by P. A. Lupton
“According to the file, that’s how they’ve managed to connect the cases, by cause of death. Is that right?”
“Most serial killers leave a signature with their killings. The method of exsanguinations in each of these cases are unique, and most definitely a signature. It’s rare enough to find a victim with all of their blood drained, but to have absolutely no sign of how it was accomplished... The chances of one murderer capable of accomplishing such a feat is unlikely, but three? It’s statistically impossible,” Agent Morrison explained, visibly searching for any marks or wounds on the victim.
“There are no defensive wounds that I could find. I can’t imagine someone lying still and not struggling while their blood was drained.” I glanced at the spotless floor and unruffled bed. “And how is he doing it without spilling a drop?”
“The FBI hasn’t been able to figure it out. There’s no sign that he’s cleaned the scene, or that the body was moved. And that’s why we’re the lucky ones who’ve been assigned the case. Welcome to VICAP, Agent Reece,” he said sardonically.
VICAP was the FBI’s Violent Criminal Apprehension Program, and they specialized in solving unexplained or unusual violent crimes. It had been a goal of mine the past few years to be transferred into this division, especially in Denver where they seemed to have more unexplained crimes than anywhere in the country. Possessing my abilities made me the perfect person to work in this particular unit. Not only was my mind open to the unusual, but I was also a walking lie detector. I had an excellent track record with interrogation back in Chicago.
Sometimes, I could even channel the last emotions the victim experienced before their death, a useful tool in many cases. If I connected to the murder victim and discovered they felt betrayal, for instance, I knew the killer was probably someone the victim trusted. It helped to narrow the field of suspects. The problem was, I hated tapping into the victim’s emotions and avoided it if possible. In fact, I never walked into a crime scene unguarded. I learned the hard way that crime scenes were overly charged with emotions and I often experienced their physical pain as well. But in cases like this, with no other evidence, what choice did I have?
“I’m going to look around,” Agent Morrison announced before leaving the room.
“All right. I’m going to stay here.” My voice sounded shaky, but he didn’t seem to notice.
Since I probably wouldn’t have had another chance to be alone, I decided to stretch out my senses and see if I could read anything from the victim. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, concentrating on calming my nerves.
I was accustomed to guarding myself from the onslaught of everyday emotions, so I had to go through a mental exercise to remove the psychic shields I’d erected. In my mind’s eye, I slowly began to peel the force field away from my body, and as I pulled it away, I drew it into myself until there was nothing left. Once I removed the last remnant of the shield, I opened my eyes. Suddenly, I crumpled to the floor, gasping for air. It felt as though I’d been knocked over by a tidal wave.
I couldn’t breathe.
Chapter 2
Undiluted panic erupted inside me. My mind frantically fought to understand how I could be perfectly fine one minute, and then struggling to breathe the next. Then a fleeting thought allowed me to gradually calm myself. Did the oxygen suddenly vanish from the room? Logic dictated no. So, why was I all of a sudden gasping for air? Once I started to think rationally, my trepidation ebbed and I realized I actually could breathe. There was air in the room, but there was something else as well.
There are thousands of nerve endings in the human body, and every single one of mine had just sparked to life. Frissons of static skittered across my skin, and an electrical current hung heavy around me, like a thick cloying fog, overwhelming me with its oppressiveness. It was then I realized this was what caused my initial panic, giving me the feeling I couldn’t breathe.
As I regained my equanimity, I berated myself for the moment of weakness.
“You all right in here?” Morrison popped his head into the room.
Still panting heavily, I lied. “I’m fine. Asthma.”
“If you need to leave, I can handle this alone.” Surprisingly, he made the offer with genuine concern.
With my shields down, I could sense Agent Morrison’s emotions with perfect clarity. He was annoyed about having me as a partner—not that I needed psychic abilities to ferret out that little tidbit—but there was more. As he glanced at the body, I was taken aback by his reaction, especially considering his callous comment when he first saw her.
If an emotion was particularly sharp, it emitted an aura. It didn’t happen often, but right then I saw a dark mustard color radiating from Agent Morrison’s heart.
Grief.
Something about this woman brought out a deep seated grief within him. His glib comments and rude behavior was an act, a performance to mask his real emotions.
I suddenly felt less irritated with my new partner. This case affected him too, and if anyone understood the need for defenses in this line of work, it was me.
“You go ahead and finish what you were doing out there,” I said sympathetically, deciding to cut him a bit of slack. Apparently, there was more to Agent Morrison than I’d originally suspected.
He looked at me and cocked his head slightly, confused by the sudden tenderness lacing my tone. Then, as if he knew he’d let his mask slip, I watched with fascination as the colorful aura receded, his defenses slamming back in place.
“Fine. If you think you can avoid a heart attack, I’ll leave you to it,” he said gruffly, leaving me alone again.
Once I ensured my composure was intact, I edged closer to the woman. I knelt down beside the bed and looked into her eerily familiar eyes one more time. I felt vulnerable and exposed, but I reached out to her anyway and allowed the link to her emotions to form.
It’s true what people say about tension—it hangs in the air, leaving such a powerful impression that even someone with no psychic abilities can feel the remnants after an intense argument. At a murder scene, the emotions are even more compelling, and they tend to linger.
I was able to link to her final emotion, and I could sense it with crystal clarity. Unfortunately, the revelation did nothing but confuse me further.
Euphoria.
The last thing she felt was complete and utter peace. How was that possible?
I stood and walked to the doorway. “Agent Morrison!”
“Yeah.” He poked his head around the corner.
“Were any of the other victims drugged?” It was the only conclusion that made sense. It would explain her last emotions, and the lack of defensive wounds.
“No. I wondered the same thing. We couldn’t test their blood since there wasn’t any left, but the coroner took tissue samples. They all came back clean.” He ducked back into the other room.
The lack of progress forced me to attempt something else, something I rarely permitted. But with nothing else to go on, and my growing sense of uncertainty, I thought I’d try to focus on the killer’s emotions instead.
Forming an emotional bond with the killer quite frankly, scared the shit out of me. I’ve always heeded the words of Friedrich Nietzsche, “Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And when you look long into the abyss, the abyss also looks into you.”
Would I become a monster? How many times could I look into the dark abyss of evil before it changed me? But what choice did I have? If I wanted to stop this man, I needed to understand his motives.
I made myself comfortable in the overstuffed chair that sat next to the bed and prepared myself for anything. I severed my link to the victim and opened my mind to the murderer. I knew the moment I was successful. Nausea bubbled up as the evil consumed me. The darkness of this man’s heart was a black hole, capable of devouring anything good, and leaving nothing behind but emptiness.
Often times, murderers were enraged when they killed.
That wasn’t the case here. There was no anger. The victims simply had something he wanted, and he killed to get it. The only thing I sensed was…fulfillment, and an impatient satisfaction, like he’d been waiting a long time to get what he came for.
I immediately shut off my tie to the killer, feeling even more aggravated than when I began. I learned nothing new, at least nothing that would help me to discover his identity. However, I was now certain about two things: He was evil, and he was not going to stop until he had everything he wanted.
“What the hell does he want from these women?” I whispered, letting out an impatient sigh.
“Hey, Reece. I found something,” Agent Morrison called from the living room.
As I joined him, I noticed he was holding something. “What’ve you got?”
“A solid lead.” He handed me a business card.
“Donovan Security? Who are they, and why is this a lead?”
“It’s a security company based in Denver. But more importantly, it’s the first tangible connection between the victims. One of the other vics hired Donovan Security because of a stalker situation. She’d turned to the police, but they couldn’t do anything since there was no proof she was actually being stalked.” He paused. “This can’t be a coincidence.”
“I think we should go talk to Nathan Donovan,” I suggested, reading the name on the card.
“I agree. Let’s go home and get some rest. We’ll stop by Donovan Security first thing in the morning.”
As we were leaving, something caught my attention. “Hmmm, that’s strange,” I muttered.
“What?”
“Nothing, really. It’s just, this place is really clean—like, fanatically clean—but there’s a big pile of dust over there in the corner.” I pointed to the kitchen floor. “I just thought it was weird.”
“Where?” Morrison asked, his interest piqued as he turned. “Oh, my god.”
His response was a little confusing. Granted, it was strange, but I wasn’t sure that a pile of dust merited an ‘Oh, my god’. “What is it?”
“We found the same thing at the Harper crime scene. She was also the vic that hired Donovan Security.” He became animated as he explained. “We had it tested, but it wasn’t dust at all.” His grin was smug.
“Well, there’s no need for a dramatic pause. What was it then?” I motioned for him to continue.
“Human remains,” he said, flipping open his cell. “We’ll have CSU collect it and take a sample to the lab.”
As we left the condo, a feeling of relief overcame me. The further I got from the victim’s apartment, the quicker the electrically-charged air cleared until it was gone altogether.
I looked back at the building before getting into my car. “What the hell was that?”
Chapter 3
Donavan security was located in one of Denver’s first skyscrapers. It was a gorgeous twenty-story building with all of the original 1910 architectural features.
We rode the elevator to the nineteenth floor. The first thing I noticed when we arrived was the breathtaking view of the mountains. Can’t find that in Chicago, I thought appreciatively.
Morrison explained to the young receptionist that we needed to speak with Nathan Donovan. To my consternation, he flirted shamelessly with the gorgeous girl.
“Mr. Donovan will be with you shortly,” she explained, though how he could understand anything beyond her mindless giggling astounded me.
“Do you always behave like that during an investigation?” I snapped quietly, barely able to restrain my exasperation.
“Like what?”
“Are you serious?” I whispered with disgust. “You were blatantly flirting with that girl who, by the way, I doubt is even legal.”
“You thought that was flirting?” His mouth twitched with amusement.
“Oh, please! The way your chest puffed when you told her you were FBI... And when she asked if she could touch your gun…” I snorted and shook my head.
“What?” He blinked, innocently.
“‘I don’t think so. We don’t want it going off prematurely’,” I mocked his cheesy pick-up line. “I’ve never heard anything so tacky before. And she was eating it up. I can’t believe this shit works for you. Although...I bet you could string together the brain cells of every woman you’ve ever dated and still not manage to get an intelligent thought.” Okay, that was a little snide, but probably true.
He laughed a deep throaty chuckle. “It was unintentional, I swear. But it sounds as if you don’t like my flirting. Agent Reece, are you jealous? Would you like me to flirt with you instead?” He waggled his brows.
Now he was just goading me. “Morrison,” —I leaned in closer than was comfortable, staring him straight in his baby blues— “the problem is your big tough FBI routine won’t work with me. Especially since I knocked you on your ass once already.”
That wiped the self-righteous smile off his face. He sat back and scowled.
A few minutes later, a perky little blonde called our names.
“Hello. My name is Stacey, Mr. Donovan’s assistant. He’s waiting in his office.” She gestured for us to follow.
Leading the way into Mr. Donovan’s office, she opened the door and ushered us in.
Before entering, I lowered my emotional barriers. I needed to be receptive to Nathan Donovan in order to ascertain whether he was answering our questions truthfully. Without the protective barrier I constantly kept erected, I felt unnerved and a little exposed. Regardless, it was necessary to sense everything clearly.
Stepping into the office, I was immediately enveloped by a pulsating charge in the air. The phenomenon was comparable to what I felt at the victim’s apartment last night; a crackling in the atmosphere. Unlike last night though, there was no feeling of menace accompanying the sensation. This was pleasantly intimate, almost familiar, as though my entire being recognized it. I suddenly shivered, reveling in the unprecedented reaction. I felt heat building inside me as the potency of the current caressed my body. Instead of panicking and fighting it the way I had last night, I embraced it, allowing the impressions to stroke along my sensitized skin.
Oh, my God. I closed my eyes and almost moaned out loud before I remembered where I was, and why. When I came to my senses, I gathered what little self-control I could muster.
My gaze wandered, taking in my surroundings. The office was luxuriously decorated in rich mahogany woods and elegant leather furniture. A wonderful scent filled the space. Like rich spice, it was clean and masculine. Attempting to ferret out the source, I looked around until I registered the man sitting behind a massive desk.
Nathan Donovan rose to greet us and I noticed three things at once: First, the alluring scent filling the room came from him. Second, he was undeniably the most drop-dead-gorgeous man I had ever laid eyes on. And third, he was the source of the pulsating charge in the room. His aura vibrated like nothing I’d ever seen or felt before, as if lightning was contained in the body of a man.
His movements were purposeful and sinuous, utterly confident—although, not cocky. He was simply a man comfortable in his own skin. He wore black dress slacks and a light blue shirt with a dark silver-blue tie. Despite the business attire, I could see he was muscular and well built. Tall, at least six-foot-two, his shoulders were broad and tapered down to a lean waist. His hair and perfectly shaped eyebrows were deep brunette, almost black, and they contrasted seamlessly with his tone. His skin was luminescent—flawless, completely unlined and free of blemishes.
His hungry gaze drank in my body from head to toe. When he finished his leisurely perusal, he lifted the corner of his full, very kissable lips, into a wicked and dangerous smirk. He turned his attention to my partner and extended his hand, all the while keeping me in his peripheral. “Hello. My name is Nathan Donovan.”
“I’m Special Agent Morrison,”—my partner shook his hand—“and this is Special Agent Reece.”
Nathan Donovan turned the full power of his gaze back t
o me. It was then that I got a good look at the color—deep chocolate brown with tiny, almost imperceptible, hints of golden flecks. High cheekbones and a slightly shadowed square jaw made him look as though his face had been chiseled by the gods themselves.
“Hello, Mr. Donovan,” I stammered while extending my hand.
When our hands connected, it felt as though liquid fire suddenly pumped through my veins. I almost wrenched my hand back in surprise.
There was a gleam in his eyes telling me my reaction hadn’t escaped his notice. His tongue peeked out, tracing the inside of his lower lip. No one had ever stared at me so intently, like he knew I was undressing him with my eyes and he welcomed the fantasy.
A heated blush spread furtively across my face, and I quickly pulled my hand back, averting my gaze. For the first time in my life, I was speechless.
“How can I be of assistance to the FBI?” he asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.
Great, his voice is just as destructive to my libido as his touch. It’s like pure sex!
The sound of it did something wildly erratic to my heart rate. Aside from the formality of his speech, the tone of his voice was sensual, almost melodious. God, the intonation was like foreplay. My stomach felt like a hundred butterflies had taken flight, and my heart was banging against my chest so loud I was sure they could both hear it.
Get a grip, Brianna. Focus. Wait...did he ask me something?
Morrison cleared his throat and glared at me as if I’d lost my mind. “We’re here investigating a homicide. The victim had one of your business cards, and we’re hoping you could explain.”
I was grateful for Morrison’s presence. Otherwise, I may have made a complete ass of myself—as opposed to the half-ass I just made. I tried to keep my thoughts professional and focus on what they were saying.