by C. J. Cross
“It’s late,” Claire replied, concern in the younger woman’s voice.
“Time is but a window.” The Ghostbusters quote was out of Dana’s mouth before she could stop herself. She was a closet junkie for cult classic fantasy films. Blushing at Claire’s obvious confusion, Dana sat back at her desk to busy herself. “I’ll be fine. Have a good night, Claire.”
“You too, Dr. Gray.”
Dana looked up when she didn’t hear Claire retreat. “Is there something else?”
“Well, I was just wondering if you were going to help Agent Shepard.”
“I haven’t decided yet.” That was a lie. The moment Dana saw the crime scene photographs she knew she couldn’t turn away from this case. But saying it out loud brought back emotions that were too raw. She preferred to lie to herself just a little bit longer.
She’d face the truth tomorrow.
6
The bright light pouring in from the excessive number of windows in the J. Edgar Hoover Building was making Dana’s headache worse. She should’ve taken Claire’s advice and left the library at a decent hour last night. But the dark, quiet atmosphere of her subterranean office seemed to exist in a world that time and light couldn’t penetrate, lulling her into an endless cradle of research.
She hadn’t gone home last night. And although she considered her research library at the Smithsonian a second home, it lacked certain creature comforts. Namely, her bed and steam shower. Thankfully, she kept a change of clothes at the office so she didn’t look wrinkled on top of exhausted.
Dana hadn’t meant to spend the night in the library, but time slipped away as she scoured every inch of the FBI case file. She must’ve fallen asleep at her desk on her third pass through.
Right now, Dana found herself missing her safe, dark world in the belly of the Smithsonian Library. There she was queen of her domain. Here she felt like a patient, being shuffled from one waiting room to the next. For all his guarantees, Agent Shepard was not as easy to locate as he’d promised.
Dana had been in the FBI building for over an hour, and she was still being promised that her time was valuable.
Standing, she gathered her things and began walking up to the receptionist when she heard Agent Shepard’s deep voice echo down the empty corridor. “I was wondering when you’d turn up. Took you long enough.”
Dana’s teeth gritted in annoyance. “Me? I’m the one who’s been waiting!”
He had the nerve to smirk. “Maybe you’re not the only witch doctor I’m consulting with.”
“Oh really?” Her ego got the better of her. “Did your other consultant identify the type of poison used in this case? Because I did.”
Agent Shepard crossed his arms. “Not possible. We don’t have the tox screen back yet.”
“You don’t need a tox screen. You have me.” Dana marched forward and thrust her findings at him.
He took the folder and opened it, leafing through her notes. From the way he was squinting, she knew he might as well be looking at hieroglyphics. Sighing, she invaded his space, getting a whiff of his spicy aftershave. She didn’t let the alluring scent of sandalwood distract her as she peered over the paperwork with him. “It’s atropa belladonna. Also known as nightshade; a deadly perennial herbaceous plant. Translation, it won’t show up on your tox screen.”
“Why not?”
“Well, it only stays in your system for a few hours, but mostly because it’s an alkaloid, not a toxin that’s traditionally on a drug panel.”
“How do you know that?”
Dana fought her urge to roll her eyes. She wasn’t the one on trial here. She exhaled. “Because it’s been used as a poison since at least the fourth century BC in Egyptian and Roman rituals. It then moved into Islamic Empires before finding its way to Europe. If you’re interested, I can recommend a few pagan manuscripts that detail the many uses of nightshade.” Agent Shepard blinked at her; his clueless expression almost endearing. “Stop me if I’m going too fast.”
“All right, I get it. You know your stuff. I don’t need a history lesson, just the CliffsNotes that pertain to our case.”
“Our case?”
“You’re here, aren’t you?”
Dana ignored his sarcasm. She’d earned it with her boastful tète-a-tète. But she couldn’t help it. Shepard’s arrogance got under her skin. Exhaling, she decided the best course of action was to table their differences. It was the only way she was going to get answers. And she desperately wanted them. “Nightshade is a nearly untraceable drug used in all manner of pagan rituals. It can cause a myriad of deadly side effects like delirium, hallucination, paralysis and tachycardia.”
“We’re still waiting to hear about the current scene, but heart attack was COD on the first four vics.”
“That makes sense. It can render the body immobile while having the complete opposite effect on the heart.”
“Why would this be used in a ritual?”
“Some cultures believed a few drops in the eyes would not only make you more attractive by dilating one’s pupils, but it could also grant the gift of sight.”
“So what happened? Some freaky witches took a bad trip and figured out they could use their flower power to murder people?”
“I wouldn’t put it quite that crudely, but yes. Only nightshade hasn’t been used in a murder on record in the US in nineteen years.”
Agent Shepard’s icy gaze narrowed. “That’s specific.”
Dana ignored his accusatory look. “I wrote my dissertation on it.”
“What made you choose that for a thesis?”
Feeling exposed she changed the subject. “Is there somewhere we can go to discuss this further?”
“Actually, I was on my way to the crime scene. I could use another set of eyes.”
Dana balked. “I don’t think I’m ready for that.”
She hated how weak her voice came out. Everything about this case made her feel vulnerable. She knew if she agreed to work with the FBI, her connection to the case would come out. But she didn’t know Agent Shepard, and she certainly didn’t trust him.
He took a step closer, his demeanor shifting as he dropped the stony-faced government agent act just long enough to let a sliver of compassion slip out. “I’m sorry. I know visiting a crime scene isn’t easy. I won’t push you. But if you’re right about this drug—”
“I am,” she interrupted.
A ghost of a smile played on his lips. “Then I think you could be the key to solving this case and giving the victims’ families the closure they deserve.”
Dana’s heart froze in her chest. For a moment she could do nothing but stare at Agent Shepard, wondering just how much he knew about her, because his words rang true. They were the exact thing to say to get her to agree to committing herself to this path, no matter what it revealed about the secrets she kept locked away.
7
Jake chewed the inside of his cheek, a bad habit he’d developed when he felt skeptical. He heard his uncle’s voice as clear as day in his head. You’ll never beat me at poker with a tell like that.
Considering Jake’s current position with the FBI required a poker face at all times, it was something he worked on. It’s why he’d taken up a new habit. Unwrapping a piece of cinnamon gum, Jake popped it into his mouth to mask his worrisome chewing.
Dr. Dana Gray sat across from him in his office looking as out of place as he had in her cave-like library lair. She sat ramrod straight in the chair on the opposite side of his desk, her thumb absently scraping the skin on the back of her tightly clasped hands. Her thick, dark hair was down today. It hung in lazy waves past her shoulders. Dr. Gray’s hair was the only relaxed thing about her—another thing that made Jake uneasy.
What did she have to be so nervous about?
He wasn’t satisfied with her vague answers about her choice of dissertation or her absolute certainty that the tox screen would validate her claims about the nightshade. She was holding something back from him. The question was, why
?
But that would have to wait. The fact was, the vexing brunette was giving him his first lead in this case, and he couldn’t ignore it.
“Well, if what you’ve outlined here is true, it seems there’s only one thing left to do,” Jake said.
Dr. Gray leaned forward. “What’s that?”
“Make it official.” Jake opened his desk drawer and pulled out a temporary access card, placing it on the desk in front of Dr. Gray. “Welcome to the FBI.”
“W-what?”
He tried to hide his amusement at her startled, doe-like eyes. “Relax. It’s just a temporary access card. You’ll need it to get clearance to this level of the building and it’ll grant you access to the case files. Make sure you wear it when we visit the crime scene.”
“If I visit the crime scene,” she clarified.
“I realize you’re stepping into uncharted territory here, but if we’re going to work together, I need you to commit fully. That’s the only way this type of partnership is going to work.”
“A partnership goes both ways,” she warned.
Jake stood and stepped around his desk. “I’m aware of that.”
Dana stood, too. She was tall for a woman, but his muscular frame still dwarfed hers, though she didn’t seem intimidated.
“Fine,” she said. “I’m in.”
Jake picked up the plastic access card and clipped it to the lapel of her blazer, hoping he wouldn’t come to regret inviting her weird world of the occult into his orderly one. “Welcome aboard, Doc.”
8
A wave of dizziness crashed over Dana as she followed Agent Shepard down the hotel corridor. It felt like the walls were closing in on her. Trying to calibrate her breathing, she looked down at the floor, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, but all she could focus on was the carpet pattern. It brought the images from the case file crashing back.
She knew there was no sense in trying to block it out. In a few minutes, they’d be in the very room where it happened. The same room where the killer had stood. Bile burned the back of her throat and her eyes watered, but she forced herself to keep it together. Agent Shepard was right. The victims’ families deserved closure. Never having gotten that herself, she knew what a gift it could be. She was determined to do her best to make that happen for these suffering families.
Steeling her nerves, she stopped outside the hotel room door and took a deep breath. Her parents’ unexpected death had taken so much from her. She refused to let it have more power over her by being too weak to do this job. Exhaling, Dana walked into the room, ready to examine the first lead in the mystery she’d dedicated her life to solving.
She knew what she’d find—police tape, print rosin, evidence markers—but still, she wasn’t prepared for how heavy her heart would feel actually being in the space. It was like a stone in her chest, making it impossible for her to pull air into her lungs. The stillness of the room was suffocating, almost like the essence of the violence that had taken place here lingered, waiting to attach onto the next unsuspecting victim.
With a hand over her mouth, Dana did her best to breathe through her sleeve. She should’ve brought a mask. The chemical odor from the forensic team mixed with the smell death left behind was making her sick. On the drive over, Shepard had explicitly warned her to go into the hall if she thought she was going to be ill so she wouldn’t contaminate the scene.
“Remind me why we’re here again?” Dana asked, hoping that talking would distract her from her queasiness.
“I like to walk in the shoes of the killer. Sometimes it helps uncover more clues.”
Agent Shepard pulled the folder from under his arm and spread photos of the victims on each bed, making it impossible for Dana not to imagine what their last moments must’ve been like. The woman was blonde and petite. The man was broad shouldered and wore glasses. Dana’s father wore glasses. Was that part of the killer’s MO?
Dana pushed her parents from her thoughts. The similarities in their murder and this current one were undeniable, but Dana had been searching for their killer for nineteen years with no luck. Maybe focusing on this case would finally give her the answers she’d been trying to find. Tying her hair back tighter, she thought, what have I got to lose?
Focusing on the photos on each bed, Dana tried to do what Shepard said and put herself in the shoes of the killer. But no matter how hard she tried, her mind slipped into the role of the victim. It’s not that she saw herself that way—far from it actually—but it was hard not to empathize with them and what they must’ve gone through.
She wondered if they’d known what was coming when they entered this room? Had they suffered? Had her parents?
Her head swam with lifeless faces, the victims’ features melting into her parents’ until she didn’t know where one ended and the other began. This wasn’t helping. Coming here had been a mistake. The only things Dana ascertained from the crime scene were horrible new images to haunt her sleepless nights.
Agent Shepard’s voice pierced her nightmare. “Thanks to the hotel cameras we have a time stamp of when the victims entered the room, which was shortly after eight pm. We’re estimating TOD between eight and nine.”
“TOD?”
“Time of death,” he explained without looking up from the folder. “That means our unsub,” his gaze left the folder this time. “Unsub basically means unknown suspect.”
“I know that,” she snapped. “I’ve seen CSI.”
Shepard shut his folder. “Fantastic! Well I guess my job is done here.”
This time Dana couldn’t stop her eyes from rolling. She wanted to wipe the smug look off his face, but she wanted answers more. “Please continue.”
Shepard didn’t even try to hide his cocky smirk as he opened the folder again. “Based on TOD, the unsub didn’t waste any time. There’s no forced entry at this crime scene or any of the others. No one caught on the security footage entering the room with the vics. No sexual assault or mutilation. The empty poison vials and pentagram are his signature. Letting us know he used some type of unknown substance to kill them.”
“And you tested the vials for traces of poison?”
“Of course. But they were bone dry. Free of prints and never used for anything other than to taunt us. I even traced them to the dozens of big box stores that carry them in the tri-state area which was a big fat dead end.” Shepard tucked his folder under his arm. “The only thing we have out of the ordinary is this.”
He pointed to the pentagram drawn on the carpet, but Dana was already looking at it. It was hard to ignore. She hadn’t been able to tear her eyes away from it for very long since entering the room. It was identical to the one she’d burned into her memory save one thing. All the points weren’t filled in. Meaning this killer wasn’t finished.
A clammy wave of sweat broke out on her neck as Dana felt the world go fuzzy around the edges. She turned to leave the room before she broke the one rule Shepard had implicitly warned her not to. But she’d only taken two steps before her knees buckled.
She opened her mouth to cry out, but her throat was so dry nothing came out. Gasping, she reached for anything to keep her from falling. She wasn’t sure she could handle it if she ended up on the floor just like the victims probably had. But her concern was premature because Agent Shepard’s reactions were as fast as his witty comebacks.
The last thing Dana remembered was the scent of his cinnamon gum as Shepard’s strong arms slipped around her, lifting her to safety.
In the hall Dana caught her breath, sipping slowly from the water bottle Agent Shepard offered her. His hand was still on the small of her back, like he expected her to black out again at any moment. She hated herself for being so weak. She hated herself even more for craving the warmth of his touch. It was spreading through her like coffee.
What had made her think she could handle this? She’d always had trouble maintaining focus in the real world. That’s why she preferred the orderly and contr
olled environment of her research library. Outside its protective walls, there was nothing to stop the flashbacks of her parents’ murder from overwhelming her. Today was proof of that.
Suddenly insecure about her ability to help, Dana felt her confidence dissolving. She swallowed, collected what was left of her pride and stood taller, breaking their connection as she turned to face Shepard. “I’m sorry. I want to help, but I can’t do this.”
“Hey, don’t apologize. I know this isn’t easy, but you’re doing fine. Better than I did at my first scene.”
She brushed off his comment, knowing he was just saying what he thought she needed to hear so he could get her back on the job. But she was on to him.
“You don’t believe me?” He hung his head, chuckling softly. “I wish I was making it up, but I got sick at my first scene.”
Dana cut her eyes at him, not in the mood to be patronized.
“I’m serious. My nickname was Yak for a whole year. Why do you think I drilled the no puking rule into your head on the drive over?”
“I saw the medals in your office. You served in the military before coming to the FBI.”
“I did. Army. 101st.”
“And you expect me to believe you didn’t see worse during your time in the Army?”
“I did, but that was different.”
“How?” she challenged.
Jake’s blue eyes grew dark and distant. It was like watching a storm roll in. Dana instantly regretted her question. It obviously sent him back to a place he wasn’t fond of. She was searching for a way to change the subject when he surprised her with an answer. “In war, death is inevitable, expected. But here, we’re supposed to be safe. And walking into scenes like this, seeing the pointless hate people can inflict on each other … it’s not something you can be prepared for or get used to.”
“How do you do it?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
Jake’s gaze came back from that faraway place, his eyes calm again when they met hers. “I believe I’m making a difference. Setting right some wrongs.”
