Mind Sweeper (10 page)

“Might be a good idea.”

“Why would Hampton risk buying a straend?” Dalton asked.

“To ensure he could extract information from someone.”

“What kind of information?”

I shook my head. “Not sure, but if an angel is willing to go all Shogun on someone’s ass, then I think it must be pretty bad.”

“What’s the deal with the head?”

“That one is totally puzzling me.”

“Do you think Doc Miller might have an idea?”

“It couldn’t hurt. I’ll see if she can meet us. Maybe Misha and Jean Luc can throw in their two cents’ worth, too.”

* * *

Dalton and I made it to the storage facility first. Doc Miller had just gotten off her shift at the hospital and would meet us shortly. Then we’d conference in Jean Luc and Misha once she arrived.

I walked slowly through the shelves staring at the different items we had nabbed over the years.

“Does this place creep you out?” Dalton asked.

“No. It’s necessary.”

“So you don’t think people can handle the truth?”

“I think humans would exploit supes if they knew about them.” He locked his eyes on me and I squirmed under his gaze. “What do you think?”

He thought for a moment. “Some could handle the truth, but others would treat it as an excuse for bigotry.”

“What did you do when your captain told you about the supernatural world?”

He smirked. “Honestly, I thought he was losing it. I almost called in a psych eval on him.”

“What stopped you?”

“I started to think about all of the weird cases and the excuses he has given me over the years, and I realized the existence of the supernatural made some kind of twisted sense.”

“So what was the first thing you did when you realized he was telling you the truth?”

“I went on the Internet to do research.”

I shook my head. “A lot of what you find out there is bull.”

“I figured that out the first time Jean Luc walked outside during the day and didn’t burst into flames.”

“Yeah. He can’t stay out too long during the day, but he won’t combust. Don’t try to stake him, either. It doesn’t work. Although it does piss him off.”

“What about garlic or crucifixes?”

“Nah.”

“So what
is
the truth about vampires?”

“They drink blood and live for a really long time. They are sired by other vampires who gain strength from the connection, so only certain vampires are allowed to sire.”

“Like Sebastian.”

“Right.”
Now
I was creeped out.

He walked down the aisle and stared at a broadsword. “What about demons?”

“Each clan is different. There are twelve modern clans I’m aware of on earth. Each has their own distinctive features and powers.”

“What does Misha look like?”

“My understanding is that a Shamat has reddish-orange skin with black eyes, but I’ve not seen Misha’s demon side. He doesn’t show it in public.”

“And Doc Miller?”

“I don’t know if Sabrina has a demon side that is visible. A succubus’s ability to siphon life force out of humans is unique.”

“What else do I need to know?”

“A lot. The most important thing to remember is that supes are like humans. They’re both good and bad. Vampires can be noble like Jean Luc, or power-hungry like Sebastian. For demons, the really bad ones are normally not allowed on the planet, which is a good thing.”

“Too bad we can’t say the same thing for humans.”

“Amen, Brother Dalton, amen.”

A voice interrupted my sermon. “Hello?”

I hollered, “Hey Doc, we’re back in the shelves, we’ll be right up.”

We walked through the door. Doc stood in the morgue, dressed to kill in a short black dress with spaghetti straps and three-inch sandals. I didn’t dare check out Dalton’s reaction.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. “Ah, Doc, it’s one o’clock in the afternoon. Where are you going dressed like that?”

“I have a date. He wants to take me to Baltimore for dinner, so we’re going on his jet.”

“What he wants is to take you to bed.”

She grinned. “Well, duh. Now what can I do for you?”

“We need to get Misha and Jean Luc on the phone first.” I entered the number on the speaker phone and clicked on the monitor. After a few seconds, Misha’s face flashed on the screen.

“Hey guys. Wow, Doc, you look great.” Misha turned away. “Jean Luc, hurry up so you can see Doc, she’s smokin’.”

Jean Luc’s face appeared. “Misha is correct. You are beautiful.”

Doc smiled. “Thanks. As much as I enjoy all the compliments, I have a plane to catch. What do we need to talk about?”

I filled the group in on the conversation Dalton and I had with Doyle. Misha almost shot coffee out of his nose when I told him about my threat to go to Coleen if Doyle didn’t help us.

When I finished my summary, Dalton launched the first question. “How do these straends work, exactly?”

Doc frowned. “It’s a metal piece in the shape of an eight or infinity sign. It’s placed at the base of the neck. Small tentacles extend from it, insert under the skin, and link to nerve endings. It causes excruciating pain, especially if the person lies.”

“And why is everyone so hot to find Hampton’s head?” Dalton countered. “Can he be brought back to life?”

Jean Luc shook his head. “No. Once a vampire loses his head, there is no reanimation.”

“Then what can you do with a severed head? And why would someone be willing to pay a large amount of money for it?” Dalton persisted.

“Maybe they want what’s in it?” Doc suggested.

“Brains?” I grimaced.

“No, memories. Hampton used straends on someone to extract information. It makes sense, then, that Hampton would have that information in his memory. Misha, correct me if I’m wrong on this, but I’ve heard stories over the years that certain demons have the ability to extract memories from other beings. True?”

Misha frowned. “I’ve heard rumors of pulling memories from people, yes. But from a dead vampire?”

I interrupted. “Could whatever stopped Byron’s heart also be able to pull memories from a head?”

“Maybe,” Misha agreed.

Dalton nodded. “So we need to find the head first.”

And, I thought, we needed to find out what this vamp knew that could trigger an apocalyptic power struggle.

Chapter 9

Dolly handed me a message before Dalton and I made it two steps into the office. Tim Connor had called. I cringed. I had offered to help his daughter, Trina, forget a horrible experience, but he had not trusted me at the time. Now a couple of weeks had passed. Since he was calling, that meant things were not going well.

Dolly bit nervously at her lower lip. She was aware of the case, since the family were shifters.

“Where’s Jean Luc?”

“He’s in his office. I’ll let him know that you need him to go with you.” Dolly got up and walked into the back room.

“What’s going on?” Dalton asked.

“I’ve got to handle something concerning a previous case. I need Jean Luc to come with me.”

“Do you need help?”

“No, you can’t help with this.” I watched his jaw set and plowed on before he could argue. “It’s a sensitive case, and the family doesn’t trust outsiders.”

“No problem. I’ll stay here with Misha and help go through the computer files.”

Jean Luc and I took the shoreway to the burbs. He drove past Trina’s school and followed the streets she used to walk home so I could become familiar with them. After a few minutes, we pulled up in front of a two-story Tudor house with a well-kept lawn. The American dream.

We walked up to the house and, before I could ring the bell, the door opened. Tim Connor’s wife, Stephanie, stood in the doorway. I bit my tongue to stop from gasping. I had met her two weeks ago, and since then she had aged ten years. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail, accenting her haunted green eyes.

I nodded at her. “Stephanie.”

“Thank you for coming.” She stepped back, inviting us into the foyer. “Tim is in his office.”

We followed her through the hall to a door on the far right. Connor sat behind his desk staring out the back window. His wife walked over and rested her hand on his shoulder, practically whispering his name, as if afraid to startle him.

“Tim, they’re here.”

He turned toward us, looking even more worn down than his wife. “Jean Luc, Ms. McKinley.”

We sat down across from his desk, while his wife remained standing behind him, her hand still resting on his shoulder. Where Stephanie was blonde and fair, Tim was dark, with brown hair and eyes.

“Thank you for coming so quickly.”

I leaned forward. “How’s Trina?”

He swallowed hard. “She’s not well. She’s haunted by the memory of that man and what he threatened to do to her.”

I gritted my teeth. A poacher had grabbed Trina on the eve of her twelfth birthday, when shifters normally change into their animal forms for the first time. The scum had told her that when she changed into her animal, he was going to skin her. Virgin pelts, as the poachers called them, were worth a lot of money. Luckily the pack had found her and taken care of the poacher, pack style. I hadn’t asked for the details.

“You want me to remove the memory?”

“Yes, but first, I owe you an apology.”

I shook my head. “No you don’t. You were trying to protect your daughter. I was a stranger who came into your home and announced I was going to mess with her memories. I can understand why you said no.”

“I should have listened to my heart at the time. I…” He hesitated. His wife squeezed his shoulder supportively. “I was afraid to go against Griffin.”

Jean Luc explained for my benefit. “He is their leader.”

I glanced between the two men in confusion. “I thought you were the pack leader.”

Tim nodded. “I am one of the pack leaders. Griffin is the leader for the entire region. I report to him, as do all the other pack leaders. When he found out what happened, he didn’t want any outsiders involved. He instructed us to close ranks. Again, I’m sorry for not giving you a chance.”

“Griffin has agreed to me helping you now?”

He continued to avoid eye contact. “He’s overseas. I can’t wait until he returns. It’s been a painful two weeks for Trina.”

“I understand.” This Griffin sounded like a piece of work.

“Would you be willing to help our daughter?” Tim finally met my eyes.

“Of course. But you need to know this might not work.”

Stephanie spoke up. “Why not?”

“Sometimes I can’t change memories for a supernatural. Plus, Trina was taken two weeks ago. This means it’s now a long-term memory, and those are harder to change. I don’t want you to lose hope, I just want to be up front about what’s possible.”

Tim reached up and placed his hand over his wife’s. “We want you to try. We’ve been telling everyone she’s sick. She’s hasn’t left the house since that day and isn’t sleeping at night.” He hesitated. “And she hasn’t had her first change yet.”

That couldn’t be good. “What happens if she doesn’t change soon?”

Stephanie choked back a sob. “She might never change.”

“I know this is going to be painful, but I need you to tell me exactly what happened on the day of Trina’s abduction. I want to be fully prepared before I try to scrub her memory. Also, I need to see your entire house, including Trina’s bedroom.”

* * *

Stephanie and I walked slowly into the back sunroom, the only room I hadn’t seen yet. Trina sat on the couch painting her toenails. She was small for twelve, with long brown hair held back by an orange hair band that matched her flowered sundress.

It would have been the perfect picture of childhood bliss if not for the fact that she cowered when we approached her. She watched me with terrified chocolate eyes. My chest tightened and my skin tingled as anger percolated just beneath the surface. I wanted to bring that poacher back to life so that I could kill him all over again.

Stephanie sat down and attempted to sooth her daughter in a voice tinged with desperation. “It’s okay, baby, Kyle’s here to help you.”

Trina’s eyes met mine again, appraising me with a wounded look too old for her years.
Damn.

I pushed my emotions away and locked them in the small room in my brain I used when I needed to regain control. Smiling, I sat down across from her and pointed to her toes. “That’s a cool color. What is it?”

She picked up the bottle and read the label. “Purple Passion.”

“Nice. I may have to dye my hair purple.”

Trina smiled slightly, then seemed to catch herself and stopped.

“Would you paint my fingernails for me?”

Trina glanced at her mother, who nodded. I leaned forward and held my hand out to her. She eyed me warily for a moment, then pulled the brush out of the bottle and ran a single stroke over my index fingernail. I sat deathly still, afraid any movement would cause her to bolt from the room. She titled her head in concentration as she carefully ran the brush along either side of my nail.