Blood of Eden

by Tami Dane

  “O-okay.” I grabbed my T-shirt, stuffed my head through the neck hole, and poked my arms through the sleeves. By the time I’d smoothed the shirt over the wires and transmitter, his face wasn’t a deep scarlet anymore. His neck and ears, however, hadn’t returned yet to their normal shade. I resisted the urge to check the other part of his anatomy that had reacted.

  “Turn around,” he said.

  I stood and did a slow one-eighty. He stopped me when my back was facing him. “I need to switch on the transmitter. I ... didn’t do that yet because ... well ...”

  Was he afraid one of us would say something he didn’t want the crew outside to hear? Maybe. “Okay.” The back of my shirt slid up, halting just above the little box strapped to my lower back.

  “Done. Go ahead, say something.” He switched on his radio, speaking into the little microphone attached to his shirt collar. “Ready to test.”

  “Testing, one, two, three,” I said, feeling awkward.

  He nodded. “We’re good.” Using pressure on my shoulders, he turned me around to face him. “Don’t be afraid. We’re watching you. Every minute. I won’t let you out of my sight.”

  I tried to pretend I wasn’t terrified. “I’m ready.”

  He headed out the side door.

  I was alone. In a strange house. And someone was out there, stalking me. Someone who might have access to the military base. Who could it be? Did he or she know where I was now? Little jolts of unease pulsed through my body. Ignoring them, I opened the back door and stepped out onto the deck. The backyard was pretty, with a large tree for shade standing smack-dab in the middle. There was a stretch of freshly mown grass, and flowering shrubs lined both sides, partially disguising the six-foot-tall wooden fences separating the yard from its neighbors’. The chain-link fence in the back created a semitransparent barrier between the playground on the outside and the lot on the inside.

  At this early hour, there were no children playing in the playground, no little voices shouting, only silence. I strolled around the side of the house, unlatched the wooden gate, and jogged down the driveway, taking a left at the sidewalk. JT’s plan was for me to follow the route he had mapped out. But six miles were a lot of miles for a girl who hadn’t run in months. My last semester had been hell. I hadn’t even tried to make time to exercise. I was pretty sure I’d end up in the hospital if I tried to make even three at this point. Instead, I opted for plan B—a more realistic plan—and took a tour around the neighborhood, concentrating on the area around the school.

  The first five minutes were hell. After that, it got a little easier. The heart rate settled into a comfortable rhythm and I jog-walked at a steady pace for an hour, my eyes darting around, searching for something suspicious. A part of me wanted to see something, another didn’t. I was unarmed and completely defenseless. If the killer assaulted me now, I’d be at the mercy of the men who were tailing me at a distance. Could I really count on them to get to me before the killer had injected me with some horrific disease?

  That was a big no, I told myself. An injection took seconds.

  After an hour, I rounded the corner, returning to my temporary home. “I’m done for today,” I huffed into the microphone as I limped up to the front door. I shoved the key into the lock, twisted it, and let myself into the house. I pulled off the tape, removed the transmitter and microphone, set the whole shebang on the counter and headed for the shower.

  While I was in there, rinsing the shampoo out of my hair, I heard a sound. Scratching. Loud. Like some kind of wild animal, or a deranged killer, was trying to dig through the door. Not even bothering with rinsing the rest of the shampoo out, I scrabbled out of the shower. There was no way in hell I was going to be caught in there, like Marion Crane in Psycho.

  Frantic, I searched the room for a weapon. Hair dryer? Curling iron? I tried to yank the towel bar off the wall, but it was bolted on too well. As a last resort, I grabbed a can of hair spray—I knew firsthand that the stuff hurt like hell if sprayed in the eyes—and flattened myself against the wall next to the door. The scratching had stopped, so I scooped up a towel and wrapped it around myself. I tried the door.

  Unlocked?

  Unlocked. What killer would claw at an unlocked door?

  No killer would. I inched it open and something gray leapt into the air. I screamed. It made some unearthly noise as it flew past me, landing on the counter behind me. I wheeled around, trigger finger on the hair spray nozzle.

  Cat.

  Big. Gray. Unhappy cat.

  It made a low mrrrrr sound. I lunged out the door, slamming it shut behind me. There was a dull thump, a bone-chilling sound that couldn’t be described by any words, and then silence. Turning, I ran smack-dab into a man’s very broad chest. Stumbling, I jerked backward and lifted my hand, ready to spray whoever it was.

  No spray. Where the hell was the hair spray?

  The man’s hands clapped around my upper arms, steadying me.

  Finally I looked up.

  JT.

  “Oh, my God, you scared m-me,” I stuttered, my hands gathering the towel, which had gone somewhat askew.

  “I heard you scream.”

  “You’re good. That was fast.”

  “I told you, I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”

  “I’m beginning to believe you.”

  He glanced at the closed door and the can of hair spray lying on the floor. “We’re going to bug the house today, so you won’t have to be wired twenty-four–seven.”

  “Good idea.”

  A very unnatural rrrrr sound echoed in the bathroom.

  “Vicious cat,” I explained. “It tried to attack me. I think it has rabies, or maybe feline leukemia, or distemper. Whatever it is, it can’t be good.”

  “We’ll get someone in to remove it right away.” His eyes traveled south. He visibly swallowed. I tightened my grip on the towel, which felt like it was sliding out of place again. “Why don’t you go get dressed and we’ll head up to the shooting range. I should take care of a few things at the office first.”

  “I think that’s a great idea.” Neither of us moved for a moment.

  I reminded myself that there was an army of agents outside. And doing anything with JT was a bad idea. Very bad. Even if it would feel good. Very good. For one thing, JT was wearing a radio. I had to assume it was on, since he’d rushed in to check on what might have been a life-or-death situation. Everyone would hear.

  But did JT ever look good today. Better than usual, and that was saying something.

  I gently eased back. “I’ll be just a few. Give me fifteen.”

  JT nodded and stiffly walked down the steps. “I’ll meet you at the office,” he called up from the landing. Two hard-ons in such a short time had to take a toll on a guy.

  A little chuckle slipped out as I rushed to dress. Fifteen minutes later, I was sporting a pair of black pants, a knit shirt, comfy shoes, and a ponytail. I hopped into my car and drove out of the subdivision. Mom picked up my tail sometime before I reached the freeway. She waited in the lot while I ran my broken cell phone into the store for repair. Then, beyond hungry—that jog had really stirred up my appetite—I made a stop at the bagel shop just outside of the Quantico Marine Corps Base. Mom parked her car next to mine.

  We strolled into the bagel shop together. I ordered my usual; Mom ordered hers. I added an extra bagel, in case JT hadn’t eaten breakfast. She looked at me with worried-mother eyes as we waited for our orders to be filled.

  “Mom, it’s going to be okay.”

  “I know. I just can’t help myself. I’m a mother. Mothers worry.”

  A stretch of silence followed as we both stared at the sign overhead.

  “There isn’t a client, is there?” I asked. “You’re following me because you’re concerned.”

  “Oh, no. There’s a client, all right. I already got my first paycheck. Sloan, you know I couldn’t afford to do this much driving if there wasn’t someone footing the bill. I’m bur
ning through a tank of gas every three days.”

  I could believe that. My own gas gauge seemed to be sliding toward empty much too quickly these days as well, and I wasn’t doing half the driving JT was. “Will you please tell me who this mystery client is?”

  “ No.”

  I felt myself gritting my teeth. Sometimes Mom was stubborn. I don’t handle stubborn people very well, probably because I could be a smidge stubborn too. “I swear, I won’t tell anyone.”

  “I know.”

  “I could turn you in to the FBI for following me.”

  “You wouldn’t do that, Sloan.”

  She was right. Irritated beyond what was reasonable, I snatched my cup and bag from the girl as she handed it to me, muttered “Thanks,” and stomped toward the door. I didn’t wait for Mom.

  As I shoved the key into my car’s ignition, I told myself that I’d had a rough morning, and that was why I was overreacting. Mom was getting in her car when I sped out of the lot. She caught up to me just as I was turning onto the base, where she couldn’t follow. I shoved my arm out the open window and gave her a wave as I drove out of her line of sight.

  Maybe I’d make her work for her money a little.

  Maybe not.

  After all, she was doing something harmless, something that didn’t involve illegal drugs or frying her apartment building’s electrical system. She could be doing something far more dangerous than following me around town.

  I found JT sitting at his desk, staring intensely at his computer screen. I dropped the white bag on his desk.

  “What’s new? Any word on a new victim?”

  “ No.”

  That was a surprise. A good one. “No, as in there’s no new victim this morning?” My heart lightened.

  “Not yet.”

  I felt my lungs inflate fully, and I realized I’d been stressing all morning, anticipating the moment when we’d hear about another death.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked, shaking the white bag.

  “A little.”

  “Good.” I set the cup next to the bag. “Sorry, didn’t get you a coffee. I’ve never seen you drink it, so I wasn’t sure if it was your thing.”

  “Not a fan. Good call. You’re getting better at profiling, I see.”

  “I hadn’t thought of this as profiling, but I get it.” I handed him an everything bagel, wrapped in waxed paper. “My personal favorite. I hope you like it.” I stuffed my hand back in the bag and pulled out a handful of cream cheese packets, dropping them on the desk. While JT loaded his bagel up with the smooth cheese spread, I slurped coffee.

  He took a bite and smiled. “Damn, that’s good. Thanks.”

  “I figured it’s the least I could do after you came to my rescue this morning.”

  His chuckle did some interesting things to my insides. Unwelcome at the moment, but not necessarily unpleasant things. His wide beaming smile and dimples did even more. I tried very hard to hide how much I liked his dimples as I drank some more coffee.

  He pointed at my lip. “You have something, there.”

  I grabbed a napkin and dabbed my face. “Thanks.” We stared at each other for a moment, our gazes sort of tangled up.

  Someone cleared his throat. It wasn’t JT. I jerked back, glancing over my shoulder.

  Gabe. He was looking at me funny. “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “We’re grabbing a quick bite before heading out. JT is taking me to the gun range to show me how to shoot. How’s your case going?” I asked, shifting a little to put some distance between myself and JT.

  “I need to take care of one last thing.” JT stood, excusing himself as he pushed past Gabe. “Be back in a few.”

  Gabe leaned against JT’s cubicle wall. “Not good. Outside of the one witness, we’ve had nobody else come forward. Get this, turns out we’ve met the missing kid.”

  “You and me? Really? Who is it?”

  “Your friend with the strange taste in clothes and the weird bike.”

  “Tutu Girl?”

  Gabe nodded. “That’s the one.”

  My heart lurched. It was a painful sensation. And as I imagined that cute little face. “Wow. I jogged right past her house this morning. I didn’t notice a thing. Such a cute little kid ...”

  Gabe shook his head. “Kids. I didn’t expect this.”

  “Me either.”

  Gabe glanced up, in the general direction of Chief Peyton’s office. We watched JT come strolling out, headed toward us. “Gotta motor. We’re going to the kid’s house to interview her parents.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Thanks. You too.”

  JT passed Gabe on his way to my cubicle. “Ready?”

  “As ready as I’m going to be, I guess.” I crumpled up the empty bag and tossed it and the cup, also empty, into his trash can.

  “I hope I don’t regret this,” JT said, giving me a warning look.

  “I promise, you won’t regret it.” I beamed.

  “We’ll see about that.” He explained the rules of the gun range on the way there. He signed in, picked a spot, and set a weapon on the counter in front of me.

  And just like that, I went from completely confident to absolutely petrified. Did I really have to pick that thing up and shoot it?

  Was this a good idea?

  Two hours later, after many very bad shots, it was decided. It hadn’t been a good idea. Having me carry a gun was a serious threat to public safety. The chance that I’d hit an innocent bystander was much greater than my hitting the assailant I was aiming for. JT handed me a stun gun and showed me how to use that.

  I was now armed and dangerous. God help the fool who messed with me.

  God help me.

  A great source of calamity lies in regret and anticipation; therefore a person is wise who thinks of the present alone, regardless of the past or future.

  —Oliver Goldsmith

  16

  I wondered what Katie was doing right now. Was she comfy on the couch, feet kicked up on the coffee table, munching popcorn and watching TiVoed episodes of Weird Connections? Or was she lounging in her room, her worn and battered copy of the CRC Handbook of Chemistry and Physics on her lap? Whatever she was doing, I longed to be there with her right now.

  I was alone. Sort of. In this strange house again. Waiting, waiting, and waiting for something to happen. I didn’t even have a decent Internet connection. No Web surfing to distract me.

  Talk about torture.

  I checked my pocket for the umpteenth time, curled my fingers around the stun gun, tapped the switch. It was there, ready, just in case. Though I left the safety on, so I didn’t zap myself. In my other pocket was my cell phone, JT’s phone number already dialed. All I had to do was hit the little green button and I’d have him on the line.

  Still, I felt alone and vulnerable. I didn’t like either feeling. Not at all.

  As I was taking my fourth tour of the house, JT’s ringtone sounded. I fumbled the phone out of my pocket and hit the button. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” JT said. “I’m just calling to check on you. I think you’ve done at least thirty laps around that house.”

  “Have I?” Now standing in the kitchen, staring out the patio door, into the inky black night, I checked the lock. “Maybe I’m a little jittery.”

  “A little?”

  “Okay, a lot.” I sighed. “I can’t help it. I feel like someone’s watching me.”

  “We are.”

  “No, someone else.”

  “I guarantee, there’s nobody else. We have eyes on every inch of that house. You’ll know the minute we see anything.”

  I gnawed on my lip. “Okay. Maybe it’s the cat. You couldn’t find the cat?”

  “It was gone by time Animal Control arrived.” After a beat, JT asked, “Do you want me to come in for a little while?”

  I wanted him to come in. And I wanted him to stay longer than a little while. But I knew that wasn’t a good idea, for se
veral reasons. “No. It’s probably better if you don’t.”

  “Okay.”

  Amazing how I could sense his relief in just that single word.

  On my way through the kitchen, I checked the clock. It was after eleven. Six-thirty would come early if I didn’t get to sleep soon. “I think I’m going to head up to bed.”

  “Good idea. Try to get some sleep. I’m going to try to catch a few z’s myself. But I promise, I’m right down the road. I can be there in less than two minutes.”

  “Okay.”

  “You have a whole team outside, watching your back.”

  “I’ll try to remember that.”

  “Sweet dreams, Sloan.”

  “You too.”

  I ended the call and tiptoed upstairs. After taking care of a few essentials in the bathroom, I headed for the master bedroom, put the cell phone and stun gun on the nightstand, and made myself comfy in the bed that the bureau had made up with brand-new pillows, sheets, and blankets. The bedding was nothing fancy, but it was cozy. I was exhausted. Must have worn myself out, walking all those laps around the house. Being horizontal felt good. But after almost an hour of trying to fall asleep, I was still awake. I resorted to reading The Viking King and the Maiden. I read a sexy scene between the Viking king and the maiden, where he insisted she join him in a swim, and they did things I had previously thought were impossible underwater. Needless to say, after that scene, I was ready to close my eyes and let my imagination run wild.

  And wild it did run.

  “Little Mouse, why do you think you can hide from me? When will you realize I know your every move? I’ve enjoyed playing your game. But it’s growing tedious.”

  Trembling under her covers, she fought to breathe. It felt as if an enormous weight was sitting on her chest. Her lungs couldn’t inflate. The air was stale and thick, too thick to pull into her throat.

  “Little mouse.”

  What did he want? She was certain it wasn’t something pleasant. Her skin burned. Goose bumps prickled her arms and shoulders.

  Go away.

  “It’s time to end our game.”