Blood of Innocence

by Tami Dane

  Just as we pulled through the Quantico security checkpoint—our unit was located in the FBI’s academy in Quantico, Virginia—my cell rang. The caller was JT.

  “Hey,” I said as I scrambled out of Gabe’s car.

  “Where are you?” he asked, sounding a smidge snappy, not that I could blame him.

  “We’re on base.” I grabbed the metal frames from the backseat. “I have a couple of things for the lab.”

  “Good. We’re flying to Cleveland in twenty.”

  “Seriously?” My gaze slid to Gabe, who was standing next to me.

  “Yes. There’s been a murder up there. Last night. Same MO.”

  Gabe mouthed, “What?”

  “Are they thinking it’s the same killer?” I asked JT.

  “Maybe.”

  “Ohio? Do we know where Pietrzak was last night?”

  “I’ve already put in a call to McGrane.”

  To Gabe, I said, “I’m flying to Cleveland.” To JT, “Where are you?”

  “Heading to the airstrip. Just meet me there.”

  “Okay.” I ended the call, and then I gave Gabe a rundown. I wrapped it all up with a heavy sigh. “Just my luck. Called out of town, and I have no time to run home for essentials.”

  We got back in his car. Turning toward the airstrip, he gave me a grin. “I’d loan you my bag, but I doubt you’d accept.”

  “You know me so well. Thanks, anyway. But I wouldn’t mind borrowing your laptop, if you don’t mind lending it to me.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “Thank you.” When he pulled up to the parking area, I said, “Call me if you get anything on the screens.”

  “Will do.”

  I opened the door, got roughly halfway out, when he grabbed my wrist.

  “Sloan, you’re doing a damn good job on this case.”

  “I’m trying. I hate this fucking case. Pregnant women. Missing babies.”

  “We’ll get her.”

  “We have to.”

  Gabe nodded.

  I walked down the drive toward the waiting plane.

  JT was inside already, laptop open. His computer hadn’t been in his car, like mine was. At least in that respect, he’d been lucky. He gave me a weary smile as I made my way to a seat.

  “Sorry about your car,” I said as I buckled myself in. The pilots still had their preflight routine to get through, so we wouldn’t be leaving for a little while yet. But I still felt better buckled in.

  “No reason to apologize,” he said, sounding as tired and wilted as his smile had looked. “It was insured. I’ll have a replacement in a few days.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yeah, it’s just a temporary inconvenience.”

  “Still, I’ve been there. It’s not a minor inconvenience.”

  “I’m working with my insurance agent on getting a rental until I get my new car.”

  “In that case, you’ll probably be on the road again by the time we get back from Cleveland.”

  “That’s what I’m hoping.”

  “So ...” I studied his face, his body language. “If you don’t mind my asking, why do you look so defeated?”

  “It has nothing to do with the car. It’s ... personal.”

  “Ah. Okay.” I didn’t push. After all, I was trying to keep JT at arm’s length. Prodding into his personal business wasn’t the way to accomplish that.

  I poked around on the Web with Gabe’s laptop while the pilot went through his safety check. I Googled the phrases “missing infant” and “suspicious death of pregnant woman.” Headlines popped up, most of them familiar. Another in Cleveland, published in this morning’s Cleveland Daily newspaper. And one more from several years ago in Michigan.

  “JT, you know how we’re thinking this perp’s been at this a while?”

  “Yeah.” He lifted his gaze to me.

  “I think I found something. An old case. In Michigan.”

  “Looks like this trip might be longer than we thought.”

  Cleveland, Ohio, as I had already come to find out, was not the cultural or industrial Mecca I had envisioned. It was ... tired, for lack of a better word. Neglected. Having probably been at its best back when manufacturing was the biggest segment of the United States’ economy, it was now struggling to find its new identity in the twenty-first century. That’s not to say it didn’t have its charm. There were a handful of museums in the waterfront area, including the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and the Cleveland Museum of Art. But for the most part, the city looked sad and forgotten.

  Particularly Strathmore Avenue, with its poorly maintained early-twentieth-century homes parked on narrow, weedy lots. The house was a blue-sided Colonial, with a tiny garage huddled behind it. Stepping inside, I had the feeling of looking at the photograph of a woman who’d once been a rare beauty. Hints of her former glory remained, such as the beautiful staircase banister and handrail. But the years of neglect and disrepair had taken its toll.

  At the door, we met Detective Fultz. As was standard, introductions followed. Standing at the foot of the staircase, Fultz gave us a brief rundown of what his people had found so far—or rather, what they hadn’t. Then he welcomed us to take a look, now that the crime scene techs had finished up.

  “We appreciate the chance to take a look around,” JT said, testing the railing.

  “No problem. I could use all the help I can get on this one. Our guys have gone over the scene with a microscope and they’ve found nothing. No fibers. No prints.”

  “Just like our cases,” I whispered. I asked Fultz, “To verify, the victim, Renee Bibens, was pregnant, correct?”

  “Yes, she was.”

  “The baby?” I asked, already knowing in my gut what I was about to hear.

  “There’s no heartbeat,” Fultz said. “We’ll know more after the autopsy.”

  JT and I exchanged a look, then headed up to the bedroom.

  “Are we dealing with the same unsub here?” My gaze swept around the room. The bed sat centered against one cracked plaster wall. The sloping maple floor was littered with clutter, books, magazines, clothes. Opposite the bed was an old fireplace with what had probably once been a gorgeous marble surround and mantel. The surround was now stained. The mantel hidden under a coat of ugly blue paint. Not wasting time, I went straight to the window, on the far wall. There was only one window in the room, and it felt like it was nailed shut. Dozens of layers of paint was inhibiting the sashes from moving easily. I wondered how long it had been since the owners opened it.

  “I don’t know,” JT said.

  “It’s so distant from the others,” I pointed out.

  “If everything else matches, I say we assume it’s the same killer. At least for now.”

  “Okay.” I curled my fingers around the handle and pulled. I strained. I silently cursed. Then I gave up. “I don’t think the unsub got in this way,” I told JT, who was inspecting the bedding.

  “Hmm,” he said. It was a weighted “hmm.”

  “Did you find something?” I abandoned my battle with the window, assuming it hadn’t been open last night.

  “Hmm,” he said again. Then he shook his head. “No. Nothing.”

  “Why the ‘hmm’ then?”

  “Because I was thinking.”

  “About ... ?”

  “When we get back home, I want to dig into your father’s research again. We need to figure out what we’re dealing with.”

  “‘What we’re dealing with, ’” I parroted. “Then you’re convinced the unsub isn’t human?”

  He shrugged. “Call it a hunch.”

  I had to admit, his hunch made sense. While I couldn’t deny human beings could do some strange and terrible things—read a few history books and nobody could argue that point—this felt off. The pieces weren’t fitting. Some were missing entirely.

  Like motivation. Why drain the blood?

  Like method. How was the unsub getting access to her victims, and exactly how was she killing
them?

  Turning a slow three-sixty, I scanned the room, searching for an access from outside.

  My gaze settled on the fireplace.

  Expecting an arm covered in soot as a reward, I put my hand up the chimney to check the damper.

  Sure enough, it was open.

  “I think we have our access point.” As I withdrew my hand, something black fluttered down, landing softly on the empty log grate. A feather.

  Risking a face full of ash, I decided to poke my head in and look up. The full length of the chimney was clear, no obstructions. But it sure was narrow.

  I said, “If a human being were standing on the roof, threading a tube down the chimney to drain the victim’s blood, he or she would need someone in here to get it to the victim. There’s no other way.”

  “Which is exactly why I’m thinking it can’t be a human.” JT came to stand next to me. As I withdrew my head from the filthy fireplace, he bent down, moving way too close to me for comfort. He picked up the feather and said, “Hmm.”

  “Another ‘hmm’?”

  “Birds can fly down chimneys.” Holding the feather pinched between his finger and thumb, he smiled as he straightened up.

  “And birds can sit on skinny tree limbs two stories up.” I stood, dusting off my knees. “Then again, so can bats. And insects. That long tube Townsend saw could be a proboscis. Brings to mind an insect’s mouth part. If you’re going to go there—meaning, paranormal—we need to look at all the possibilities. Insects. Birds. And bats.”

  “Good point.” He ran the feather between his fingers; then he lowered his hand, as if to let it fall. He didn’t release it, though. Instead, he handed it to me.

  Accepting the feather, I said, “When we get back, I’ll send this to the lab and see what I can find in my father’s stuff.”

  “I think we’re finally getting somewhere. Let’s do a quick interview of the husband, Chad Bibens, then head to Michigan.”

  A little less than an hour later, we were back on the plane, waiting for the pilot to complete his inspection for the second time today. We’d already received a call from the ME. The Bibenses’ infant was missing, like the others. Although neither of us had said it, we were both assuming it was the same unsub. We still had no information on the whereabouts of our one and only suspect, Terry Pietrzak. But it was hard to imagine she would have traveled so far to kill Renee Bibens.

  At the moment, JT was squinting at his laptop screen. I was pretty much doing the same thing with Gabe’s computer. Though, by now, I wasn’t so focused. The results of my search had proven to be far from satisfactory. According to the many Web sites I’d perused already, many varieties of vampires were known to shift into some form of animal, bird, or insect.

  Knowing I would have to shut down the computer soon, I powered it down and closed my eyes. It had been a long day, and it still wasn’t over. The flight to Michigan was short. We’d find a hotel for the night, catch a few hours of sleep, and then head over to the Canton Township Police Department in the morning.

  The chime signaled that the pilot was ready to take off. I tightened my seat belt and put the seat back up. With my eyes shut, I listened to JT ready himself for takeoff.

  “Sloan, are you sleeping?”

  “No.” I rocked my head to the side to look at him.

  He had a book in his lap and was looking at me strangely, as if he was struggling with something. “Things have been strained between us lately.”

  “Not really.”

  “You don’t think so?”

  “No.”

  Silence.

  The plane started backing away from the airport terminal.

  “Are you upset about something?” JT asked.

  “Upset? Should I be upset? You sound guilty.”

  “No, of course not. I just noticed you’ve been acting differently.”

  He was sounding a little like a girl. I found it charming. “I guess I’ve been a little stressed-out.”

  “About what?”

  “About everything. The case. My parents—Mom’s pregnant. They’re getting remarried. Oh, and did I mention they want to have this huge wedding? And they’re inviting a queen. Plus, I’m playing matchmaker for a certain prince who is hell-bent on getting married tomorrow. And if I don’t find him a wife soon, he’s going to force me to marry him.”

  “He can’t do that,” JT snapped, sounding far angrier than he should. “If that little bastard tries anything again—”

  “Don’t worry. He won’t kidnap me again. No need for threats.” I tried not to think about how sweet and protective JT was acting right now. One look at him and I could tell he wouldn’t hesitate to act upon any threat he made.

  “Oh, they aren’t threats,” he said. “They’re promises.”

  “I know.” Conscious of how vulnerable I was feeling, I shifted in my seat. “And I appreciate your concern, but I’ve got things under control. Well, I do with Elmer. My mother, on the other hand, is another story.”

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  “Don’t I wish. Unless you happen to know a wedding planner who’s available.” At his head shake, I sighed. “What about any contacts with someone at Maryvale Castle? My mother has her heart set on getting married there, but I’m having a hard time getting it booked.”

  “Sorry, can’t help you there either. But if that falls through, I might be able to help you line up something else. My father’s a member of a country club. It’s a pretty decent place. I think they do weddings there.”

  “Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.”

  “Welcome.”

  We stared at each other for a moment. My heart did some little flutters. That was not good.

  I faked a yawn. Yeah, I know, pathetic. “Wow, am I exhausted. As soon as we get to our hotel, I’m going to bed.”

  JT grinned.

  I scowled. “Don’t say it.”

  “Okay, I won’t.”

  I closed my eyes.

  He sighed. “Want some company?” he asked.

  I slanted some squinty eyes at him. “You said you wouldn’t say it.”

  “I couldn’t help myself. I’m weak.” His grin was 100 percent evil. And 100 percent adorable.

  “That you are.” I smiled to soften the blow of the insult and turned my head so he wouldn’t see my cheeks burn.

  How I despised the effect his smile had on me!

  Keep looking below surface appearances. Don’t shrink from doing so just because you might not like what you find.

  —Colin Powell

  13

  I am on a beach, the sun blazing, a fragrant sea breeze tossing my artificially enhanced shoulder-length hair.

  I’m lounging in a comfy chaise; JT is sitting in an identical lounge on my right.

  Gabe comes strolling up, shirtless, droplets of seawater sparkling in the sunshine.

  Life is so good.

  “We’re here,” Gabe says in a soft voice. “Time to wake up.”

  I have no idea what he means by that. I am awake.

  Or am I?

  “Sloan, wake up.”

  It was JT’s voice I was hearing now.

  And someone was shaking me.

  The sea was gone. The image of shirtless Gabe too.

  I opened my eyes. “Damn.”

  “Sorry, but we have to get off the plane.”

  JT looked apologetic enough. If he’d known what kind of dream I’d been enjoying, he might have been even more apologetic. Then again, maybe not.

  “Come on. Let’s get to the room. We don’t have far to go. The hotel’s attached to the airport.”

  Pushing myself out of my seat, I coughed to clear my throat. “Wow, I was out.” I grabbed Gabe’s laptop case and checked around my seat, to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything.

  “We’ve had a long day.” JT led me out of the plane, down the stairs, and across the concrete tarmac to the airport’s entry. It was cool outside for June. If not for the bright lights illuminati
ng the runways, it would be dark outside too.

  “What time is it?”

  “A little after eleven.”

  We stepped inside. Having entered at a mostly empty wing of the airport meant we had a loooong walk to the hotel, which was located at the opposite end of the sprawling building. What felt like an hour later, the doors to the Westin whooshed open, welcoming us inside. We checked in—the bureau was paying for separate, though attached, rooms. I asked the clerk if they offered the basic essentials to guests and was rewarded with a little plastic bag containing a toothbrush, toothpaste, razor, and plastic comb. Up we went to our rooms. JT opened his door; I opened mine. We wished each other good night and didn’t move.

  I wanted him to kiss me. I was pretty sure he wanted to kiss me too. But, at the same time, I didn’t want him to.

  As if reading my mind, he ambled over to me and held my door open as I stepped inside.

  It swung shut.

  We were alone.

  In a dark room.

  The lights were out. He smelled so good.

  “Sloan, I’m sorry, but ...” His hands found my waist. He firmly pulled me flush to him, cupped my cheek with one of his hands, and then he kissed me.

  Stars exploded behind my closed eyelids. Heat crashed through my body. Huge bursts of electricity buzzed up and down my nerves. It was a kiss to remember. A kiss to savor. A kiss that should never end.

  But then it did, and the synapses in my brain started working.

  What the hell am I doing?

  His hand still flattened against my cheek, he looked into my eyes. “Sloan, I’ve needed to do that since our date.” His eyes flicked down to the general region of my breasts. The pad of his thumb caressed my lower lip.

  A few bits of my anatomy decided they liked where this was going. I gulped a lungful of air.