Blood of Eden

by Tami Dane

  I blinked, almost certain I was going to cry. It was the exhaustion. The stress. I could normally handle pressure. In fact, I excelled under it. But this was a different kind of stress. It wasn’t about test scores or competition. It was about life and death.

  I crossed my arms and chewed my lip. “When I applied for this job, I thought it was going to be so different.”

  “Yeah, you’d be filing, pouring coffee.” JT winked.

  “No, I thought the clues would be easier to identify, and the cases easier to solve. I feel so stupid, having assumed it would be anything like books, television, or movies. How ridiculous.”

  “We all think that way in the beginning. I came into the FBI believing I would be the guy who would crack open every case that landed on my desk. So did Fischer. And Peyton.”

  “Maybe.” I glanced around. Everyone was busy, collecting evidence, analyzing it. Except for me. I was staring at a dead woman, feeling helpless, and useless. “I’d better get going, find out what Chief Peyton wants me to do next.”

  JT set a hand on my arm. “Don’t let it get to you, Skye.”

  “I won’t.” I hurried to Chief Peyton. The lead detective on the case was just leaving her as I stepped within listening distance. “Chief, it looks like everything here’s wrapped up. What would you like me to do next?”

  “I’d like you to go home, get a shower, and get some sleep,” she said as she motioned toward Fischer.

  That wasn’t what I’d been expecting. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re exhausted.”

  “Sure, okay. Maybe I’m a little tired, but I can still work. I want to work.”

  Peyton shook her head and looked me straight in the eye. “Skye, you need to learn to pace yourself. If you don’t, this job is going to take everything from you. Your friends. Your family. Your life.”

  “But there isn’t much time—”

  “That’s for me to worry about. Not you. Got it?”

  Reluctantly, I acquiesced with a nod.

  “Be back at”—Peyton checked her watch—“three o’clock.”

  “Okay.”

  “And take Wagner with you.”

  “Will do.”

  Feeling a little like a scolded kid, I went in search of Gabe. I found him inside the salon, talking to the receptionist. The moment he saw me, his expression darkened. I gave him a little wave, and he excused himself.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “We’re being sent to our rooms, so to speak.”

  “What for?”

  “For our own good, it seems.”

  “Bullshit.” Gabe clenched his jaw so tightly, his lips turned white.

  “I’m not happy about it either, but I’m not going to argue with the chief.”

  “If you won’t, I will.” Gabe strode off, looking like a man who was ready to tell his boss what he thought. He returned less than five minutes later, looking like a very different man. He grumbled something I couldn’t understand and motioned for me to follow. “I’m parked this way.”

  He didn’t say two words as he drove back to the FBI Academy. He pulled his car up behind mine, parked in the lot, and rammed the gearshift into park.

  “See you later.” I gave him a weak smile, scooped up my laptop case, and dragged my exhausted body out of the vehicle. His wheels skidded a little on the pavement as he pulled away.

  I returned home to a quiet apartment. A quiet apartment that reeked of chemicals. Thanks to Katie’s latest experiments, the smell of burned this and distilled that generally didn’t bother me. But this stench did.

  And so did the bazillion dead bugs littering every horizontal surface in the place. Floors, tabletops, kitchen counter, shelves ... my bed.

  Urgh.

  So much for crashing for a couple of hours before taking a shower and heading back to work. There was no way I was going to sleep in a bed full of dead insects. Blech.

  Surely, Katie hadn’t slept here last night. Probably taken this ... infestation ... as an excuse to spend the night with her boyfriend. I checked her room. I was wrong.

  Awakened by the sound of her bedroom door opening, Katie lifted her head and blinked at me. “Sloan?”

  “What happened here?”

  “Fireflies.”

  “Fireflies?” I echoed. I’d never heard of a firefly infestation.

  “Yeah. I went out for a while yesterday, and when I came home, just after lunchtime, there were hundreds of them in here.” Katie sat up. Her hair looked like she’d combed it with a cake beater. “So I set off some bug bombs.”

  I looked down at the carpet. “Looks like they did the job.” “Yeah, they did. I wanted to make sure I got them all, so I bought some extras.” Katie stretched, yawned, and slowly crawled out of bed. She winced as she stood, then rubbed her temples. “Damn it, I have another migraine. I hate PMS.” Katie got a two-day migraine every single month, like clockwork. Every month, she suffered. And every month, I suggested she go see a doctor to get something for the pain. The over-the-counter stuff didn’t touch it.

  “That time already?” I asked.

  Katie heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Yes.” She padded barefoot toward me. “Gotta pee, then eat, so I can take something for this fricking headache.”

  “I think I’ll start by stripping my bed ... after I consume a gallon of coffee.”

  At the bathroom door, Katie paused. “Did you stay up all night?”

  “Yeah. This case is pissing me off.”

  “Sorry, hon.” Katie gave me a sympathetic smile, then shut herself in the bathroom to take care of business.

  I headed to the kitchen, realized everything—even the sink—was covered with deceased Photinus pyralis. I decided a coffee run was much needed and headed out. I returned from Einstein Bros. to find my mother standing in the middle of my living room, her mouth gaping, and Katie frantically vacuuming the couch so Mom could sit before she fainted.

  I shuffled in circles for a moment, looking for a clean, flat surface upon which to set the coffee and bag of bagels before using my elbow to rub a clean spot on the sofa table. As soon as I had my hands free, I went to my mother and supported her as she tiptoed across the floor to the now bug-free zone.

  “What in heaven’s name?” Mom asked when she was safe on the couch.

  “We had a little infestation.” I handed her a coffee.

  “Are they ... roaches?”

  “No, fireflies.” While Katie helped herself to a bagel, I went to the kitchen for a paper plate and knife. Thankfully, there weren’t any dead insects inside the cupboards, and Katie had taped plastic bags across the front, to protect our dishes and food. I put the bagel I’d intended for myself on the plate and handed it to my mother, along with a package of cream cheese. “Here you go.”

  “Thank you.” Mom pushed the paper cup of coffee away. “That coffee’s terrible. Much too sweet. I’ve told you that before. Why you keep buying it, I’ll never know.”

  I smiled and took a sip. In my book it was perfect, as usual. “Can I get you something else?”

  “No, no. That’s okay. I didn’t come here for breakfast.”

  “Okay. I’m just going to get started. We have a lot of cleaning to do, and I need to get back to work in a few hours.” I took a few healthy swigs of coffee, then went in search of some cleaning gear. “Was there some reason for your visit today, Mom?”

  “No, not really. I just hadn’t talked to you in a couple of days, and you know how worried I get when you don’t call.”

  Using a dry washcloth, I cleared the bookshelf under the window of all the dead critters. “Sorry about that. I’ve been a little busy.”

  “How’s the job going?”

  “Okay.”

  “That’s it? ‘Okay’?”

  “I can’t say much more. I will say this.” I dunked a second washrag in a bucket of Murphy Oil Soap and wrung it out. “The job is a lot harder than I expected.”

  “Hmm.” My mother munched on the bagel. “I th
ink that’s a very good thing. You’re being challenged.” She glopped some more cream cheese on the top of the bagel before taking another bite. “I’ve been thinking about getting a job myself.”

  “Really?” My mother hadn’t worked in decades. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d held down a job. So to say this was a surprise was a bit of an understatement.

  “Yes, really. My mind needs stimulation. I need a challenge. Something to make me think.” She stuffed the last bit of bagel into her mouth and nodded. “Yes, make me think. That’s exactly what I need.”

  Having finished with the bookshelf, I moved on to the sofa table, using the dry rag to dust the insects into a small trash can before wiping it down with the wet one. “What kind of job would you like to find?” I asked, deciding there was no harm in encouraging her.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I could check with a few of the local community colleges—see if they’re hiring for the fall semester.”

  “You mean, you want to teach?”

  “Sure, why not? I am qualified.”

  That she was. But she’d always said she would never teach at a college, not even if her life depended upon it. Her reasons had never been clear to me, but it didn’t matter much, anyway. Her medical condition had kept her out of the workforce, collecting SSI, since I was a kid.

  “Then again,” she said, wiping her hands on the paper napkin, “I could put in an application with the FBI.”

  I was almost 100 percent sure the FBI could not hire someone with a documented case of schizophrenia. But I highly doubted my mother was serious about applying. She couldn’t know about the rigorous physical-fitness tests a new FBI applicant needed to pass before being accepted into the academy. The mile-and-a-half run alone would convince her it was a bad idea.

  “The FBI, huh?” Finishing up the sofa table, I moved on. “Any other ideas?”

  “Yes, I’ve been watching that show recently, the one about that bounty hunter, Dog. Such a strange name for a man. Anyway, I was thinking his job looks very exciting.”

  “A bounty hunter? Mom, are you serious?”

  “Sure. Why not? You see, he’s scary-looking—so, of course, the fugitives run from him. But I’m not scary-looking at all, so they wouldn’t suspect I’m a bounty hunter.”

  “That much is true. But you do realize those people are criminals—”

  “Alleged criminals,” Mom corrected. “They haven’t gone to court yet.”

  “Alleged criminals who are trying to skip out on bail. I imagine they’re not the friendliest bunch.” At the side table now, I dusted some dead insects off the lamp. “Mom, you’ve always been antiviolence. Antigun. I can’t imagine it being safe chasing fugitives without a gun.”

  “Hmm. Yes, I’d have a problem with the gun.”

  “You know, FBI agents have to shoot guns too.”

  “Do they?” Mom grimaced. “I guess that’s out too.” She heaved a loud sigh. “All the fun jobs require guns.”

  “Not all, Mom. I’m sure you’ll think of something.” I gave her a little pat on the shoulder with my elbow and pointed toward the kitchen. “I need to get the kitchen cleaned next.”

  “That’s okay.” Mom gingerly rose to her feet, scowling at the carpet, which was still covered with bugs. “I think I’ll go home and do some more research.”

  “Sounds good. Good luck!” On tiptoes, I followed my mother to the door. Before she left, I gave her a quick hug, being careful not to touch her with my icky hands.

  “Bye, Sloan.” She patted my cheek. “I worry about you. Don’t take any dangerous risks.”

  “I’m just an intern, Mom. I don’t take risks.”

  “Everyone takes risks.” She gave my cheek one final pat. “And make sure every single one of those creatures is dead. You wouldn’t want a live firefly in your house.”

  “Sure, Mom,” I said. Mom had a longtime aversion to fireflies. I’d never understood why. They didn’t carry diseases, like mosquitoes or cockroaches. What harm could a little firefly do? “I don’t think it’s possible any of them are alive.”

  “Good-bye, Katie!” Mom yelled.

  “Bye, Mrs. Skye!” Katie responded from the back of the apartment.

  I went back to work, cleaning the kitchen. Katie came in just as I was finishing up the stove and dug in the cabinet, grumbling about her headache. I felt for her.

  “Just shoot me now and put me out of my misery,” she said as she pried the top off an aspirin bottle.

  “Sorry, I won’t be your Dr. Kevorkian.”

  “Bitch.” She stuck her tongue out, like a bratty kid, dumped a couple of aspirin tablets in her mouth, and filled a glass with tap water.

  “I can’t believe you just called me that.” I feigned a mortal wound and clutched my chest. I wasn’t, in fact, wounded at all. Not physically or mentally. I knew Katie didn’t mean it. But I was a little surprised. Katie had been raised in a very strict household, and although she’d strayed from her conservative Christian roots when she’d first read Darwin’s On the Origin of Species, she rarely used curse words. Not even when beakers exploded in her face. The worst I’ve ever heard from her was “freaking.”

  Katie shrugged and headed back to her room. I switched on the radio and danced around like a dork as I finished cleaning the kitchen. When I went to claim the vacuum cleaner from Katie’s room, I found her lying in bed with a blanket thrown over her head. Assuming her headache was the cause of her strange behavior, I closed the door, to help cut down on the noise. I then proceeded to vacuum every inch of the kitchen, living room, and my bedroom. I finished cleaning my room early enough to catch an hour nap before getting ready for work.

  I woke up, feeling slightly refreshed. I could have used another hour or two of sleep; but out there, somewhere, was another woman with a time bomb ticking in her body. I wasn’t going to let a little thing like lack of sleep stop me from doing whatever I could to help her. I would simply have to consume some extra sugar and caffeine. It just so happened, I liked stuff with sugar and caffeine, anyway.

  This afternoon, I was smart. I donned some comfortable pants and a knit top. And I tossed those awful pumps in the trash and slipped my feet into the most comfy flats I owned. When I hurried into the PBAU, I found the place as lively as a mausoleum. I plopped into my chair, powered up the Netbook, and checked my e-mail, hoping Chief Peyton had sent me a message. Nada. I checked my phone messages next. Nothing. And there were no notes on my desk either. Not from the chief, JT, or Gabe. There wasn’t even a new batch of notes from Fischer to peruse.

  Feeling very lonely, I wandered over to Brittany’s office. Her door was closed. I knocked. No answer.

  This sucked. I was going to have to find a way to be useful on my own.

  I headed back to my computer and started Googling everything and anything I could think of that might be related to our case. Malaria, dengue fever, suspicious puncture wounds, bite marks. While I was reading a Wikipedia article about typhoid, Gabe came strolling in, looking rested and cheery. He gave me an up-and-down look as he passed my cubicle, on the way to his.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “Nothing. Nothing’s up at all. They’re all gone, even the computer girl. And I’m sitting here with nothing to do but stare at the walls. Ever since you joined the team, I’ve been treated like a leper. I don’t get it.”

  “Don’t take it personally.” He slugged my arm, then pulled a chair up and sprawled into it. His eyes narrowed. “You look like shit.”

  “Gee, thanks. That’s the way to make me feel better.”

  “Didn’t you get some sleep when you went home?”

  “No, there was a little ... situation ... I had to handle.”

  “Your mother again?” he asked.

  “No. We had a minor insect infestation. Fireflies. Not anything icky. Katie bombed the place last night, but that left a big mess for me to clean up this morning.”

  His brows pinched together. “Who ever heard of a firefly infesta
tion?”

  “I know. But that’s what they were. No doubt about it.” I pointed at my computer. “Anyway, I’ve been sitting here, trying to make myself useful, reading up on anything that has to do with our case.”

  “Find anything interesting?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Then let’s get out of here,” he said.

  I was all for that, but only if we would be productive. The stakes were too high to be cruising around just for kicks. “Probably we should call the chief and ask her what she wants us to do.”

  “Probably.” He took out his cell phone and dialed.

  I eavesdropped on his end of the conversation while I skimmed Google search results.

  “She wants us to stay here and wait for the rest of the team. They’re on their way back.”

  Damn. “Okay.” I sounded as thrilled as I felt.

  He leaned over my shoulder; for a brief moment, I wondered what the hell he was up to. He whispered, “While we’re waiting, I have something for you. Meet me outside, at my car.”

  “Okayyyy.” I was 90 percent sure this was a bad idea.

  “Don’t go out right after me. Wait a few.”

  Now I was 99 percent sure. “All right.”

  This was either going to be interesting or dangerous.

  I went back to surfing the Net. He headed out to his car. I checked the clock on my computer every minute or so, until it had finally counted off eight minutes. Then I headed out to the parking lot and slid into the passenger seat of his Jag.

  He handed me an envelope. “Do you know anyone who can analyze this?”

  “What is it?”

  “Remember, I told you about the DNA analysis?”

  “Yeah?” I opened the envelope and peered in. I found some sheets of paper and a small insulated package. Inside the package was a test tube containing a frozen sample. I knew for a fact this was serious. Serious enough to get both Gabe and me fired. But I was curious to see what the problem was with the testing.

  “I have a sample, and the results. So, do you know anyone who has access to a lab?”

  “I don’t know. Katie’s a chemistry major. She doesn’t run DNA analyses, but she might know a way to get this sample tested at school.” I folded the envelope, taking care not to break the test tube. “What about your friend?”