by C. J. Cross
His words hit home again and just like that, a renewed strength enveloped her. “That’s what I want to do.”
“I can see that.” Jake’s gaze softened. “It’s okay to take your time. You’ll know when you’re ready to go back in.”
She nodded. “I’m ready now.”
Back in the hotel room, Dana took in the scene with a new determination. She’d removed her emotions, compartmentalizing the painful memories of her parents and even the unknown victims. She was here to do what she did best, research and analyze.
“Two of the points aren’t filled in.”
Agent Shepard scratched his head. “What?”
“The pentagram. Only three of the five points are filled in.”
“Okay . . .” Shepard drawled.
“It means the unsub’s not done.”
“Excuse me?”
“The pentagram is drawn in blood, correct?”
Jake nodded. “Yes, but we’re not sure whose blood. Forensics confirmed it’s not the victims’ and they haven’t gotten any hits in the system.”
“It could be the killer’s blood.”
“And why do you say that?”
“This scene is reminiscent of sacrificial rituals for passage to the afterlife. In these types of sacrifices, the individual conducting it offers their own blood in order to gain the power granted by sacrifice. Each time a sacrifice is made, a point of the star is filled in until all five have been completed symbolizing the price has been paid in full.”
“The price?”
“For passage into the afterlife.”
“So, this unsub is killing innocent people to get to some imaginary afterlife?”
“There’s no proof afterlife is imaginary, Agent Shepard.”
He huffed his disagreement. “I’m not here to debate heaven and hell with you, Doc. But there’s a flaw in your theory.”
“What’s that?”
“We have six victims. That negates your little satanic scheme.”
“It’s not a scheme. Human sacrifice has been practiced for centuries. Some cultures held tournaments, the winners earning the right to be sacrificed to the gods. The Inca sacrificed children, pampering and fattening them for years to appease their gods with their offering. And in the city of Ur, human sacrifice was an event celebrated annually, most often sacrificing pairs, lovers or mates to be exact.”
The creases on either side of Agent Shepard’s frown deepened. “Do I even want to know?”
“The relevance of pairs predates biblical times. Think of the Ark. ‘Two by two they have come in unto Noah, unto the ark, a male and a female, as God hath commanded Noah’.”
Shepard balked at the bible verse. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Are you saying our killer is some kind of religious nut?”
“Not at all. By my estimates, we’re dealing with an educated extremist with basic knowledge of law enforcement.”
“That narrows it down,” Agent Shepard muttered.
“It does if we can identify the drug.”
“I thought you already did that?”
“Oh, I’m certain it’s nightshade, but I’d still like to see a copy of the toxicology report.”
“So would I, because if you’re right, we’re racing against the clock before this guy strikes again.”
9
Although she had stumbled at the crime scene initially, Dana was proud of herself for pushing past her comfort zone. She’d been able to shed new light on the case and saw now why Agent Shepard and the FBI had turned to her for answers.
If they only knew the half of it, she thought as she used her keycard to access the staff elevator. Shepard followed her silently into the cold metal box, standing as still as a statue as they moved slowly to sub-level three. Dana used the few moments the quiet voyage allowed to separate the scene she’d witnessed today from the one she knew by heart. She’d need to compartmentalize them in her mind if she was going to be at her best.
Trying to solve the mysterious deaths of her parents led Dana to carve a career out of occult studies. It seemed it was finally paying off. The similarities she’d just examined at the crime scene today were so eerily akin to her parents’ that she’d ruled out any chance of coincidence. Besides, there were no coincidences in science.
Many colleagues Dana had worked with argued that occult studies weren’t a science. And from Shepard’s sarcasm, it was obvious that he held little stock in its value. But Dana disagreed, and she wasn’t going to stop until she proved them wrong and solved this case. And maybe her parents’ too.
“One step at a time,” she whispered to herself.
“What was that?” Shepard asked, his voice startling her.
He’d been so still she’d momentarily forgotten he was there. “It’s nothing. Just a mantra I sometimes use.”
Agent Shepard’s keen blue eyes studied her. She felt herself warm under his scrutiny, grateful when the elevator doors slid open. She rushed out, his footsteps following behind her.
The cool atmosphere and scent of aged papyrus instantly put her at ease. Back in her element once again, Dana’s mind began to clear, allowing her to process her thoughts. She bypassed her office and went straight to the stacks.
She liked to sort out problems in her head, letting them filter and rearrange until they fit together like perfectly arranged Tetris pieces. This was a learning technique she’d developed as a child, and it required utter silence—something that caused social isolation and led to ridicule by her classmates.
She remembered that time in her life—when she’d thought things like popularity were important. Losing her parents at such a young age had changed Dana’s priorities. She saw the world through a clearer lens now, and she was grateful for it. Other people’s opinions of her didn’t matter. Only the truth did.
10
“So what are we doing here?” Jake asked as he followed Dr. Gray past the dimly lit rows of tables into an even darker row of towering bookshelves.
“Give me a moment, I need silence while I think.”
He huffed a laugh. “We’re certainly in the right place.”
The stillness of the stacks gave him the creeps. It seemed like a crypt where books went to rot. And considering the titles that stared back at him, he wasn’t that far off. The Book of Thoth. The Mystical Qabalah. The Dark Lord. The Philosophy of Natural Magic. The Voodoo Doll Spellbook.
Damn. He’d always heard the pen was mightier than the sword. Whoever wrote these books was determined to prove it in a sinister way.
Forcing himself to take deep breaths, Jake pushed away the pressing fact that he was deep underground. He’d always feared confined spaces. Even though this floor of the library was massive with over thirty-foot ceilings, knowing he was on a level buried underground still made the walls feel like they were closing in on him.
Popping another piece of gum into his mouth, Jake focused on keeping his mind busy. Studying Dr. Gray while she worked proved the perfect distraction from his claustrophobia.
She looked more relaxed than she’d been all day as she walked down row after row of the looming stacks, her fingers absently reaching out to stroke a spine here and there as if acknowledging an old friend. Again, Jake found himself admiring her features.
Dana Gray had a subtle kind of beauty, not bothering to accentuate it with makeup or flashy clothes, which made her even more attractive to him. Jake had never liked the Capital Hill Honeys that his brothers at the Bureau went for. He attracted plenty himself, but he knew better.
In his experience, women who laid it all out there for the taking were usually more trouble than they were worth. Besides, his days of playing rescuer to damsels in distress were behind him. Now the only rescuing he did was for his victims, giving their families the closure they needed.
Jake fought the quirk of his lips as he briefly let his mind wander inappropriately about the good doctor. He wondered if any man had ever attempted to crack her rigid exterior. Even if he still was that guy who liked to
play hero, he had a feeling she wouldn’t be into it. Despite what happened at the crime scene today, everything about Dr. Dana Gray screamed she could take care of herself.
She was the complete opposite of any woman Jake had ever been with. Opinionated, uptight, untrusting. He held in a snort when he realized he was describing himself. He wasn’t a narcissist but still, there was something about her that drew him in. He’d always had a secret thing for glasses, but he had a feeling it was the eyes behind them that made it hard for him to look away. Jake had only ever seen that same forlorn look in one other place—his own reflection.
“Here,” Dr. Gray said, turning to place a giant dusty book in his hands.
“What’s this for?”
Her slender brows furrowed. “I thought you were interested in the poison used to kill the victims.”
“You don’t just have the answers up here?” he teased, tapping his temple.
“Of course I do. But I assumed you wanted proof.”
Jake couldn’t hide his grin. “That was a joke, Doc. I’m with the FBI. Proof is kind of our thing.”
“Right,” she noted, before giving him a disapproving look. “That book is priceless. Use both hands.”
“Yes ma’am.”
Dana ignored his salute and solemnly returned to business.
Jake sighed, wondering how he was supposed to forge a connection with this woman. If he had it his way, he’d be working this case solo, but if he was going to be saddled with a partner, it was important they build some kind of rapport. And that meant he needed to find something beyond his obvious attraction to her.
So far, even his sense of humor wasn’t working.
Dr. Gray seemed like the type who didn’t even appreciate humor, which Jake found sad. Sometimes, being able to lighten the mood was the only thing that saved him from the darkness of this job. It was a difficult thing to be surrounded by on a daily basis. If she was going to survive this investigation, she’d need something bright to hold on to.
Jake’s arms were full when he followed Dr. Gray back to an empty row of tables. She flicked on a light and sat down, depositing her armful of books on the table much more delicately than Jake had.
“Careful,” she warned, her voice a low library whisper.
“We’re the only people in here, right?”
“My assistant is here somewhere.”
“Okay ...”
“Why do you ask?”
“Just wondering why you’re whispering. Afraid you’re gonna wake the dead?”
Again, she ignored his humor and rolled up her sleeves. She donned a pair of white gloves and handed Jake a pair, too. “Put these on so the oils in your skin don’t damage the books.”
Then she dove into her research, propping open books to pages she seemed to know by heart while she babbled on about the origins of witchcraft and human sacrifice. It was obvious she was in her element here, and Jake couldn’t help but admire it. There was just something sexy as hell about a confident woman.
Dr. Gray’s conviction grew as she discussed the strange world of the occult as naturally as if she were reciting what she had for dinner. Jake didn’t believe in such things and hearing words like black magic, pentagrams and devil worship thrown around like they were anything more than folktales was hard to swallow. But he did his best to keep an open mind even though he was almost certain this was a waste of time.
In his opinion, the likelihood that this unsub was some sort of occult fanatic was a reach. It was more probable they were dealing with a twisted individual who watched one too many horror movies.
“This is how we find him,” Gray said, pointing to a disturbing illustration of a horned beast kneeling over a mutilated body.
“Well, why didn’t you say we were looking for a guy with horns? I’ll put out an APB right now.”
Dr. Gray glanced up at him and her brown eyes narrowed. “That was a joke, right?”
Jake nodded, earning himself his first grin from the doctor. He gave her one back, unable to resist the way she came alive in the library. It was perhaps the sexiest thing about her. He quickly reminded himself he wasn’t supposed to find her sexy, and occupied his mind by trying to make sense of the witchy history lesson she was babbling on about. As attractive as she was, he wasn’t buying what she was selling. “I don’t see how some sketchy illustration about an old witchy cult proves anything about the poison used.”
“That’s because you’re not looking at it all together. Here … and here …” She pointed to the horrific drawings in the books crowding the work surface. “What do you notice in all of these illustrations?”
“That there are some fucked up people in the world, but I didn’t need some decrepit old books to tell me that.”
Dr. Gray shook her head and started carefully moving the books around, layering the relevant pages next to each other. “These books span centuries and cultures. They’re written in different languages, but all of them are saying the same thing.”
“That evil walks among us?”
Dr. Gray’s solemn gaze met his and for a moment her pain reached out and touched his. “That’s something we can agree on.”
He nodded, struck by the fact that maybe they weren’t as different as he’d first thought. But he was here for answers about a case, and he needed something factual to go on. “Listen Doc, I understand this wacky world of witchcraft is important to you, but I don’t need a history lesson. I need answers that apply to the real world.”
“This library is my world. It’s real to me. You asked for my expertise, and this is it. I’ve dedicated my life to understanding these rituals. Research in this field may not appear scientific at first, but if you peel back the layers, things begin to align and can be applied to the modern world.”
Looking closer, he followed her fingertip as she guided him from one morose drawing to the next, pointing out the connecting thread that was initially hidden behind the hideous celebrations of death.
Jake blinked in disbelief as he recognized the same star-shaped plant in each one. Nightshade. “Well I’ll be damned. You’re like the Neo of this place, aren’t you?”
Dr. Gray’s dark eyes lit with surprise. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Jake stifled a shocked laugh. “You’ve seen The Matrix?”
“I study the dead, Agent Shepard. That doesn’t mean I am dead.”
“Did you just make a joke?” he teased. When she shrugged, Jake grinned. “There might be hope for us yet.”
“Because I like cult classic films?”
“Because you just proved there’s an interesting human buried beneath all of your witch doctor babble.” She rolled her eyes, but he pressed for more, not wanting to lose the ground he’d just gained. “What other movies do you like?”
“Ghostbusters is my favorite.”
“Get out! Me too.” Ghostbusters wasn’t really his favorite. He was secretly an X-Men fan. He loved anything in the Marvel universe, mostly because he could always relate to their antiheroes. But that wasn’t important. His goal was to break down Dr. Gray’s walls, since she was going to be his partner for the foreseeable future. “You know, you can tell a lot about a person by the movies they like.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. There’s a psychological link between our personalities and the movies that appeal to us. FBI profilers rely heavily on those kinds of connections.”
Dr. Gray tilted her head, curious. “So you’re going to profile me based on my movie preferences?”
“I’m not a profiler.”
“Then why’d you bring it up?”
“Because it would be fun to have something in common. You have heard of fun, right?”
“You want to have fun?” Her tone was offended. “We’re supposed to be solving a murder.”
“I know that, but we’re not going to get anywhere until we learn to work together, which is easier if we can find some common ground and start building trust.”
Dr. Gray mulled the idea over for a moment. “I can do that.”
“Look at that! Progress.”
She frowned, and Jake worried his sarcasm was eating up the ground he’d gained when Dr. Gray spoke again. “I’m sorry I’ve been difficult. This case … it’s opened up old wounds.”
“What do you mean?”
She shook her head, the vulnerability in her voice vanishing. “Nothing. I think being at the scene just rattled me more than I expected.”
“If you weren’t rattled, I’d be concerned.”
She offered him a tight smile. “I’m going to do everything I can to help you solve this case.”
“Glad to hear it.” Jake returned her smile, and for the first time he felt like he might have actually found solid ground with the incredibly gifted doctor. “I’ll make you a deal. Solve this case and we’ll have a Ghostbusters movie marathon.”
Grinning, she pointed back to the drawing in the book closest to her. “Then we’d better prove that nightshade is what killed the victims.”
11
“Alkaloid toxins are derived from atropa belladonna, also known as nightshade. The plant was prevalent on multiple continents dating back to the fourth century BC. Wealthy families in Europe kept it along with other medicinal plants in what they called poison gardens.”
Agent Shepard frowned. “So they were like the original meth heads?”
Dana understood the reference, but the prestigious position of tending a royal poison garden was nothing like cooking meth. She decided not to burst his bubble. She could tell the surly FBI agent was doing his best to find solid footing in her “wacky world of witchcraft,” as he’d called it.
To his credit, he was at least pretending to take her seriously, scribbling furiously in his notebook. They’d been at it for hours. Whether he believed in the rituals she dedicated her life to studying was irrelevant. All that mattered to her was that she was making progress on the investigation.