Dead Heat (Taz Bell Book 1)

by Sharon Green

  "… and we really must insist," the man was saying as I got close enough to hear him. "An opportunity like this is of the once-in-a-lifetime variety, and we're currently in touch with someone in the governor's office. If you try to refuse our request, that's whose orders you'll be ignoring."

  "You seem to have no real idea just what it is you're askin' for," Allen told the man, sounding as if he'd said the same thing before. "And I need to know how you found out about this. Since we've managed to keep the story away from the media, you can't have just read about it or seen the details on the evenin' news."

  "We're not the only ones capable of knowing a priceless opportunity when we see one," the woman answered with a very satisfied smile. "We were told about the discovery by a kindred spirit, someone who feels the same way about the matter that we do. None of us have spoken to the media, of course, but if you continue to refuse our request we'll likely have no other choice."

  "If you think I'm just bein' stubborn, why don't you get the opinion of someone else," Allen said after glancing at me. "This lady is Ms. Bell, the rogue hunter who identified the harpy signs for us. Ms. Bell, this is Mr. John Aronson and his wife Melissa, who are both naturalists of some kind. They have a request - a demand, actually - that I'm not very happy about."

  "We're not naturalists, but the truth can be gone into in more detail later," the man John Aronson said with a wave of his hand. "The point that needs to be made right now, Ms. Bell, is that we don't want the harpy killed or even harmed. We want it captured and turned over to us so that we and our colleagues can study it. We can't get official sanction to bring in an egg ourselves, but this specimen is already in the country. I'm sure you agree that to waste the specimen would be a crime."

  Both Aronsons stood smiling at me, waiting for me to say that they were absolutely right. They knew they were right, their expressions were clear on the point.

  "Does that mean you and your … colleagues are ready and willing to capture the harpy yourselves?" I asked, resisting the urge to just tell them what colossal fools they were. "If so, then the rest of us will gladly stand back and let your group go to it. We can let them do that, can't we, Detective Allen?"

  "Yes, sure, of course we can," Allen agreed, clearly going along with the joke, a joke the Aronsons didn't seem to appreciate.

  "No, no, that isn't what we meant!" Melissa Aronson protested as her husband said the same thing in different words. "We have no idea how to go about something like that, so you and your people will have to do it for us."

  "In other words, you're ready to risk our lives to get you your toy, but your own lives are too precious to be risked," I stated, all friendliness now gone. "We lost two police officers going after the last harpy some fool brought into this country, and we weren't there to try taking it alive. Have you ever even seen a harpy kill? Do you have any idea what it takes to put one down? How dare you stand there making demands when you have no idea what you're asking for?"

  "We know exactly what we're asking for," the man blustered in answer, but the look in his eyes was still flinching from what I'd said. "You can use some kind of sleep gas to put the specimen out, and then you can cage it without any - "

  "Sleep gas doesn't work," I interrupted to tell him. "I don't know if the harpy holds her breath or is naturally immune to the stuff, but it definitely doesn't work. Neither do tranquilizer darts that would stop a charging lion in mid leap. Nets get shredded even if they're made of metal, and a heavy gauge shotgun blast just makes the thing break stride for a few seconds. A barrage of shotgun blasts eventually kills the beast, but you have to stand your ground and keep firing. Any other suggestions you'd like to make?"

  "It - can't be as impossible as you claim," Melissa said slowly, her narrow face beginning to go stubborn. "You don't seem to understand just how important our studies would be to the world, even to our own community. If we'd already done our research, you would be able to capture this specimen without any danger."

  "Stop looking so smug," I told her flatly. "Your line of argument is as stupid as you are. If you had any sense at all you'd have asked yourselves why that kind of information isn't already available from studies done in Europe. After all, they've had free access to harpies for centuries. No, don't bother guessing. My partner and I eventually found out that everyone who tried to do what you fools want to ended up dead. It just isn't possible to keep the harpy confined, so give it up."

  "And if someone from the governor's office calls, I'll tell them the same thing," Allen put in with a very direct stare for the two people. "Meanwhile, if a single word gets out to the media about this, you two will be under arrest before you can turn around. Breachin' the confidentiality of a police investigation is a serious offense, and I can promise that the judge won't just slap your wrist. Whoever your contact in this department is, you'd better make sure they understand that - Excuse me for a minute."

  Allen's cell phone had started to ring, so he stepped away to answer it. The Aronsons also stepped away and began to whisper to each other, obviously arguing about something or other. My guess was the woman still wanted to press the "request," but her husband was starting to have second thoughts.

  "No, we need to try one last time," Melissa stated out loud to her husband, then she marched back to plant herself in front of me as she clutched her purse with both hands. "We happen to have a very affluent associate, Ms. Bell, and he instructed us to save his offer as a last-ditch effort to get us that specimen. Since you're a rogue hunter, you're the natural one to say this to. If you can capture the specimen instead of kill it, we'll pay you one hundred thousand dollars. And thanks to modern technology, we won't have any trouble keeping the specimen once we have it. Is the task any more possible now?"

  The woman stood there staring at me with a smile of triumph, and I couldn't help noticing that her short brown hair looked almost the same as her husband's. That was the only thought I had that was polite enough to mention, but before I put some of the rest into words, Allen came back.

  "That was one of my associates givin' me a heads-up," Allen said to me bleakly. "We've got another killin' like the others, and that makes five."

  Great. While idiots got ready to thrown big money around, the sweet pet they wanted so badly had just added another victim to her list.

  Chapter Ten

  "Well?" Melissa Aronson said to me, all but tapping her foot with impatience. "How soon can we expect delivery of our specimen?"

  "You know, if I thought it would do any good I would ask Detective Allen to drag you along with us," I answered after getting a better grip on my temper. "Seeing the shredded body we're about to go and look at would sober up any normal person, but all you can see is what you think you want. I hope that someday someone manages to take you up on your offer. A live harpy is something you deserve to have."

  The woman showed just as much indignation as I'd expected her to, but an instant before I turned away she also started to look the least bit unsure. With someone else I would have considered that a good sign, but not with Melissa Aronson. Five minutes from now the woman would have herself convinced that I didn't know what I was talking about, bringing herself right back to her original outlook.

  "She made you an offer?" Allen asked as we headed back through the maze of desks on our way to his car. "It must have been pretty good if she expected you to accept it."

  "She offered me a hundred large to capture her 'specimen'," I answered without looking at him. "A hundred thousand dollars is a lot of money, but as I told someone else not long ago, you can't spend the money if you're dead. Anyone who doesn't believe that can ask George."

  "Damn straight they can," George put in from his place to my right. "And even if I could spend that kind of money, what good would it do me? I don't even want the things I did when I was still alive anymore."

  "I think when I get back I'm goin' to have to show everybody involved some pictures of the victims," Allen said with a shake of his head. "That woman could make
her offer to someone else, someone not bright enough to tell her to forget it."

  "If she does get someone killed, I'd see if I could talk the prosecutor's office into putting her on trial," I said as we stepped outside again. "New York has a charge called 'Depraved Indifference' they could get her on, but I don't know if Tennessee has the same law."

  "If she gets one or more of my people killed, I'll be findin' out about that law," Allen assured me. "Right now all I can think about is the people already dead."

  Like the latest victim, he didn't add out loud, but he didn't have to. We reached his car and got in, and this time he didn't open a door for George. Allen looked to be wound up tight on the inside, and I couldn't blame him. My own reasons for not wanting to see the newest victim weren't the same as his, but the reluctance was still there.

  I expected us to head out for the countryside again, but we didn't quite make it. The area we went to wasn't far from the highway, but it was still in the city. The houses in that neighborhood were on the colorless side, about two or three steps short of being a slum area. The small patches of grass in front of the houses looked to be dying from lack of attention, and the houses themselves were very close together.

  Half way down the block were a lot of police cars and other official vehicles, and small crowds had gathered at the yellow tape strung all around two of the houses. The area enclosed the narrow driveway between the houses, and that was where most of the official attention seemed to be. Allen parked behind two of the police units and we all got out, and even at that distance I could smell the spilled blood. There was a lot of spilled blood, and the accompanying smell of vomit only just kept me from reacting to the first smell.

  "They told me this one is worse than the last," Allen said when I reached him, his expression bleak. "If you decide to wait here instead of goin' closer I'll surely understand."

  "I'd love to wait here, but I really do need to see the crime scene itself," I answered, the words more for my own benefit than for his. I was already starting to sweat, and my insides felt like twisted bread dough. The only reason for going closer was the possibility of picking up a scent other than the harpy's, a slim chance but not completely impossible.

  "Then let's get it done as fast as we can," Allen said, his own reluctance just about screaming at me. He also seemed to be looking for something else to say, and when he didn't find that something else he had no choice but to lead the way under the yellow tape.

  As we walked along the sidewalk to the driveway where everyone was congregating I worked very hard at pretending that nothing was wrong. At another time people would probably have noticed, but right now all the police personnel were too busy with their own pretending. Even the brown and darker faces we passed looked pale; lighter complexions had gone all the way to ashen, and one cop even seemed about to pass out. He was holding on to consciousness with gritted teeth, but even if he did go down there wasn't likely to be anyone who laughed at him.

  A car was parked all the way back in the driveway next to the house, handily close to the house's side door. The driveway itself wasn't blacktop like some of the others in the neighborhood, just dirt with weeds growing out of it here and there. About five feet from the car's back bumper was a sheet-covered mound, and even as we started up the driveway that woman who did forensics crouched next to the mound and pulled away the sheet.

  Allen stopped short with a strangled sound, and everyone else in sight immediately turned away. Even the dark skin of the woman who would be doing the forensic exam paled a little, and with very good reason. The last body I'd seen had been fairly bad, but bad in the way of having been fed on. This body, though, was a different matter.

  Not only had the body been ripped open and the intestines eaten, but the chest had been scraped open with talons and the ribs broken through so the harpy could reach the man's heart. Whether that had been done before or after his groin had been chewed to shreds was the medical examiner's call, along with the way the talons had opened the man's thighs to the point where bare muscle could be seen. Fingers were missing from the man's hands along with flesh from his arms, but his throat hadn't been opened and his eyes were still in their sockets.

  "This was done by the same animal as the last victim, but not in the same way," the woman from the coroner's office finally said. She was trying to sound as unconcerned as the last time, but wasn't quite making it. "I think this victim was alive through some of the damage done to his body, as if the animal wanted to make him hurt before it killed him."

  By now I was sweating really hard, and the way my head whirled almost made me miss the fact that I had a reason to turn around and walk away from the body. The smell of fear mingling with the blood added to the whirling in my head, and it was all I could do to turn and pull Allen after me as I almost ran back in the direction of his car. I now knew I'd been a damned fool for coming to a murder scene this close to the full moon, but the effort couldn't be considered a complete waste. Not when I'd recognized the victim.

  "Taz, slow down," Allen protested as I pulled him along behind me, my fist closed into the cloth of his jacket sleeve. "Or if you can't slow down, at least let me go."

  "Can't," I got out, trying not to breathe at all. "I recognize the victim - but I can't - tell you about it - yet. Come with me."

  I turned him loose then and hurried on alone, but the few words I'd managed to speak pulled Allen along behind me as if I still had a grip on his sleeve. I went past his car and all the way to the end of the next block, and only then was I able to stop and take a few deep breaths. If I'd turned in the direction of the murder scene I probably would have still been able to pick up the smell of blood, but turned the other way I could go back to pretending to be something close to human.

  "Are you all right now?" Allen asked, his hand touching my shoulder very lightly. He didn't sound all that together himself, but concentrating on me was probably helping him forget about how bad he felt himself.

  "All right would be stretching it, but at least I can string words together," I answered. I also forced myself to open my eyes, not as easy an accomplishment as it sounded. "As I tried to say a couple of minutes ago, I saw the vic last night, in a place called Morgan's. Do you know it?"

  "Sure," Allen said, the word very neutral. "I've even been there a time or two myself. Was the victim alone when you saw him?"

  "No, he had a couple of friends with him, but that's not the important part. He came over to the bar and tried to pick me up, but before he reached me he pushed aside this harmless-looking guy who was also on his way over. It wasn't hard to see the dead man thought of himself as a biker, and he knew how bikers act from the movies and television. The other man looked really furious, but instead of making a scene he just left the place."

  "And now the biker is dead," Allen said, his nod and expression thoughtful. He'd moved to where he could look at me, but made no effort to even glance toward the murder scene. "I can see why you thought that little clash was important, but there's somethin' else I don't understand. From what you said about your first harpy case, some of my people have been lookin' for someone who recently disappeared. Do you think now that someone is directin' the harpy instead of bein' her first good meal?"

  "It has to be a possibility," I said. "I don't know enough about harpies to say for sure one way or the other, so I have to consider everything. That other man could turn out to be a dead end, but he could also turn out to be the one we're looking for."

  "And the bartender from Morgan's would know if the victim got into a fight with anyone else last night," Allen agreed. "If the dead man didn't have any other fights, we might be able to trace the other man you saw. I'll call my headquarters and find out who the bartender on duty last night was, and we can go and talk to him."

  "Allen, wait," I said as he started to pull out his cell phone. "The dead man - and his friends - did have one other fight last night, and the people they had the fight with were Eric Wellman and me. Biker boy didn't like the wa
y I brushed him off, so when Eric and I left the bar we found the fool and his friends waiting for us. Eric took care of two of them, and I handled the third."

  "And then you went back to the motel, where you two were attacked by a vampire," Allen said, his face without expression again. "I somehow had the impression you two were just … in the parkin' lot at the same time, but I can see now that I was mistaken. I appreciate your clearin' that up for me."

  And then he moved a few feet away to use his cell phone in private. His very neutral expression hadn't changed, but that was just on the outside. On the inside I could almost feel all the ice that had formed, and I wasn't the only one to notice it.

  "Looks like you won't have to worry about Detective Allen's interest anymore," George commented in a murmur from where he stood to my right. "He knows now that if you felt the same interest you would have called him last night instead of going to a bar alone. Well, he wasn't right for you anyway."

  I smiled faintly at that comment, loving George even more for the support he'd given me. He seemed to know how much I'd hated having to admit that I'd gone out last night to pick up a man, but I couldn't have conveniently "forgotten" to mention the fight. The bartender from last night might know nothing about it, but he might also have noticed the biker and his friends being gone when Eric and I left. If he had noticed and had followed with his gun to make sure Eric and I got to our cars safely, he would have seen the fight. And mentioned it, probably at the worst time possible.

  Allen was on the phone for a while, a stretch of time I used to pull myself together again, and then suddenly the call was over.

  "Okay, I've got the bartender's name and address," Allen said as he closed his phone and put it back into his jacket pocket. "He lives here in the city, so we'll go and talk to him and then I'll take you back to your motel."

  "If you don't mind, I'll wait here while you get the car," I said. "Going closer to the scene again is something I really don't want to do."