Blood of Eden (28 page)

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Authors: Tami Dane

BOOK: Blood of Eden
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“That's okay. JT's on his way over with some lunch. I'll split mine with you.”
Katie's smile was genuine. “You are a true friend, Sloan.” There was a knock at the door. “Is that your mom or JT, I wonder?”
“It probably isn't my mom. I need to tell you something.” I held up an index finger; and at Katie's nod, I headed for the door. Sure enough, it was JT. And he was carrying a big paper bag printed with the name of one of my all-time favorite restaurants on its side. “You are a god.”
“You've finally figured that out?” JT strolled in, wrinkling his nose. “What the hell is that smell?”
“Katie was doing some cooking.”
JT cringed. “I'm guessing she's hungry too?” He set the bag on the kitchen counter. “There's plenty for all of us.”
“So what's the deal with your mom?” Katie asked as she pulled three plates out of the cupboard.
“She's sort of ... missing.”
“Oh, no. Again?” Katie donned her sad face.
“It's a little different this time. She didn't just run off to hide from a hallucination. She got into someone's car and drove off.”
“Oh, my God.” Katie clapped her hands over her mouth. “Really?” Her gaze bounced back and forth between me and JT, who was now digging into the pile of my dad's stuff sitting on the floor. “What can I do to help?”
“The FBI is trying to track down the car Mom was seen getting into. Until they do that, I don't know if there's anything you can do. I don't know if there's anything any of us can do.” I flipped open a carton. My appetite was hardly what it normally would be, but I knew I needed to eat something. The pasta dish inside was one of my favorites—a cheese tortellini in uber fattening, garlicky Alfredo sauce. I spooned some onto my plate, took a piece of toasted garlic bread, and headed for the living room. Katie followed, her plate full of the tortellini and some of the lasagna we'd found in one of the other cartons.
I sat next to JT. “Would you mind handing me a file?” I asked him.
“Take your pick.” He fanned three thick folders out on the table.
I flipped open the thickest. While I shoveled cheese tortellini into my mouth, I started skimming the reports.
About fifteen minutes later, my fork hit the plate with a
thunk.
I glanced down, expecting to find at least half the food on it. The dish was empty.
“Looks like you were hungrier than you thought,” JT said, eyes twinkling with mischief.
I squinted at him. “Did you have anything to do with the magically disappearing pasta?”
“No, not me.”
I didn't believe him. Not for a minute. I shoved the empty plate out of my way, dabbed my mouth with my napkin, and stared at the page I'd been trying to read for several minutes. “How long does it take for Brittany to run a license plate?”
JT wiped what looked like Alfredo sauce off his lower lip with the napkin I'd wadded up on the table. “No time at all—if she has the full number.”
If. Urgh.
I needed to do something besides just sit and read. I grabbed my empty dish and carried it to the kitchen. In there, I tidied up a little, tossing the empty cartons and putting the ones with food in the refrigerator. As I turned around, I smacked into JT.
He didn't say a word. He just hauled me into his arms and held me. I closed my eyes and relaxed against him, appreciating the strength of the arms embracing me, the warmth of his body, and the scent of his skin.
A minute or so later, I stepped back. “Thanks, I needed that,” I said, feeling my cheeks getting warm.
“I'm here for you. Whatever you need.”
I wrapped my arms around myself and tried to look like I wasn't about to go a little crazy with worry. “Maybe you could call her? Brittany? See how it's going?”
“Sure.” He dialed Brittany as I stood there, my breath in my throat. When she answered, he asked for a status update. Then he did a lot of nodding and uh-huh–ing, and asked her to call the minute she had something more. He thanked her and ended the call.
“Well?”
“The car is a rental. She's tracked it to the company that owns the vehicle. Now she's in the process of finding out who rented it. She'll have something solid soon.”
“Oh, that's great!” Katie, who'd been listening in from the dining room, gave me a reassuring smile. “We'll find her, Sloan.”
“Thanks, you guys.” My nose was starting to burn, a sure sign I was going to cry. I blinked a few times, snuffled, grabbed a napkin off the counter, and wiped my watery eyes. “I can't imagine going through this without you.”
“After all you've done for me, I wish there were more I could do.” Katie sighed and looked at JT. “Give me something to do.”
JT pointed at the stack of files. “You could help us dig through Sloan's father's stuff.”
“Sure!” Katie bounced over to the folders. “What're you looking for?”
“Anything that mentions insects,” he said.
“Got it.” Katie settled on the floor, her back resting against the wall, a folder sitting open on her bent knees. JT, sitting on the couch, flipped through papers. I sat next to him, trying to read, but failing miserably. An eon later, Katie said, “Hey, check this out. There's a vampire that turns into a firefly. How weird is that? We had all those fireflies in here. What if they were all vampires?”
“Fireflies?” JT jerked upright. “Can I see that?”
“Sure.” Katie handed over the file and selected another one. JT read for about ten seconds and said, “This is it! We have our profile.”
Scientists do not have to turn their backs to the standard methods of scientific research to investigate the existence of paranatural creatures. In truth, these creatures are as organic as the species we have dissected and labeled and collected for eons. In fact, one could argue their existence is more readily proven than some theories of astrophysics.
—James Skye, Ph.D.,
Comparative Analysis of Vampiric Species
24
JT and I worked on our profile all night long. And only when it was complete did he call the chief and tell her we were ready to present it. She arranged for everyone to meet at the Baltimore PD early that morning. Then, both of us looking like death warmed over from our all-nighter, JT turned to me, smacked my knee, grinned like the wolf that was about to eat poor old granny, and said, “I want you to do the honors.”
“Me?” I shook my head. I don't like public speaking. In fact, I avoid it at all costs. I swear, it gives me hives. “No, that's okay. You do it.” I gathered the dirty cups, snack bags, and crumpled napkins off my coffee table and hauled it all into the kitchen.
JT followed me, leaning against the kitchen counter, blocking my egress. “I insist.”
Painfully aware of how tiny the kitchen was for the first time, I dumped the trash in the can. “No, really.”
“Sloan.” JT gave me a you're-not-gonna-change-my-mind look.
“JT.” When he didn't respond, I added, “I'll pay any price.” Unable to get around JT, or, rather, unwilling to try, I cranked on the water and dumped some soap into the sink.
JT considered my offer for a moment, and I decided, despite the fact that my hair would make a rat's nest look tidy, and my makeup had worn off hours ago, I might have made a mistake by making that offer. He sauntered closer, and I knew I'd made a mistake. Standing close enough to kiss me, he ran a fingertip along the scoop neck of my knit top. His teeth sank into his lower lip, and my heart rate kicked up to double time. “No, as tempting as that is, I think it's better this way.”
“Why?” I snapped. When JT's brows rose to his forehead, I realized he'd misunderstood the question. “I mean, why are you insisting I present the profile?” I scrubbed a cup. The cup was very dirty. This was going to take some time. Lots of time. I leaned over the sink, trying to put a little distance between my body and JT's. It wasn't working.
“Because you deserve to.”
Still scouring, I stared down at the soapy water. I didn't want to think about how close he was, or how good he smelled. Or how much I wanted to kiss him. “What did I do to you?”
“Nothing.” JT leaned over my side and, with a hand on my chin, coaxed me to look at him. His expression was all business now. That was a huge relief. “You were concerned about your reputation at the bureau... .”
“And this would change things for me? Is that what you're thinking?”
“It wouldn't hurt.”
I sighed, loud and hard, and dropped the cup into the sink full of bubbles. “Fine. I'll do it.”
“Excellent.” He scooped up a dish towel and shoved it into my hands. “Don't worry. You'll have everything you need.” He stepped back, out of my personal-space bubble.
“One question.”
JT nodded.
“What if they all laugh in my face?”
“They won't. I promise.” Was that a little twitch I saw at one corner of his mouth? Was he holding back a guilty grin?
He wouldn't ... he couldn't be feeding me to the wolves, could he?
“I don't know about that.” I gave him some squinty eyes. “You said yourself everyone at the bureau thinks the PBAU is a joke. Who's to say whether the entire Baltimore PD could feel the same way? You could be setting me up.”
“Who me?” He batted his eyelashes, which were disgustingly long and thick. “Do you really think I could be that mean?”
“I do.”
“Then you don't know me as well as you think.” He gave me a little nudge toward the bathroom. “They called us. Remember? Why would they do that if they thought we were a joke?”
“That doesn't mean they'll believe us. I mean, it's a little far-fetched. A bloodsucking vampire that turns into a firefly?”
“It'll be fine. Come on, they're all waiting. And you need a shower.” He fanned the air.
“Trying to tell me something?”
“I'm trying to tell you, you should probably do something with your hair if you want anyone to take you seriously.”
I patted my head. “Yeah, yeah. Why don't you tell me again how you're doing me a favor?”
An hour later, we were standing on Baltimore Street, behind the Baltimore Police Department. Concrete walls loomed around me. I had a bad feeling about this. Very bad. I had to make one final try at passing the buck to JT. What could I say or do to make him change his mind?
On the drive over, I'd tried discussing the situation with him, arguing every point he made in favor of my presenting the profile. Finally, when that failed, I begged him to do it.
JT couldn't be swayed.
I was back to bribery. There wasn't much time left.
We entered the building and were directed to a conference room at the end of a narrow hallway.
“Dinner?” I offered as I dragged my feet down the corridor. “With dessert? On me?”
“Sure. Thanks! You owe me a date, anyway.” JT beamed.
“Damn, I'd forgotten all about that bet.”
“I figured you had. I'm still not letting you off the hook. You're presenting the profile.” He opened the conference room door for me, and I stepped inside to face at least thirty Baltimore “boys in blue,” as well as Chief Peyton, Chad Fischer, and Gabe. Baltimore's police commissioner announced, “I think we're ready to begin.” Everyone started heading for a seat. The shuffle of feet and scrape of chairs being dragged out from under tables echoed off the room's white walls.
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?”

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