Blood Will Tell

by Christine Pope

  “Well, maybe I would, too,” Jerem retorted, “if you guys actually gave me something to do in here. This place is boring.”

  “Oh, excuse me,” the man scoffed. “Sorry if we’re not set up for a full-service baby-sitting business.”

  Jerem wanted to snap, I am not a baby! but thought better of it. Arguing with adults was pointless, anyway. Even if you were right they always came up with something to prove how wrong you were. “So since you won’t even give me a console or anything, I’m walking on my hands.”

  The man looked nonplussed, as if he wasn’t quite sure what leap of logic Jerem had taken to go from playing electronic games to walking on his hands. But since he was an adult, and therefore obviously felt he had to issue some kind of order, he said, “Well, don’t break anything.”

  “What’s there to break?” Jerem asked. “One of those chairs? The bed?” Actually, he might be able to break the bed, if he jumped on it hard enough. Then again, if he broke the bed he wouldn’t have anyplace to sleep. Not that the floor would be much of a downgrade.

  “Listen, kid,” the man said. His tone had turned sneering, as if he’d watched too many vids in which a criminal had to deal with a bratty kid and was taking his cue from them. “You sit in here, you stay quiet, you don’t get in trouble. Otherwise, we’re going to give you back to your mama in a box.” And with that pronouncement he turned and left, giving Jerem another tantalizing glimpse of the world outside before the door slid shut once again.

  Orange and blue, Jerem thought. Orange and blue. To be honest, it was an ugly color combination. You’d think its outstanding hideosity would have jogged his memory, but nothing. Well, either it would come to him, or it wouldn’t. You couldn’t force these sorts of things—you had to just let them come to you in a drift of inspiration. Sometimes he’d bounce awake right in the middle of a dream and would write it down so he wouldn’t forget. His mother always kept a tablet by the side of her bed, too, in case she woke up in the night and had an idea that she wanted to jot down. Jerem thought that was a pretty good idea and had started doing the same thing himself. The only problem was that he didn’t have his tablet here, so even if he did have a stroke of inspiration at some point, he didn’t have any way to save it. Oh, well. If he did think of something, probably it would be important enough that he wouldn’t forget it, anyway.

  Jerem sighed and looked at the closed door, wondering what lay beyond it. Then he stuck his tongue out at one of the watching cameras, pushed himself back up on his hands, and resumed his practice. What else was there to do, anyway?

  Rafe Creel of RilSec Internal Investigations stood in the smoking rubble of what had once been Mia Felaris’ home, a frown creasing his forehead. The airvan carrying the bodies of Officers Korr and Rhyse had just driven away, but he remained on-site, secure behind the glowing green barrier that blocked the crime scene from any curious onlookers. There had been a sizable crowd earlier, but finally they’d drifted off. Probably the sight of him standing there making notations on a tablet wasn’t quite enough to hold their interest. Anyway, it was moving on to the middle hours of the morning, and most of them no doubt had to be off to work or school.

  Normally, Internal Investigations wouldn’t have anything to do with a simple house fire, but the discovery of the two officers’ bodies had put an entirely different slant on things. Creel had had his eye on those two for some time now; he didn’t have any concrete evidence yet, but he was fairly certain they were on the take from someone. Who, he didn’t know, but the fact that they had both just turned up dead couldn’t be a coincidence. But why here?

  There hadn’t been a whole lot left of them, but what little physical evidence remained seemed to indicate they had both been in uniform when they arrived at the Felaris residence. Odd, since the roster had them going off-duty at 18:00, hours earlier than the time of the fire. RilSec had strict rules about off-duty officers going around in uniform. Ignoring the regs just once was enough to get you written up, and repeated offenses would result in expulsion from the force. So whatever they had been doing, obviously it was worth the risk to them to be wandering around Rilsport in uniform while off-duty.

  He squinted into the bright morning sunlight, surveying the ruin of what had once been a well-appointed, extremely expensive home. This neighborhood was the best in town; RilSec didn’t usually make too many calls out here, since the people who owned these homes could afford security systems that put whatever protection the police might offer them to shame.

  In fact, security was Mia Felaris’ business. The information on her he’d downloaded to his tablet showed that she had a highly successful security firm in downtown Rilsport, and he didn’t doubt that her home had been a high-tech fortress. But obviously the uniforms Rhyse and Korr had worn allowed them entry past whatever safeguards she might have had in place.

  Interestingly, there was no trace of Ms. Felaris in the home, nor of her young son. It seemed fairly obvious that they had escaped the fire somehow, but if they had survived, why was there no further sign of either one of them? One would think that she’d have made contact with the authorities at some point. But she hadn’t—and she hadn’t been in touch with Risa Terrano, her assistant, either. That young woman had apparently called the police as soon as she had gotten word of the fire, but she had no idea where Mia Felaris or her son Jerem had gone. The Fire Control investigators who had already come and left had informed him that the fire, though fierce, certainly hadn’t been hot enough to consume human remains that completely.

  Creel stared at a charred metal picture frame and chewed his caffeinated gum thoughtfully. Nasty habit, but coffee had started to get to his stomach, and he just couldn’t function without caffeine.

  None of this was adding up. If one followed the assumption that Korr and Rhyse were dirty, then it was likely they had been here to put pressure on Ms. Felaris for some reason. Korr had been more circumspect, but it was Rhyse’s sudden acquisition of a Zephyr 3000 aircar—a car way out of Rhyse’s pay grade—and a few other anomalies that had raised Creel’s suspicions in the first place. Careful digging revealed a plump new bank account on New Chicago and a hefty order placed at Rilsport’s top electronics supplier for a variety of expensive consumer goods. Maybe he’d inherited a chunk of change or just got lucky playing the commodities market, but Creel didn’t think so, since further investigation hadn’t uncovered any recently dead relatives or payouts from a brokerage firm. Korr’s sudden influx of new wealth had been more difficult to trace, but eventually Creel uncovered a bank account back on Gaia’s moon, an account with a much higher balance than anyone with Korr’s income would have been able to save in fifty standard years, let alone the fifteen-plus Korr had spent with RilSec. And it wasn’t as if he had a rich wife, either…the man had never married. No steady girlfriends, either, which wasn’t atypical for a career cop.

  But there hadn’t been any concrete evidence, so Creel had continued with his digging. Luckily his track record at Internal Investigations was good enough that his superiors usually allowed him to follow his instincts and go about his activities in his own way. He’d been certain at some point Korr and Rhyse would make the mistake that would finally allow him to bring them down. He just hadn’t thought that it would be such a fatal error.

  Why Mia Felaris, though? Her own record was clean as an operating room, as far as he could tell. She’d emigrated to Nova Angeles approximately eight standard years ago and hadn’t made a spot of trouble the entire time she’d been here. In fact, she was just the sort of high-class immigrant the planet wanted.

  Maybe Rhyse and Korr had put pressure on her to do security work for whatever criminal was paying them, and she’d refused. Even if that were the case, it didn’t explain who had gotten the drop on the two officers. The Fire Control investigators had informed him that it looked as if the fire had started on the ground floor, possibly in the draperies in one of the rooms there. But so far they hadn’t been able to determine why the curtains would
have caught fire in the first place.

  Creel had the feeling he was missing an important piece of the puzzle. Mia Felaris seemed about the last person who would be able to take out two highly trained officers, but as he well knew, appearances could be deceiving. Records indicated that she had never owned a gun, but again, that didn’t mean much. Even on a civilized world such as Nova Angeles there was a thriving black market for unregistered weapons.

  Technically, his investigation was almost over. Once the officers under suspicion were dead, there wasn’t much point in Internal Investigations continuing its inquiry, although Creel figured he could argue for a few more days with this one. Now it would be Homicide’s turn to try to figure out who had killed Rhyse and Korr—and why.

  Creel didn’t like it. Something else was going on here, and he didn’t much relish the idea of turning the investigation over to someone in Homicide. But maybe he could get work it so Jessa Kodd would be assigned this case. She’d been helpful in assisting him with the Thaxton investigation, so maybe she wouldn’t mind him riding along on this one, so to speak.

  With that thought to cheer him, he pocketed his tablet and strolled away from the crime scene, deactivating the barrier tape momentarily with the remote device all RilSec officers carried with them. Whatever else might be uncovered here, it would be the work of the evidence mechs who even now were crawling over the still smoking remains of Mia Felaris’ home. They’d catalogue everything down to a square centimeter of rubble and pass their findings along to the officer in charge. If anything turned up, he’d hear about it. He could only hope that whatever might have happened to Mia Felaris and her son, she had a good reason for maintaining her silence...and that her silence wouldn’t prove deadly.

  XXIII

  They took a standard shuttle to New Chicago—just two ordinary travelers in the nondescript street clothes Thorn had recommended Miala purchase. He sat next to her now, dark face impassive as he regarded the working-day crush around them. Certainly none of the other passengers on the shuttle could have had any idea how dangerous the dark-haired man of no particular height actually was. Somehow Thorn had the gift of blending in when he wasn’t wearing the wrappings that hid his face from everyone around him. Perhaps he had allowed that swath of dark fabric to take on all the mystique of being Eryk Thorn, thus giving him the ability to become completely anonymous when out of it.

  For herself, Miala wasn’t sure what the other passengers might see. She’d made sure that her own suit was a bland shade of brown, a color that didn’t do much for her copper-colored hair or fair skin but one which would certainly help her blend with the crowd. Every personal item she’d owned had been destroyed in the fire, and Thorn hadn’t seemed too thrilled with her notion of trying to replace some of her more important cosmetics, so she’d had to content herself with buying a tube of tinted lip balm at the kiosk down in the hotel lobby before they caught a taxi to the spaceport. At the kiosk she’d also bought a pair of photo-reactive eyewear.

  At least the glasses will hide the shadows under my eyes, she thought ruefully. I never realized how much I relied on all that stuff until I didn’t have it anymore.

  But, her appearance aside, she felt some measure of relief as the shuttle lifted off from Nova Angeles. No one seemed to have noted their departure from the hotel, and Miala had been able to purchase their fare to New Chicago without incident. She’d been starting at shadows, certain that either RilSec officers or agents of whoever had hired the kidnappers were going to swarm around her and Thorn at any second. No doubt the mercenary could have handled the situation with ease, but the whole point was not to attract attention, after all. He had a small holdout gun tucked into the inside pocket of his own suit jacket. One of these days she was going to have to ask him precisely what he had done to gimmick it so it would pass spaceport security.

  Technically speaking, Miala could have withdrawn the money from the New Chicago accounts here on Nova Angeles. But if she had done that, it would have sat in escrow for seventy-five standard hours until the funds cleared. Ridiculous, of course, but that was bureaucracy for you. And those were seventy-five hours Jerem didn’t have. This way, she could take out the funds directly with no waiting period. She and Thorn would be back in Rilsport by sunset.

  Taking a breath, she leaned her head back against the padded rest and tried to calm herself as best she could. Just thinking about Jerem in the hands of kidnappers was enough to send her heart pounding and the adrenaline racing along her veins. But continually worrying over the situation wouldn’t change it. She was doing everything she could—and so was Eryk Thorn.

  As if his name in her thoughts were some sort of signal, he casually reached across the armrest and took her hand in his. His own fingers were callused and very strong, and she found their touch to be intensely comforting. Miala let her fingers entwine with his and shut her eyes, allowing herself to take this small space of time to shore up her strength. And although she didn’t know whether she would ever admit it to Thorn, their lovemaking of the night before had done much to restore her equilibrium.

  Good thing, too, considering that Miala’s first task of the morning had been to call Risa and let her know that she and Jerem had survived the fire.

  “But where are you?” Risa had demanded. “All hell is breaking loose around here—I’ve been dodging insurance agents all morning—RilSec was here asking questions—”

  “I’d better not say right now,” Miala had hedged. “I know it’s really awkward, but just stonewall them the best you can. You really don’t know anything, so they can’t say you’re hiding something.”

  Risa had raised an eyebrow at that. “Sounds like circular logic to me. How am I supposed to be your assistant if you won’t let me assist you, for God’s sake?”

  “You are helping, Risa,” Miala said. “You’re my first line of defense. But I really can’t tell you where I am. Just know that I’m safe.”

  Her assistant frowned. “Are you in some kind of trouble, Miala? Quin Lassiter said something about some strange man being at your house—”

  Miala had to stifle a groan. And here she had thought Quin could be trusted to keep his mouth shut— “What did Quin say, Risa?” she asked, in tones that didn’t bode well for the good doctor if she happened to see him any time soon.

  “I’m the only person he said anything to,” Risa said quickly. “He knew you had had him over in confidence, but he figured it would be safe enough if he told me. Come on, Mia—your house burned down!”

  “I’m aware of that,” Miala snapped. “And this person Quin mentioned had nothing to do with it.” Well, mostly, she thought. After all, she wasn’t completely certain whose pulse bolt had caught the curtains on fire in the first place.

  “If you say so,” Risa replied, but her dubious tone indicated that she didn’t believe a word Miala was saying.

  Which was fine, as long as Risa continued to play human shield and kept the bureaucrats and police away from Miala long enough for her to recover Jerem. After that, she would try to deal with all the inevitable legal messes that the destruction of her house had initiated.

  “Look, I know this must be awful for you,” Miala said. “And I’ll try to get in to handle it as soon as I can. But until then, I’m going to have to stay out of contact. Just do the best you can, and I’ll come into the office whenever it’s feasible.”

  Risa remained silent for the space of a few seconds, watching Miala out of narrowed blue eyes. Her pretty face was uncharacteristically grim. Then she sighed and said, “I’ll do what I can, Mia. But I have a feeling this is going to get ugly.”

  Oh, it’s gone well past ugly, Miala thought. But unfortunately there’s not much I can do about it right now. All she said, however, was, “Dodge as much as you can, and if it gets too bad, call Lenner.” Jakim Lenner was Miala’s personal attorney, and as far as she could tell, he ate insurance representatives and RilSec personnel for breakfast.

  Her assistant had brightened a bit a
t that suggestion. “Of course. Thanks, Mia—and take care.”

  Miala made a noncommittal sound and switched off the comm. Not much had been resolved, but at least she had given Risa the one vital piece of information she needed—that Miala and Jerem were alive.

  For now, she thought, and tightened her fingers around the mercenary’s for a second.

  He gave her a quick sideways glance, although his expression never changed. But in response she’d felt the pressure of his hand on hers increase ever so slightly. And that was enough.

  Whatever happened next, at least she’d go through it with Eryk Thorn at her side.

  Most of the male personnel in RilSec would admit, if pressed, that sometimes it was damn hard to concentrate on a case when Jessa Kodd was assigned to it. Tall, blonde, and icily beautiful, she was the type of woman who immediately called attention to herself just by her mere presence. She was also, in Rafe Creel’s estimation, the best detective Homicide possessed.

  She sat at her battered charcoal-colored steel desk and leaned forward now, elbows resting on a thick pile of pale blue paper. Despite the fact that all their files and records were stored in electronic format, somehow most of RilSec’s officers seemed to take an obscure pleasure in printing out those files and keeping them in random stacks of blue flimsies. Maybe they thought a desk that was clean of all paperwork gave the appearance of a desk of someone who wasn’t working very hard. Whatever the reason, Jessa Kodd’s workspace didn’t look much different from that of any of the other Homicide officers, even if the person occupying the battered synth-hide chair behind it sure did.

  A frown creasing her elegant brows, she gave Creel a dubious look. “This is a little irregular—” she began.

  That was the understatement of the millennium. “I know,” he said. “But the deaths of Rhyse and Korr did start out in my jurisdiction. I’d just like to be able to follow this through to the end.”