Beneath the Skin (33 page)

Maybe because the morphine knocked my shields down and we were both dreaming, but it ain't normal,
catin.
It worries the shit outta me. Maybe you shouldn't sleep too close to me until I get a handle on this.

What if something similar had happened to Von? And it went bad?

Von's words haunted her memory:
I'm really worried about him, doll. The images I got from him ... his reality keeps shifting between now and then. He's fighting damned hard to keep himself here and now and with us. But ...

But ... what if Dante lost his fight and his link to Von sucked the nomad into his shifting reality? Heather thought of Von's too-still face. Thought of the tears wetting Dante's lashes.

Feeling sick, Heather closed her eyes. Bad Seed was
still
stripping away everyone Dante cared about, one by one, and
still
finding ways to trick him into doing it himself.

I think he's had as much as he can take, doll. Heart and mind.

Losing Von would probably break Dante.

She refused to lose Dante, refused to let him slip away. She also refused to let either of them lose Von. Heather opened her eyes and switched off her flashlight. Crawling to Dante, she stretched out beside his fevered body and pressed close.

Not knowing if it would help, not knowing if anything could, she whispered into his ear, "Let me in, Baptiste."

25
THE GREATER GOOD

ALEXANDRIA, VA
SHADOW BRANCH HQ
March 26

"SOD UNDERWOOD WOULD LIKE to debrief you as soon as you've finished lunch," FA Cooper said, a warm smile on her lips and in her whiskey-brown eyes.

Emmett finished chewing the last bite of his BLT-- crispy, applewood-smoked bacon, but way too much mayo--and swallowed. "I thought that was scheduled for this evening when my partner's available."

Purcell's auburn-haired assistant nodded. "It was, but I think the SOD has a bit of unexpected free time in her schedule this afternoon. Shall I tell her you'll meet her in the interview room in fifteen?"

"Roger that," Emmett said, plucking a paper napkin from the metal dispenser on the table and wiping his fingers. "I'll finish my coffee and head down. Which level?"

"Four. Room 425. I'll let Underwood know you're on the way." Flashing another warm smile, Cooper turned and walked away, her curve-hugging gray skirt accenting her hip-swinging stride.

I think she's flirting with me.

Amused, Emmett wadded up his napkin and tossed it onto the table. He picked up his cup and finished his cooling no-frills-just-black java. Rising to his feet, he sauntered from the people-pocked cafeteria. He'd stop by his room, take a look in the mirror and make sure lettuce hadn't stealthed up between his teeth and boogers weren't dangling from his nostrils before greeting the SOD.

Another first.

According to the field-grunt grapevine, SOD Celeste Underwood was hard, but fair--a ballbuster only when deserved, needed, or required--and distant. Word through the grapevine also said that over the course of the last couple of years, Underwood had become even more distant.

Ever since the cold-blooded murder of her son, Stephen Underwood.

Emmett couldn't blame her for that. If anything happened to one of his kids ... He shook away the thought, refusing to finish it.

Enough to turn anyone to stone.

After Emmett checked his reflection for potential sources of embarrassment, he raked a comb over his hair and brushed his suit for crumbs, then left his room. He slipped a note scrawled on a torn piece of yellow legal paper underneath his Sleeping partner's door.

He paused, touching his fingertips to her door. He wished he could talk to her, bounce a few thoughts around before heading in for debriefing. But it would have to wait until evening.

"Sleep tight," he murmured, dropping his hand.

Emmett turned and strode to the elevators. Stepped inside and punched the glowing button marked four. Despite a decent night's sleep, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off-kilter.

Really? Fallen angels trapped inside stone and a cave where none existed before, and you have a feeling something's a teensy little bit off-kilter?

As his grandma would've said: Get your ass over here, boy, so I can knock some sense into that thick skull of yours.

Emmett chuckled. Grandma had never appreciated a flair for the obvious. But his amusement faded as he recalled how he used to feel when his grandmother had read to him from the book of Revelation--all goosebumps and dread.

He felt that now.

The elevator stopped. The doors slid apart, and Emmett stepped out into a corridor busy with agents hurrying along on various tasks. He joined the corridor flow, branching free when the frosted panel etched INTERVIEW STATION 425 popped into view.

Straightening the knot in his slim black tie, Emmett opened the door and walked inside. Three people--a black woman Emmett identified as SOD Underwood, Purcell, and another white male Emmett didn't recognize--sat in chairs on one side of a long, rectangular table, manila folders and Styrofoam cups of water or tea or coffee positioned in front of each pair of folded hands.

"Ah, Field Agent Thibodaux," said SOD Underwood. "So glad you could join us on such short notice. I appreciate it. By doing your debriefing now, I'll save time this evening."

"Not a problem, ma'am." Emmett walked around to the opposite side of the table and sat down in front of the single Styrofoam cup resting at his end. A quick peek confirmed water.

"You know my assistant, Field Agent Purcell," Under-wood said. "On my left is Field Interrogator Dion."

Emmett nodded in acknowledgment.

Purcell inclined his head in return, his face calm and composed, unlike last night. FI Dion--broad shouldered, light brown hair, interesting violet eyes, maybe mid- to late-forties--offered Emmett a smile.

Emmett felt himself relax underneath the warmth of Dion's smile. He picked up his cup of water and took a sip.

"Shall we get started, gentlemen?" Underwood asked. After receiving their murmured assents, she leaned forward against the table and said, "Start with when you and your partner, FA Goodnight, arrived at the foot of the Wells's driveway."

Emmett led them through their discovery of Sheridan, the circle of white statues ringing the brand-new cave, of the headless body inside the guest cottage, and the long trip to Alexandria escorting the wounded and silent Sheridan. All standard. All routine.

He kept all of Merri's observations to himself.

I hear their hearts, Em. I hear their goddamned hearts.

"Thank you, Agent Thibodaux," Underwood said, a quick smile gracing her lips. "I think we're just about done here. I believe Dion has a few wrap-up questions, then you can go."

"Sounds good," Emmett replied.

Dion picked up the folder on the table in front of him, flipped through it, then stood up. As he walked around the table to Emmett's side, Emmett figured the FI to be close to his height, give or take. Tall man.

Dion paused beside Emmett's chair, another warm smile on his lips. Emmett caught a whiff of vanilla spice.

"We're going to try a new memory technique to make sure you haven't forgotten any details," Dion said, flipping the folder closed and sliding it onto the table.

"I don't think I've left anything out," Emmett replied, straightening in his chair.

"You'd be surprised," Dion said with a chuckle. "Memo-ry's a tricky thing. Besides, the powers-that-be insist this new technique now be used at all debriefings."

Emmett felt an itch between his shoulder blades, like he was being lined up for a bull's-eye arrow to the back. He glanced at Underwood. She met his gaze, nodded.

Not liking it, but having no choice, Emmett returned his attention to Dion. Sympathy--
Man, I know just how you feel. Just the newest bullshit
.--lit the interrogator's gold-flecked violet eyes.

"Okay, then, let's get this done," Emmett said. "What do you need me to do?"

"Not much." Dion crouched beside Emmett's chair. "Just close your eyes and take a deep breath. We'll be done in a couple of minutes."

Easing his back against his chair, Emmett closed his eyes and drew in a breath of vanilla-spice-scented air. Something else danced beneath the vanilla, something green and smelling of sunshine. An image of a dandelion popped into his head.

"I'm going to touch your temples, but keep your eyes closed."

"Roger that."

Even though he knew it was coming, Emmett nearly jumped when Dion's fingers settled against his temples. Heated fingers, surprising, but soothing. Emmett's shoulders unkinked. He felt light-headed. Dizzy.

"Go back to the beginning," Dion whispered.

Colt .45 in hand, Emmett edges up along the passenger side of the travel-grimed SUV parked on the shoulder of the road, just past the steep driveway marked PRIVATE.

Even as the memory with its sounds--
the crunch of
gravel and small twigs under shoes, a bird twittering in the pines
--and pine and wet bark smells--filled Emmett's mind, it thinned like breeze-blown mist. Scattered, then dissipated.

Sudden nausea greased Emmett's guts and a cold sweat popped up on his forehead. Was it the mayo on his BLT? "Hold on, I'm not feeling so well. I think--"

A strong hand squeezed his forearm. "Just relax. It'll pass."

A thought as warm and soothing and thick as stove-top-heated maple syrup poured through Emmett's mind.

Everything's fine. You're safe. Doing your duty, then heading home.

Emmett felt his body relax, heard a soft sigh escape his lips. As he and Merri traveled up the Wells driveway, his thoughts and memories floated away on a summer breeze fragrant with vanilla spice and dandelions. Vanished.

But unseen and untouched, Grandma's goosebumps and dread settled into Emmett's heart and sank deep roots into his bones.

"I TAKE IT YOU'VE heard the rumors about ADIC Rutgers resigning?" Purcell asked, handing Celeste the ketchup bottle she'd asked for.

Celeste nodded. "I have my Bureau sources looking into the rumor." She squeezed a thick line of dark red Heinz on her sourdough hot dog bun running parallel to the line of Gulden's spicy brown mustard. "I have a feeling it's true."

"Why, ma'am?" Purcell asked, biting into his own doctored hot dog.

"Because she blames herself for Sheridan's death. She has an antiquated sense of honor. A shame, really. She's an intelligent and capable woman, but she allows herself to become too involved."

"Who do you think will be chosen to replace her?"

"Hard to say," Celeste murmured.

A breeze rippled through her hair, a bit chilly despite the early afternoon sunshine, but she'd chosen this outdoor deli, Blue Star Bistro, for their lunch so she and Purcell could speak without their words being recorded.

She'd been wrong about it being an eat-in day, but her lunch would keep in her compact office fridge for tomorrow.

Setting the Heinz bottle back on the glass tabletop, Celeste put her hot dog together and took a juicy bite.

"It went well with Thibodaux," she said, swallowing. "Hopefully it'll go as well with his partner. Do you anticipate any problems?"

"Possibly, ma'am. She's a vampire, after all. Dion won't be able to wipe her memory of the Wells site unless she lowers her shields."

"I doubt she'll agree to that--even with the 'new policy' story. How does he plan to get around her refusal?"

"Drugs in her water."

"And if she doesn't drink the water?"

"A trank gun, most likely. He could erase her memory of that too."

"I hope a trank gun isn't necessary," Celeste said. "Vampire or not, she's been a reliable field agent."

"Ma'am, if you don't mind my asking, why was the grab-and-detain order on Prejean and Wallace rescinded?"

"I don't know. The director neglected to enlighten me," Celeste said, pausing to take a sip of unsweetened iced tea. "So we need to work around the rescindment. Do you think you'll be able to isolate, control, and trigger Prejean if it's done in New Orleans instead of here? Without being seen?"

Chewing the last of his hot dog, Purcell's gaze drifted upward as he considered. After a moment, he nodded. "It's not going to be easy, ma'am, but I think I could. I'd need certain equipment and drugs, but yes."

Relief spiraled through Celeste. "Anything you need, you'll have."

"When would you like me to go, ma'am? Given what I'll need to take with me, it'd be best if I drove."

Celeste nodded. "Good point. Leave after you've finished with Thibodaux's partner. I'll officially list you as on surveillance duty."

"Yes, ma'am." Purcell dipped a greasy-looking fry in a pool of ketchup, face thoughtful. "Anything you'd like me have Prejean say to your daughter-in-law?"

"Yes, thank you. Have him tell the bitch that Stephen sends his regards."

"HAVE YOU HEARD ANYTHING from Beck?" Epstein asked. He rocked back in his nail-studded leather chair, the springs squeaking underneath him.

Caterina regarded her SB handler for a moment, frowning. She'd been anticipating this line of questioning regarding her partner on the Wells hit. Her
late
partner. "No. Any reason I should?"

"When and where did you last see him?"

Beck yanks his Colt free of its holster. Caterina squeezes the Glock's trigger. The bullet hits Beck between the eyes, and he's dead before his body crumples to the ground and rolls down the hill.

"I last saw Beck in his car when he dropped me off at my hotel in Portland after we retired Wells," Caterina said. "March 23."

Epstein held her gaze, his ice blue eyes charting her reactions like a human polygraph machine. "Immediately after you'd completed the job?"

Growing up as the only mortal in a vampire household had taught Caterina how to keep herself calm and cool, how to keep her heart rate and respiration as smooth as possible in order to survive
outside
of it. To avoid unwanted and hungry attention.