by Martha Woods
"And what about me?" Farah raised her hand, stepping towards Cayden. He pressed his lips to her forehead in apology, but his conviction was clear.
"I need you to stay here with Leah and Cassandra. If one of these fuckers makes it outside and tries to take Abigail I want you to tear them apart, I don't want a repeat of last time." He chuckled, rubbing her shoulder. "You know if you were a little weaker I'd ask you to be in there with us. But you're one of our strongest, so I need you to protect what we hold dearest, do you understand?"
She nodded, though she couldn't quite hide her disappointment. "I understand. Leave one of them to come out to us though?"
Liam snorted, stepping confidently towards the building. "There's always the one that's going to come out through the window..."
Quick, panicked shots rang out through the night, all of them instinctively ducking behind cover and raising whatever it was they had to defend themselves with. Even Iggy had almost fallen off the roof in surprise, but he was still holding and waiting for Cayden's go ahead. Liam smiled, maybe there was hope for the kid after all.
The shots weren't coming for them though, each one was firing inside the building, a steady thrum before they fell silent one by one. They all looked at one another, the two leaders sprinting low and quickly towards the door, not pausing for a second in smashing it off its hinges and ducking inside. Cayden gestured for Liam to stay low, the shifter walking slowly and carefully behind the hunter while he swept through corridors and kicked open doors. Everywhere they went there were signs of a fight, blood streaked across the walls and the broken bodies of hunters littering the ground.
"What the fuck..." Cayden felt like something was very wrong here, something that felt familiar but that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Whatever it was, it wasn't enough to keep him from firing on the first few hunters that crossed their path.
The first caught a load of buckshot in his chest, tumbling backwards and slamming into the ground, blood pooling around him and his movements ceasing. The second of the group managed to duck the shot, but a clawed hand and a tooth filled mouth was enough to ensure that he wouldn't live long enough to notice. Sure enough, when he found himself thrown against the wall with a gaping hole where his heart used to be, he didn't even reach the floor before he died.
The final member was both the luckiest and the most dangerous, ducking and weaving shots and claw swipes as he advanced on Cayden, gauging him to be the greater threat of the two and therefore the one to be taken care of first. His foot shot out, sending the shotgun up and firing into the ceiling, his fist colliding with Cayden's face and sending him off balance. Liam was about to step in when Cayden moved with the impact, spinning in a quick circle and driving his heel into his opponent’s knee, grabbing him by the head and slamming his knee directly into his nose, the sound visceral enough to make even Liam grimace.
Slipping under his arm, Cayden grabbed him by his leg and his neck, hauling him up and onto his shoulders before running towards the window. Liam was laughing even before Cayden turned, letting momentum do its work and sending the hapless hunter careening through the window, the man exploding into a thousand pieces within moments of feeling the outside air on his skin.
"Well," Cayden said, dusting off his hands, "Guess Farah got to have her fun too."
"Freeze you fuck!" They turned to the other side of the room, just in time to see the desperate hunter greeting them get pulled out through the window, screaming even as blood began to drip past the threshold.
Liam huffed a laugh, "And it looks like Iggy did as well."
They made their way down the corridor, fighting hunters where they found them and stepping over the bodies of others, but both of them were acutely aware that they weren't fighting an attacking force of hunters. This was not a defensive line that they were punching through and getting to the heart of.
The hunters were retreating from something, and given the expression of terror adorning their faces even before seeing the two of them, it must have been bad.
Eventually, the number of hunters running to greet them ran out, and all that was left to them was the tell-tale silence of death and isolation. All the trails, body and blood alike led to one door at the end of the hallway, seemingly pristine in spite of the utter chaos surrounding it. Cayden stood at the ready, nodding at Liam when his hand closed around the door handle, steeling himself and preparing for the absolute worst he could see. Liam wrenched the door open and stormed in with his claws out, yet once again all preparation hadn't prepared him for what he would come face to face with.
Skylar dropped her shadow form, her jaw falling open at the sight of her estranged husband. Even her mother seemed to pick up on the shift in atmosphere, stepping back from the man she'd been interrogating to look between her daughter and Liam, brow arched and ready to attack at the slightest sign of hostility.
Liam and Cayden were far too stunned to do anything but stare, the two of them seriously considering temporary insanity as the reason for seeing a woman that they had seen die, who had died for them. It wasn't until she took a slow, cautious step forward that Liam realized that it was all actually happening, that the woman that he had loved, lost and still mourned to this second was standing in front of him, as alive as the day that he had met her.
His lip quivered, his eyes filling with tears when he took her hand.
"Skylar?"
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Chapter 1
I am sitting at home sipping my glass of Shiraz and nibbling on cheese and crackers. I roll my eyes as the credits roll to a romantic comedy that ended with a stereotypical happily ever after. I scoff. I don’t know why I watched it. I knew the ending would be made up of a predictable plot where the characters’ love is the most important thing in this world and completely outweighed any rational logic for what would happen after the credits stopped rolling.
“Happily ever after.” I smirk. I know that there is no such thing. At least not when it came to romance. Why did a woman need a man to make her life complete?
What happened to self-esteem? To knowing that actually, you don’t need the stereotypical bad boy to change overnight and run off into the sunset with you? I always thought these movies would have a happier ending if right at the end, when the man had “changed,” the woman laughed and told him it was only ever about sex, and walked off into the sunset on her own.
Cara, my best friend, would describe me as cynical. She would say it’s a defense mechanism – if I don’t believe in love and romance, then I don’t have to admit that it’s just never happened for me.
I would describe myself as a realist. I just don’t think we’re programmed for monogamy, at least not long term. I have to agree with Cara on one point, though. It probably will never happen for me.
I’m a twenty-seven-year-old forensic scientist working for the LAPD. I am smart. I can hold my own in sit
uations that would turn most people’s stomachs. Yet, here’s the kicker: whenever I find myself with a man who I find attractive, I turn into a clumsy thirteen-year-old who can’t string together a sentence. I’m the one who will trip up, knock something over, or say something really awkward.
One of my least disastrous recent dates, in fact, featured me getting so flustered when the guy had bought me a bouquet that I managed to knock over the entire display of flowers, causing who knows how many dollars of damage. There went that week’s pay. Needless to say, I declined a second date.
Maybe that’s part of the reason why I’m a cynic. Sorry, a realist.
But I’m not heartbroken about it or anything. I have Bella, my adorable and loyal puppy, and right now, she’s the only housemate I want or need. She’s been my constant companion since the day I picked her up from the pound. With my crazy work schedule, she’s really the best partner I could ask for, and she doesn’t mind a good long run. I reach out and run my hand over Bella’s soft fur. She wags her tail and snuggles closer to my side.
I reach for the remote and flick through the channels. I’m looking for a horror movie, maybe a sci-fi at a push. No more icky love stuff. Sometimes I’m in the mood to leer at a Rom Com, but the inclination usually doesn’t last long. I know it’s all totally contrived. Real love doesn’t exist. And commitment just isn’t in our DNA. I’ve had enough personal experiences to know that – and worked enough cases that reinforced the idea. People would probably agree with me about my “cynical” outlook if they knew how many murders were perpetrated by lovers. Cheating spouses, insurance scams, arguments gone horribly wrong…if that’s what love is all about, count me out. Something catches my eye, and I flick back a channel.
There. A good old fashioned newscast. No fairytales here.
“We can confirm that the body of an unidentified female has been found just moments ago in the parking lot of The Watering Well.”
Great, I think. I count to five, and sure enough, as I hit five, my pager lights up. With a sigh, I lift Bella off my lap and set her on the ground, reaching for my cell phone. I call in and let the dispatcher know I’m on my way.
I grab my car keys and my purse and lock the door behind me. I get into my car and set my bag on the passenger seat. My cell phone, I place on the dashboard. My pager goes in the little alcove in the center console, where I can see the screen clearly without taking my hands off the wheel to pick it up. I have a system. Some people might call me obsessive, but I prefer organized. Obsessive, organized. Cynic, realist. Cara would say I’m just trying to justify my personality flaws. She’s a lawyer, but she likes to think she’s also my therapist. I don’t mind, though. If nothing else, she keeps my ego in check. I chuckle a little to myself at the thought. Cara would keep anyone’s ego in check. She’s gorgeous, successful, always at ease, and always kind. It’s hard not to compare myself to her and come up a bit short.
As I drive towards The Watering Well, I sigh. I can’t believe a reporter heard about this before I did. I’m the chief forensic officer for the LAPD, and I found out about a murder through a newscast! Heads would roll of people found out about this.
I push the thought away. It’s not like Rick doesn’t already have enough on his plate without me making trouble for him.
I know before I’m even close to the scene that it will be Rick. Rick Gordon. And I know before I arrive exactly what I’ll find. Rick is the lead officer investigating a series of grisly murders in the city. They have happened over the course of the last month. All of the victims are women. All of them turn up in parking lots, alleys and other outdoors places. And all of them are mutilated.
The bodies look as though a wild animal has been on them, but there is never a trace of forensic evidence to back up such a theory. These murders are very much man-made. I find that fitting. The things human beings do to each other are far worse than anything a wild animal might do.
The public is becoming restless, spurred on by the unrelenting media coverage calling for action. A resolution. You know, in case the LAPD actually have solved the case but don’t want to reveal it until public pressure builds. Because of course, that’s how it works. Not.
It’s hard not to get irritated with the media during cases like this, but I know it’s not really them I’m frustrated with. I’m frustrated because my job, my purpose, is to find the evidence that will allow Rick to do his job, that will see justice done, that will give some measure of peace to the families of the victims. But the murderer is meticulous. He must be. I haven’t found so much as a hair, a skin particle, to trace back to the killer. I feel useless. And after seeing these women, bloodied and torn, I desperately want some closure for them. I don’t really believe in ghosts or spirits or even the soul, but I still feel compelled to help the victims, even in death. How can I do that if I can’t find a shred of evidence at the crime scenes?
I arrive at The Watering Well. I park on the curb side and get out of the car, quickly grabbing my kit from the trunk. I never leave it in the car – it looks too conspicuous and Rick worries it will make me a target. He’s overprotective. Usually that would drive me nuts. I don’t need anyone looking out for me, and I’ve worked hard to make my coworkers see me as an investigator, not some potential damsel in distress. But he’s one of the most important people in my life, so I cut him some slack.
The parking lot is full, even though it’s after 1 am and the pub has been closed for an hour. Even at a quick glance, this couldn’t be mistaken for revelers spilling out of the pub. The parking lot is also crawling with LAPD. The yellow crime scene tape flaps in the light breeze. The flurry of activity that would have arisen when the officers first arrived on the scene has died down and most of the officers stand in small groups, awaiting further instruction.
Awaiting me. Once I have trawled the scene and collected the forensic evidence – not that there will be any, I think to myself – the officers will be able to have the coroner called to the scene and the body removed. Okay, maybe I am a bit cynical.
I cross the road and duck under the tape, making my way to the largest group. Rick spots me at the same time as I spot him. He breaks away from the group and heads towards me.
Rick is somewhere in his early fifties, although he looks younger. He’s tall and muscular. His buzz cut hair has the tiniest hint of gray at the temples, but other than that, it’s jet black. He cuts an imposing figure. Poised, mean. Until you look at his dark brown eyes. They sparkle with warmth. And when he smiles, his face changes. It becomes soft and kind.
“Amy,” he says. He isn’t smiling now.
I nod a greeting. Rick looks calm, yet I know that actually he’s anything but. Inside, he’ll be concocting a hundred different ways his team can solve this crime. A hundred way to find potential witnesses gather evidence. His mind constantly whirring, looking for the break this case needs. But on the outside, he’s calm. And his appearance of calm works on two levels. It keeps his team calm. And it gives the impression of a man who has everything under control. I personally believe that this calm exterior during the press conferences is the only thing that has given the public even a tiny hope that he is well the on the way to solving this case.
“Same MO?” I ask.
Rick nods grimly. “Yeah,” he confirms. “She’s one of his alright.”
I turn away from Rick, nothing else needing to be said, and head to the far end of the parking lot. The corner that is consciously untouched deserted.
“Amy?” Rick calls after me.
I turn and look back at him.
“Find me something I can use.”
I hear the tiniest trace of desperation in his voice. I nod, although I’m almost certain I’m making a promise I can’t keep. There’s been nothing of any use at any of the crime scenes so far, and I’m far from hopeful this one will be any different. From what we’ve gathered so far, all we really know for sure is that there have been no signs of an animal being present. Not that that entirely rules it out,
but it makes it extremely unlikely. An animal would make no attempt to cover its tracks, so to speak, and we would have found something.
Rick’s team believe that the killer is a man who lures unsuspecting women into deserted areas with him. They think that this scenario often comes about as part of a first date. They’ve trawled all of the popular dating sites, and as many of the unpopular ones as they know about, and have found nothing. None of the women have had profiles on the sites.
Their friends and family have been less than useless. It seems that these women have all been very secretive about their plans for the night they were killed.
It is odd, to say the least. And with several of the victims, the secrecy was jarring given their usual open natures. And Cara wonders why I don’t give dating sites a try.
I sigh. I feel a rush of sympathy for Rick. Honestly, I’m glad none of this is my problem. I only have to worry about the initial mess, not the fallout.
I almost reach the body when I spot a man standing on the edge of the parking lot. I wonder briefly why he isn’t standing in the crowd at the other end where the officers are questioning potential witnesses. Maybe he has something to hide?
I veer off my course slightly and head for the man. He looks as though he is about to flee, but something stops him, and he stands his ground as I reach him.
“Evening,” I say. I cringe inwardly at the greeting. Evening? I might as well have done a curtsey, actually gone for the full period drama effect.
The man nods to me, seemingly unfazed by my awkward greeting. Of course, it was going to be awkward. Look at him. He’s tall, and I can see the outline of his muscles through the long sleeved shirt he’s wearing. He looks like someone who could keep me safe; someone who I would like to be held by. His messy dark hair falls across one eye, and it’s all I can do to not reach up and brush it aside. His blue eyes are piercing but neither warm nor cold. Intense is the way I would describe them.
