by Sarra Cannon
Rising from his chair, Talon struggled to keep his composure. It didn’t matter his boss treated him as an equal, mostly, or that he had at least thirty pounds and half a foot on the man. Not even the fact that he could crush that thick skull between his teeth with one shift. No, none of it was relevant. With the exception of his ex-marine father, no one taught Talon more about the importance of following the law, and keeping emotional distance, over all else. Although, he would have liked his father’s particular lesson squashed into dust. Enough crying, boy, his father’s drunken breath on his neck, or I’ll give you a reason to cry. He pushed the nightmare memory inside himself, into that box no one could touch, let alone open.
Setting his shoulders and clearing his throat, Talon kept his face neutral. “So, what is it?”
“The situation in District 13 has become critical,” Bram said with bite. “Your murder victims may now be the first in a serial killer investigation.”
“The Rodriguez case in Phoenix?” Talon’s last inch of composure cracked. “What the hell happened?”
“Twenty-two...dead.” The ever self-assured Bram stumbled on the words, his voice actually shaking.
“No way.” Talon’s knuckles cracked from the strain of gripping the chair’s back.
Bram’s gaze fixed dead ahead and steel coated the brief display of raw emotion. “Agent Rede,” he said in that horribly controlled tone. The one he used only when shit hit the fan. Coupled with Talon’s last name, it spelled deep, deep shit. “We have a code black.”
— —
Two hours later, Talon climbed out of the driver’s side and slammed the Suburban’s door. “Could that have taken any longer?” The PCD jet enabled them to travel from their headquarters in San Antonio to Phoenix in decent time, but the addition of the ride out to the crime scene in the small town of Buckhorn tested his patience. The griping from his team hadn’t helped matters either.
“Don’t try to distract me.” Jame, his second-in-command and royal pain in the ass, climbed from the passenger’s side, clicking her phone off. Her eyes stalked him like a damn mountain tigress. Blond streaks ran through her straight black hair, matching the wildcat’s stripes too well. “I know what you did. Before the code black, you spoke to Agent Vanguard.”
Talon fixed his gaze on her as he came around the front of the SUV. He so did not need this right now. Aren’t serial killers enough to deal with?
Jame’s energy crackled like fireworks. As a full-blood shifter, she radiated the same electrifying buzz as him. On paper, they’d be a great match, both full shifters able to change into any animal, both distinguished agents for the PCD—well, at least until recently, he was. If they didn’t solve something soon... Don’t bitch. Isn’t going to solve anything.
He huffed, blowing the hair out of his eyes, and stared at the curvy agent in a petite package. Hell, even her name—Jame, one syllable, not Jam, not Jay-me and gods help the person who mispronounced it—appealed to him. Yet, she’d never driven him to take it further than friendship. Too wild. Too unpredictable. He needed someone who played by the rules, someone he could remain detached around.
A voice wafted through his memory as soft as feathers, the subtle tones dripping with honey. “Agent Rede, are you going to keep tap dancing or answer my questions?”
It hit him again like a brick, the feisty reporter. It had been barely two seconds into their call when she had caught his full attention. She hit him with questions, hammering her point straight home. He should have been furious. He wasn’t. “No, Ms. Benenati. I never tap dance. I mean what I say when I say it.”
He’d never been that direct with a woman…or so turned on in his life. Christ, just remembering the sound of her voice made his blood sing. They had talked for how long? An hour? Maybe more? It wasn’t nearly enough. He wanted to connect again, to verbally spar with her once more, to meet her in person…to make her his. And he’d never even seen her face! Imagining her in the flesh, wondering about the possibilities drove him half mad. The primal urge clawed at his insides, the mark of a shifter hunting for his mate.
Oh hell no. He checked himself. Can’t go there. The last thing he needed was someone who stirred up trouble for a living. He needed to keep thoughts of the fierce little reporter at bay. He couldn’t risk getting too close to someone. Ever. Not after the disaster with his family. Not after he’d let his mother die.
He shook his head of the memories and concentrated on his partner’s griping.
“Jame, be reasonable, huh? We can talk about this later.”
“No. We’ll talk about it now. You stonewalled me again!” She banged her hands on the hood as the rest of the team filed out of the backseats. “You promised the next time a team leader position opened you’d recommend me for the job.”
“Holy hell,” he growled, squeezing his hands into fists to resist the urge to shift them into claws. “We’ve got more important things to worry about than your ladder climbing.”
“I know how to do my job.” The muscles in her jaw ticked. In a rough whisper, she ground out, “I’m never going to get my shot. I’m never going to get out of here, if you keep holding me back.”
The shifter pulse rolled off her in inky waves. He could practically feel it on his skin. It only made his energy flare up. He pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to settle down. “Take a breath, okay?” He lowered his head to meet her at eye level. “Your career is just getting started. I didn’t land where you are at twenty-two. I was still a punk rookie.”
“Twenty-nine is hardly old.” She huffed. “Though you are immature.”
“Look, you know how things are. I can’t run this district with just us.” He motioned to where the remainder of his team, Slick and Bull, stood in feigned nonchalance toward the back of the SUV. “We need you.” Her narrowed eyes had him hastily adding, “But, you find a replacement, someone to match your skills and talents, then I’ll put the word in for you.”
A light appeared to glow behind her cat-like hazel eyes. “Promise?”
Good luck with that. They couldn’t even find an intern. Their pathetic recruitment list was proof of the problem. Not many wanted to sign up for a job with no down time and a high probability of death as the retirement plan. He bit back that little comment. “As long as it doesn’t get in the way of your work.”
Jame flattened her hands on the hood, murder in her gaze. “When has anything ever gotten in the way of my work?”
He decided not to point out it was interfering with her work at present, nodding instead toward the back of the SUV. The guys took it as their cue to come forward. Thank gods.
Slick snuck up on Jame’s right and slapped a hand on her shoulder. “Entertaining as always.” The shifter-human hybrid possessed golden-green eyes, a tall thin frame, and closely trimmed brown hair, giving him a sharp snakelike look and earning him his nickname. He didn’t take offense and given his ability to get out of most situations—plus his self-proclaimed cleverness—preferred the handle to his birth name. Although, his uncanny talent to press all the right buttons at the exact wrong time probably had more to do with the moniker.
“Stuff it, Slick.” Jame brushed his hand off and started forward. “Well, let’s get this done, huh?”
“That’s it, girlie.” Bull, the last member of their squad, saddled up to her. His cowboy boots left a size 19 footprint in the dirt. The plain black t-shirt he wore stretched across his wide shoulders, making the century old vampire look as menacing as his namesake.
“Alright, you all know why we’re here and what we need to do.” Talon took the lead as they approached the crime scene. “Doubt these Buckhorn boys have ever seen anything like this, so try not to let them mess it up too much.”
They nodded and grunted their affirmatives as a pair of uniformed officers walked toward them.
“We’re from the PCD,” Talon said, flashing a badge. “My boys here will take the homes.” He pointed a thumb at Slick and Bull. “Agent Bradshaw and I will che
ck out the car.”
“Yes, sir. My partner will lead your agents to it, and I’ll show you to the vehicle.” The shorter of the officers waved for Jame and him to follow, while Slick and Bull headed toward the first victims’ house. “As you read in the file, we think the perps started with this Jeep,” he motioned toward the black 4X4 in the center of the road, “Then moved on to the homes along the street.”
“How many houses were hit?” Talon eyed the surroundings. The little neighborhood looked like something out of an Americana picture postcard. The street should be littered with kids playing tag or baseball, not police surrounding crime scenes with yellow tape.
“Twenty-two dead. Four found on the street. Eighteen in their homes. Same cause of death for all of them.” The officer paused. He angled his face away, but not before Talon caught the look of horror in the man’s eyes. “Their blood was drained, skin torn off, muscles ripped to the bone.”
Talon’s mouth went dry. As part of the PCD, he’d seen and heard many things over the years that stuck with him. Things that made him wake up at night in a sweat. Nothing as bad as the one night ages ago. His mother sprawled over the remains of the coffee table. Her head cocked at an awkward angle. Blood. So much blood. The thick reddish brown liquid seeped into the carpet, creating a stain he knew would never disappear. No matter what he’d seen, nothing had come close to that night, but this…this was close.
The officer pointed to the vehicle and said, “Anyway, this is where we think the attack started. Our local team and the Phoenix PD have already been here. Phoenix’s medical examiners have been all through it, so you’re free to do what you need to.”
“Thanks.” Talon nodded as the man left them to it. “Jame, take the interior. I’ll check the perimeter. Be careful. Even if the MEs cleared it, I want fresh samples for us. Bag what you find.”
“Got it.” She donned a pair of latex gloves from her pocket as he did the same, then went around to the driver’s side. “Man, someone did a number on this windshield.”
Eyeing the busted front, he noted the huge dents in the hood and grill. “Looks like it’s been in a wreck. But no other car and no sign of anything to cause the damage. So, what made the impact?” He circled the truck, careful of where he placed his feet. The debris looked normal for a crash. Pieces of metal, glass and some plastic surrounded the area, but the strangest piles caught his attention. “What in the name of—?” He bent down to inspect one. They sat in a neat row all along the front of the Jeep. Using a gloved finger, he sifted the material and held a small sample to his nose. “Ash.”
He pivoted on his heel to find the source. Ash meant fire, but what had burned? The car? Gasoline igniting? No scorch marks on the ground. Crouching, he searched under the car for a leak. Nothing. “Jame, come have a look at this.”
Hopping from the vehicle, she knelt by his side. He held up the sample to her. “What do you smell?”
“Charred scent. Something smoky? Ash.” She confirmed his thoughts. “What’s it from?”
“That’s the million dollar question.” Reaching in his pocket, he extracted a baggie and collected a sample. “We need to get this to the lab.”
“Agents,” the officer from before ran in their direction, waving his arms, “Come quick. The woman’s being moved.”
Jame raised her brows and beat him to the question on both their minds. “What woman?”
“The woman...” The man clasped his knees, gasping for breath. “Transport...St. James...Hospital...Phoenix.”
Talon rose to his feet and grabbed the officer by his collar. “Who are you talking about?”
“The driver...” He coughed and gagged. They all eyed the Jeep at the same time. “Didn’t you see it in the file,” he said finally pulling in enough air to speak. “There were twenty-three victims, but—”
“Only twenty-two dead.” Talon released the officer and swallowed hard. The revelation smacked him in the face. “A survivor. There’s a survivor.”
Chapter 3
ST. JAMES HOSPITAL, PHOENIX, ARIZONA
Sera opened her eyes to fluorescent lights shining down from a 1970s drop ceiling. The long cylindrical bulb flickered twice, in danger of burning out. Its glare caused little red dots to form in front of her eyes. She tried to rub them away, but a plastic tube blocked her attempt.
“What the—” She sat up, ripping the IV cable from the back of her hand. “Ow.”
“That wasn’t such a good idea.” A stranger stood at the foot of her bed. His golden skin and hair rivaled the finest portrayals of classic Greek gods. If she didn’t know better, she’d dub him Apollo incarnate. The fact he glowed from head to toe added to the godly comparison.
“Probably not.” She pulled the medical tape from her hand and massaged the glue away. Scanning him under narrowed eyelids, the strangest feeling gripped her. I know him. A tingling started at her temples. “Who are you?”
“Complicated question. And far too hard to answer given your current condition.” He waved his hand in her direction, sending fragments of light across the bed. They caressed the sheets like falling raindrops. “Let me say simply that we are family. And that genetic tie echoes within you.”
Sera’s brows shot skyward. “Family?” The one word flitted on the end of a breath.
Heavy footsteps echoed from the hallway.
“An interruption. No matter. Now, that you’ve finally begun to embrace who you are, we’ll be able to talk again.” The stranger smiled as a brilliant white light filled the room. It blasted through every crevice, ever corner. Darkness had nowhere to hide. Radiating from the stranger’s torso, it moved outward in circular patterns. As it brightened, the rays broke into small particles. In one quick surge, they burst like a fireworks display leaving nothing of their presence behind.
Her jaw dropped open as the stranger disappeared at the same time the light faded.
“Holy shit.” She gripped her hospital gown with clammy hands. The odd light show might have shocked a human, but it hit all too close to home for her. Through gritted teeth, she said, “Guuuuuy.”
No time for questions now, pet. You’ve got company. Guy’s voice pounded in her brain, a migraine flitting behind her lids.
She lay back down, sinking into the pillows. Her lips tightened into a thin line. Tucking the sheet around her body and stifling her agitation, she tried to look more like a normal patient.
The door swung open. A human—well, she was fairly sure he was human—entered wearing a white hospital coat and blue scrubs. A clipboard tucked under his arm.
“Ms. Benenati. You’re awake.” The man’s voice held a cheerful note that forced a smile to her lips.
“Yes. You’re my doctor?” Her pulse sped up. Who the hell was that stranger? And what happened in Buckhorn? Had the doctor found out about her? He couldn’t have. No one could know. She could lose everything, her life, her career—not that she had much of one, but still. Hell, if the authorities found out she wasn’t psyke, she’d be nothing in the law’s eyes. Worse than invisible. She’d be without rights, without protection. Gods, no. She needed answers. Now.
“I am.” His wide grin sparkled all the way to his brown eyes. “Doctor Cordone. Nice to meet you at last.” He patted her hand over the sheet. His subtle aftershave smelled of musk and peppermint. “You were flown to us from Buckhorn Community after the incident.”
“Incident?” The way he said that word sent a chill straight to her heart.
He paused. “Let’s just have a look at your vitals, shall we?”
Thirty seconds was all the time she gave the doctor to check the monitors, frown at the ripped IV, and listen to her heartbeat before she pressed him for more. “Doc, what happened to me? Where am I?”
Nodding as he checked her pulse, he said, “The authorities ordered me not to say too much. But I believe in doctor-patient privilege. You have a right to know.” He eyed the door, pulling his hand away from her wrist. “You’ve been unconscious for the last eighteen hour
s. Although all of your stats from the time you arrived until now have looked one hundred percent normal.” Sera felt his warm breath on her cheeks as he leaned in closer. “Ms. Benenati, I can’t find anything medically wrong with you. And yet, you were the sole survivor.”
“The authorities?” She coughed. “A survivor? Of what?” The chill in her heart spread to her lungs. She wanted to bolt out of bed, out of this hospital. Screw the answers. This was too much.
Dr. Cordone opened his mouth, but the scraping of the door against the tiled floor silenced him.
A pair of shifters, one male and one female, walked in. The man’s tall solid frame would no doubt make for an impressive animal. But it wasn’t his height that caught Sera’s attention. His olive skin, black shoulder length hair, and full lips did. Whoa. She fidgeted in the itchy hospital gown, a flush warming her cheeks. She forced her gaze to the second shifter. The woman stood a few inches smaller than Sera, on the petite side as shifters went. Dark hair with platinum streaks sat in a high ponytail atop her head. Her body was tense as if ready to spring.
The man came around to the side of the bed next to Dr. Cordone. A masculine scent, like wood burning over a fire, brought a fluttering sensation to her stomach. She struggled not to squirm. His bright blue eyes surveyed the doctor from head to toe. He nodded toward the door. When they rounded on her, she felt them pierce through to her soul.
“Ms. Benenati, these are agents from the PCD.” The good doctor gulped loudly. “They’ve been waiting to speak with you.”
“Thank you, doctor,” the woman said. “We’ll take it from here.” Her smile was friendly, but didn’t quite reach her catlike hazel and gold eyes. She grabbed the doctor by the shoulder and shoved him into the hallway.