Blood of Innocence

by Tami Dane

  JT waved the bag. “I’ll take these in, if you want to go to the rental and make yourself comfortable.”

  “I could do that. But I want to pick up an outfit or two. I refuse to wear any of these overgrown baby dresses in public again. And I should probably stop at the grocery store while I’m out. Any special requests?”

  “Buy whatever you like. I’m easy.” He winked.

  I ignored it and went about the complicated business of extricating myself from his car.

  JT grabbed my elbow to stop my retreat; then he shifted to face me directly. “Look, Sloan, I realize you don’t like me very much right now. I understand this is awkward. But are you sure you’re okay with this assignment? Because if you’re not, we can get someone else to stay with you.”

  “I can handle it.”

  “I’ll need to stay with you at night.”

  “I figured as much.”

  “But I promise not to do or say anything inappropriate anymore.”

  “Well, that would be a welcome change.”

  JT nodded. “I deserved that.”

  With a little extra effort, I got out of JT’s loaner car and went to mine. Feeling a little crappy after that sarcastic dig—I’m so much better than that—I cranked the engine and pulled away from the curb.

  This thing with JT was turning me into someone I didn’t like very much. It was time to do something about it.

  A handful of hours later, JT came home to a house filled with smoke, a smoke detector squealing, and a flustered, irritated make-believe, pretending-to-be-pregnant wife. When he strolled into the kitchen, his eyes were the size of grapefruits, and he was fanning his face with his hand.

  I took a break from disaster cleanup duty to welcome him home with a cold bottle of vitaminwater.

  “What’s this?” he asked, accepting the drink while perusing the mess.

  “It was supposed to be an early dinner, but things got a little out of hand.”

  Focusing on the torched black blobs smoldering on the stove, he said, “A little out of hand?”

  I plopped onto the stool, pushed up against the kitchen island. “It was supposed to be a peace offering.”

  “For what?”

  I slid a sideways glance his way.

  He grinned.

  “Do I get points for trying?” I asked.

  “You do.” He patted my shoulder. “It wasn’t necessary, you know. It should be me making a peace offering.”

  “Maybe, but I felt I’ve been a jerk lately too. Here I am telling you, over and over, that we need to be professional, that we must set aside our personal feelings and act like coworkers. Yet, I’ve been acting like a little whiny bitch. And all because of something that’s none of my business. You’ve fathered a child. That’s wonderful.”

  JT unscrewed the cap on the water bottle. “I think you’re being a little hard on yourself.”

  “I don’t. The FBI is no place for whiners. It’s also no place for flirting or fooling around. So no more screeching tires. No more sarcastic slams. No more kissing either. We’re coworkers and nothing more. Okay?”

  JT thought about it for a moment.

  I gave him a jab. “Okay,” I answered for him.

  “If you insist. Though we may have to act like we’re more than coworkers while we’re undercover. To make it believable.” He winked.

  I gave him my best mean eyes. “You’re impossible.”

  We ate turkey sandwiches and fruit for dinner. Then JT hauled in the box with my dad’s research first, so I could keep searching for information on Malaysian vampires, while he brought in the rest of my stuff.

  An hour or so later, JT joined me. “I put most of your stuff in the second bedroom, the one that faces the front. Do you think you brought enough?” He winked.

  I did the mature thing; I stuck out my tongue. “Maybe next time I’ll pack more. I think I forgot some things.”

  “All joking aside, how are you doing?” He motioned to the files.

  “It’s going slowly.” I glanced around the piles of folders spread around me. “But I’m classifying them as I go. I’m assuming we’ll be digging through this stuff all summer long. Might as well organize it so we’ll know where to find things.”

  “Good idea. Can I help?”

  “Sure. I’m creating piles, based on creature type and then geographical region. Vampires are over here. Shape-shifters are there. Ghosts and other spirit beings are there.”

  “Got it.”

  I rubbed my temples, feeling the start of a tension headache coming. “My father was thorough—I’ll give him that much. It’s just sad that he doesn’t remember most of it.”

  “He doesn’t?”

  “He told me he had meningitis recently and he’s had some memory loss.”

  “Really?” JT’s tone was doubtful.

  “You don’t believe him?”

  JT shrugged. “I guess I have no reason to doubt him.”

  That was the conclusion I’d come to as well.

  We worked together until just before midnight. And we managed not only to get a lot done, but we did it without JT flirting with me, or me getting snarky or sarcastic. Overall, despite the fact that we hadn’t come across the files on Malaysian vampire legend yet, I could only classify the evening’s work as a major success.

  Even so, I dreaded what was about to happen next.

  I showered before bed; then, wrapped in a towel, I barefooted it to the spare bedroom. I put on as much clothing as I could stand, considering the weather had changed and a muggy feeling had crept in while we’d been working. To provide the killer with her opportunity to attack, the window would have to stay open. The air-conditioning would have to stay off. But as a safeguard, to avoid becoming her next victim, I would have to sleep with JT. The more barriers to his wandering hands, the better.

  Wearing the pregnant bodysuit, a pair of shorts, and a T-shirt, I shuffled back to the master bedroom. JT was already tucked in. He wasn’t wearing a shirt.

  I hoped he had on some pants.

  I went to the window.

  “It’s all set. Open. The screen’s intact.” He grinned and patted the mattress. “Come to bed, wife.”

  Ugh was all I thought.

  You gain strength, courage, and confidence by every experience by which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, “I lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.”

  —Eleanor Roosevelt

  20

  Something was touching my leg.

  Creeping.

  Crawling.

  Oh, God, it was moving up, up, up.

  I jerked upright and ripped the covers off myself.

  I nudged JT.

  He grunted and rolled over, seeming to be in a deep sleep.

  A pink slithery thing wriggled on the mattress.

  I shrieked like a girl and scrabbled away, crawling right on top of him.

  That woke JT up. He clamped his arms around me and whispered, “I knew you’d change your mind.”

  I smacked him, then flung myself on the floor. “It’s here! The thing!”

  “Oh. Shit!” JT lunged forward just as I snapped on the lamp.

  The pink proboscis slithered right out of JT’s hands.

  “Shit, it’s slimy,” he cussed. “I can’t get a grip.”

  I dashed to the window and slammed it shut just as it slid out.

  Outside, I heard a strange clicking sound, and then the flap of wings. I saw absolutely nothing.

  Leaning back against the closed window, I sucked in a lungful of air. “Oh. My. God. Why didn’t you wake up?”

  “I didn’t expect it to find us so soon.” Lips curled in disgust, JT inspected his hands. “It’s what ... three A.M.?”

  I checked the clock. “A quarter after.”

  “Just goes to show how desperate it is.”

  “I don’t know about that.” He waved a hand at me. “We should collect a specimen of this s
lime.” While I went in search of swabs, JT continued, “Think about it. You just went to Dr. Rosenstein’s office yesterday. And within hours it’s got you in its sights? Why is that? Why isn’t it hunting one of the many other patients who have been seeing the doctor this whole time?”

  “Like ... Hough, for instance?” Finding a swab in JT’s laptop case, I went to work, collecting the sample.

  “Like Hough, yeah.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it already visited all the other patients and couldn’t get in.” I sealed the swab in a plastic evidence bag and set it on the nightstand.

  “I suppose that’s possible.” He went to the bathroom and washed up. When he returned to the bedroom, he said, “We need to set a trap. So that next time, we catch it.”

  “That’s right up my mother’s alley,” I said as I stared out the window. My skin was prickling all over with the creepy-crawlies; and my heart was still thumping so hard, I could hear every beat in my ears. “I’ll call her later, at a decent hour, and ask her if she’d like to help.”

  “But you can’t tell her what we’re trapping,” JT reminded me as he smoothed the covers back in place.

  “Sure, I know.” I wasn’t about to tell him about Mom reading all my case notes. I figured it was better for both of us if he didn’t know.

  He motioned to the bed. “Come on, Sloan. You should try to get some sleep. We’ll leave the window closed until we’re ready for it.”

  “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to sleep.” I checked the window one last time, to make sure it was closed and locked. Then I paid a visit to the bathroom. While I was peeing, JT took the sample downstairs to put it in the refrigerator for safekeeping.

  JT was in bed, his back to me, when I returned.

  I settled in.

  I rolled onto my back and stared up at the ceiling.

  Then I flopped onto my right side.

  Then I rolled onto my left side.

  “If you don’t stop flopping around like that, I’m going to tie you down,” JT grumbled.

  “I’m a stomach sleeper. I can’t get comfortable.” I tried my right side again.

  “You didn’t have any problem falling asleep earlier.”

  “Yeah, well, that was before some vampiric thing tried to suck every drop of blood from my body.”

  “It’s gone,” he pointed out.

  “I know.”

  “You’re safe.” JT set a hand on my arm.

  “Yeah.”

  He gave my arm a soft shake. “Sloan, I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  “You said that before. You almost failed to keep that promise.”

  “It won’t happen again.” He rolled over to face me. “No excuses. I shouldn’t have assumed she wouldn’t find you so quickly. Now I know better. I swear, I won’t fail you.”

  I nodded and closed my eyes.

  I tried to fall asleep. I really did. I pretended to fall asleep, for JT’s sake, so he wouldn’t feel worse than he already did. But slowly the hours dragged by. Birdsong signaled the arrival of dawn.

  I sat up.

  JT stretched and yawned. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Okay. You?”

  “I didn’t. But don’t worry, I’m okay.”

  I left the bed, all rumpled and cozy and smelling like a certain sleepy, cuddly man, and went into the bathroom to take care of a few essentials. When I came out, JT had the bed made and was already dressed. His hair was freshly damp.

  “Took a quick shower in the other bathroom,” he explained, sitting on the bed to tie his shoes.

  I’d been in the bathroom all of... ten minutes. “How did you accomplish so much in such a short time?”

  “I was in the army. In boot camp we had three minutes to shit, shave, and shower.” He grabbed his phone, sitting on the nightstand, and started poking buttons.

  “And that was how long ago?”

  With his attention focused on his phone, he shrugged. “The habit kind of stuck with me. But it comes in handy when I’m in a hurry.”

  “Are we in a hurry?”

  “We are.” With his phone held to his ear, he motioned toward the door. “The chief called while I was cleaning up. It seems our unsub left here and found herself another target last night.”

  My insides twisted into a knot. “Damn it. If only we’d been able to stop her, that woman would be alive right now.”

  “We tried, Sloan. We can’t blame ourselves. It won’t do us any good,” he said as he punched the keys on his phone.

  “Yes, it will. It’ll make me that much more determined to get her next time—if there is a next time.”

  “I have the feeling there will be.” He scowled. “The victim’s house is about three miles from here.”

  Together we stomped down the stairs and made a turn toward the kitchen. I went for the instant coffee—filling a travel mug to the top—and a S’Mores-flavor Balance bar. JT grabbed a vitaminwater out of the refrigerator, a banana, and a protein bar. Out we went. JT rammed his breakfast-to-go down his throat while he drove. I did the same while I navigated for him. We were both still chewing when we pulled up in front of the scene.

  JT heaved a sigh as he cut the car’s engine. “We’ve been to way too many of these scenes.”

  “I completely agree. Which reminds me ...” I dialed my mom’s phone while I scrabbled out of the car. JT was way ahead of me. His long legs carried him up the front walk at a brisk pace that I couldn’t meet in my current condition. My mother’s line rang five times. No answer. After the sixth, it clicked over to voice mail. I left a message, ended the call, then followed JT into the house.

  It was swarming with people. Crime scene techs. Detectives. Uniformed cops. I located JT upstairs, at the top of the staircase, talking to a man who looked like he might be the victim’s husband.

  The man had a bewildered, confused look on his face. He was still wearing his pajamas. His feet were bare, and his hair was sticking out at odd angles.

  “I don’t understand. Cassie was fine when we went to bed. I didn’t hear a damn thing. Nothing. I saw nobody. I felt nobody. I normally wake up when she gets the hiccups,” he lamented. “How does someone get in our home and kill my girlfriend, and steal our child, while I’m fucking asleep? Can you tell me that?” His hands were clenched, shaking; his face and neck were the shade of a nude sunbather on the planet Mercury.

  “We are doing everything in our power to find out who is doing this and stop them,” JT said.

  “It makes no sense. None whatsoever!” the man shouted. “Cassie shouldn’t be dead. We should be eating breakfast, talking about how she spent too much money yesterday on baby stuff, and arguing with me about what color the fucking nursery will be.” The man’s eyes watered.

  Mine sort of did too.

  I blinked a bunch of times and turned toward the wall to collect myself.

  My phone rang. It was Mom.

  I hit the button and shuffled back down the stairs.

  “Sloan, it’s early. What’s wrong? Why did you call me?”

  “Nothing’s wrong. I’m okay. I just need a favor,” I said as I wedged myself into a quiet corner of the living room.

  “What sort of favor?”

  “You know how you love to create inventions?” Before she had a chance to respond, I continued my pitch. “Well, I need you to make something for me. A trap. A very special kind of trap. Are you up for it?”

  “Will you be using this trap for work?”

  “Yes, I will be.”

  “Then I’d be essentially working for the FBI?”

  “In a sense.”

  “I’ll do it!”

  “Great. I’m busy right now. I need to go. But I’ll get in touch with you later to give you the specifics.”

  “Okay. I’ll talk to you later, then. Bye.”

  “Bye.” I shoved my phone in my pocket and went in search of JT. He was still upstairs, though he’d made it into the bedroom and was checking out the window. “Is
the screen cut?”

  “Just like the others.” He was shining a flashlight at the edge, where the screen was affixed to the metal frame. “I don’t see any signs of tissue.”

  “Was the window still open?”

  “Yeah, the victim’s boyfriend, Nick Ellanson, said he hadn’t touched the window.”

  “If only he had.” I sighed. “I wonder if we should contact all three doctors and tell them to recommend their patients sleep with their bedroom windows closed and locked until we can catch the unsub?”

  “If we did that, chances are she’ll move on, and we’ll have to wait for her to kill again before we could find her. In the long run, that could cost a lot more lives.”

  “I know, but this is killing me.” Reluctantly, I turned toward the empty bed. The ME had already taken Cassie Crause away.

  JT nudged my arm. “We’ll get her.”

  For some reason, my hand went to my artificially swollen belly. “How close was she to delivering?”

  “A few weeks,” JT mumbled.

  A shudder swept through my body. “I hate this case.”

  JT looked at his notes. “Here’s something interesting. She had a doctor’s appointment yesterday.”

  “So did I.”

  “Yes, you did. But she doesn’t go to Rosenstein. She’s a patient of Patel’s.”

  “What about the other victims? Were they killed within twenty-four hours of their appointments? I don’t remember looking at that variable.”

  “I don’t know. I’d have to take a look at our notes. In fact, I’m not sure if that’s a question we’ve even thought to ask.”

  “We should have, if we didn’t.”

  “Yes, we should have.”

  After talking to a couple of neighbors, JT and I agreed it was time to go. First on our to-do list was reviewing the notes on the other victims, to see if any of the others had visited their doctors within twenty-four hours of their deaths. If we were lucky enough to have found a concrete variable, that would help us eliminate a substantial number of pregnant women from the potential victim list every night.