by Tami Dane
“Thanks for calling me.”
“That’s what friends are for.”
I dialed JT’s number as I scrabbled into his car.
He answered on the first ring. “What’s the story?”
“Our unsub is the neighbor Mrs. Bishop. We have her on kidnapping, but we don’t have enough evidence to charge her with murder yet. Nor do we have a motive.”
“Did you say, Mrs. Bishop?” he whispered.
“Yes. Why? Let me guess, she’s there with you?”
“She was. She left a few minutes ago, after telling me she saw someone chasing the last victim through the park last week.”
“She’s lying. But how are we going to prove it?”
“DNA would be handy.”
“That’s for sure. Her DNA is definitely unique. But I doubt you’ll get her to agree to a swab.”
“There are other ways to get an unsub’s DNA.”
“Legal?”
“Sure.”
“Well, okay. I’ll leave it to you, then.”
“No problem.”
“You’ll be careful, right?” Sitting in the running car, I stared out the windshield. The sky had darkened to a threatening gray and the first fat droplets of rain were smacking the glass. “I mean, the woman’s brutally murdered several women, and she’s kidnapped a child.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re worried about me.”
I heard the laughter in his voice. “Maybe a little,” I admitted.
“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Take it any way you like.”
“Any way?” His voice had that flirtatious lilt I so enjoyed. . . and dreaded.
“Don’t get too carried away,” I warned.
He laughed. Even on the phone, the sound made me all warm and soft and gooey. I was glad I was alone. He couldn’t see how it affected me. After a slightly awkward moment, he said, “About your mother ...”
“No news, right?”
“Actually, I did get something, a pretty decent lead.”
My heart started pounding. I curled my fingers around the phone and smooshed it against my ear. “Yeah?”
“A woman who lives in the house nearest your mother’s car saw a woman who matches your mom’s description get into a late-model blue sedan, either a Chrysler or a Dodge. We have a partial plate. I got Brittany running it. Hopefully, she’ll find a match.”
It wasn’t the best news, but it was something. “God, I hope it doesn’t take too long to track down the vehicle. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now, about your dad’s research, I think we need to go over some of it. If we can figure out exactly what Mrs. Bishop is, we might be able to find a vulnerability, and a way to connect her to the crime, outside of DNA. I’m going to call my connection at the BPD and let them know who we’re looking at. They can keep an eye on her until we come up with something more solid for them.”
“Sounds good.”
“How about we meet over at your place?” he suggested. “You have the majority of the notes there.”
I glanced at the clock on the dash. “I can be there in a half hour.”
“Have you eaten lunch yet?” He asked.
“ No.”
“Good. I’ll bring food. What are you in the mood for?”
I smiled. “Surprise me. And, JT?”
“Yeah?” he responded.
“How’re you going to get there? I have your car.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll catch a ride from someone.”
My roommate was playing with chemicals again. Could it be that my out-of-control life was finally returning to normal? Oh, please say it’s so!
A cloud of gray smoke rolled through the doorway as I opened the door. It was a beautiful sight. Crazy, I’d never thought I’d be so happy to be standing in a thick, noxious haze. “Katie? What are you cooking up now?”
“Lunch.” Katie, whom I expected to find in a rubber apron, thick gloves, and a gas mask, came bouncing to the door in a bright yellow dress, covered by a white apron printed with red cherries. The colors nearly blinded me. So did her smile. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”
“A surprise? For what?”
Katie flung her arms around me and gave me an exuberant hug. “A thank-you gift. From me to you.”
“Well ... okay. Uh, you’re welcome?” I followed my energetic roommate into the kitchen, eyes watering, not because I was overwhelmed with joy and gratitude, but because the smoke was burning my corneas. On the top of the stove sat a cookie sheet with some little black blobs on it. I didn’t ask. “What, exactly, did I do to deserve this?”
Katie gave me another violently happy hug. “I’m feeling so much better, thanks to you.”
“You are? That’s great!”
“I got a call from that doctor’s office you recommended.”
I didn’t recommend any doctor, but I didn’t want to tell her that. She looked so healthy and happy and alive, it was hard to believe this was the same Katie I’d been living with the past week or so. “And?”
“I’m not going crazy!” She jumped up and down like a five-year-old who’d been set loose in a toy store.
Not crazy. I knew how it felt to hear that news. It was no wonder she was so happy. I threw my arms around her and gave her a hug. “That’s great! For what it’s worth, I never believed it was anxiety either. So what was it? You look like you’re feeling so much better.”
“You’re going to laugh your ass off when I tell you.”
“No, I promise I won’t.” I had my own suspicions about what might have been wrong.
“Okay ... I”—she giggled—“poisoned myself.”
“Of course you did. Look at what you play with.” I motioned to the burned blobs.
“No, that’s just it. Here I am, working in a lab day and night, and that wasn’t what made me sick. The damn bug bomb did.”
“The what?”
“Remember when we had all those fireflies in the apartment?”
“Sure.”
“Well, the doctor told me I used too many bombs, and the chemicals are toxic to humans, if we’re exposed to a high enough concentration of them. Which I was.”
“And I wasn’t?”
“You didn’t stay in the apartment that first night. I did.”
Head smack. “Of course. Your symptoms were classic signs of neurotoxicity. Shit. I should’ve figured that out.”
“I don’t blame you. You’ve been dealing with enough stuff.” She dumped the crispy contents of the pan into the trash. “It doesn’t matter now. The doctor is treating me for the exposure.”
“I’m so glad you’ll be okay. I was really worried about you.”
“I’m just thankful you didn’t get tired of me being such a bitch, and a slob.” Katie tossed the pan into the sink and cranked on the faucet. “So much for the chicken Cordon Bleu. I am a pathetic cook. Can’t even warm frozen chicken without turning it to charcoal.”
“That’s okay. JT’s on his way over with some lunch. I’ll split mine with you.”
Katie’s smile was genuine. “You are a true friend, Sloan.” There was a knock at the door. “Is that your mom or JT, I wonder?”
“It probably isn’t my mom. I need to tell you something.” I held up an index finger; and at Katie’s nod, I headed for the door. Sure enough, it was JT. And he was carrying a big paper bag printed with the name of one of my all-time favorite restaurants on its side. “You are a god.”
“You’ve finally figured that out?” JT strolled in, wrinkling his nose. “What the hell is that smell?”
“Katie was doing some cooking.”
JT cringed. “I’m guessing she’s hungry too?” He set the bag on the kitchen counter. “There’s plenty for all of us.”
“So what’s the deal with your mom?” Katie asked as she pulled three plates out of the cupboard.
“She’s sort of ... missing.”
“Oh, no. Again?” Kati
e donned her sad face.
“It’s a little different this time. She didn’t just run off to hide from a hallucination. She got into someone’s car and drove off.”
“Oh, my God.” Katie clapped her hands over her mouth. “Really?” Her gaze bounced back and forth between me and JT, who was now digging into the pile of my dad’s stuff sitting on the floor. “What can I do to help?”
“The FBI is trying to track down the car Mom was seen getting into. Until they do that, I don’t know if there’s anything you can do. I don’t know if there’s anything any of us can do.” I flipped open a carton. My appetite was hardly what it normally would be, but I knew I needed to eat something. The pasta dish inside was one of my favorites—a cheese tortellini in uber fattening, garlicky Alfredo sauce. I spooned some onto my plate, took a piece of toasted garlic bread, and headed for the living room. Katie followed, her plate full of the tortellini and some of the lasagna we’d found in one of the other cartons.
I sat next to JT. “Would you mind handing me a file?” I asked him.
“Take your pick.” He fanned three thick folders out on the table.
I flipped open the thickest. While I shoveled cheese tortellini into my mouth, I started skimming the reports.
About fifteen minutes later, my fork hit the plate with a thunk. I glanced down, expecting to find at least half the food on it. The dish was empty.
“Looks like you were hungrier than you thought,” JT said, eyes twinkling with mischief.
I squinted at him. “Did you have anything to do with the magically disappearing pasta?”
“No, not me.”
I didn’t believe him. Not for a minute. I shoved the empty plate out of my way, dabbed my mouth with my napkin, and stared at the page I’d been trying to read for several minutes. “How long does it take for Brittany to run a license plate?”
JT wiped what looked like Alfredo sauce off his lower lip with the napkin I’d wadded up on the table. “No time at all—if she has the full number.”
If. Urgh.
I needed to do something besides just sit and read. I grabbed my empty dish and carried it to the kitchen. In there, I tidied up a little, tossing the empty cartons and putting the ones with food in the refrigerator. As I turned around, I smacked into JT.
He didn’t say a word. He just hauled me into his arms and held me. I closed my eyes and relaxed against him, appreciating the strength of the arms embracing me, the warmth of his body, and the scent of his skin.
A minute or so later, I stepped back. “Thanks, I needed that,” I said, feeling my cheeks getting warm.
“I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”
I wrapped my arms around myself and tried to look like I wasn’t about to go a little crazy with worry. “Maybe you could call her? Brittany? See how it’s going?”
“Sure.” He dialed Brittany as I stood there, my breath in my throat. When she answered, he asked for a status update. Then he did a lot of nodding and uh-huh–ing, and asked her to call the minute she had something more. He thanked her and ended the call.
“Well?”
“The car is a rental. She’s tracked it to the company that owns the vehicle. Now she’s in the process of finding out who rented it. She’ll have something solid soon.”
“Oh, that’s great!” Katie, who’d been listening in from the dining room, gave me a reassuring smile. “We’ll find her, Sloan.”
“Thanks, you guys.” My nose was starting to burn, a sure sign I was going to cry. I blinked a few times, snuffled, grabbed a napkin off the counter, and wiped my watery eyes. “I can’t imagine going through this without you.”
“After all you’ve done for me, I wish there were more I could do.” Katie sighed and looked at JT. “Give me something to do.”
JT pointed at the stack of files. “You could help us dig through Sloan’s father’s stuff.”
“Sure!” Katie bounced over to the folders. “What’re you looking for?”
“Anything that mentions insects,” he said.
“Got it.” Katie settled on the floor, her back resting against the wall, a folder sitting open on her bent knees. JT, sitting on the couch, flipped through papers. I sat next to him, trying to read, but failing miserably. An eon later, Katie said, “Hey, check this out. There’s a vampire that turns into a firefly. How weird is that? We had all those fireflies in here. What if they were all vampires?”
“Fireflies?” JT jerked upright. “Can I see that?”
“Sure.” Katie handed over the file and selected another one. JT read for about ten seconds and said, “This is it! We have our profile.”
Scientists do not have to turn their backs to the standard methods of scientific research to investigate the existence of paranatural creatures. In truth, these creatures are as organic as the species we have dissected and labeled and collected for eons. In fact, one could argue their existence is more readily proven than some theories of astrophysics.
—James Skye, Ph.D., Comparative Analysis of Vampiric Species
24
JT and I worked on our profile all night long. And only when it was complete did he call the chief and tell her we were ready to present it. She arranged for everyone to meet at the Baltimore PD early that morning. Then, both of us looking like death warmed over from our all-nighter, JT turned to me, smacked my knee, grinned like the wolf that was about to eat poor old granny, and said, “I want you to do the honors.”
“Me?” I shook my head. I don’t like public speaking. In fact, I avoid it at all costs. I swear, it gives me hives. “No, that’s okay. You do it.” I gathered the dirty cups, snack bags, and crumpled napkins off my coffee table and hauled it all into the kitchen.
JT followed me, leaning against the kitchen counter, blocking my egress. “I insist.”
Painfully aware of how tiny the kitchen was for the first time, I dumped the trash in the can. “No, really.”
“Sloan.” JT gave me a you’re-not-gonna-change-my-mind look.
“JT.” When he didn’t respond, I added, “I’ll pay any price.” Unable to get around JT, or, rather, unwilling to try, I cranked on the water and dumped some soap into the sink.
JT considered my offer for a moment, and I decided, despite the fact that my hair would make a rat’s nest look tidy, and my makeup had worn off hours ago, I might have made a mistake by making that offer. He sauntered closer, and I knew I’d made a mistake. Standing close enough to kiss me, he ran a fingertip along the scoop neck of my knit top. His teeth sank into his lower lip, and my heart rate kicked up to double time. “No, as tempting as that is, I think it’s better this way.”
“Why?” I snapped. When JT’s brows rose to his forehead, I realized he’d misunderstood the question. “I mean, why are you insisting I present the profile?” I scrubbed a cup. The cup was very dirty. This was going to take some time. Lots of time. I leaned over the sink, trying to put a little distance between my body and JT’s. It wasn’t working.
“Because you deserve to.”
Still scouring, I stared down at the soapy water. I didn’t want to think about how close he was, or how good he smelled. Or how much I wanted to kiss him. “What did I do to you?”
“Nothing.” JT leaned over my side and, with a hand on my chin, coaxed me to look at him. His expression was all business now. That was a huge relief. “You were concerned about your reputation at the bureau... .”
“And this would change things for me? Is that what you’re thinking?”
“It wouldn’t hurt.”
I sighed, loud and hard, and dropped the cup into the sink full of bubbles. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
“Excellent.” He scooped up a dish towel and shoved it into my hands. “Don’t worry. You’ll have everything you need.” He stepped back, out of my personal-space bubble.
“One question.”
JT nodded.
“What if they all laugh in my face?”
“They won’t. I promise.” Was that a little twit
ch I saw at one corner of his mouth? Was he holding back a guilty grin?
He wouldn’t ... he couldn’t be feeding me to the wolves, could he?
“I don’t know about that.” I gave him some squinty eyes. “You said yourself everyone at the bureau thinks the PBAU is a joke. Who’s to say whether the entire Baltimore PD could feel the same way? You could be setting me up.”
“Who me?” He batted his eyelashes, which were disgustingly long and thick. “Do you really think I could be that mean?”
“I do.”
“Then you don’t know me as well as you think.” He gave me a little nudge toward the bathroom. “They called us. Remember? Why would they do that if they thought we were a joke?”
“That doesn’t mean they’ll believe us. I mean, it’s a little far-fetched. A bloodsucking vampire that turns into a firefly?”
“It’ll be fine. Come on, they’re all waiting. And you need a shower.” He fanned the air.
“Trying to tell me something?”
“I’m trying to tell you, you should probably do something with your hair if you want anyone to take you seriously.”
I patted my head. “Yeah, yeah. Why don’t you tell me again how you’re doing me a favor?”
An hour later, we were standing on Baltimore Street, behind the Baltimore Police Department. Concrete walls loomed around me. I had a bad feeling about this. Very bad. I had to make one final try at passing the buck to JT. What could I say or do to make him change his mind?
On the drive over, I’d tried discussing the situation with him, arguing every point he made in favor of my presenting the profile. Finally, when that failed, I begged him to do it.
JT couldn’t be swayed.
I was back to bribery. There wasn’t much time left.
We entered the building and were directed to a conference room at the end of a narrow hallway.
“Dinner?” I offered as I dragged my feet down the corridor. “With dessert? On me?”
“Sure. Thanks! You owe me a date, anyway.” JT beamed.
“Damn, I’d forgotten all about that bet.”
“I figured you had. I’m still not letting you off the hook. You’re presenting the profile.” He opened the conference room door for me, and I stepped inside to face at least thirty Baltimore “boys in blue,” as well as Chief Peyton, Chad Fischer, and Gabe. Baltimore’s police commissioner announced, “I think we’re ready to begin.” Everyone started heading for a seat. The shuffle of feet and scrape of chairs being dragged out from under tables echoed off the room’s white walls.