Blood of Eden (18 page)

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Authors: Tami Dane

BOOK: Blood of Eden
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“I know.” She didn't sound shocked at all.
“How?”
“I told you, I can't give up my client.” This was getting a little frustrating. “That's why I'm here. I want to tell you to be careful. There are things out there, evil you can't imagine. I did all I could to prepare you. I taught you everything you need. When the time comes, I hope you'll remember.”
This was the kind of nearly incomprehensible logic I was accustomed to hearing from my mother.
I responded with, “I hope so too.”
“It'll be hard for me to tail you while you're under surveillance.”
“Don't try, Mom. I don't want you to get hurt.”
“Don't worry about me,” Mom said. “I'll be fine.”
“I'd feel better if you kept an eye on Katie for me. Maybe you could stay with her until I'm done with this undercover thing? I'm leaving early tomorrow morning. Five-thirty or six at the latest.”
“Okay, Sloan. I'll be there.”
 
 
Five hours later, I dragged myself out of the salon, flung my stiff and sleepy body into my car, and drove toward home with Mom's headlights glaring in my rearview mirror. I made a quick stop at a Burger King for some fries and a chicken sandwich. And I ran into a CVS and grabbed a cheap prepaid cell phone to get me through the next day or two. She escorted me through the drive-through and to my building's parking lot. But then she pulled a U-turn and drove home without so much as a word, or a French fry.
I was starving and exhausted, both. I dragged inside, dumped my laptop case next to the door, and set my dinner on the coffee table.
The place was quiet. No bouncy greeting from Katie. No smoke. Nothing. Right now, I was really unsure about leaving Katie to go undercover when she needed me so much. She'd been such a good friend to me all these years.
I decided it could be no coincidence that Katie was so like my mother, brilliant and seemingly mentally ill. There had probably been little clues all along. My subconscious had recognized them, drawn me to her. Kind of like some women are always attracted to men who will abuse them.
I watched the news as I ate. Before I realized it, both French fry containers were empty—I'd ordered an extra, expecting Mom to come in—and my chicken sandwich was gone too. I slurped down the last of my root beer and stumbled into my bedroom.
I didn't drift off to sleep. I plunged.
 
 
“Little mouse.”
It was back again. Dread twisted in her stomach. Her skin puckered, goose bumps prickling her arms and legs. The hair on her nape stiffened.
No more. Please.
“Come out of your hole. I have a treat for you. A special treat, only for you.”
The stench of death hit the back of her throat. Something sharp pierced through the blanket, nicking the skin of her upper arm.
“There you are, little mouse.”
The blanket slipped away. She tried to grasp a corner, but she couldn't hold on. She opened her eyes and looked up, toward the voice, and saw two glittering eyes in the shadows. A flash of light.
 
 
I jerked upright and blindly pawed the empty bed, looking for my blanket. I was sweating and shivering.
“Little mouse,” somebody whispered.
My heart stopped.
That was a real voice, not a dream.
Who was in my room?
My spine stiffened and a fresh coat of goose bumps covered my arms and legs. My upper arm was stinging. I wanted to check it, but the room was dark and I was afraid to turn on the light. I was petrified of what I'd see.
“Little mouse, it's almost time,” the voice said.
I gagged. Frozen with terror, I sat curled on my bed, wishing the voice would go away. What was happening? Who was hiding in the shadows?
Was it the unsub? Male? Female? I couldn't tell.
Silence.
Was it here? Or had it left?
Oh, God, tell me it's gone. Pleasepleaseplease.
Phone. I needed to call 911.
Damn, my cell was out in the living room.
I wasn't going out there. Not yet. Not until I was certain it was safe.
I heard some rustling in the living room, a dragging sound, like something hard and heavy was sliding across the kitchen's tile floor. It wasn't safe. I hoped Katie was in her room. Asleep.
My heart was thumping so hard in my chest, my breastbone hurt. My ears strained, catching every minute sound, the rattle of the refrigerator's motor, the clatter of the plastic window blinds in the living room blowing in a breeze, the soft thud of heavy footsteps coming down the carpeted hall.
The intruder was coming back.
I flung myself onto the floor and scuttled like a crab into the closet.
“Little mouse, there's no reason to hide in the dark. I have a lot of surprises for you. You're going to love them. But not yet. I have to go now.”
Thank God!
I heard the soft click of the front door's lock. The creak of hinges. Then the sound of the lock sliding home.
Was it gone? Had he or she left? Or was it a ruse, to coax me out of hiding?
A long time later, I crawled out of the closet. I dashed across the bedroom. At the door to the hallway, I listened for any sound that might indicate the intruder was hiding somewhere in our apartment. When I didn't hear anything, I tiptoed down the hall. I checked the bathroom. Nothing there. I checked Katie's room. I checked the kitchen and living room. All clear. I checked the front door. Locked. I checked the windows. They were both open a couple of inches, but the wood pieces we'd wedged in the frame—after that note episode—were still in place, keeping the windows from opening any wider. I flipped on every light in our apartment and checked every corner and closet. There was no sign of the visitor. Nothing out of place. And no sign of forced entry.
What did he or she want? And how had he or she gotten into our apartment?
Did he or she have anything to do with my car's broken window?
Lastly I checked my arm.
There, on my forearm. A fat red droplet of blood had dried, sealing a tiny puncture wound.
Oh, my God, what the hell?
I grabbed the biggest, sharpest knife out of the wood block sitting on the kitchen counter and went back to bed. I set the knife on the nightstand, within easy reach.
Tomorrow I'd ask the property manager for a new lock.
To him that waits all things reveal themselves, provided that he has the courage not to deny, in the darkness, what he has seen in the light.
—Coventry Patmore
15
Five o'clock came very early, much too early. I flung an arm at my alarm clock, smacking the snooze button to silence Technotronic's “Pump Up the Jam,” playing on my fave morning radio channel. I gradually pushed up to a sitting position and even more slowly climbed to my feet.
Mornings are
so
not my thing.
I made a beeline for the bathroom, cranked on the hot water, and filled the room with steam. The shower woke me up a little. The blast of the hair dryer woke me up a little more. The three cups of coffee I drank after that did the rest.
After checking out the newly long-haired me in the mirror, I tossed some clothes into a suitcase and added the essentials: toothbrush, makeup, hair dryer, and phone charger. I met Mom outside as I was hauling my load to the car.
“Good morning, honey.” Mom tossed her newly acquired lustrous raven locks, which fell in a tumble of waves to the middle of her back, and beamed.
Sporting some running shorts, a sweatshirt, and tennis shoes, I hefted the bag into the trunk and slammed it shut. “Hi, Mom.”
“You look tired again. Why aren't you getting enough rest?”
“Someone broke into my apartment last night.”
“Oh, no.” Mom gave me a thorough up-and-down inspection. “Are you okay?”
“I'm okay. I think. Just shaken up a little.”
“I told you this complex isn't safe. You should move into mine. It's much better. The unit across the hall from mine is empty, now that Faith is in jail. She's doing hard time, I heard. Grand theft auto. Won't be getting out anytime soon. I could pull some strings to reserve it for you.”
“No, Mom. I'm not ready to move. I like this place. Katie likes it. It's close to the freeway. Convenient. Cheap... .” And miles away from you.
“And teeming with criminals.”
And her complex wasn't? Her neighbor was a car thief.
Don't get me wrong, I love my mother. We're very close. But living across from her would make us
too
close.
“I'm going to call maintenance and ask them to change the lock.” I dropped my laptop case into the passenger seat. “The weird thing is, nothing's missing or damaged.”
Just like my car.
“I couldn't find any sign of a break-in.”
Unlike my car.
“I don't know how or why he or she got in. It's all very strange.”
“I could guess. The lock on your door is crap. I could pop it with a credit card.” Mom gave me a worried-Mom look. “I'm very concerned about you.”
“Don't be. I'll be fine.” I slid into the driver's seat, shut the door, and opened the window. “Besides, I'll be staying somewhere else for a few days. By the time I get back, the lock'll be changed. I'll make sure they put on a better one.”
Maybe I should get a gun.
“Be careful.” Mom poked her head in the window to give me a kiss on the cheek. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Mom. Gotta go. I'm supposed to be jogging no later than seven.”
Mom shuffled to her car and together we drove to my new temporary home, making a quick stop for donuts and more coffee on the way. Mom didn't stop at the house when I pulled into the driveway; she kept on rolling, heading back to the apartment. JT was already inside, waiting for me. I hauled my suitcase in, then went back out for my laptop and breakfast. I plopped onto a stool at the kitchen's raised counter/ snack bar.
JT helped himself to one of my donuts. “We need to show you how to wire yourself. Shirt off.”
That was one surefire way to get a girl to take off her clothes.
“Shouldn't you have a female agent do this for me?” I asked, feeling my cheeks going red.
“I could call one in, but that would waste time. We don't have a female agent on the team. I'd like to get you out jogging sooner, rather than later. It's your call.”
I briefly considered asking him to call in the girl agent, but I decided it wouldn't be necessary. I was wearing a sports bra, which was no more revealing than a bathing suit. I wondered if I could avoid him touching me. Probably not. “I guess it's okay.” I pulled off my sweatshirt and the T-shirt underneath. JT's eyes went a little buggy for a split second. After that, he kept his reaction unreadable. That made things a little less awkward as he taped the equipment to me.
“Little less” was the operative term, though. My body had decided to respond to his every touch. My nerves tingled. My skin warmed. My blood flowed to parts that didn't get a lot of flowage very often. And my breathing went a little wonky. When I dropped my gaze, to avoid meeting JT's, I noticed JT wasn't exactly unaffected by our proximity either. His pants were fitting a little snugger than normal in the crotch area.
How tacky was it that I was staring
there
?
I jerked my gaze up to his face. His very handsome face. His very handsome scarlet face. His gaze met mine. His lips parted ever so slightly. I stopped breathing.
He leaned closer.
My heart rate kicked up to double speed.
“Sloan?” he whispered.
“Yes, JT?” I whispered back.
“I think you'd better put your shirt back on. Or you're not going jogging this morning.” His teeth sank into his lower lip. I wanted to taste that lip. A whole lot more than I wanted to run six miles.
“O-okay.” I grabbed my T-shirt, stuffed my head through the neck hole, and poked my arms through the sleeves. By the time I'd smoothed the shirt over the wires and transmitter, his face wasn't a deep scarlet anymore. His neck and ears, however, hadn't returned yet to their normal shade. I resisted the urge to check the other part of his anatomy that had reacted.
“Turn around,” he said.
I stood and did a slow one-eighty. He stopped me when my back was facing him. “I need to switch on the transmitter. I ... didn't do that yet because ... well ...”
Was he afraid one of us would say something he didn't want the crew outside to hear? Maybe. “Okay.” The back of my shirt slid up, halting just above the little box strapped to my lower back.
“Done. Go ahead, say something.” He switched on his radio, speaking into the little microphone attached to his shirt collar. “Ready to test.”
“Testing, one, two, three,” I said, feeling awkward.
He nodded. “We're good.” Using pressure on my shoulders, he turned me around to face him. “Don't be afraid. We're watching you. Every minute. I won't let you out of my sight.”
I tried to pretend I wasn't terrified. “I'm ready.”
He headed out the side door.
I was alone. In a strange house. And someone was out there, stalking me. Someone who might have access to the military base. Who could it be? Did he or she know where I was now? Little jolts of unease pulsed through my body. Ignoring them, I opened the back door and stepped out onto the deck. The backyard was pretty, with a large tree for shade standing smack-dab in the middle. There was a stretch of freshly mown grass, and flowering shrubs lined both sides, partially disguising the six-foot-tall wooden fences separating the yard from its neighbors'. The chain-link fence in the back created a semitransparent barrier between the playground on the outside and the lot on the inside.
At this early hour, there were no children playing in the playground, no little voices shouting, only silence. I strolled around the side of the house, unlatched the wooden gate, and jogged down the driveway, taking a left at the sidewalk. JT's plan was for me to follow the route he had mapped out. But six miles were a lot of miles for a girl who hadn't run in months. My last semester had been hell. I hadn't even tried to make time to exercise. I was pretty sure I'd end up in the hospital if I tried to make even three at this point. Instead, I opted for plan B—a more realistic plan—and took a tour around the neighborhood, concentrating on the area around the school.
The first five minutes were hell. After that, it got a little easier. The heart rate settled into a comfortable rhythm and I jog-walked at a steady pace for an hour, my eyes darting around, searching for something suspicious. A part of me wanted to see something, another didn't. I was unarmed and completely defenseless. If the killer assaulted me now, I'd be at the mercy of the men who were tailing me at a distance. Could I really count on them to get to me before the killer had injected me with some horrific disease?
That was a big
no,
I told myself. An injection took seconds.
After an hour, I rounded the corner, returning to my temporary home. “I'm done for today,” I huffed into the microphone as I limped up to the front door. I shoved the key into the lock, twisted it, and let myself into the house. I pulled off the tape, removed the transmitter and microphone, set the whole shebang on the counter and headed for the shower.
While I was in there, rinsing the shampoo out of my hair, I heard a sound. Scratching. Loud. Like some kind of wild animal, or a deranged killer, was trying to dig through the door. Not even bothering with rinsing the rest of the shampoo out, I scrabbled out of the shower. There was no way in hell I was going to be caught in there, like Marion Crane in
Psycho.
Frantic, I searched the room for a weapon. Hair dryer? Curling iron? I tried to yank the towel bar off the wall, but it was bolted on too well. As a last resort, I grabbed a can of hair spray—I knew firsthand that the stuff hurt like hell if sprayed in the eyes—and flattened myself against the wall next to the door. The scratching had stopped, so I scooped up a towel and wrapped it around myself. I tried the door.
Unlocked?
Unlocked. What killer would claw at an unlocked door?
No killer would. I inched it open and something gray leapt into the air. I screamed. It made some unearthly noise as it flew past me, landing on the counter behind me. I wheeled around, trigger finger on the hair spray nozzle.
Cat.
Big. Gray. Unhappy cat.
It made a low
mrrrrr
sound. I lunged out the door, slamming it shut behind me. There was a dull thump, a bone-chilling sound that couldn't be described by any words, and then silence. Turning, I ran smack-dab into a man's very broad chest. Stumbling, I jerked backward and lifted my hand, ready to spray whoever it was.
No spray. Where the hell was the hair spray?
The man's hands clapped around my upper arms, steadying me.
Finally I looked up.
JT.
“Oh, my God, you scared m-me,” I stuttered, my hands gathering the towel, which had gone somewhat askew.
“I heard you scream.”
“You're good. That was fast.”
“I told you, I'm not going to let anyone hurt you.”
“I'm beginning to believe you.”
He glanced at the closed door and the can of hair spray lying on the floor. “We're going to bug the house today, so you won't have to be wired twenty-four–seven.”
“Good idea.”
A very unnatural
rrrrr
sound echoed in the bathroom.
“Vicious cat,” I explained. “It tried to attack me. I think it has rabies, or maybe feline leukemia, or distemper. Whatever it is, it can't be good.”
“We'll get someone in to remove it right away.” His eyes traveled south. He visibly swallowed. I tightened my grip on the towel, which felt like it was sliding out of place again. “Why don't you go get dressed and we'll head up to the shooting range. I should take care of a few things at the office first.”
“I think that's a great idea.” Neither of us moved for a moment.
I reminded myself that there was an army of agents outside. And doing anything with JT was a bad idea. Very bad. Even if it would feel good. Very good. For one thing, JT was wearing a radio. I had to assume it was on, since he'd rushed in to check on what might have been a life-or-death situation. Everyone would hear.
But did JT ever look good today. Better than usual, and that was saying something.
I gently eased back. “I'll be just a few. Give me fifteen.”
JT nodded and stiffly walked down the steps. “I'll meet you at the office,” he called up from the landing. Two hard-ons in such a short time had to take a toll on a guy.
A little chuckle slipped out as I rushed to dress. Fifteen minutes later, I was sporting a pair of black pants, a knit shirt, comfy shoes, and a ponytail. I hopped into my car and drove out of the subdivision. Mom picked up my tail sometime before I reached the freeway. She waited in the lot while I ran my broken cell phone into the store for repair. Then, beyond hungry—that jog had really stirred up my appetite—I made a stop at the bagel shop just outside of the Quantico Marine Corps Base. Mom parked her car next to mine.

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