The Medusa Files, Case 1: Written in Stone

by C. I. Black

Tires squealed and a silver truck tore toward them, a machine gun pointed out the passenger window.

  The man holding the weapon morphed between human and cat-monster. Black fur slid over his face then receded back to human. Slitted pupils glared at her.

  “Morgan!”

  The gun. It was pointed right at her.

  Shit.

  CHAPTER 7

  Gunfire exploded around Morgan. She dove over the Mustang’s hood, crashing to the sidewalk. Adrenaline pounded through her. Her thigh stung, and her sore ribs ached.

  Gage fired back. Two quick shots. More machine-gun fire pounded into the car, rattling Morgan’s teeth. She glanced over the hood at the cat-man in the truck, who gave off another burst of gunfire aimed at her.

  She jerked back under cover and Gage fired again. Glass shattered, tires squealed, and the silver truck roared away.

  Gage sprang to his feet, his gun aimed at the retreating vehicle. It fishtailed around a corner and disappeared. With a growl, he punched the ruined hood of his car. “That’s it. You’re staying in the house.”

  “The hell I am.” She wanted to catch whoever was responsible even more now. “I’m not some wilting flower who curls into a ball at the first sign of trouble.”

  “That wasn’t trouble, that was a MAC-10.”

  “Yes, it was.” Heat rippled over her eyes and she didn’t care. Bring it on. She was tired of hiding and being scared of herself.

  “Pull yourself together.”

  He knew. Somehow he could tell her eyes burned and that she didn’t care. “Stop telling me what I can or can’t do.”

  “Then start listening to reason.” He straightened and the air around him crackled. Energy snapped across her skin. Darkness. Power. His eyes captured hers, pulling her into an abyss.

  The heat in her eyes flared. She wouldn’t be scared into obedience. A small part of her quivered at the thought. She should be terrified of what she saw in Gage, but the Medusa’s fury was stronger than fear. No one told her what to do and no one got in her way when a friend was in danger.

  But Gage was so powerful.

  And so the hell was she.

  More energy snapped around her. More heat flooded her face.

  Something chirped.

  The heat faltered and Gage’s power wavered.

  The chirp came again. With a growl, Gage pulled his phone out of his back pocket. “What?”

  Morgan tried to blink back the fire. As much as she wanted to just let go and rage, it wasn’t going to help anything.

  “Thank God you’re alive,” Rika said. “9-1-1 calls reported a drive-by at the Whale and Ale and mentioned two people being shot at with a description of your car.”

  “We’re fine,” he growled.

  “Whoa, Mr. Growly. Pull it back. Don’t want to give Morgan the wrong impression,” Rika said.

  The hint of energy crackling around him vanished so fast it took Morgan’s breath with it.

  “The police are on the way. I’ve informed Detective Wright it’s part of a case and you’ll send him the paperwork later.”

  “Thank you,” Gage said, his voice still dark. “We’re coming in. Get Lachlin to pick us up since I’m sure the crime scene unit will want my car for a while.”

  “As you wish.” The line went dead.

  The muscle in his jaw twitched and he pocketed the phone. “You don’t know anything about what you’re dealing with.”

  “I know my friend is in trouble and someone’s trying to kill me. I know I have the training to deal with that.” She blinked back the rest of the heat in her eyes. “Let’s agree the situation is dangerous and that I’m not going to let you bench me.”

  “I could lock you up.”

  “You could. But I think you’d rather have me on your side than against it.” It was a risk to draw the line so clearly like that. She still didn’t know half of what was going on, but if she’d overheard that first conversation with Lachlin right, back at the house, Gage wanted her on his team; locking her up wouldn’t accomplish that.

  “Fine. Let’s get back to the house and figure out what we’ve got.”

  “Good. And what we’ve got is the truck’s license plate.” She grabbed her gun from the glovebox.

  Gage barked a quick laugh. It wrapped around her senses like his scent did. “Silly me for doubting you.”

  “I’m sure you won’t make that mistake again.”

  His smile turned sly. “No, I won’t.”

  * * *

  Lachlin picked them up, saving them from Wright’s less than congenial mood, and they returned to the house, heading straight to the situation room. The computer was still working on cleaning the background on the photo and Rika was on a different side of the computer table, her fingers flying across a touch-sensitive keyboard on the screen.

  “I ran the plates on the silver truck, but it was reported stolen earlier this morning. Any luck with Rentz?” she asked.

  Gage leaned against the table, arms crossed, his gaze locked on the now-blurry photo on the big screen. “Nothing. He says he didn’t sell Morgan’s identity and got quite angry when I mentioned something had already happened.”

  “Which means he was sitting on the information, waiting for the most opportune time to sell,” Morgan said. At least some things didn’t change between the Kin and humans, but Morgan didn’t know if that was better or worse. It said she was important and she didn’t have a clue as to what or how or why… or the answer to any other question she could come up with.

  “Typical.” Lachlin dropped into a chair beside Rika, making the action look smooth and sensual.

  Clayton took the chair beside him and stared again at the photo.

  “So did Todd Redding try to double-sell the information? Did Rentz lie about sitting on it? Or has someone in Rentz’s house betrayed him?” Rika asked.

  Morgan bit back a growl and plopped into the chair opposite Lachlin. “And that still doesn’t help us find Kate.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Clayton said.

  “Neither does this.” Rika swiped phone records onto the big screen. “There’s nothing unusual with either Todd Redding’s or Daryl Matas’s phone records.”

  “Any of the numbers the same?” Lachlin asked.

  Rika tapped the table, but nothing changed. “No.”

  “Maybe try doing a search on the numbers for the last couple of months with any of Rentz’s known associates.” Morgan bit back a sigh. It was a long shot, since they didn’t even know if Rentz was involved, but it was something to try.

  “As well as our Kin profiles of known felons,” Gage said.

  “Which leaves us with what?” Lachlin asked.

  Morgan shoved out of her chair. “A whole lot of nothing.” She couldn’t just sit there. She had to do something.

  “Gage and Lachlin will figure this out,” Clayton said. “They always do.”

  She paced to the door at the back. Beyond lay the hall leading to the rec room where she’d first met everyone. And beyond that, the bedroom where she’d woken this morning. How could her life have been turned upside down so fast?

  Except it hadn’t been fast at all. It had started four months ago when she’d turned her attacker to stone. The image of his cheek cracking and breaking free flashed across her mind’s eye. Why couldn’t she just get the damned image from her mind. Even her scar ached now.

  She drew in a ragged breath. Kate needed her. Now was not the time to lose it.

  One of the phones in her pocket vibrated. It had to be the kidnapper’s, since she hadn’t turned the ringer on her phone off. She pulled it out and turned to Gage.

  “Track it,” he said.

  This was it.

  Rika typed into the computer. “Keep them talking.”

  The phone vibrated again and she hit the call button. “Jacobs.”

  “Bring the contents of evidence box 19780324-2 to the corner of 5th and Lexington in one hour,” a tinny computerized voice said.

  “A
n evidence box? I don’t have access to that.” What did they want with an evidence box?

  “You’re a U.S. Marshal. I’m sure you’ll figure something out. Box 19780324-2. 5th and Lexington. One hour. Come alone. Do I need to tell you what will happen to your friend if you’re not there.”

  “Let me talk to Kate.”

  “Bring the box.”

  Rika motioned to keep going. She needed more time.

  “I want to talk to Kate.”

  “The box.” The line went dead.

  “Not enough time,” Rika said. “They were somewhere downtown in a ten-block radius.”

  “Too many people to check,” Clayton said.

  Morgan shoved the phone back in her pocket. “What do they want with an evidence box? And one from 1978?”

  Gage glanced at Lachlin, his expression dark, but Morgan couldn’t figure out if it was at the situation or something else.

  “It’s just a ploy to make us think they’re not after Jacobs. They couldn’t very well demand she exchange herself for a human.” Lachlin hooked a now shoulder-length lock of hair behind a normal human ear.

  She really wasn’t going to get used to seeing people two different ways at any given time.

  “I agree. But we need to play along until we get Morgan’s friend to safety,” Gage said.

  “And maybe they picked this case number for a reason.” Morgan paced back to the table. She could feel the fire in her eyes, but it was just a flicker, a pinpoint, waiting for her to call on it. “With any luck, it’ll give us a clue as to who’s behind this.”

  “They could have picked any old number,” Lachlin said.

  “They could have.” Gage adjusted his sidearm in his shoulder holster. “Regardless, we need that box. Looks like I’ve got a call to make.”

  Lachlin sat forward. “The chief of police is going to love you. How many times have you called in the last couple of months throwing your FBI weight around?”

  “No more than necessary.”

  “One of these days, he’s going to put his foot down and refuse you,” Lachlin said.

  “He hasn’t yet.” Gage pulled his phone from his back pocket. “And really, if he refuses, I’ll get to put you to work to use your charm on him.”

  Lachlin rolled his eyes. “That’ll be the day.”

  Gage flashed his cocky grin. “Let’s see if today’s that day.”

  CHAPTER 8

  The property office storing police evidence was in a warehouse attached to the back of the new police services main office on the east side of town. The four-story building had been constructed about six years ago as a part of the city’s revitalization plans—when the block the previous station had been on had been purchased by a developer for a new condominium complex and shopping center.

  Gage parked his replacement car—a navy midsized sedan—in visitor parking near the property office’s public entrance, cut the engine, and turned to her. “I feel compelled to remind you to let me take the lead on this.”

  “You think I won’t behave?” She didn’t know if she should be insulted or flattered at the comment.

  “Obedience is not in your genetic makeup. At least, not on your mother’s side.” He reached for the door handle.

  “About that.”

  He gripped the handle but didn’t open the door. “When this is cleared up, we’ll talk.”

  “Did you know her?” She’d never really wondered about her biological parents before. Her adoptive parents hadn’t hidden that fact from her and she had a great relationship with them… or at least she had before she’d locked herself in her apartment for four months.

  And now she’d just learned she had the equivalent of a terrible genetic disorder, for a lack of any better way to put it. Whether she wanted to or not, she needed to know everything she could about her birth parents, particularly the part of her that could kill someone.

  “She was a member of our team, but I’m not sure I really knew her.” The muscle in his jaw flexed and he opened the door. “Now’s not the time to talk about this.”

  “No, it isn’t.” But very soon, once Kate was safe, it would be.

  She got out of the car and walked with Gage to the front door. He opened it for her and she entered a small glass and chrome lobby. Before them sat a black and chrome reception counter, guarding the thick security door leading to the property room, and beside them, in front of the large front window, sat a stainless steel bench inset with blue fabric cushions—that didn’t look thick enough to cushion anything.

  A Santa Claus look-a-like, in a police officer’s uniform, shifted on his stool behind the reception desk and smiled at them. “What can I do for you?”

  Gage showed his identification. “Special Agent Gage and Deputy United States Marshal Jacobs. The chief of police said we were coming.”

  Santa’s smile faded and he ran a hand over his neatly trimmed beard. “Yes. You need to check out an evidence box from 1978?”

  “A case we’re working on might have ties to it.” Gage leaned against the counter.

  “From 1978. That’s a long time ago,” Santa said.

  “Yes, it is, and this is time sensitive.”

  There were those words again.

  Gage tapped the counter’s shiny surface. “The chain of custody form, if you please?”

  “Yes, of course.” Santa pulled a file folder from the wire rack beside him. It looked like the chief of police had indeed called ahead, although Morgan had no idea what Gage had told him to get such a fast response.

  Gage filled out the form and Santa pulled up the box’s details on his computer.

  “The box is in row 12.” Santa hit the button under the desk, unlocking the security door, and Gage opened it. Beyond was a ten-by-ten holding area and a metal gate, halfway open, with Detective Wright on the other side.

  Wright’s eyes narrowed. “Special Agent Gage.”

  Gage stepped into the area between the doors. “Detective.”

  “What brings you to the property office?” Wright asked.

  “Checking out a box from ’78,” Santa said through the window beside them.

  “Really. 1978? Any chance this has something to do with the drive-by shooting?”

  “Yes to ’78,” Gage said. “No to the shooting.”

  “Well, aren’t you Mr. Popular, then.” Wright glanced at Morgan. “Still interviewing for that job, Marshal?” he asked, his tone clear he didn’t believe anything that had been said so far.

  “Any luck on the perps who trashed my apartment?”

  “Prints can take a while,” Wright said.

  “Yes, they can.” Sometimes too long, at least in the case of fugitive apprehension. “I’m sure you’re doing everything you can.” Maybe if she played nice, he’d leave.

  His eyes narrowed even more. Guess what she said could have also been taken as an insult.

  “And all of us should get back to work.” Gage shifted so Wright could pass.

  “Special Agent. Deputy Marshal,” Wright said, the words sounding like insults. He shoved past them and stormed out of the warehouse.

  Santa looked confused, but Gage rushed Morgan inside and out of sight before he could ask questions.

  At row 5, out of earshot from Santa, Morgan glanced at Gage. “So you and Wright have history?”

  “You could say that.”

  “You know, it usually helps to make friends with the police.” She turned down row 12.

  Gage followed. “Making enemies was never my intention. Sometimes my job requires me to take situations out of people’s hands. The detective Wright replaced knew that. Wright is new to his position and just hasn’t accepted that yet.” Gage stepped closer to the shelf. “This is 1978. October.”

  “We’re looking for March.”

  Morgan scanned the shelf sections. September… August… There, at the bottom. “Found it.” She slid it out, reaching to open the lid to see what was inside.

  Gage pushed her hand away and took
the box. “Great. Now let’s get it out of here.”

  “Aren’t you curious about what’s inside?”

  “We likely won’t have time to recreate what’s in the box and we can’t risk the kidnappers already knowing what the box should contain, so we can’t give them a fake box.”

  “But knowing what they’re after might help us identify them.”

  He hesitated for a split second then set the box on the floor and opened it. “You’re right. But just enough to give Rika something to work with. We don’t have a lot of time.” He must really want to get Kate to safety. Although Kate really wasn’t his goal. It was Morgan and getting her on his side. He’d been clear about that from the beginning, so if Kate was her concern, Morgan supposed it became his by default.

  Inside the box was a case file, a bloody dress shirt and pair of pants, one shell casing, and a jar of grey sand; all properly bagged and labeled.

  Morgan picked up the jar. The label read ‘granite dust’. She couldn’t imagine why the kidnappers might have picked this case.

  Gage pulled out his phone, took pictures of a few pages of the file and the contents of the box, then dialed. “Lachlin. I’ve sent you some photos of the contents of the evidence box. Get Rika to run them and see if we come up with anything.”

  Lachlin said something, but Morgan couldn’t make out his words and she put the jar back in the box. Maybe Lachlin was right and the box had been picked at random.

  “All right. We’ll meet you in that alley on 4th in ten minutes.” Gage ended the call, put the lid back on the box, and tucked it under his arm. “Now come on. Let’s get your friend back.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Gage pulled into an alley off 4th street, stopped beside Lachlin’s SUV, and got out. Morgan followed. The rain had started in full, pouring a cold heavy shower on them, but the narrow alley sheltered them from the worst of it.

  Lachlin eased from the vehicle, all grace and danger. Morgan caught a glimpse of Rika in the front passenger seat working on a computer tablet before the door closed.