by Dana Lyons
“Oh God!” Blood was everywhere. “What? What the hell were you thinking?” He bent over her body; a wicked slice opened her neck.
“Oh God,” he moaned. “Oh God.” He stood with his arms hugging his torso and rocked. “Now what … what do I do?”
He sat on the edge of the tub and surveyed the damage, keeping his shoes out of the blood spill. Her bloody footprints were on the rim of the sink. He was baffled as to how she got up there. The twisted leg underneath her … he couldn’t even look at it.
Suddenly he lifted the toilet lid and vomited. Tears burned his tightly shut eyes and the bitter taste of bile flooded his mouth and nose. “Hilde, why couldn’t you just wait?” He laughed, but the strangled sound hurt his throat.
I guess this puts my name back on the Fly Out list.
Careful not to step in her blood, he went into the front room. A splash of bourbon took the bile from his mouth, but did nothing to erase the image of her vacant and shocked eyes. “This is going to be tricky.”
The liquor loosened the shock of seeing her dead as he paced. “How do I dispose of a body?”
Thinking about touching her lifeless form made the bourbon in his stomach threaten to exit. “No no no no,” he moaned. The horribly graphic image of her blood all over the floor suddenly gave him an idea. “David did this. Yeah, her lover. He killed her when she rejected him.”
As the story rolled around in his head it gradually grew more convincing. “She was running out on him, a prime motive for murder,” he announced. More bourbon strengthened his narrative. “He’s the one who did this to her.”
He suddenly realized how well this was still working out. He was getting back on the Fly Out list, and David would get blamed for Hilde’s death.
Now all I have to do is find a place to leave her body.
* * *
After a night in the outback, Dreya, Rhys, Quinn, and Simon rode back up to the residence level. She gazed at Simon. He was exhausted and stood apart, arms crossed, a moody expression marring his handsome face.
He’s fighting Nobility. A battle he’s going to lose.
She understood. He was less than twenty-four hours from initiation to Nobility. She wanted to take him in her arms and whisper ‘everything is going to be fine’, but she wasn’t a hundred percent sure of that herself.
When the elevator doors opened, he quickly stepped out and stood to one side. “Look, I’m gonna go to my place and get some rest—freshen up, you know?”
Rhys nodded. Understanding emanated from him. “Sure, man. Do what you have to do. We’re always here for you, you know that, right?”
Dreya felt in her mind the resistance from Simon to Nobility, to running in a pack. Even the connection already developing between him and Rhys and Quinn was under challenge.
It’s too much. He’s gonna blow.
“You know where we are,” she said softly. She let compassion and the higher attitude brought by Nobility show in her face. He wouldn’t hold her eyes, but turned sharply away. When Quinn would have reached out to him, she caught his hand and shook her head. “Let him go,” she mouthed.
Simon walked off a troubled man, shoulders hunched, head down. They watched, each hurting for him in their own way.
“You know what he’s facing, how hard accepting Nobility is.” They flanked her; she glanced at them both. “Do you still fight Nobility, still fight what’s happened to us?”
Rhys stuck his hands in his pockets. Quinn’s gaze drifted into another world. “I do,” she volunteered. “Every day.”
They returned to their suite. She was more tired than hungry, even though it was breakfast time. “I’m going to shower,” she announced. She threw off her station suit and grabbed clean panties and a tee shirt.
The shower was heaven, hot stinging needles pounding into her scalp. She washed her hair and soaped her body, thinking about her pack. Sometimes they were men, sometimes boys, and sometimes animals. But before Nobility, they were all loners.
Rhys’ wife cheated on him with his partner. Quinn, like her, let scars from the job dictate behavior. And Simon? She was certain his being at the asshole end of space meant there was a story to tell.
They were all loners suddenly forced into a pack. Even with Nobility, the ride was going to get bumpy. She exited the shower, toweled down and dried her hair. She was astonished to notice how much her hair had grown since Nobility—about an inch a week.
She exhaled, wanting to throttle Lazar for turning her world upside down. While there were some rather amazing aspects to Nobility, explaining these effects was a problem. Simple appreciation warred with her disgruntled sense of self. She removed her contacts, threw on the tee shirt and padded out to the front room.
Showers were running in both the other rooms. She sat in the corner of the couch and stretched her legs out. Soon, Rhys and Quinn, wearing tee shirts and shorts, joined her. Rhys tapped the Infinity screen and requested a ‘fireplace’; the screen lit up with dancing flames, radiating heat and a faint smoky scent.
He pulled a chair next to her. Quinn took the end of the couch and tucked her feet in his lap. They sat in comfortable silence. Rhys hummed. Quinn idly rubbed her feet.
“You didn’t answer me earlier,” she said softly.
Rhys kicked up an eyebrow. Quinn nodded. “Didn’t I tell you she wouldn’t let it go?”
“Come on,” she chided. “I ask because I want to know. If you don’t tell me, of course I’ll come back to it.” She shrugged one shoulder. “I want to know how we’re … assimilating Nobility. No secrets, not between us.”
“How can we have secrets if you have telepathy?” Quinn asked. His smile relieved the bite in his words.
“I feel your emotions and I hear your thoughts, but not all the time. When you’re in animal, yes, I’m in touch with your emotions and thoughts in the moment. That doesn’t tell me everything about you—how you feel when I’m not in touch. You still possess your own mind—your thoughts are your own.”
Rhys cleared his throat. “I struggle with Nobility every day, but it’s less of a battle—at times.”
“For me,” Quinn answered, “considerable wrangling remains. I sometimes still wish to kill Lazar … slowly.”
The silence returned, fed by the Infinity flames.
Quinn shook her feet. “Your eyes are beautiful. I think they’re changing.”
“My hair is growing like crazy—” Abruptly, she held a hand out. “Simon’s coming back.”
Quinn smiled broadly. “I wondered how long he’d last. I really like Simon.”
“Me, too. What about you, Rhys?”
“Yeah. I’m glad he’s in the pack. We’re a good number now. Four. Stronger.” He rose from the chair. “I’ll get it.” A soft knock came at the door and he opened it. “Come on in, Simon. We were waiting for you.”
11
Dreya woke the next morning in a crowded bed with warm animal wedged against her front and back. To solve the sleeping arrangement last night, Rhys was on his headboard, and Quinn agreed to sleep on the floor so Simon could fit in the bed. She opened one eye.
We’re going to have to get a bigger bed.
Simon was right against her back. Rhys had come down from the headboard and nested on the bed with Simon’s tail curled around him. Quinn abandoned the floor and claimed this side of the bed, snoring, with all four paws in the air.
She was trapped in the middle. “Bigger bed, definitely.”
Since they were still asleep, she went into the front room, a sense of unease developing. She paced slowly, focusing inside to determine the source. There were no images, just emotion, an expanding expectation …
Simon’s watch beeped. She picked it up; the message confirmed her unease. She opened the bedroom door and softly said, “Time to get up.”
Rhys’s head poked up and he squawked, unfolding his wings. He hopped to the floor and transitioned. Simon rose up with sleepy cat eyes and stretched. He sat, blinking.
Rhys poked Quinn in t
he ribs. “Yo, dog, you snore.”
Quinn woke and flipped right-side up. He yawned and jumped to the floor, transitioned and grabbed his clothes. Pulling his suit on, he said, “Yo, bird, you fart.” Simon jumped down and transitioned, grabbing his pants. “What’s going on?” he grumbled.
Once they were awake, she held up Simon’s watch. “Bad news.”
Three hesitant faces waited.
“There’s been another murder. A body was just found.”
They finished dressing and got ready to go. Simon read the data on his watch. “Looks like Hilde Martin was found in a stairwell on Level 3.”
He led them to the body. Tape was already up around the scene and a crowd collected on the perimeter. He bent down and examined the girl’s obvious wound.
Dreya winced. This girl with long black hair had been beautiful. She squatted down to speak privately to Simon. “Did a dragon do this?”
“Definitely not,” he said. “See that slice? Nothing was ripped out on her. And she’s not drained. I would guess our killer is a human, but I need to get her back to the lab.”
Hilde’s body was bagged and loaded onto a gurney for transportation to medical. When she was on the table under the lights, her horrific injuries were clear. “Liver temp tells me she died between 9:00 P.M. and midnight.”
“While you finish here,” Dreya said, “we’ll go see what we can find out.”
“Check first with HR on Level 1, they have all the up-to-date information on everyone. You want to talk to Chuck Meyers.”
On Level 1 they found Chuck in Human Resources. Dreya swept one glance up and down Meyers and pegged him for a creep. “Mr. Meyers, we need information on Hilde Martin.”
He didn’t respond immediately, telling Dreya he was figuring out what to say. She instantly perked up. “Mr. Meyers?”
“Oh, call me Chuck,” he blurted. “Uh, yes, Hilde Martin.” He tapped on the keyboard and brought up her file. “Yes, Hilde is scheduled to leave on the next flight.” His lips came together after the shortest possible answer.
Dreya thought, he might as well have waved a bloody flag. She cleared her throat. “Anything else, like how long has she’s been here; who she lived with?”
A bead of sweat came out at Chuck’s hairline and slid down the side of his pale forehead. Her enhanced vision could see the struggle he had grappling to get the right words out. “Hilde was a dancer with no flight restrictions, no Limbo risk.”
“No flight restrictions?” Rhys asked.
“Correct. Entertainers can leave or stay as much as they want after they fulfill their contract, as long as they continue working, of course.”
“What’s Limbo,” Quinn asked.
“Limbo is a situation where contractors stay too long or don’t have the funds to buy their flight back to Earth. To help them out, Pantheon offers them a duplicate contract, same terms.”
“How long are these contracts?” Dreya asked. She watched the drop of sweat slide down his temple past his ear. He managed to look everywhere but at her.
“Depends. Contractors that require training on station have longer terms, five years. Some are three years. Admin are one year. Entertainers are one year; waitresses and kitchen staff are two years.”
“So, her contract expired and she was scheduled to fly out in a few days?” Dreya probed. Another bead of sweat emerged to follow the first, and she knew—
‘Ol Chuck is dirty. But how?
“Hilde’s contract expired several months ago. She had opted to stay on station and work.”
Rhys stepped closer. Dreya knew he was watching Chuck sweat.
“Does she live with anyone or have a boyfriend?” He leaned over Chuck’s desk to peer down at him.
Chuck applied himself to the keyboard. “She lived with a dragon, David Armstrong. Maybe you should talk to him. He might know something about Hilde I don’t. Why all these questions?”
Dreya tilted her head and squinted at Chuck. Her eyes gave her the minute movements and flickers in his face she would not normally have detected. “Hilde is dead.”
His reaction was shock, but in spite of his big ‘O’ mouth and hiked eyebrows, he radiated guilt. She was willing to bet he knew something about Hilde that David didn’t know. “Did you make special arrangements for Hilde? She is—or was—a pretty girl.”
Chuck pulled his chin back with an appropriate display of indignation and fat rolls. “What you suggest is strictly forbidden.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it is. So … did you?” She leaned forward and drilled him with her Noble eyes. He maintained his indignation, but his chin quivered.
“I did no such thing.”
She thought he was going to crack, but he stuck to his story—easy to do, considering the only other person who knew is now dead. “Don’t go anywhere, understand?”
“I’m guilty of nothing,” he insisted.
They left Chuck with his indignation and his lies. Outside HR, they waited before the elevator bank. She said, “He’s guilty of something—he didn’t ask about the crime.”
“Don’t go anywhere?” Rhys said .
“I know. But the words came out before I could stop. I think Hilde wanted off station and got her name on the list the old-fashioned way,” she concluded. “But I don’t think Chuck killed her. What else? Quinn?”
“I agree he’s not our killer. But he is certainly dirty in more ways than one.” He rolled his eyes and sniffed. “He crapped his pants while you were drilling him.” They turned and watched as Chuck hurried out of the HR office, moving with ass-puckered little steps as he ducked into the elevator.
“Shall we go talk to the boyfriend?”
“Yeah, but let’s take a different elevator,” Quinn said. “Chuck has offended the dog’s sensibilities.” He wrinkled his nose and glared at Meyers until the elevator doors closed.
On Level 3, they located David Armstrong at his residence. He opened the door looking disheveled and distraught. “Yes?”
“Mr. Armstrong, we’re here about Hilde—”
“I don’t know where she is … I haven’t seen her since we fought.” His voice trailed off as tears seeped from his eyes. He swiped at them in vain.
Dreya was rapidly determining this man was not their killer either. His distress was genuine, palpable.
Damn Nobility.
Her Noble perceptions were at war with her cop’s mind. “When was this fight you had with Hilde?”
“Yesterday morning. The travel list came out and her name was on it.”
More tears flowed. A wave of pain emanated from him, assaulting Dreya. “Did you know she was leaving?”
“No, that’s why we fought. I was going to ask her to marry me. I love Hilde.” Sudden comprehension froze on his face. “Has something happened to her?” He frowned, looking from face to face.
Dreya licked her lips, glad Rhys and Quinn were with her. She was afraid of what this dragon might do when she told him about Hilde. “Mr. Armstrong, I’m sorry. Hilde is dead.”
The pain in his eyes dissolved into crumpled grief. “No, what happened to her?” he cried. His face turned red and he doubled over moaning, fists at his sides, tears splattering on the floor. For a moment, a hot smell rolled off him and she thought he might lose control and shift. But he stood and wiped his face. The moaning ceased. The smell faded.
“What happened to her?” he demanded.
Dreya didn’t want to speak the words. David watched her face, and when she couldn’t answer …
He pulled back, his face shut down. But she could see the questions he wanted to ask, felt his accompanying fear of the answers hammering at her mind. “Did a Demon kill her?”
“No,” she said, grateful for this truth.
“I loved her. Even if she wanted to leave me, I couldn’t hurt her. She was beautiful.” He broke off, sobbing. “You find who did this to my Hilde.”
Outside David’s residence, Dreya looked at her watch. “It’s too early to go back to medical�
��Simon can’t be finished yet. I can’t eat, but I’d like some coffee.”
In the cafeteria, they took a table off to themselves. News of another murder had already raced through the station. Clusters of employees whispered and nodded at them.
“They’re afraid,” she said.
“Trapped in space with a murderer. I’d be on edge, too,” Rhys said. “I’m beginning to have more empathy than suspicion.”
She glanced at him, seeing in his eyes the same conflict she had. Nobility gave her compassion and sensitivity to emotion. This emotion detection was not part of her FBI Special Agent skill set. She exhaled.
Compassion and concern for victims. Maybe there’s an equal aspect to Nobility to help me ferret out the guilty.
Rhys looked down his nose at her, but his eyes were soft with understanding. “You’re fighting Nobility, aren’t you?”
“This is getting complicated. Nobility is rearranging my head. At moments like this, I really want to kill Lazar.”
Quinn rubbed her back. “Me, too.”
“But,” Rhys said, “we have no choice but to deal with Nobility and its ongoing impact. I’m willing to bet your visual and mental acuity may yet save the day.”
“If the boyfriend didn’t kill her,” Quinn asked, “why was she in such a hurry to leave? Drugs? Prostitution? Was she blackmailing someone, Lazar maybe?”
“Where did she work? The Vegas Club I think,” Dreya said. “To Vegas we go.”
They entered the nightclub in mid-afternoon to a full house with a bright and leggy show on stage. All drinks had a parasol, the music was lively, the headdresses tall, the girls all beautiful. Dreya, Rhys, and Quinn trailed the dancers back to their dressing room and showed their badges.
“Hey, girls, we’re here to ask you about Hilde,” Dreya said. “Was there someone particular she hung out with, someone here who knew her?”
One of the dancers spoke up. “We used to talk. I guess I know her as well as anyone. I’m Monica.”
Dreya eased over to Monica’s vanity table as she removed her make-up. “It’s awful what happened to her,” Monica said.