slope of his nose. The sense of aggression looked at home there, as if Dane’s belligerence regularly bled out to assault the world. Though, at the moment, his blatant “fuck you” attitude was focused on the EMT taking his blood pressure.
The tech reached out to close the door. Creed put a hand on the panel, keeping it open. “Hold up. We need ten minutes.”
She exchanged an unhappy glance with her partner. “You’ve got three. He’s already been here too long.”
“He got knocked on the head,” Creed replied. “He’ll live.”
“He has a concussion,” she argued, “lacerations, bruised ribs—”
“Which will still be there when we’re done.”
The glare she gave Creed was impressive. She let him have it for a full thirty seconds, before the woman, and her, partner exited the vehicle and stepped away.
I climbed inside. Creed followed and sat across from me. He presented his badge to the man reclining on the stretcher between us. “Nicholas Dane, I’m Detective Creed. This is—”
“Three minutes, and you waste it with introductions?” Dane shook his head with a laugh. “I’d watch the clock, Detective, or I just might sue you for delaying my care.”
“And I’d watch your mouth,” I warned him, “or I just might break it.”
Dane eyed me with appreciation. “Baby, I’d like to see you try.”
Creed grunted. “No, I don’t think you would.”
Letting out an uncomfortable, sniff, Dane glanced away.
“Let’s try this again,” Creed said. “Who do you work for?”
“Name’s on the truck.” His mocking gaze swung back to Creed with a belligerent sniff. “Or don’t they require you people to read anymore?”
I moved to the bumper and looked out. “Fresh Start,” I said, reading the bright green letters on the side of the truck. “Isn’t that a salad place over on White Street?”
“Guess they’re branching out,” Creed said.
“A cop with a sense of humor,” Dane grumbled. “Must be my lucky day.”
Creed let the remark go and continued his questioning. “Where did you pick up your cargo from, Mr. Dane?”
He thought a moment. “Can’t recall. It’s a big city, y’know? And I’m not good with direction. I get turned around.”
“How about where you were headed. Can you recall that?”
“I was headed over this fucking bridge,” Dane snapped.
“You have a GPS in your truck?”
“It’s busted. Unlike those damn brake lights, you bastards said are out. I checked them myself last night.”
“Do you know what you’re carrying, Mr. Dane?”
“Restaurant supplies,” he replied. “That’s what on the work order.”
“You checked the brake lights but didn’t bother to look in the back?”
“I’m a driver. I drive,” Dane said, mocking and slow. “Not look.”
The subtle hardening of Creed’s jaw severely understated how little patience he had left. If I asked to have a turn now, he might be pissed enough to grant my request.
I lost my chance when an officer appeared at the back of the ambulance.
His stout form bundled in a jacket and scarf, he rubbed his hands together, before greeting us with a nod. “Sorry to barge in, Detective. But the captain just pulled up. He’s looking for you.”
“Tell him I’ll be over in a few minutes,” Creed replied. “We’re almost done.”
The officer winced. “The mood he’s in, you better make it one.”
Creed bit off a curse. He let it out, as the officer walked away. “Call whoever you need to, Nite. It won’t be easy with Barnes here, but I’ll buy you as much time as I can.”
I followed him out. One of the EMTs got in the back and closed the doors. The lights and sirens came on. I frowned at the back of the ambulance as it drove away.
Reading my expression, Creed said, “We’ll get another crack at him.” He started to leave, then turned back. “If we can find a pattern in the type of targets, what our suspects are looking for, maybe we can set a trap.”
“That’s smart. But dangerous.”
“So is telling Gattlin Barnes an organized ring of serial killers is operating in his city, and we aren’t even close to shutting them down.”
“You’re right. The trap is safer.”
Creed chuckled as we parted ways. He headed for the barricade where Barnes was standing, surrounded by a half-dozen uniformed officers. I went the opposite direction and called Oren. I left a message detailing our encounter at the slaughterhouse, what we’d found inside the truck, and asking for help with interference in the lab. Chen hated text messages, as he did most human interactions. I sent him one, anyway. If he hadn’t gotten a call about the Oliver Gant’s body or the semi, he would soon. A heads up about what he was walking into couldn’t hurt.
I grabbed my bag out of the backseat. I didn’t have a lot of time, but I needed a few minutes alone in the truck. If the hair belonged to Nyakree, I wanted to know.
Making my way back from the jeep, I placed one more call. The owner answered on the third ring. “Nadine’s.” Her distinctive voice was significantly less cheerful than usual.
“Are you okay?” I said, skipping the greeting. We didn’t need one. Second to Oren, the glitzy siren had known me longer than anyone in the city.
“Dahl,” Nadine brightened. “I’m good. Just a busy night.”
“Are you sure?”
“You know what it’s like before Halloween. Everyone’s a monster.” A playfulness lightened her voice. “But it’s nothing I can’t handle with one manicured hand tied behind my back.”
I didn’t believe her. Nadine kept more secrets than I did. “Anything going on in the city I should know about?”
“Oh, sweetie, that’s like asking if I have on lipstick. You’ll have to be more specific.”
“Kidnapping. Dismemberment. Organ removal. Pieces and parts have been popping at multiple locations. We’re looking for a group, or a horde, of creatures. Possibly working with, or for, humans. They’re using the hide of a yeren as camouflage. Any bells ringing yet?”
Nadine was quiet a moment. “Possibly.”
“What about the name, Gant? Do you know it?” Two officers moved in to secure the vehicle, and I cut her off. “Damnit. I have to go. Find out what you can. I’ll come by later.”
“Sorry, Dahl. Tonight’s not good.”
My steps faltered at her refusal. It was a first. Nadine was always at the bar, always welcoming. “Tomorrow then. I need some solid leads on this fast. And, Nadine,” I said with earnest, “be careful. I’m not sure how they’re targeting their victims, but I don’t want to be pulling your parts out of a barrel.”
I hung up and approached the trailer. The men guarding the doors weren’t part of the UCU. From the apathetic glaze over their eyes, I wasn’t surprised they didn’t let me get a word out before handing out a polite, “Sorry, ma’am. No one gets inside until forensics is done. Captain’s orders,” he said, deflecting the blame.
I didn’t have a lot of options. The area was too open. The bridge was crawling with cops. The passenger vehicles and tow trucks were long gone when we got here, but civilians and news crews were still lining the street below. Short of knocking the officers out—and ending up behind bars—I had no wa
y in. “Thanks,” I said. “I’ll wait.”
“It could be a long while,” he warned.
I flashed a grateful smile and turned away. Rounding the back of the truck, I spotted Creed, still locked in a heavy conversation with Captain Barnes. Gestures were flying from both men. I wasn’t waiting in that direction.
Avoiding everyone, I took my bag back to the jeep. The symphony of horns on the street below was getting worse. Unless it was being delivered by drone, coffee was out of the question. But there was a half-empty energy drink in my cup holder. Climbing in the jeep, I took a sniff. I couldn’t remember how old the contents were, but the ingredients list on the side was long enough to keep it preserved into the next ice age.
With a shrug, I drained the can. If it killed me, at least the time would pass faster.
Twelve
Cracks marred the surface of the mirror. I eyed them over the bare, masculine shoulder pressed against mine, focusing on the splits branching out from the fissure in the center. A fist had met the glass there. My fist.
Regrettable, I thought, wincing at the playful bite of teeth on my neck. The grand, golden-framed ornament had decorated my room for many years. It filled the entire wall, granting enough space to reflect the full image of a young elder. Perfectly positioned, in the right light, it revealed every muscle on the body beneath me as his strong form moved; thrusting deeper, faster.
The one behind me cupped my breasts. The one on my left slid his tongue into my mouth. Hard against my thigh, his hand drifted over my stomach. It wandered lower, teasing and playing with swollen, tender skin.
Excited nerves tingled. Desire swelled between us. Theirs was obvious, inside me and pressed against me. Mine was struggling to be heard. Though my body wanted more, my thoughts wandered. Over and over, my attention returned to the mirror.
It lent me a nice view. I enjoyed observing myself on the tousled furs, surrounded by the three muscular males. Unlike others who judged them harshly, I found the unique physical structure of a balaur intriguing. Their joined, scaled body was beautiful. But something about their identical, softer side had always intrigued me. And human flesh was far more sensitive.
Smoke & Mirrors Page 14