“Lili, then. What does working as an investigator for the CDC involve, exactly?” He leaned back to match my own posture—a standard means of making people trust you when asking questions.
I suppressed a smile as I shifted into another position, simply to see how long it would take him to follow my lead. “It’s not so different from your own job, Agent. I track where the children have been, check their environments, interview their contacts, examine their daily lives to see when and where they might have come into contact with the infectious agent.”
“The infectious agent?” He changed positions to reflect mine again.
I gave a one-handed shrug, playing off his question as if it were of minor importance, rather than the primary question I had to answer. “That’s what I’m investigating.” I let my smile play around my lips this time as I crossed my legs. To my surprise, though, the agent seemed distracted by the motion. Rather than moving to follow my lead, he froze, staring at my legs as I smoothed my knee-length skirt down over my lap.
Interesting.
After a moment, he dragged his eyes back up to mine and cleared his throat. “Do you have any indications that this infectious agent might be anything outside the norm?”
Now I was the one who stopped moving. “Outside the norm? In what way?”
Agent Chandler’s eyes narrowed. “Could this be connected to the vampires somehow?”
I heaved a sigh of relief, though I couldn’t have explained exactly why. “I don’t think so. Everything about it seems perfectly natural, if unusual.”
“Unusual in what way?”
I flashed my professional smile again. “Only in that we haven’t seen it in quite a long time.” Once more, I smoothed down my skirt, this time in preparation to stand. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to check in on my patients.” I paused then reached into my bag and pulled out a file folder. “When Detective Iverson told me you were coming, I made this copy for you.” I held it toward him, but didn’t let go of my end even when he moved to take it. “The parents signed off on it, though all of the confidential patient information has been redacted, of course. It’s everything we know.” And then I let it go.
“Thank you.” I couldn’t fully read his response, but he seemed genuinely pleased to have the file.
The FBI Agent made all the right comments during his leave-taking, but somehow, as I watched him walk away from me, I knew that his arrival was going to be a problem for me.
I simply didn’t know how.
Chapter 4
Scott
I left the interview with Dr. Banta feeling unbalanced, as if I had engaged in a mental sparring match—and lost. I was almost looking forward to viewing the scene of the most recent murder, as macabre as it seemed.
I had spent so much time examining the crime scene photos from the Dallas case that stepping into the crime scene felt like déjà vu.
I had purposely avoided asking Iverson for any details so I could draw my own conclusions, so I was a little surprised when we pulled up in front of the Houston Downtown Aquarium. This was my first time in Houston—even Dallas was still new to me; I grew up in Seattle and hadn’t even visited Texas before the FBI assigned me to the Dallas office. Still, it seemed to me that this was a particularly public spot for a murder—or even to dump a body.
Iverson stopped outside the taped-off perimeter and jerked his chin up in greeting toward a detective standing off to one side, talking to two uniformed officers. The detective finished whatever instructions he was giving and made his way over to hold up the yellow tape for us to duck underneath.
Iverson’s abbreviated introductions included our names and job titles. Houston detective Juan Rodriguez scowled at me. “FBI got an interest in this now? Even if it’s a serial, there’s no evidence he’s crossed any state lines.”
I shook my head, but Iverson answered for me. “Agent Chandler is down here as a personal favor to me. He was involved in the case in Dallas.”
I appreciated that Iverson didn’t explain my exact role in that case: the role of almost-victim. Holding my hands up in a warding motion, I said, “Observation only.”
Rodriguez grunted then waved his hand in a welcoming flourish. “Okay, then. Observe.” To Iverson, he said, “Let me know what you see.”
As he moved away, I surveyed the scene, unwilling to step any farther inside the perimeter until I was sure where to place my feet.
The dead woman, probably in her late thirties or early forties, was sprawled half in, half out of a fountain in the circular driveway. In the fountain, two giant swordfish seemed to leap into the air. Circular spouts at the bottom of the pool suggested that water burbled into the air around them under better circumstances.
Now, though, the fountain was off, presumably so the water could be captured and tested by the crime scene techs.
From the lack of blood in the fountain, though, I doubted CSTs would find anything. This looked like it was another body dump, at least at first glance. One of the CSTs motioned us over. “I’ve already cleared this path,” she said, pointing out an approach to the body.
Closer up, I revised my estimate of the vic’s age to something closer to fifty, the fine lines around her mouth and eyes showing up clearly even in the slack-muscled, expressionless stare of death.
She had been wearing yoga pants and a green t-shirt. I might have assumed she’d been taken when she was exercising, if not for the fact that her face still held traces of carefully applied makeup.
That makeup was marred, however, by the symbol that had been carved into her left cheek, three parallel lines scored horizontally by one diagonal slash. The streaks of mascara down the other cheek suggested that she had cried quite a bit before death had claimed her.
Whoever had done this had kept her alive for most of the carving, exactly like the Dallas killer—or killers. We had assumed that the Sanguinary was responsible for the killings, a theory that Cami Davis had put forth and that had seemed to be borne out by the fact that no one had been ritually murdered in Dallas since Davis had helped take the Sanguinary down.
“We have a vic ID yet?” I asked the tech who had waved us over. I knew some agents and detectives who tended to ignore the CSTs on scene, but I knew they paid attention to every detail.
“I heard Rodriguez say they were running down the family now.”
I nodded my thanks and dropped into a crouch to get a closer look at the body. Iverson moved around to the other side and did the same, pulling a silver pen out of his shirt pocket and using it as a pointer. “Shirt’s ripped. Maybe a struggle?”
“Or maybe to get at more skin.” I gestured at what I could see of her abdomen, covered in symbols carved into her, some bloodier than others, perhaps hinting at a timeline. If she had been bleeding out, the later carvings would have bled less.
We’d have to wait for autopsy information for those details, though.
In the meantime, though, I was pretty sure I had seen everything I needed to for now.
“You good?” I asked Iverson.
His mouth twisted wryly. “As good as I can be in this situation, anyway.” He dropped his pen back into his pocket and pushed his hands against his thighs to stand up.
I took a last look around. The brown concrete paving stones were barely bloodied at all. These carvings would have taken quite a bit of time, particularly if she struggled. The front of the aquarium was far too public a venue for this.
I hoped that the killings had both occurred in the same place, rather than in locations determined by some mystical means that we couldn’t replicate. As Iverson spoke briefly to Rodriguez, I sent up a little prayer to whatever deity might be listening that we could catch a break in the case before anyone else died.
I didn’t know if I believed in a God anymore—the advent of vampires in the world had shaken any faith I might have had, and the things I had seen as an FBI agent had wiped out what little belief I might have retained. Yet I still found myself praying at odd momen
ts like this.
It seemed like a good idea to hedge my bets, anyway.
“You ready?” Iverson’s deep voice interrupted my brief reverie.
“Back to the hospital, I think.” I lifted the yellow tape and waved Iverson through. “Maybe I’ll see something when I talk to these kids.”
I wasn’t hopeful, though.
Chapter 5
Lili
This time I was prepared for the stunningly attractive FBI agent.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
I still felt a hot blush roll up my cheeks when I rounded the hallway corner and found him waiting for me, leaning against the wall with his hands tucked into his trouser pockets, suit jacket pushed back. He wore a pair of dark cowboy boots with his suit—not an unusual look in Texas, but somehow I didn’t see the boots being regulation FBI clothing.
Still, all he needs is a pair of sunglasses and he would look like a movie-star version of a federal agent. Someone would call him a “fed,” or maybe “G-man.” And he would chew on a toothpick and speak in monosyllables.
I shook my head a little to try to dispel the thought, but my brain ran on without my consent.
If this were a movie, he would look at the camera and a single bead of sweat would roll down the side of his face. It would definitely be a sweaty movie, probably set in the bayou outside New Orleans.
Or, you know, right here in Houston, some more cynical part of my mind replied.
I snickered aloud a little at that, and Agent Chandler glanced up, clearly startled.
No sweat rolled down his face, of course. Like most of the buildings in the city, Houston General was climate-controlled.
Also, it was December. Even in Houston, that meant the air outside was chilly.
“How can I help you, Agent?” I asked, unable to completely eliminate the smirk from my voice.
“I was wondering if I could talk to the patients.” He gestured toward the scrub-in room. “Iverson—Lieutenant Detective Iverson, that is—went back to see if his family would allow me to interview Felicity. I’m waiting for him to let me know.”
“I’ll talk to the other family, as well, see if I can get you in to see their child.” I paused, wondering how diplomatic I should be.
To hell with diplomacy.
“But I’m a perfectly accomplished investigator for the CDC,” I said. “And my interviews with the patients are in the records I gave you.”
He blinked a couple of times, at a loss to answer the implication that I had taken offense at his request.
Finally, I relented a little. “Still, you might be able to make some connection I didn’t.”
The only sign that he was relieved was a slight loosening of his shoulder muscles. “Yes. Exactly.”
Tormenting a fellow investigator probably shouldn’t be so much fun.
“Come on,” I said over my shoulder. “I’ll take you through to scrub in.”
It would do no good to be attracted to the FBI agent who had come to help work the case with us. Not as bad as being attracted to, say, a patient. But still nothing I would ever be able to act upon.
Even now, as I cast furtive looks in his direction, I had to force myself to remain professional.
Or mostly professional, anyway.
Maybe if I treated him the same way I treated Will, I would be better able to deal with working with someone that beautiful.
That was definitely the way to go. If I could maintain a friendly working relationship with my med-school boyfriend, I could do the same with this guy.
And that meant I needed the answer to one very important question.
“What do you think is the best food for a zombie apocalypse?” I asked the tall FBI agent.
He blinked, startled, but gave the question serious consideration. “Something calorie-dense, I would guess. Easy to transport. Long-lasting, doesn’t take much to prepare—in case it needs to be eaten on the run.”
“Something like oatmeal, maybe?” I wished Will were here so I could flash him a triumphant look.
“That might work.” The agent paused for a moment, his eyebrows drawing down. “You think we have some sort of Patient Zero involved here?”
“No.” I didn’t elaborate as I turned to show him where to scrub in.
# # #
Because we had yet to determine the transmission mode of this disease—or even how virulent it might be, we had moved from the standard paper gown and mask we used for basic contact isolation and into the full-on hazmat-style suits.
Agent Chandler was smart enough to strip off his suit jacket and roll up his sleeves before he donned the protective gear. I’d seen hospital administrators who hadn’t realized that fewer clothes under a hazmat suit made for a more comfortable experience.
“I’ll take that,” I said, opening a locker in the anteroom and holding out for his coat. I tried not to notice the crisp, dark hairs peppering his muscular forearms, but I couldn’t help it. He was an attractive man. I might as well admit it, if only to myself.
“Thanks.” His quick, blinding-white smile moved him from the attractive category straight into devastating.
I murmured something unintelligible that I hoped sounded polite. Otherwise, I suspected I would sound as bowled over as I felt.
Take a deep breath, Lili. You’ve seen beautiful men before.
By the time I turned back around to face him, I had myself under control again.
Until I was halfway into my protective gear and the voices in my head hissed angrily.
No time for humans.
I stumbled, and Agent Chandler steadied me with one hand under my elbow. Without any conscious thought, I pulled away sharply. “I’m fine.” Gathering my composure, I repeated the phrase, this time more politely. “I’m fine, thanks.”
We didn’t speak of it again as I showed him how to look for suit integrity and we checked both our own and each other’s gear.
Then we cycled through to see the patients.
# # #
Agent Chandler was good with Kenny and Felicity. Even in his all-encompassing hazmat suit with its tinny vocalizer microphone, he managed to put them at ease, asking them about their schools, their average schedules, and leading them into the days before they had come to the hospital.
He was a trained investigator, after all.
He would have been a good epidemiologist, as well—at least when it came to researching the social aspects of disease transmission. He hit all the major points: where they had been, what they had eaten, who they had seen.
When the children began resisting his questions, their answers turning monosyllabic and uninformative, he backed off, turning the conversation to subjects of interest, like sports and music. He always brought it back around to the relevant questions, though.
But he didn’t learn anything new.
Chapter 6
Scott
In my hotel room, I sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the information I had gotten from Dr. Banta…Lili…Dr. Banta.
Hell. Lili, at least in the privacy of my own mind. She had invited me to use her first name, after all. It wasn’t like I was here on official business, anyway. I wasn’t acting in any official capacity. Iverson had asked for my investigative help. I was on leave.
With a sigh, I ran a hand across my short-cropped hair and down the back of my neck, and I shook my head.
I usually didn’t worry this much about what to call the people I talked to in an investigation.
I’m not usually this attracted to witnesses.
The admission that I found Lili Banta attractive was harder than it should have been.
Anyway, she wasn’t a witness. She was…more like a colleague.
Colleagues are off-limits, too, I reminded myself.
When did I turn into all-work Scott?
Well, there was no help for it right now. I had to figure out what the hell was going on.
I flipped through the file, blinking at the various medical ter
minology. From what I could decipher, Lili had given a pretty concise report on the medical findings.
There didn’t seem to be any criminal activity.
Or any vampire activity that I could find. That was supposedly my specialty, after all.
But the events culminating in Cami Davis and her vampire contact going missing had thrown everything I’d learned about vamps at Quantico into doubt.
Iverson seemed pretty sure that the bloodsuckers came through some creepy portal. That hadn’t made any sense to me. If they were monsters from some other world, how did they turn humans from this world into vampires? Because I’d seen it happen. Iverson had, too—hell, Iverson said Cami Davis had been changed in the Hotel Adolphus ballroom that night.
I glanced back down at the papers in front of me, determined to have something to give Lili in the morning.
One word jumped out at me: virus.
No. Couldn’t be.
I was certain my Quantico courses had covered all the medical tests that had been done on vampires.
Surely someone had tested for viruses.
There was no way it could be that simple.
To be sure, I ran a Google search.
Yep. Vampirism: definitely not caused by a virus.
These kids weren’t turning into vamps, anyway. Something else was going on with them.
I just couldn’t tell what.
A knock on the hotel door interrupted my concentration. Out of habit, I picked up my 9mm from the dresser and held it in my hands as I looked through the peephole. Overly cautious, maybe. Possibly even a little jumpy—after all, it had only been a few weeks since I had been taken from my own apartment in Dallas and served up for a vampire banquet.
When I saw Iverson standing outside the door, I slipped the gun into its holster and flipped back the safety lock.
“Come on in,” I said as the door swung wide.
“You had dinner yet?” the lieutenant asked.
“What? You couldn’t text to ask that?” I grinned to take the edge off my words as I turned to snag my jacket from the back of the chair where I’d hung it when I’d come in. “Also, no. You want to go grab something?”
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