Blood of Eden

by Tami Dane

  JT shook a few hands as he strolled up to the front of the room. I followed him, trying to pretend I wasn’t wishing I could become invisible. He chitchatted with Baltimore’s police commissioner for a moment before introducing me. I shook Commissioner Allan’s hand. He had a strong, sure grip. It matched his demeanor.

  “Good to meet you, Commissioner,” I said.

  “I’ve heard good things about you, Miss Skye.” The commissioner released my hand, but he held my gaze with his sharp eyes. This was a cop through and through, no doubt about it.

  “Thank you.” I felt my cheeks warming, a surefire sign that I was blushing. How embarrassing.

  “Sloan’s going to present the profile today,” JT told him.

  “Very good.” Commissioner Allan motioned to the table at the front of the room. “At this point, we’ve identified three persons of interest in this case. First there’s Trey Chapman, who has a motive and opportunity in the cases of Deborah Richardson and Hannah Grant. It appears they were once good friends, until they both discovered he was engaged to both of them ... at the same time,” the commissioner stated. “But we haven’t been able to tie him to the other victims. Then there’s Yolanda Vargas. She was also a friend of Hannah Grant’s. She was the last person to see Grant alive. She has access to a wide variety of infectious agents. What we don’t have is a motive. Nor do we have a connection to the other victims. Finally we have Rosemarie Bishop. Outside of living within a quarter mile of Richardson, Miller, Yates, and Quinley, we have nothing on her.”

  “I think you’ll find you actually have more than you think,” I said.

  “Very good. I’ll let you get to it. We want this monster off the street. I’ll be glad to know who we’re dealing with.”

  “I think you’re in for a surprise, sir,” JT said.

  The commissioner’s smile was knowing. “I’ve seen a lot of shit in the thirty years I’ve spent on the force. Nothing surprises me anymore.”

  I was curious to see if that statement would hold true in this case.

  JT steered me toward the front of the room. “Good luck. I’ll be right over here if you need me.” He stepped to the side.

  I cleared my throat, and in a heartbeat, everyone’s eyes were fixed on me. “Good morning.” A few mumbled responses followed. “My name’s Sloan Skye. I’m an intern with the FBI. In this capacity, I’ve spent some time on this case. My colleagues and I have put together a profile we believe will lead you to the killer.” There was the rustle of paper as the officers prepared to jot notes. “Beginning with the basics, based on DNA analysis, we know our unsub is a Caucasian female. And from the crime scenes and MO, we know she is what we call an organized killer. Organized killers are intelligent. They methodically plan their crimes, often use a ploy to lure their victims, and are socially adequate. They are able to conceal their crimes, hiding evidence and disposing of it to hamper a police investigation. They also follow the investigation in the media. To sum it up, they are the Ted Bundys of the world. Our unsub shares all of these traits, with some minor differences. Her crimes have been triggered by a stressor. As a result, she is gradually devolving as she loses control of her body and mind. Her crimes appear on the surface to be well planned. In reality, though, they could be classified as spree kills.”

  I stopped and scanned the room. So far, so good. The officers were with me. The chief gave me an encouraging nod. JT smiled. I continued: “There is one final difference between our unsub and a classic organized killer. The evidence tells us she is an adze, a vampiric creature most commonly found in Africa. The adze takes the form of an African species of firefly after sunset. Once it is captured by a child, it adopts the form of an adult family member. It then feeds upon the child every night, creating a strong physical and—on a certain level—an emotional dependence upon the child until it is discovered, dies, or is captured by another child.” I paused, expecting a wave of gasps and murmurs to fill the room. But none came. They believe me? I glanced at Commissioner Allan. He gave me an I-told-you-nothing-surprises-me look.

  Feeling more confident now, I kept going. “If the child is taken away from him or her, or otherwise lost, an adze may go on a killing frenzy, becoming an extremely dangerous killer. Fortunately, this is, as far as I can tell, only the second incidence of an adze being discovered in the United States. Somehow, it was transported here, most likely in its insect form.”

  A patrol officer in the second row raised his hand. At my nod, he asked, “Does this creature have any identifiable features?”

  “No,” I answered. “When it is in its human form, he or she will appear to everyone around him or her as a normal Homo sapien.”

  “What about an MO?” another officer asked.

  “This is one of the most reliable ways to identify the creature. Its weapon is its bite. To a child, the bite is painful, but not lethal. But to an adult, it is a deadly weapon. The moment its fangs pierce the skin, one of any number of infectious agents are injected into the victim. Ebola, dengue hemorrhagic fever, malaria, typhoid fever. The strains delivered by the adze incubate in an accelerated time frame, producing symptoms within hours. Victims die within twenty-four hours. That concludes our profile.”

  I’d done it. I’d presented the PBAU’s first profile. It was over.

  JT stepped up. “We would be glad to answer any questions at this time.”

  One officer raised his hand. At JT’s nod, he asked, “What is the safest way to take an adze into custody?”

  “Good question.” JT looked at me.

  He wanted me to answer all the questions too? “According to Professor James Skye’s research on vampiric beings, the safest way is to apprehend her after she has shifted into insect form. She will change into Luciola discollis at sunset and will remain in that form for exactly sixty minutes. Therefore, you may be able to capture her easily enough, but you must transport her quickly to a tightly sealed container large enough to accommodate her human form while safeguarding against escape in insect form.” After waiting for a moment, I asked, “Are there any more questions?”

  A moment later, Chief Peyton joined me at the front of the room. “If there are no further questions, I’d like to add that my team is available, should your department need any additional support or information. Thank you.”

  Commissioner Allan stood and thanked us, and that was it. My first profile—our first profile—was done.

  Once again, the room filled with the scrape of chairs and the shuffle of feet.

  Chief Peyton gave me a smile. “Well done, Skye.”

  I slanted a look toward JT. “I didn’t do it all by myself. I had plenty of help. From JT and”—my gaze swept the room, but I didn’t see the person I was looking for—“Gabe too. He was the one who put the two together.” The room was pretty much empty now, with the exception of the three of us. I lowered my voice. “I was totally shocked by their reaction when I said it was a vampire. Am I the only one who thought they’d laugh their asses off when I told them that their killer was a paranormal creature?”

  JT and Chief Peyton glanced at each other. JT shrugged. “Not really.” He laughed. “Okay, I had a small concern that they would have some doubts.”

  The chief motioned toward the door. “The thing is, whether they believe Rosemarie Bishop can turn into a firefly or not doesn’t really matter right now. They’ll find out soon enough that it’s true.”

  I grabbed my purse, which was sitting on the table, and checked my cell phone. No call from Mom. No call from Katie either. “Hopefully, they’ll take the precautions I suggested. If they don’t, they’re in for an unpleasant surprise.”

  “I have a feeling they will. I’m hoping they’ll call us in when they’re ready to make the apprehension. I’m going to recommend it to Commissioner Allan.” Chief Peyton led me toward the exit. “You did great, Skye. But I knew you would.”

  “Thanks.”

  Outside, the chief added, “Now, about your mother.... Brittany asked me to give
you this.” She pulled a small envelope out of her pocket and handed it to me. “Take JT with you.”

  “Thanks.” I opened the envelope and unfolded the paper.

  The chief said, “She was able to track down that license plate. The car your mother was seen getting into was rented by a James Irvine. He has an out-of-state address. I suggest you check the local hotels. I have a feeling he will be a registered guest. Call in the local PD, once you have his location nailed down.”

  “Will do.”

  JT moseyed up to us. “I’m ready for that dinner now, if you are.”

  I laughed. “It isn’t even lunchtime yet.”

  “That’s okay. We’ll call it an early dinner.” He glanced at the paper in my hands. “What’s that?”

  “The info you’ve been waiting for.” I handed it to JT and watched him read it.

  “I guess dinner can wait till dinnertime. Let’s go make some phone calls. To the office?”

  “Sure.”

  We headed toward the car.

  Gabe popped out of the vehicle parked next to JT’s. “You did good, Sloan,” he said, beaming. “I’m jealous as hell, but I’m happy for you.”

  “Jealous of what?”

  “‘Jealous of what?’” Gabe echoed. “You got to present our first profile.”

  “Sorry, maybe next time.” I leaned closer. “Frankly, I think they made me do it, just in case we were laughed out of there. Better if the new girl, with the schizophrenic mother, looks like a fruitcake than the whole team. Right?”

  “No doubt.” Gabe’s jaw twitched ever so slightly as he glanced at JT, who was standing on the opposite side of his car, waiting for me. “The chief has me on paper duty. I’d do anything to get out of it. Where are you headed now? Got anything for me to do?”

  I hooked my fingers under the door latch and pulled. “Not bureau business, sorry.”

  “Damn.”

  “But I owe you one ... or two, after all the help you gave me on this case. If I can come up with something, I’ll call you.”

  “Thanks.” Gabe elbowed me in the side and whispered, “Watch it with that guy. Coming into the office together might look ... you know.”

  “Yeah, I see your point.” I pulled open JT’s passenger door. “Thanks.” I sat, turned to JT, who was just folding his bulky body into place behind the steering wheel, and said, “Maybe we should go back to my place before we head to the office, so I can pick up my car?”

  “Sure, whatever you want.”

  Several hours after a trip home, a drive to the office, and a bagged lunch, we’d found Mr. Irvine. He was a registered guest at a hotel on the Baltimore waterfront. JT called his buddy at the BPD to inform him of what we were about to do. We had no search warrant, so there was no need for police backup. But he wanted to inform them that we were making a visit to a person of interest—just in case something went wrong.

  JT asked, “Do you have the stun gun I gave you?” At my guilty headshake, JT took a small gun out of his desk drawer and handed it to me. “Just in case.”

  I stared down at it, afraid to move my hand. “I think we’ve already established you’re safer if I don’t have this. Did you forget what happened at the shooting range?”

  JT thought about it for a moment; then he took the gun from me and put it back in the drawer. “I guess you’re right.” From another drawer, he produced a Taser and slapped that into my hand. “At least if you hit me with this, you won’t kill me—though for a minute or two, I might wish you had.”

  I shoved the Taser into my pocket and headed out to my car. JT pulled up just as I was getting settled in. “Don’t you think it would be better if we drove to Baltimore together? Nobody’s going to know.”

  “I guess that would be okay.” I made myself comfy in his passenger seat. “Thanks for helping me with this.”

  “No problem.” He zoomed out of the lot.

  A half hour later, we pulled into the hotel’s parking lot. It was a pretty swanky place, hardly the kind where you’d expect to find a fugitive holed up with a kidnapping victim. As JT drove to the rear of the lot, I craned my neck, looking up, up, up. That was one nice-looking hotel. “I don’t know about this.”

  “What’s wrong?” JT parked the car and we climbed out.

  “Nothing’s wrong. This guy couldn’t have kidnapped my mother. Or else ...” I didn’t want to think of the or else part. As we walked into the building, I noticed all of the people coming and going. “For one thing, how would he sneak a hostage in here without being noticed?”

  “He couldn’t.” We stopped at the front desk. JT said, “Maybe he gave her a ride somewhere? Let’s call him down and ask if he’ll talk to us.”

  “Okay.” Hoping Mr. Irvine would know something, and would be willing to cooperate, JT flashed his badge. We asked the woman at the registration desk to call Irvine’s room. A few seconds later, she asked for my name. And I repeated it for her. She ended the call, gave us the room number, and directed us to the elevators.

  My hands shaking, we strolled across the lobby to the elevators and stepped into the one dedicated to the concierge-level rooms. JT gave me a slightly pitying look as the elevator climbed up, up, up, but he didn’t say anything. Neither did I.

  When the car stopped at Irvine’s floor, we stepped out and headed down a silent hall. My eyes scanned the room numbers displayed on little plaques next to dozens of identical doors. The one we were looking for was at the end.

  JT didn’t knock right away. He listened. I listened too. I didn’t hear anything. I guess JT didn’t either. He shrugged and whispered, “I guess we should knock.” He rapped his knuckles on the door. A few seconds later, the lock clacked, the door swung open, and I got the shock of my life.

  The man standing in front of me was the spitting image of my father, twenty-some years ago. Same breathtaking face, with those brilliant blue eyes that seemed too clear and bright to be real. Same perfectly carved cheekbones and angled jaw. Same wavy blond hair that skimmed his thickly muscled shoulders. Same heavily muscled body. The resemblance was so striking, it took my breath away.

  JT keyed into my reaction right away. He grabbed my elbow, steadying me, and turned worried eyes my way.

  “It’s okay.” I pulled my arm out of his grasp. “He looks like someone I knew a long time ago.” I offered my hand to Irvine. “I’m Sloan Skye, and this is Special Agent Jordan Thomas. We’re with the FBI. If it’s okay, we’d like to ask you a few questions regarding a recent disappearance.”

  “Absolutely.” The man stepped aside, welcoming us into a well-appointed suite with a to-die-for view of the harbor. Still feeling a little woozy after the shock of seeing a man who could easily pass for my long-dead father, I made a beeline for the closest chair. Just as my butt hit the cushion, my mother came strolling into the room, wearing a man’s white shirt and boxer shorts.

  “Mom!” I charged at her like a little kid who’d become lost in a packed mall on Black Friday and threw my arms around her neck. “I’m so glad you’re all right!”

  Mom shrugged out of my hold. “Of course I’m okay. Whatever made you think I wasn’t?”

  “I’ve been searching for you for days.” I didn’t bother mentioning the part about freaking out with worry.

  “Searching? Why? I told you where I was going. And then, just in case you forgot, I left a note.”

  “I don’t remember you telling me anything. And I didn’t find any note. Where’d you leave it?”

  “In the car. On the seat. Didn’t you see it?”

  “ No.”

  “Oh, dear.” Mom pressed a hand to her mouth and glanced at her new male friend. “I’m sorry, honey. I never expected you to worry about me.” She motioned to the man. “I have something to tell you.” She walked me back to the chair I’d abandoned and waited for me to sit. She dragged an identical one across from mine and sat, leaning forward. “This”—she waited for Irvine to step closer—“is your father.”

  I glanced at Ja
mes Irvine, then at my mom, then at him again. “Okay, I can see why you’d think that’s him, because he looks exactly like Dad did years ago, but he can’t be—”

  “Yes, he can. I thought he was dead, but there was never a body. He wasn’t buried.”

  I looked at Irvine again, and I decided I didn’t trust him. Who was this guy? Was he related to my father somehow—a nephew, perhaps?—or was he someone trying to pull off pretending to be him? Why? What did he want? “If this is Dad, why’d he wait so long to come back?” I glared at Irvine, letting him know I wasn’t a fool. Then I stood and grabbed my mom’s hand. “Maybe we should go talk about this somewhere else, somewhere private?”

  Mom wasn’t budging. “No, Sloan. There’s a reason why he stayed away. Please give him a chance to explain.” When I didn’t respond, she repeated, “Please.”

  I peeked at JT. He had nothing to say. I narrowed my eyes at the man who wanted me to think he was my father. Under closer scrutiny, I could see some faint signs of aging: a few lines at the corners of his eyes, a slight thinning of his hair at the hairline, a few gray hairs sprinkled in with the blond. Then I peered at Mom, who looked like she’d just enjoyed a tumble in the hay with her long-dead husband.

  Was Irvine really her husband? My father?

  If so, could he have a valid reason to have stayed away for so many years?

  There was one way to know if this man was my father or not. “So, if you’re my dad, what was my favorite book when I was two?” Only a parent would know such a thing. Unless, Mom had told him. “No hints from you, Mom,” I warned her.

  Mom nodded.

  The man smiled—and damn, if my heart didn’t flutter just a little at the sight. That expression brought back so many memories—genuinely happy ones—from before Mom got sick, and things got hard, and I had to become the parent.