by Tami Dane
“Um-hm.”
“Really good.”
He chuckled. Even though he was God-only-knows-how-many miles away, the sound seemed to vibrate through my whole body.
“I think you should probably put it away for now, if you haven’t already.”
I fanned my face. “Are you trying to tell me what to do?” “No, of course not.”
“Darn, I might be in the mood for that right now.”
“What are you in the mood for?”
“You, me, playing a sexy game of Simon Says,” I said in my best sex-kitten voice.
“Then it’s a good thing I’m sitting here, in the airport in Dallas.”
“Good thing for you. Not for me.” I heaved a sigh he could probably hear all the way in Dallas, without the phone.
His chuckle told me he had heard it. “How about dinner tomorrow night? With my mother?”
“Already?” I squeaked. Poof, all those warm tingles were gone. Now I was covered with goose bumps as a cold chill swept up my spine. We were at the dinner-with-parents stage already? Really?
“There’s no need to panic.” He must’ve heard the anxiety in my voice. I did. “My mother may be a queen, but behind closed doors, she’s just a woman. And she has a great sense of humor. I expect the two of you will get along just fine.”
So glad he thought so. Me, I wasn’t sure. I’d met “Mom, the queen” only once, at my parents’ wedding. Because there were so many other royal subjects waiting in line to pay their respects, I didn’t have much of a chance to talk to her. My first impression hadn’t been all that great. She’d acted pretty stiff, like I would expect a queen to act. Reserved.
“Sloan?”
“I’m still here.” My phone clicked. “I think I have another call.”
“I’ll say good night, then.”
“Okay.”
“Sweet dreams. I’ll see you tomorrow, at six.”
“Yes, sweet dreams to you too.” I clicked over to the other line.
The caller said, “I need to talk to you. Now.”
Never underestimate people. They do desire the cut of truth.
—Natalie Goldberg
24
Jia had called me, and she didn’t sound very happy to talk to me. In my slightly (more like, very) intoxicated state, I wasn’t prepared to handle an angry teenager.
“Hello, Jia,” I slurred.
“I need to talk to you,” she repeated.
“So you said.”
“Now.”
I flopped onto my back, resting my head on my free arm. “I’m listening.”
“No, not on the phone.”
“What? You want me to drive over to your house?” I could literally hear her eyes roll. I hadn’t realized that was possible until now.
“Yes, I want you to drive over to my house. My parents will beat my ass if I leave the house this late. And I’m scared to go anywhere after . . . the attack. I watched the weather report. There’s a chance of thunderstorms tonight.”
I shook my head. Whew, the world gets a little tipsy-topsy when I do that. “Sorry, I can’t drive right now.”
“Why not? Are your parents going to beat your ass too? Oh, that’s right, you’re too old to be living at home with your mommy and daddy.”
I glanced around. Yes, it was ironic. “Actually, I’m under the influence of alcohol,” I told her, thinking honesty was the best policy here. “I can’t drive.”
“Well . . . damn it.”
“Can’t you tell me whatever it is you need to say over the phone?”
“No.”
“Then I’m sorry, it’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”
Silence.
“Fine. Bye.”
I stared down at the screen. Wow, that was interesting. If nothing else, she’d sparked my curiosity. “Good talking to you too. Oh, and you’re welcome for saving your life,” I said to the glowing screen. Shoving my not-so-kind thoughts about the testy teen out of my head, I plugged my phone into the charger and went back to bed.
Tomorrow is another day. A better day.
Because I am going to have dinner with my boyfriend’s mother!
That was bound to inspire some scary nightmares tonight. That, and the shocking sight of Elmer and his fiancée making out on my parents’ couch.
I don’t know how Olivia got past the stench of death. It hit me in the back of the throat the instant he came near me.
It must be true love.
She was screaming. Or was it . . . singing?
I blinked open my eyes, and realized nobody was screaming. And, technically, nobody was singing either. Some really awful song was playing on my clock radio. I hit the button, shutting off the alarm and logrolled out of bed. After my shower, I dressed in something adequately FBI-esque and clomped down the steps in search of caffeine. I sniffed. Was that . . . ? Had someone beat me to the coffee?
I rounded the corner, and there was Katie, standing next to the machine, a cup held under the spout, catching those precious first drips.
“You’re up early for a Saturday,” I said to her.
“I never went to sleep.” She blinked in slow motion.
“No offense, but you look like you pulled an all-nighter. Why didn’t you go to bed? Homework?”
“Not exactly. I went to bed, but I didn’t sleep.” Her face turned the shade of a pomegranate as she swapped her full cup for the empty cup I handed her.
“Sergio?” I asked, sipping.
“You know, he’s more than just a pretty face.”
“Of course, he is. But what about Viktor?”
“Screw him. He’s not interested. His loss, Sergio’s gain.”
“But you said it was love at first sight with Viktor.”
“Maybe it was for me, but clearly it wasn’t for him.” Her cup full, she pulled it away, replacing it with the empty carafe. Then the two of us went to the breakfast bar and sat.
“Maybe he’s busy with prince stuff,” I suggested. “Like Damen. He’s been gone too.”
“Really, too busy to call? Sorry, but I’m not buying that.” I wasn’t buying it either. Maybe that was why Damen’s invitation had shocked me. Outside of the gift, he’d pretty much disappeared too. Sipping, Katie hit the remote, powering up the small TV hanging in the kitchen. An image of an already traffic-jammed I-95 displayed, and the traffic reporter jabbered about an accident over the chop-chop-chop of helicopter rotors. “Doesn’t matter. Sergio is a great guy. He’s intelligent. Did you know he has a master’s degree?”
The pool guy? “In what?”
“Er, art.”
“Art?” I echoed. I couldn’t see Katie having anything in common with an artist.
“Actually, it wasn’t exactly art. I can’t remember exactly what he said it was. But you should see his room. It’s full of paintings he did in school, and they are unbelievable. He has real talent.”
Which was why he was working for my parents, answering the phone and skimming the pool, shirtless. “I bet he does.” I was more willing to believe he had real talent in bed, based on the sparkles I saw in my best friend’s eyes. “Real talent.” I gave her a nudge, and that color in her face deepened a few shades. She hopped off her stool. “Bagel?”
“No thanks. I’d better get JT going. There’s an accident on I-95. It’s going to take us forever to get to work. We have to go pick up Mom’s car in Baltimore first.” I took a few more swigs of coffee before transferring what was left into a travel cup. “See you later.”
“M’kay.”
I dashed upstairs, where I discovered JT was already dressed and ready to head out. He made a pit stop in the kitchen for a vitamin water and breakfast to go. Meanwhile, I ran outside, threw my bag and my laptop onto the passenger seat of his car, then strapped myself in. And off we went, facing at least an hour and a half of congested freeway traffic. Almost two hours later, I was carting my laptop and an empty travel mug into the PBAU. JT had dropped me off next to Mom’s parked car, after mak
ing me promise I’d go straight to the unit. I’d done exactly as he’d asked.
Here I was. In our office. The cubicles were all empty. I glanced up at the conference room door. It was open, and light was spilling out into the main open area.
Damn, I’m missing a case meeting!
I dashed into the room, expecting to see the whole gang. But there were only three people sitting around the far end of the long table—the chief, JT, and Fischer.
I jerked back, thinking this was one meeting I might not be expected to attend.
“Skye.” The chief motioned me in. “Have a seat. We were just talking about you.”
“Were you?” I had a feeling I knew what they were saying. They were discussing how to get rid of me. My insides twisted, and I reminded myself that it was for the best, if they did let me go. Granted, my bank account would suffer, which would leave me with two choices—find another job or ask my father for help. Neither made me feel particularly joyful, but at least I wouldn’t have to worry about my mom being stalked by a vampiric predator or my roommate being electrocuted by an overgrown Turdus merula—common blackbird. Mentally bracing myself, I slid into the closest chair.
Chief Peyton waited until I was seated. “Thomas tells me you’d like to resign.”
“I have been thinking about it.”
“I wish you would reconsider.” This surprised me. I would have thought she’d be glad to get rid of me after all the trouble I’d caused her.
“My best friend nearly died—”
“About that,” the chief interrupted. “Sloan, she wasn’t attacked by the unsub. Her hair dryer shorted, and she got a zap.”
I looked at JT. Then at Fischer. They both nodded. “I’ve known since that day,” JT confessed. “I convinced Katie to keep the truth from you, so you would feel compelled to keep working the case.”
“What?”
“It’s true,” the chief said. She looked guilty as hell. But JT looked guiltier.
“Wow. You lied to me. You all lied. Katie too?”
“Hers is more a lie of omission,” JT said. “And the chief didn’t realize what I’d told you.”
“Unbelievable. What about our last case? Was that thing with the aswang and my mother a lie too?” I glared at JT. How could he trick me? I’d worked my ass off these past few weeks, trying to profile these unsubs. And this was the thanks I got? “Are you trying to manipulate me into working here? Now that I think about it, that makes sense. It seems my family and close friends have become targets for our unsubs only since I’ve started working with the unit.”
The chief’s expression soured. “I didn’t know about your mother.” She slid a dark look at JT.
“That was real,” he said. “I swear.”
The chief sighed. “We’re sorry. Considering the circumstances, I can understand why you would want to resign. Someone should have told you the truth immediately, as soon as he realized there’d been a misunderstanding.” She slanted her eyes at JT.
“Agreed.”
I was so mad, I didn’t know what to say. Finally, through gritted teeth, I said, “Will you accept my resignation?”
She shook her head. “No.”
So much for that. “I see.”
“What I will do is promise we will keep you informed at all times. And I will continue to do as I have more recently done, keeping you off the streets, where you’re less likely to draw the attention of the unsubs.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “We’ve discussed this before. I made a mistake by putting you in the field undercover when you are only an intern. I’m regretting that decision, despite the fact that we were able to profile two unsubs and aid in their capture. You’ll be working primarily in the office, but I won’t keep you locked up in here for the rest of the summer. You will be able to accompany me or Agent Thomas on occasion.”
That sounded like so much fun. Not. Especially the part about working with JT. He was at the top of my shit list at the moment.
But then again, it meant I’d get to keep my job and, hopefully, avoid any direct contact with another unsub. “I guess that’ll work.”
“As far as your friend goes, I am sorry she was injured. I hope she’s recovering okay.”
“She seems to be doing better.”
“No long-term injuries?”
“None that I’m aware of. Not even a burn. . . .”
The image of Jia’s chest, and those little red marks, flashed in my head. “I need to make a phone call.”
The chief flicked her eyes to the door. “Carry on, Skye.” I hurried back to my desk and called Katie. She didn’t answer. I left her a message, then powered up my laptop.
Red marks. Those hadn’t looked like bite marks, now that I thought about it. They looked more like burns.
“Skye?” JT strolled up and leaned against my cubby wall. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I said, skimming a Web page on electrocution and lightning strikes.
What the hell were those red marks?
Metal, belts, jewelry, those kinds of things, heated up when someone was struck by lightning. Had Jia been wearing a necklace? If she had, why were there so many marks, scattered all over her chest?
“Do you have a photo of Jia Wu after her attack?” I asked JT. I was proud of myself for not unloading on him, the lying rat. Now was not the time. I’d deal with him later.
“Sure. We should have one in the file. Why?”
“I noticed something odd when we were interviewing her.” I motioned to my chest. “Some marks. Here. I don’t remember seeing anything like that on the other victims.”
“What are you thinking?”
“Nothing yet. I’m just wondering if the marks are significant.”
“Let me grab the file. We can look through all the photos.”
“Great. I’ll be right here.” I scanned the results of a Google search for the terms “electrocution burn marks.”
Seconds later, JT was rolling his chair into my cubby and making himself at home. He smacked the file down on my desktop and flipped it open. “I guess we can start from the beginning and work our way to the most recent victim.” We both scrutinized the photos of Stephanie Barnett. She had some marks. One on her hand, where she had clearly been wearing a ring. And another on her wrist. Nothing on her chest. On her back was a large red mark with bent spokes branching off. The mark looked a lot like the mark outside her window.
“Nothing but the large mark,” I said.
“Okay,” JT replied. “Next up, Emma Walker.”
We both stared at the photos of Emma Walker, noting a burn on her stomach and on her neck, where she must have been wearing a necklace. Like Jia, she did have a mark on her chest. One mark, however, not dozens. “Where’s the picture of Jia?” I asked.
JT flipped through the file and pulled out a photo. He pointed at the small red marks on her chest. “I don’t know how I missed those.”
“They weren’t as red as this. I initially thought she had a rash or acne.” I took a closer look. “Don’t they look like they’re actually sets of two marks, scattered randomly over her chest?”
JT took the picture from me and studied it. His mouth twisted into a snarl. “They do.”
We flipped through the photos of the other victims. None of them had marks like Jia had.
“Those look like burns,” JT said.
“I agree.”
“Maybe she was wearing some kind of jewelry when she was electrocuted and it moved?”
“Why didn’t it happen to the others? Why only her?”
“I don’t know.”
I studied Jia’s picture some more. “No fang marks. And where’s the main point of contact? Where’s the telltale lightning-strike mark? Something about her story isn’t adding up.”
“Do you think she lied?”
“About what? Everything?”
He shrugged.
“Why would she make the whole thing up?”
“Hmm.” JT spread all the photos on the
desk. Jia was in the center. There was no doubt that her picture stood out from the others. “Good question. I think we should have another chat with her. Coming with me?”
I fiddled with my mouse. “I should stay here and—”
“Skye . . . Sloan, come with me.” His head was tipped. His eyes were pleading. “I’m sorry for lying to you. I have no excuse. It was wrong.”
Yes, it was wrong. Very wrong. But my refusing to work the case with him—just because I was angry—wouldn’t change anything. “Okay, fine. I’ll go.”
“I don’t know why you’re making me go through all of this again. I told the police everything.”
JT was standing in the Wu family’s foyer—his little notebook in one hand, a pen in the other. Jia was standing across from him. I was waiting for the right time to ask her why she’d called me.
JT said, “Humor us, please. We’re just doing our job.”
Jia scowled at both of us. Evidently, she didn’t care for our jobs. Or maybe she was still irritated with me for lying about being a student. Now that I’d been the victim of a lie, I could relate, somewhat. Or maybe she was getting scared, realizing we were this close to unraveling her lies.
“Okay. So I had just taken a shower and was getting ready for bed, when this man showed up in my room. Out of nowhere, it seemed. He grabbed my arm with one hand and kissed me. Then he placed his other over my chest, and I felt this horrible sensation, so painful. I couldn’t breathe and I hurt everywhere. One second, I was standing, and the next, I was lying on the floor.”
“Okay, go on.” JT was taking notes. Me, I was watching her every movement: each flick of her eye, each twitch of her fingers. She hadn’t shown any outright signs of deception yet. But I still had the feeling she was hiding something.
What?
“Then he let me go, and all of a sudden, he ran to the window and leapt. I thought I heard someone downstairs, and I tried to call out for help, but I couldn’t talk. I lay there until I could eventually move, crawled to the door, pushed it open, and shouted for help. It wasn’t long after that, when Sloan burst in.”