by Debra Webb
The weapon the killer used to render his victims helpless.
Out of habit, she filled the polka-dot bowls. Princess came into the kitchen to check out what Rowen was up to. She sniffed, turned up her nose and went back to her cushion.
“Finicky mutt,” she grumbled.
If she didn’t love the hell out of Princess, she’d donate the dog to some kid who had nothing better to do than cater to the spoiled pooch. But she loved Princess too much to even think about it.
She heard the knob turn on the back door and she un-holstered her Glock.
With a few turns and clicks of his lock pick, Hunter had the door open. Lowering her weapon, she said, “You couldn’t just knock?”
“The sound,” he told her. He gestured to his ears.
She nodded. Oh yeah. She’d forgotten about that. He did look tense. “Are you taking your medicine?” He’d said the medicine helped him to cope, but there were side effects.
“Let’s not talk about me. What did you learn?”
She gave him a quick rundown on her meeting with Merv and Doherty. He’d already known that phase of her plan.
“Cost?”
His clipped question made her worry that the medication wasn’t working effectively, but as he said, this wasn’t about him. This was about the case and six murders.
“Have you ever heard of Pavulon?”
“Yes.”
Another short answer, the tension behind the single word undeniable.
“Okay, the drug Cost found in Finch’s body works very similar to Pavulon. It’s a neuromuscular transmission interrupter. Almost instantly renders victims completely paralyzed and mute. You have to be testing specifically for it to find it, and after about twelve hours it becomes undetectable. The really sick part is that the victim is fully aware of what’s happening to him or her until the last beat of his heart.”
“That’s why none of the victims put up a struggle.”
She nodded. “He used a really small-gauge needle. Extremely hard to find unless you’re looking specifically for it. When the tox screens came up clean, there was no reason to do an in-depth inspection of the bodies in search of a needle prick. The usual examination yielded nothing.”
His silence indicated he was mulling over the new information, but Rowen had already had a chance to do just that.
“The kicker,” she went on, “is that the drug was developed by Azariel’s pharmaceutical company. It’s supposedly the hottest new painkiller on the market. For use in extreme cases.”
Hunter regarded her long enough for her fury to ignite.
“I’m telling you he’s involved,” she clarified just in case he didn’t get it.
Hunter shook his head. “Why would he set himself up that way? Think about it, Rowen. The drug would lead right back to him. Perhaps that is what someone wants.”
She let go a breath of total exhaustion. He was right. She was looking for an easy answer and it wasn’t there.
“So this murderer is a normal human, not Viktor or one of his kind.” She couldn’t believe she’d made a distinction between Viktor’s kind and normal humans, but there it was. “But why would some ex-Bureau agent start playing vampire to draw us all into this little game?”
“I’ve been doing some research of my own,” he said bluntly. “A training facility once stood on Gallops Island. I think it was used by the military ages ago, but it eventually fell into ruins. According to what I’ve found, there has been a great deal of activity the past two years back and forth out to the island. So-called cleanup efforts, but I know that’s a sham. The contamination was a cover-up.”
“But it was closed years ago. Its inhabitants exterminated,” she reminded. “What’s left?”
“Exactly. Something has been going on out there.”
“And we have to find out what?” she suggested. It might not have anything to do with their case, but Viktor seemed to think it did. He’d told Hunter to go back to where they had once been. Bottom line—it was all they had. Knowing all that, a part of her still wanted to believe Viktor was involved somehow.
“I have to find out what,” Hunter corrected. “You’re staying out of this part. It’s Bureau business.”
“Like hell.” She went toe-to-toe with him. “You’re not leaving me out of this, Hunter. Don’t even think about it. You try and I’ll tell the chief everything. Besides, you’re not Bureau, either, remember?”
Six Boston citizens were dead, one being a cop. No way was she backing off.
“If my assumptions are correct and we’re discovered, we’re dead.”
“All the more reason you need backup.”
He reached for her with one gloved hand. Traced the line of her cheek making her shiver. “I don’t want you to get caught in the cross fire,” he murmured.
“Too late. I’ve already been targeted, remember?”
There was nothing he could say to that. He knew she was right. No matter what he did, she was in this.
“So,” she suggested, taking a mental step back to relieve some of the tension, “do you have a plan?”
“We need the cover of darkness.”
Sounded reasonable to her. “Then we wait?”
“We wait.”
Chapter Eleven
Evan wrestled with the decision for two hours before he made the call. Rowen had spent most of that same time in deep discussion with her partner and the other detective working the South End Murders. She’d brought them up to speed on the drug the M.E. had found, but she’d kept quiet about the other. So far, neither the mayor nor his assistant had made any covert moves.
Evan felt confident no one in the mayor’s office was really involved. The request to see that Finch was assigned to the investigation had somehow come from his uncle. Hunter doubted this case was anywhere near that complicated, and yet it was immensely so.
In fact, he had reasoned that it was utterly simple and literally ingenious. That was the reason he’d dared to call his old field supervisor.
It had been nearly three years since he’d spoken to the man and Evan found it difficult to do so now, but it was necessary.
He went into the darkest room of the house and gave himself ample time to brace for the coming sensory overload. The medication had grown all but impotent in the past twenty-four hours. He had to make the most of what time remained; he had very little of the precious commodity left. He knew the signs—he was headed for a complete breakdown.
When Special Supervisory Agent Wesley Braham came on the line, Evan didn’t bother with small talk. “What do you know about Nathan McGill and his current activities?”
The silence on the other end of the line sent a new wave of tension through Evan. He closed his eyes against the pain that followed.
“He disappeared,” Braham admitted. “Just dropped off the face of the planet, like he never existed.”
That was it? Nothing? Evan’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “It’s difficult for me to believe that the agency has no idea what became of him,” Evan countered.
“Believe me, Hunter. If we could find him, don’t think we wouldn’t. We want him something bad.”
“I take it that means he left on less than favorable terms.” Evan needed more than the fact that the man had dropped off the planet. He had known about his abrupt departure; he just didn’t know the circumstances.
“Why the questions about McGill? What are you up to, Hunter?”
“I was bored,” he deadpanned. “I needed something to pass the time, so I thought I’d look into missing agents.”
Another moment of silence passed.
“Does this mean the medication is working?”
Evan closed his eyes and grappled for patience. “This isn’t about me, Braham.” He shouldn’t be surprised that the man would ask. He’d been the one who waited day and night in the hospital until Evan had awakened. He’d been there for him during the attempt at rehab and then the final decision to go into seclusion. Braham had been a good fri
end, but he was a part of a life that no longer existed for Evan. He had to keep that in mind. Couldn’t get too close…not even to Rowen.
“According to the trace I put on this call, you’re calling from Boston.”
Evan had expected as much.
“What’s in Boston, Hunter? The woman you left behind or the case?”
“Just give me what I need, Braham.” A dull ache had started in his forehead. Too many stimuli. He needed to rest. He needed quiet…darkness. Viktor’s accusation echoed in his brain. Outside the healing, there was only one cure for what ailed him…death.
Every instinct warned Evan that that time was very close at hand for him. On many levels, it would be a relief. His mind turned back a page and focused on Rowen. Leaving her again would be his only regret.
“We suspected he’d been selling out the Gateway Program,” Braham said bluntly. “We couldn’t prove it but his abrupt disappearance speaks for itself.”
“The program as in information,” Evan asked, his gut telling him this was far worse than the manipulation of data for profit, “or the people?”
Most of the cases Gateway had investigated had turned out to be hoaxes. But, occasionally, there was the real thing…true phenomenon. The rare human being who possessed a special gift or peculiar genetic trait.
“Maybe both,” Braham confirmed grimly. “He was so damned good at deception we haven’t been able to even get close to finding him. Undoubtedly he’s taken a whole new identity by now. Hell, he could be anyone, anywhere.”
Not anywhere, Evan mused. McGill was here in Boston. The only real question was why.
Evan thanked his old friend and carefully avoided additional questions. Braham didn’t like being left out of the loop, but he needed to keep in mind that Evan no longer worked for the Bureau. He answered to no one except himself.
He knew exactly what he had to do.
ROWEN SPREAD THE PICTURES and her notes over the kitchen table and studied what she’d learned. Not much. Merv had called her back with the latest on his surveillance of Mayor Dwight Schmale and his assistant, Lionel Campbell. Not the first thing out of the ordinary. Both had left the office around five thirty, each had gone to his respective home. Doherty had the assistant’s Bay Village row house under observation; claiming seniority Merv covered the mayor’s Beacon Hill residence.
She had a feeling, a gut instinct, quietly building up momentum against that lead. It was going to be another dead end. But they had to pursue every single lead. A long-distance interview of Finch’s mother had revealed nothing. He worked hard, played even harder, but nothing else. No steady girlfriend, no affiliation with clubs, or even a church, for that matter. He’d recently applied to one of the local universities to go after his MBA in finance. The man obviously had higher aspirations than spending the rest of his life dredging up clues related to dead bodies. The mother hadn’t heard from Finch’s one other relative, Nathan McGill, in more than five years. She thought he was dead.
Rowen knew that feeling. She had believed Hunter dead for three years.
The faces of the victims stared up at Rowen, and desolation welled inside her. None of them were connected, with the exception of the two tattooed victims. They didn’t run in the same circles; their financial statuses were all different; there was no relevance in age. Absolutely nothing. And, yet, somehow, they were all linked to the same madman.
Her thoughts drifted upstairs and to the man resting in the darkness. He was convinced Viktor was not responsible. And even she had to admit that the drug would have been a stupid move. It definitely fit more in line with a setup.
Whatever this was, whoever had taken these lives, had brought the three of them together. Rowen, Hunter and Viktor. That part she was certain of. An unholy trinity at worst, an unlikely alliance at best—a burned-out, damaged FBI agent, a desperate cop with baggage of her own and a frigging self-proclaimed vampire. Her head moved from side to side in resignation. What a team.
But she sensed deep inside that she couldn’t finish this without those two men. She thought back to that last time she’d gone to Viktor’s home alone. She wished she could remember what had happened during those missing hours, but there was nothing. He made her feel things; there was no question about that. Not the same kind of feelings she experienced for Hunter. Viktor’s lure was about dark temptation, delving into the forbidden.
Unfortunately for her, she still cared for Hunter, on a much deeper level than merely the physical.
She swiped her palms on her slacks and told herself not to go down this road just now, but she had to. What if they didn’t survive the night? She needed to consider her feelings and make peace with him before…well, before this was over. Holding a grudge these past three years had been a heavy burden. She hated the bitterness and the hurt that went along with it. It was past time to let it go. She might not be able to forgive him, but what was the point in wasting energy hating him when she knew deep down she never truly would?
He’d told her that his decision not to come back to Boston—to her—had been made before his accident. She could deal with that. She was an adult. She’d had three years to come to terms with the idea that he hadn’t felt the same way she did. Their time together apparently had not affected him the way it had her. How could she hold that against him? He’d broken her heart, that was true. But maybe his work had dictated a life of staying focused and unattached. He had been thirty-three when they were together. She should have taken that into consideration. If he’d been the marrying kind, or even the commitment type, he would surely had done so by then. She just hadn’t wanted to see it.
So it was her fault her heart had gotten broken, right?
Rowen rolled her eyes and cursed herself. Why was it a woman always looked for ways to blame whatever had gone wrong in a relationship on herself?
She hadn’t done anything wrong. The only thing she was guilty of was trusting the man who’d made her fall in love with him.
Okay, enough with that. There was no rationalizing what happened between them. She could stir it around and view the circumstances from different angles all she wanted; the end result would be the same. He’d walked away, and she’d paid the price.
She closed her eyes and refused to dwell on how harshly fate had dealt with him. It was a miracle he’d survived, and he paid dearly for that survival every minute of every day. Judging by his reaction to little things, like that breaking cup or her slugging him—okay, maybe that was a big thing—he suffered a great deal. Light, sound, touch, smell—all of it burdened him.
She wondered how he lived at all.
Maybe he didn’t.
There she went feeling sorry for him again.
They did need to talk.
To resolve their issues and get on with their lives, assuming they lived through this night.
Determined to follow her instincts, or maybe her foolish heart, Rowen trudged into the entry hall and up the stairs before she could change her mind.
It would be dark soon and moving forward with their plan would take precedence. Having this talk had to be now or never.
She paused outside her bedroom. She should have suggested he take the guest room, but hers was the only one with an en suite bath. Just another example of not thinking the situation all the way through. But then again, it wasn’t as if they hadn’t ever shared her bed.
Whatever. Get this over with. She started to raise her fist to knock, then remembered that would be too harsh. Leaning closer to the door, she held her breath and listened. Silence. He could be sleeping.
No way. Not Hunter. He might rest his eyes and his mind from sights and sounds and smells, but he wouldn’t go to sleep. Not at a time like this.
Turning the knob slowly so as to limit any squeaking it might do, she opened the door very slowly. She hadn’t turned on the hallway light, so the room remained in darkness as she moved inside. She blinked to adjust, but couldn’t see a thing. The outline of the bed formed in her mind but that coul
d very well be simply because she knew where it was.
Moving deeper into the room, she held out her hands to prevent herself from bumping into anything. At the bed, she touched the covers lightly. She didn’t want to startle him. No worry. He wasn’t there.
The bed was empty, as least as far as she could reach from the side where she stood.
Fury rocketed through her.
If he’d sneaked away without her…
Dammit. She should never have trusted him.
She reached for the lamp on the bedside and clicked it on. A soft golden glow spilled over the bedside table and the rumpled linens of the bed.
No sign of Hunter.
She swore, cursed herself for being an idiot.
Just then, something in her peripheral vision caught her attention. Black…
She turned to get a better look and recognized Hunter’s long coat lying across the bench positioned at the foot of the bed. Her gaze moved from there to the dresser, where his dark glasses lay.
He wouldn’t leave without those.
“What’s wrong?”
She whirled around so fast her eyes needed a moment to focus. Hunter stood in the doorway of the en suite bath. He held up one hand to block the dim light from the lamp. His hair was wet and hanging around his shoulders. Then the towel hanging around his lean hips registered with her.
“Sorry, I didn’t realize you were…” She gestured awkwardly to the bathroom.
“Do you mind throwing my shirt over the lamp?” He pointed to the clothes he’d left on the floor on the other side of the room. “It’ll filter out some of the glare.”
Rowen hurried to do as he asked. And he was right. The black fabric of his shirt dimmed the lamp’s illumination considerably, leaving the room mostly in shadows. That done, she stood there, feeling suddenly out of place in her own home.
“You wanted to talk?” he asked when she couldn’t seem to find her voice.
She stared at the covered lamp, thinking that she’d been too hasty in her decision to come into the room like this.
