The Blood In the Beginning (26 page)

‘Late night.'

I smiled into the phone. ‘I know. I heard you come home.'

‘Sorry.'

‘It's your house, but Cate, when's the sabbatical going to end? You were third year psych, a straight-A —'

‘I'll call you back.'

‘Wait!' I'd planned to grill her for giving away my location to Bane, but she sounded too wrecked to withstand it. ‘You need a break. You're exhausted.'

‘You woke me up to say that?'

This wasn't going right. ‘Coffee before work?'

‘Love to, sweetie. I'll call.' She tapped off.

I don't think I'd persuaded her to drop that job and finish her degree yet. Meanwhile, she needed a liver cleanse. And time away from Poseidon. Time away from Joey, too, if I had my way. His idea of a perfect getaway would be a month long bender in Ibiza.
Dog.
I started planning the perfect holiday in my mind. It would begin with intensive jujitsu in the morning, green juice fasts and … hang on. That was my version of a perfect holiday. Cate would like something softer, like a yoga retreat in the mountains of Peru, or maybe the sunny beaches of Baja California, if the radiation was down. Which reminded me, Daniel Bane had a holiday house there.
I wonder if he ever rents it out.
Cate needed something. Who was supplying her with those pills, anyway? They sure weren't for birth control. I readjusted a collision course with a pedestrian. He had his head down, eyes on his phone.

‘Sorry!' he mumbled out the side of his mouth.

I went back to my thoughts. If I worked all summer for Poseidon and landed research funding via a CDC intern scholarship, I really could take Cate on a holiday by next year. Maybe there was somewhere that did yoga and jujitsu intensives.

Half a block before Techno Inc, I jolted out of my thoughts. Someone was coming up behind, closing in fast. Yeah, there were plenty of people around, but this one had a singular intention. I could feel it with my back turned. I shot a glance over my shoulder, spotting a guy on a mission, headed my way. His dress sense — black jeans, plain black shirt, boots, no backpack, shades — didn't cry undercover cop with urgent question for Ava Sykes. Adrenaline pumped, tingling my limbs. When he was an arm's reach away, I turned and shouted, ‘What the hell do you want?' Shouting usually startled a person, threw them off their game. It certainly had the bystanders pulling back.

But not this guy. He didn't even slow his pace. Instead, he tackled me to the ground. My only thought, as my arms slapped the pavement a nanosecond before my spine, was,
In broad daylight? Busy street? Hello. Witnesses?
Beneath my hands, I felt the sidewalk crack like someone dropped an anvil on it. He fell hard on top of me, but my body responded fast. It wasn't like this takedown hadn't happened a thousand times in the cage. I smashed my palms into his chest and tucked my knees. Before he had time to register how flexible I was, or how strong, I kicked him, double-barrel, in the sternum.

The guy flew backward, past a lamppost, between two parked cars and into the street. Damn! I didn't recognise my own strength any more. I jumped to my feet in time to see a car screech to a halt, inches from my attacker. The next car rear-ended the first, and the next, on down the line. The fender-bending train wreck kept going.
Oh hell no.
Glass fell, horns honked, drivers rolled down their windows and cursed. I looked for Lee, or anybody remotely undercover cop. My attacker struggled to stand. He turned to me, his shades gone, a hand over one eye. He stumbled backward, and ran. This was definitely going to be on the five o'clock news.

A guy in a tan tee broke from the crowd and shot after him. A flash of green Hawaiian shirt followed. It was all I could make out. My tails? I shrunk back, hoping to disappear behind the gathering crowd. That's when two guys built like tanks flanked me, one on either side. They also were dressed in jeans, tees, shades and boots. XXL.

‘The gym's that way, boys.' I pointed down the street. They didn't budge, so I raised my voice. ‘Back off!' It would have been loud enough to make heads turn, but the excitement in the street had all the onlookers' attention. Judging by the continued screeches, cars were still piling up.

‘Don't make a fuss, Sykes.'

Blood drained from my face at the sound of my name. My stalker had friends? I made to bolt. Faster than I expected, one grabbed my arm. I turned to throw a punch, but the other dude caught my free hand. The bastards walked me to a back street, my feet not quite touching the ground. Next thing I knew, I was pushed into a brick wall, taking it on the nose. Apparently they thought I needed tenderising like a slab of meat. Both brave assholes spun me around and pinned my back flat, free fists pounding my ribs. I didn't hesitate to spit in their faces, but that was just a distraction. Out of my watering eyes, I spotted Lee, green Hawaiian shirt flapping in the wind, gun drawn, barrelling down on us. A squad car screeched into the alley behind him.

‘LAPD!' he shouted, reaching me seconds later. Lee clocked one guy in the back of the head and slammed him to the ground. The other ran. While I doubled over, holding my ribs, the squad car skidded to a stop and the beat cop tore after him.

Lee patted his perp down and did a really short version of their rights. I think he stopped at
silent
. While he cuffed him, Lee told me to let Rourke know. I pulled out my phone and tapped his name while my attacker was put in the squad car. Blood spattered the touch screen. I pinched my nose to stem the flow.

Rourke answered fast. ‘Where are you? Jesus, Sykes, it's a mess on Jefferson.'

I wiped my face with the hem of my shirt and looked for a street sign.

Lee shouted out, ‘1237 block Hill Street. One in custody.' He was talking on the squad car radio, but I repeated the info to Rourke. ‘There were three guys this time. Three!'

‘You alright?'

‘Think so.' I swallowed blood running down the back of my throat.

‘Any of these guys your stalker?'

‘Don't think so … none of them had their faces painted. Does this mean the copycat doesn't work alone?'

‘Maybe. They didn't catch the one who caused the crash.'

‘Damn. What now?'

‘Tell Lee I'll be there in five. Give him your statement then walk away. If this didn't scare our killer off, we still have a chance at him.'

I did a three-sixty and frowned. ‘Who's covering me now?'

‘Mark and Samuel.'

‘I can't see them.'

‘You aren't supposed to, Ava. Just go home.'

‘Right. Talk later.' Sweat trickled down my face. I wiped my nose again, my hand still coming away bloody. ‘Lee? You have any tissues?' He was sitting in the squad car, writing on a tablet.

‘Hang on.' He handed me a wad of tissues from the glovebox.

I used the side mirror while cleaning my face. Some mirrors were worse than others, but I definitely looked like shit.

‘Sit down for a minute, Sykes. You took it hard.' He motioned me into the passenger's seat, but the proximity to the man in the back put me off.

‘I'm fine. Rourke's on his way.' I balled up the tissues and shoved them in my backpack. ‘Tag team is here.' I nodded behind me, though I didn't know where Mark and Samuel were. I gave him a four-sentence statement and then said, ‘Gotta go.'

I had to process what happened. It was like a puzzle where the pieces kept flying off the board. MMA had taught me to handle the adrenaline rush of fighting, then move on with the day as usual, but this was different. I'd been fighting for my life, again, and losing. Halfway down the block, a rush of energy hit like a tidal wave. I took out my phone and clutched it. There was a missed call from Rossi. Funny. He was just the man I wanted to yell at. I tapped the call back button. He answered on the first ring.

‘What the hell did you put in my drink?' I shouted, as if no time or events had elapsed since the ‘journey to the bottom of the sea' I took four days ago.

‘Where are you?'

‘Don't answer a question with another freaking question. Was there blood in it, or did I hallucinate that as well?'

‘You didn't hallucinate anything, but Ava, it's not safe for you.'

‘You think?' People gave me a wide berth as I hollered into the phone.

There was a momentary pause, then Rossi's voice turned glacier cold. ‘Tell me where you are.'

I sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a rush. ‘I was heading for Techno Inc before being railroaded by two freight trains.'

‘Two?'

‘You're right. There were three. Stop changing the damn subject.'

He hung up.

‘Hey, I'm not through with you.' I cursed him, venting my rage, bracing my ribs where the bricks had pounded me. I wanted to hit back until something broke. It wasn't my most Zen moment. I took ten deep breaths. Didn't help in the slightest. Still, I had one of three options. I could curse and cry, wait around for answers, or follow through with finding a new laptop.
Yup, that's right, Sykes. Stick with the plan.
I wasn't going to calm down, but I could focus on something mundane. That's what I told myself anyway. Ritual routine.
Buy the damned laptop.

I crossed the street and ducked into Techno Inc. It was a big warehouse building, enormously high ceilings with dozens of helicopter fans suspended from the steel rafters. In spite of the breeze they created, it was muggy as hell. Not good for the electronics. I passed the ‘Rebuilt' aisle, heart pounding, and followed giant green arrows to the section that said ‘New.' If this was retail therapy, it wasn't soothing me.

I sifted through a maze of laptops, pads and tablets. They came with, or without, every program imaginable, wired and wireless, cams and no cams. Because most resources — art and literary works, programs, music, films — were in Creative Commons, obtaining new software wasn't the issue; a machine that could run high-end graphics, for my microbio-simulations and slides, was essential though. I found a nice little lappy for a good price, with a twelve-month warranty.
Twelve months!
By then, I'd be interning at the CDC, or dead, or in a psych ward, heavily medicated.
Gee, I'm a girl with options.
While making the purchase, my adrenaline reached critical mass. My heart pounded in my ears. My limbs shook and sweat ran down my back. I tore out of the building with my new buy, and bumped straight into Rossi.

‘You!' I let out a yelp and jumped back.

‘We need to talk.'

‘Get out of my way.' I tried to keep walking but he blocked me.

‘Ava, listen. If you're Shen, I can't protect you. If you're with Teern, I can.'

‘Shen? Teern?' I huffed out the names. ‘I have no idea what you're saying.'

He had his hands out in that placating gesture that I hated. ‘I'm neutral, Ava, until you make a choice. That's what I'm here for.'

Snap.
‘For fuck's sake, Rossi, stop talking garbage and tell me what the hell is going on!' My eyes burned and I'm pretty sure I spat as I spoke. ‘I'm being stalked, hearing things in my head.
My father's a rapist. My mother tried to kill me … everyone's trying to kill me …

‘What?'

I kept ranting. ‘I'm stronger than a mountain lion and can't control the rage, and you …' I shifted my shopping bag and spotted the bus stop. ‘If you have anything useful to say, spit it out, otherwise get the hell out of my face!' I felt my nosebleed return. Didn't give a shit.

Rossi absorbed my outburst, his stance calm, non-threatening. His eyes were unusually soft. ‘Come.' He reached out his hand and took mine. ‘Let's go find some answers.'

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The afternoon light reflected on the bulkhead, rippling like water. It enchanted me and I calmed down a bit. Rossi and I were alone on his yacht, in one of the best decked out pathology labs I'd ever been in. The man obviously brought his work home with him, and why not? The panorama when he put out to sea would be spectacular. Apparently, his hematology research involved marine bioassays as well. In spite of my boiling hot confusion, and more than a little anger toward him, I felt intrigued. We sat, side by side, on high stools in front of two microscopes strapped to a desk. Like every bit of equipment on this boat, they would withstand a small cyclone. Maybe a larger one. I stopped gawking and turned to him. ‘You have me here. I'm listening.'

Rossi gave me an earful of information, no denying that. But everything he said about opening my mind and showing me my ‘history' and accepting I was Mar had no more meaning than it did on the day of my underwater acid trip, and I told him so.

‘Ava, you think you're a
Lander
because you were raised by them, but you aren't.'

‘Define Lander.'

‘The humans.' He said it so matter of fact, like how could I not know.

‘Living proof,' I said. A person could graduate summa cum laude and be certifiably crackers.

‘Please. Suspend your disbelief and think of this as the truth, if not about yourself, then about me, for now. This is what I am. Mar.'

My instincts were to leave him to his mad ideas, but I'd bailed before, and was still in the dark, so I stayed, determined to extract whatever sense I could.
In every fantasy resides a grain of truth
. I couldn't remember where I'd heard that, but it felt right. ‘Okay, doc. Let's pretend for a moment there is, what? Another species?' I could hardly say the word without fracturing into a nervous smile.

‘Mar,' he said again.

‘And you are one?'

‘Me, you, your lawyer, Teern and myriad of us, in the sea.'

‘Anyone else?' I did laugh this time.

‘The Poseidon crew are Mar, of a sort.
Shen
Mar. Very dangerous, not that any Mar isn't. But Shen live by different rules. Driven by darker desires. Addictions. They've adapted to land, more or less. You must know that at least, with how much time you spend with Bane.'