Creatus Series Boxed Set

by Carmen DeSousa

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  By the time Frank arrived in Harvard, the local uniforms had secured the area. Another freckle-faced whippersnapper led him to the wooden shed, chattering the entire time instead of allowing Frank to take in the crime scene.

  Frank raised his hand to silence the kid’s rambling. “Is that the wife and child? They find him?”

  “Yes, sir. Name’s June. She works the morning shift at a local restaurant. Says she got off at eleven and found—”

  “Thank you, son. I’d rather hear it from her if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course.”

  The young officer started walking toward the woman, and Frank stopped him. “Thanks. I’ll take it from here.” The man stopped, and Frank didn’t bother looking at him as he slowly approached the woman and little girl huddling together on the back stoop. He took his time, letting them wonder if he would interrogate them.

  The woman still wore her waitress uniform, black pants, a plain white shirt, an apron soiled with grease and food stains. She looked up with swollen eyes. “I already spoke with several of the officers. I don’t know who would do such a thing…why… God, I just don’t understand.”

  Frank squatted down in front of her. “I understand, ma’am. I’m not one of the police officers. I’m a federal agent. My job is to find the person who did this before he kills again.” So far…from what he could tell, the killer mostly chose persons in the act of a crime. But not all of them. There didn’t seem to be a rhyme or reason. Frank tilted his head at the little girl, noticing that she wasn’t crying. “Was he the girl’s father?”

  “Stepfather. We married about a year ago. Her father hasn’t been around since before she was born.”

  Frank nodded and looked at the little girl again. “Did he hurt you?”

  She nodded.

  The mother looked down at her daughter, her eyes wide with shock. “I thought you didn’t see who did this, baby.”

  Frank glared up at the mother, wondering how she couldn’t know. “Not the person who killed your husband. Your husband hurt her.”

  “What? No. He wouldn’t.” She pulled her daughter up in front of her, hugging her close. “How dare you? My husband has just been murdered…and you…you accuse him of hurting—”

  “Did your stepfather hurt you, sweetie?”

  The little girl hid her face against her mother’s leg, but she still nodded.

  “Did you see who did this?”

  She peeked up at him. “A tall man.”

  “I thought you didn’t see anyone?” the woman interrupted.

  “The door was open.” She looked up at her mother. “I din’t go out. I know ’m not ’lowd ow’side.”

  The woman dropped to her knees and stared at her daughter. “Baby, who did this?”

  “He flew ’cross the yard. He must be an angel. But he was all black. Angels wear white, right?”

  “Yes, baby.”

  Frank positioned himself so he could get the girl’s attention again, without scaring her. “All black? Was his skin black?”

  “No…just ’is clothes.”

  “What about his hair?”

  She shook her head. “Don’ ’member.”

  Frank motioned to the detective who’d escorted him and stood up, ignoring the mother and girl. They didn’t have anything else he could use at the moment, but just to be sure, he gave the detective his demands. “The girl saw the perp. Get her with a sketch artist. The woman has an ex. Find out who he is; though, I doubt he had anything to do with this.”

  He walked toward the shed. No less than ten officers of every rank loitered around the outside of the shack. A select few braved just inside the wooden frame where a door had probably once hung from its hinges. Every cop in the insignificant department must have shown up. Probably the first major crime they’d had in these parts.

  Thankfully though, when he stepped inside, the area had been cordoned off, and the only persons around the body were forensic officers he’d ordered here from Boston and a crime-scene photographer.

  Jack Gilmore’s body, what was left of it, was hanging from a wooden beam. Below him, a giant circle contained the ‘C’ Frank had been told was at the scene. As soon as the Harvard police searched crime records, the murder was connected with the string of murders in Boston.

  Blood that had clearly dripped off the man added to the effect of the design, creating the same look that the others had, an image of an ancient wax seal. The only difference was that this one was massive in size, not the actual size, as had been on the first girl’s forehead, or the one finger-painted on the man’s chest. The serial killer was obviously angry that they’d hidden the seal from the public, since this seal was at least six-foot wide.

  The FBI would be here soon, so he needed to get going. He didn’t like it when other departments questioned him. Not one of them had rank above him, but because he couldn’t disclose his position and whom he worked for, they irritated him.

  Frank left without excusing himself. Forensics wouldn’t find anything. This thing wasn’t killing for sport, wasn’t killing because it cared. Whatever it was, it wanted attention, wanted the public to know it existed.

  Too bad they had different goals. Frank’s job wasn’t to find the creature and expose it; his job was to find it and contain it, use it.

  He hopped in his government-issued car and left the scene, watching though, scanning the trees, yards, everywhere. More than likely the ‘thing’ was watching him, wanting him to get just a glimpse.

  By the time Frank hit the highway, his mind was almost numb as he categorized the information in his head, wondering how it all fit. Right now, he needed to find Reece—

  It couldn’t be. He slowed his car as he took in the blond hair atop a tall frame.

  As he pulled up beside him, Reece ducked his head, ready to accept a ride, then started upright. Well, the man couldn’t claim amnesia.

  Frank lowered the window at the same time he unsnapped his holster. “Get in, Buckley.”

  Reece opened the door and lowered his tall frame inside the vehicle. “Hey, Cooper. Fancy meetin’ you here.”

  “Yeah…imagine that.” Of course, there was only one main road from Harvard to Boston, so if Reece had a reason to be here…if he was still investigating the case, but just had gone dark for some reason, that could explain his disappearance. “Why exactly are you in Harvard? On foot?”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Reece had decided to take the old-fashioned way back to Boston: hitchhike. He hadn’t done it in years, and it would give him time to come up with his alibi.

  The walk from the farm to the main road had taken over an hour. He could have run, but he couldn’t chance anyone seeing him. Once he got out to the highway, he’d catch a ride. Usually a trucker looking for conversation from a wayward soul.

  The last thing he expected, though, was for Frank Cooper to pull up alongside him. He had planned to get himself in trouble at a bar, get arrested even, which would have lent truth to his story, but now, as Cooper glared at him, he wasn’t sure what his story would be.

  Kidnapped. No. He wouldn’t buy that without an explanation of who kidnapped him, then he’d chance getting caught as he lied.

  The alcoholic story could still work. He could say he’d ended up in another city somehow and was walking back.

  Nothing came to him.

  “Well?” Frank pressed. “How do I explain that my new agent is wandering on foot in the middle of the country in sweatpants and a t-shirt in sixty degree weather?”

  On a binge was sounding more feasible by the minute, but “I don’t remember,” were the only words that escaped Reece’s lips, seemingly without his permission. His training had kicked in. Say nothing and offer nothing. ‘Yes’, ‘no’, ‘I don’t know’, and ‘I don’t remember’ were the four phrases he was allowed to use if he ever got interrogated. Anything else and he chanced that an enemy could discover more. Under pain and agony, he’d been trained only to
answer those four questions.

  “You don’t remember?” Frank pulled the car onto the blacktop and punched the accelerator. “What kind of horse crap is that? You’re trained to excel under the harshest scenarios. Don’t feed me that bull.”

  Reece said nothing. The binge story, if it came to that, though he’d make them pull it out of him, would have to suffice. There simply wasn’t another acceptable excuse. He could say he’d gone underground, but then Cooper would want all his files, and that was something he wasn’t willing to hand over.

  Frank said nothing the entire trip back to Boston. When they got to his superior’s hotel room, however, he tossed him a bag he’d evidently retrieved from Reece’s hotel room. “Get cleaned up, and then we’ll talk.”

  Reece snapped the bag up midair, then strode toward the bathroom. Grudgingly, he glanced around Cooper’s hotel room. It was sure nicer than the fleabag hotel they’d reserved for him. No water stains on the roof, a king size bed, a kitchenette.

  The nervousness he felt surprised him. For some reason, Frank Cooper had been one of the few humans who had never been wary of him. Although Reece had never actually known he wasn’t fully human, he and his father had always suspected. His father had drilled it into his head from the time that he could understand English that he could never reveal what he was capable of.

  When you are stronger than others, instead of feeling protected, humans tended to get scared, and those who weren’t afraid usually wanted to challenge you. He’d run into plenty of that in the military. He’d learned that it was better to lose to the biggest guy; that way, the rest of the crew challenged him instead, and he didn’t chance hurting anyone.

  Cooper though, an older, smaller, and much shorter man than he was, had never acted threatened. The man knew he was strong, one of the reasons he’d recruited him from the police force. That, and his ability to clear cases, he’d told him.

  So why did Reece feel threatened by this man? Maybe because he knew he could make his life hell. As much as it would be easier to make Frank disappear, that was out of the question. Reece had never hurt an innocent person, and he didn’t plan to start now.

  At least he had the time in the shower to arrange his thoughts, concentrate on what he’d say, but then he realized that maybe that was what Frank was doing too. Bringing in reinforcements? Preparing his drill?

  Reece struggled for a reason that he was in Harvard, other than being with a beautiful woman.

  That was it. That would work. The key to not getting caught in a lie was to not tell a lie. He’d just have to go back a few years. They’d never be able to trace the woman. She’d never been arrested, never worked for some high-level company, probably rarely had her picture taken. She had no relatives that would notice if they plastered her image at every post office across the state, not that Reece thought that Frank would do that, but even if he did, her only living relatives lived in the sticks of South Carolina. The only TV she watched was still via rabbit ears, as she only cared about her daily soap operas on one of the networks.

  And of course, the woman he’d done everything to help was gone. Ironic that his helping her had actually hurt her.

  Reece stepped out of the shower and immediately heard voices. Not the highs and lows of voices on TV, the muttered whispers of men, men who planned to take him for a ride.

  If they only knew… He wondered if he should fight, act surprised. He listened as Frank told them to hang back, only react if needed, warned them that he was deadly. Reece smiled. At least Frank knew that about him.

  Reece pulled on his khakis and a golf shirt, took his time brushing his teeth and shaving, waited for the knock that he knew was coming.

  “You done in there?” Frank called. “You take longer than my wife.”

  Reece opened the door, and Frank reflexively stepped backward.

  “Yep. We going for a ride?”

  Frank nodded.

  “Can we get something to eat first?”

  Frank shook his head, and Reece cringed. Not because he was hungry, but because he knew he’d be starving tonight, after he threw up the fast food they’d eventually bring him. He’d lost so much weight in the military. Finding food that he could keep down without getting deathly ill wasn’t easy. Often, he’d have to sneak into the kitchen and steal food, not an easy task. Just like escaping from wherever they were taking him wouldn’t be easy, since he had to do it legally.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Vic tossed back and forth on the chaise, attempting to get back to her makeshift vacation at her pretend desert spa.

  As difficult as it was, it wasn’t nearly as hard as trying to ignore the deep pit that had formed inside her. A feeling of utter hopelessness as she’d never known penetrated to the depths of her soul. How was this possible? She’d only known Reece a few weeks.

  It wasn’t Reece, she assured herself. It couldn’t be. It was the lack of something to do, the feeling that now that Reece was gone, she served no purpose at the hospital. Why was she kidding herself? She wasn’t meant to lounge around a farmhouse. She’d spent the last ten years of her life working twelve to fifteen-hour days. But the last few weeks had been the hardest. When she hadn’t been readying the farmhouse to hold Reece or guarding him, she’d been wallowing in self-pity, wondering how she’d ever get back on the proverbial horse and resume her career as a physician.

  She jumped up and glanced around the patio, not sure what she wanted, but knowing she didn’t want to stay here alone. There was too much to do.

  A quick lap around the house, and she’d gathered all her belongings, cleaned out the perishables from the fridge, and was in her convertible within minutes. She made one quick stop at Sabrina’s to drop off the perishable food, insisted she didn’t have time to talk, and was back on the road. No way could she handle talking to Derrick and Michael’s mom after she’d poured out her heart last night. The human woman probably thought she was crazy. If she didn’t already, she definitely would if she confessed what had happened between her and Reece this morning.

  Nothing happened, she reprimanded herself. So she felt butterflies. Reece was a good kisser, a great kisser, actually. First kisses always did that to her. Hadn’t she felt butterflies when Jonas kissed her, when Michael tried to kiss her? Nothing felt quite as good as a first kiss.

  She forced her attention off Reece by turning on the radio, forgetting that it was still tuned to his country station, and made no effort to change it. “Keep lying to yourself, Victoria, it’s what you’re good at.”

  She tapped her foot to the beat. It wasn’t half-bad. The tune actually rocked. When had country music started sounding like classic rock? Rock from her youth. By the second chorus, she started singing along, attempting to memorize the catchy lyrics. By the third, she’d stammered a bit, but she was close to getting the quickly sung lines down.

  As soon as the song ended, she fumbled through her iPhone and clicked on her iTunes app. She only had to type the first two letters of the artist’s name and all his songs popped up for purchase. She skipped the option of downloading the song as a ringtone, imagining the ribbing she’d receive, and clicked the buy option. This time when the chorus started, she lowered the windows and belted out the lyrics.

  By the time she made it back to Boston, she’d memorized the entire song, and surprisingly, she was in a better mood than when she’d left Harvard. She’d forgotten how much she’d liked singing and dancing when she was in school.

  Deciding she needed to make peace with Michael, she parallel parked in front of his favorite Sushi restaurant and went in to pick up lunch for him and Derrick.

  She found herself bopping down the sidewalk, the tune still repeating inside her head.

  “Shake it, girl!” a young man hooted from his Mustang, bringing her back to reality.

  Normally she’d turn her nose up at the college-aged human, but today she flashed a broad smile, making him blush as a horn sounded behind him.

  He still hadn’t pulled forw
ard, even though the light had long since turned green and the driver behind him continued to lay on his horn. “Hey!” he called, leaning outside his window with an enormous grin on his face. “Have coffee with me?”

  She waved off his offer with a smile. “Married!”

  He flashed an ‘oh, well, I tried’ shrug and drove off.

  “Wow…who would have thought?” she said audibly, unconcerned with the bustling pedestrians swarming past her. Even though all the men in her life told her how attractive she was, she never got hit on by human males. Reece had told her she was beautiful several times, but she’d chalked it up to him flirting. Maybe it was her demeanor that scared men away—and her height, she supposed. Not many human men had interest in a woman who was nearly six-foot tall. Creatus men were different; they reveled in her strength, never worried that she’d get hurt when they wrestled or played sports.

  When she reached the restaurant, she still felt high, as though just learning a country song had brought her closer to Reece.

  Michael’s voice, however, pulled her up fast. She dropped her hand from the door and held back behind the brick entryway, hoping he hadn’t seen her.

  “You’re kidding me?” Michael asked, an unusual dose of cheerfulness lacing his words.

  “Nope! The rest is all stuff we already knew. Where he grew up, his time in the military, working with the DEA in Miami. I had to dig deep to find it. He’d set up a trust fund under his father’s name, and she’s been living off it for sixteen years,” a woman explained.

  No, not a woman, Rebecca. Michael’s informant within the walls of Boston PD, the woman who’d given him all the info on Kristina’s investigation.

  Rebecca and she had always tolerated each other, but they weren’t friends by a long shot. Rebecca was her total antithesis: dainty, feminine, and an absolute genius when it came to computers, whereas Vic struggled to check email on her iPhone.