Third, what gave him the right to ask her what she was up to?
Fourth bullet point, was he solo or working for someone, and was it the government?
Last but not least, he also needed, as a cherry on top, to tell her what the hell an adept was and why that was so bad.
Yeah, that would work for bullet point number five.
“Dr. Brennan, thank you for being so quick.” Herman called her attention to him. “Tell me about your job, and your activities today.”
She sighed, but ran through her day, including her work along the canal. She mentioned her credentials, working them in nonchalantly. To add to her harmless appearance, she whipped the water purity testing permits out of her purse. There was a paper trail and he could go through it to his heart’s content.
He wrote down the permit numbers, the divisions which issued them, and other pertinent details. Handing them back with a pleasant thank you, he was quiet for a bit.
After making more notes in his book, he returned to questioning Dave and Mrs. Potts.
“I’m going to make some coffee,” Aiden said, out of the blue. “Can I get anyone anything?”
Cait raised her can of Coke. “Can I trouble you for a glass of ice? I brought this with me because I didn’t want to impose further on your hospitality, but I didn’t think about a glass and ice.”
An hour passed, with Detective Herman finishing up, closing his book. “Folks, I don’t know how long you’re going to need to be here. Please don’t talk amongst yourselves. We need to isolate your stories, we don’t want you muddling one another up.”
“A little late for that,” Mrs. Potts said, a bit caustically.
“Yes ma’am,” Herman said, giving her a faint smile. “Officer Trent will keep an eye out for you.” Herman rose as if to leave, but Potts wasn’t through with him.
“I need to call my son, like I said,” Mrs. Potts declared, looking at the delicate watch on her arm. “He’ll be over here in two shakes if I don’t call soon. He’s a good boy.” She smiled with sweet delight. “He worries.”
“Mr. Bayliss, may Mrs. Potts use your phone for her call?”
At Aiden’s nod, Herman called Officer Trent away from the door.
“Trent, escort Mrs. Potts while she uses the phone. Mrs. Potts.” He took her hand, patted it, saying, “Please inform your son that there’s been an incident but that you’re okay. Don’t go into details.”
“Detective Herman, I have a report due tonight. May I send it in?” Cait waved her PDA.
Looking much put-upon, the detective agreed as long as she showed any missive to Officer Trent. She nodded. Since she’d already keyed in and let it drink her blood, she wouldn’t have to do anything unusual to connect with Headquarters.
Lance – Sent samples to be processed. No luck or results yet. Problems here, may be delayed in calling in. Double check Turkish visa, had problem at gate. International stuff is such a problem. Domestic too, I guess. Also, cancel my dinner w/ Professor Brown at alma mater, reschedule. White papers are due. Are they ready? CV needs to be brought up to date now that Turkish job is finished. Have to stay in town. Will give details when I can, but it’ll be on the news shortly. Cover for me w/ the boss, will ya’?
Hugs, CB
When she finished, she handed the PDA to the officer and let him read the note.
“You’ve been in Turkey?” he asked.
“Yes, I returned from there day before yesterday. I was on a site appraisal. I’m a geologist.”
“Hmmm. Lance a relative?”
“Virtual Assistant,” she replied. “He keeps me organized and sane,” she said, which was purely the truth. “I delegate scheduling to him, otherwise I’d never get anywhere on time.”
“Wish I could do that,” Officer Trent muttered, handing the device back to her. “That’s fine.”
“Thanks.”
As soon as it was away, she typed a second.
Paula – trip uneventful. Arrived safely. Got started on my latest project. Haven’t hit deep water yet. Terrible thing happened. Homicide in the building. I’m sure it will be on the news. Lots of police and secret service. Sent the data via the bridge, you know the drill from there. Best, CB
He gave it a cursory notice, and said, “It’s already on the news.”
“Well, then I’m not in trouble for saying it, am I?”
“Nope.” He handed the PDA back to her and she hit SEND.
Each of the emails would tell their recipients, Lance in the first case and one of the Science-Team Kith for the second, that there was trouble, what kind of background reinforcement she would need—everything in her non-existent curriculum vitae needed to be inserted—and that, at the moment, she was safe. The mention of the authorities would tell them whose files to tamper with.
She continued to use her PDA, writing as many quirky bits about the smell as she could. What she remembered, the hot coppery blood overlaid with something musky and, at the same time, astringent and acidic, as well as strength and variation, where she’d remembered any.
What was it about that smell? There was something she needed to remember, and it was slipping away. She input the keywords blood, torture, smell, odor and scent marker in her search engine. With a touch of the stylus she set it working.
There was a very slim chance that the senator had made some bad friends or worse enemies and been take out, quite spectacularly as a lesson to him and anyone else dealing with that particular group. Mentally grimacing, she acknowledged that there was also a chance that a jealous spouse had done the deed.
Yeah, right.
If he or she was seven or eight feet tall and had enough strength to hold a beefy man several feet up on the wall while simultaneously impaling him with something sharp and pointy.
Oh, and while she was at it, keep everyone else, including two highly trained security people, from raising one hell of an alarm verbally, physically or psychically. Cait’s alarms would have gone off big-time if anything had registered. This was something that could block, or worse, absorb, all that agony, not to mention any noise from the screams.
She didn’t know what kind of tech could do that, but she knew human technology didn’t go that far.
So something non-Earthly. Based on Aiden’s statement, which matched her thoughts, the thing smelled bad to humans. Possibly multi-limbed. Something strong that had claws.
The killer was alien. She had no doubt. But was the gruesome murder meant for her? Worse things had happened to other Slip Travelers when they’d gotten in the way of nefarious plans for a developing planet. Had her presence brought this danger to her neighbors’ doors?
Worse, had the hit been alien in origin but actually meant for the senator?
That would suck eggs through a tiny coffee stirrer. She considered the papers she’d pulled from the printer that morning, the details of the unattended death out west somewhere. Something about that set off a twitch in her intuition.
She needed to read it again, and compare it to what had happened to the senator.
If the two were connected…no, no, no.
Talk about screwed. If this was evidence of aliens actively connected with humans at a high government level—it had happened before—there was going to be one hideous pile of shit to shovel. Much as she didn’t want anyone to be after her, personally, as the Earth ST, she liked the option behind Door Number Two—covert government involvement—even less.
Rolling the possibilities around in her mind was giving her a wicked headache. It was eleven at night. She’d been up early and out in the field. She was tired and getting crankier by the minute.
“Mr. Bayliss, may I use your restroom?” she asked.
“Of course,” Aiden replied, “and please, call me Aiden.”
“Thank you, Aiden.”
“Dr. Brennan, please leave your PDA, cell and purse here, please,” Herman said, looking up from his notes.
It annoyed her that he was a good cop, an observant one. She set
the items he’d mentioned on the chair and followed Aiden down the short hall to the guest bath.
“I have some questions for you,” Aiden whispered tersely.
“Really? And you think I don’t have any of my own?” she muttered, turning the knob on the bathroom door.
“Lucy,” she put on a Cuban accent, “You got some ’splainin’ to do.”
Strain was written on his features, but a brief smile flickered over his countenance at the reference to The Lucy Show. If she weren’t mistaken, he’d had to work hard to smother the smile.
“Ditto.”
She edged past him and closed the door.
Chapter Eleven
Somewhat nonplussed by Cait’s attitude, Aiden rejoined the group in his living room. Mrs. Potts sat primly on the edge of a chair.
“Sir, I am not going to spend the night in Mr. Bayliss’s living room. I have a perfectly good bed not thirty feet from here. Anything you wish to ask me can wait until the morning.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” the detective repeated doggedly. “We need you to stay available to the other officers and agents.”
“Why? Am I a suspect?” She snorted. “If I am, you’re mad as a hatter.”
That stumped him. “Well, we might need—”
“Balderdash,” the old woman snapped, cutting him off. “You’ve asked your questions. We’ve answered them to the best of our abilities. My presence is not going to help find out what happened to those poor people.”
“You’re always welcome, Mrs. Potts,” Aiden interjected, before the detective could speak.
“It’s procedure—” the detective began.
“No, sir, it isn’t. If you had asked us to come to your station house, we would have answered your questions then gone home. We’ve answered your questions. Ergo, we’re done. I, for one, am going home.”
She stood, and bade Dave, Aiden and the detective good night. Cait returned as Mrs. Potts headed for the door.
“Good night, Dr. Brennan. I’m sorry that we had to meet under such unpleasant circumstances. I hope we’ll be friends. It’s been a poor welcome to you so far.” She shook her head. “A terrible, terrible thing.”
Cait took the offered hand. “I’m glad to meet you, ma’am, no matter the circumstances. I wish it had been less fraught with um…”
“Blood?” the old woman replied bluntly.
“For one thing, yes.”
“Agreed. Well, we’ll muddle through.” She patted Cait’s cheek, then left the apartment to wend her way through the agents and detectives. Aiden heard raised voices, including that of Mrs. Potts.
Evidently the old lady ran the official gauntlet and returned to her condo unscathed, because Special Agent Chavez barreled in through Aiden’s front door to confront the detective.
“What do you mean, letting that woman leave the confines of this apartment? She’s a material witness to a homicide.”
“She is.” Detective Herman stood, matching the other man in height, if not bulk. “However, she isn’t a suspect, and she’s answered all my questions and then some.”
“Well she hasn’t answered mine,” he thundered.
“She won’t, not tonight.” This came from Dave.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Just that, sir. If she says she’s gone to bed, then she’s gone and won’t answer the door. So unless you get one of those things, papers.” He waved a hand, vaguely.
“A warrant.”
“Yes, sir, a warrant, to break it down and go get her, you won’t see her till morning.” Dave shook his head again. “And her son is some high-dollar, muckety-muck lawyer, so I wouldn’t recommend that.”
“I’m going home as well,” Cait announced into the vibrating silence. “I have work pending.”
“Don’t push your luck with me, Dr. Brennan.”
Aiden saw fire flash in Cait’s eyes. She rose slowly from the chair she’d taken.
“Like Mrs. Potts, I have answered the detective’s questions. He has dutifully written the answers down. You can reference his notes. If you would like to talk with me in the morning, I’ll be at your disposal. Otherwise, I’ll get to bed.”
“I could arrest you, and her, for obstruction of justice,” he blustered.
“But you won’t because you know I would be immediately released and would promptly sue you for false imprisonment, harassment and anything else a good lawyer can come up with. Right?” She faced him down, not saying another word until he gave ground.
“Stay away from the press. Stay in your home. Don’t make any calls, blog posts, or whatever social media things you do. And stay available.”
Cait nodded, then turned to Aiden.
“Aiden, thank you for your hospitality, as Mrs. Potts said.” She held out a hand for him to shake. As soon as their palms met, he got a shock as he had each time they’d touched, but another sensation as well. There was a paper barrier between his palm and hers.
She was passing notes to him right under the cops’ noses.
Totally high school. And totally smart.
“You’re most welcome, Dr. Bre…ah, Cait. As our neighbor said, sorry we had to meet under such ugly circumstances.”
With brief goodnights, she left. When Dave finally got up the gumption to demand that he too be allowed to leave, it was well past one in the morning.
Tank showed up about half an hour later, eyeing Aiden with open annoyance. Aiden had just moved to DC when a rare magical problem had cropped up. A boggle, a night creature with nasty proclivities, had moved into the District to snatch stray dogs, rats and pigeons in McPherson Square. With his leg still in a cast from his fifth surgery, Aiden had gone to the square when his evening scan had picked up the otherworldly threat.
He’d been barely functional, still recovering from the Atlanta debacle. But he’d managed. A thrown dagger, covered with salt, rue and silver leaf, had penetrated the creature’s knobbled hide. It shrieked as it died, shattering the eardrum of the officer who was already down, his leg slashed to the bone. Tank saw Aiden throw the blade, and Tank nearly shot him.
The boggle burst into flames, however, dissolving into an enormous, disgusting pile of blazing goo. Tank had been left trying to explain what the hell had happened to his officer, to the dogs, and the grass in McPherson Square.
He’d grilled Aiden for two hours while Aiden contended he’d merely been a bystander. Days later, Tank had come looking for him, off duty and armed only with his bad temper. They’d had a beer, a sandwich and what Tank called a “Come to Jesus” meeting about what really happened under the statue of General McPherson.
Tank had accepted the explanation, but he hadn’t liked it. Every time he and Aiden ran across one another—usually at the neighborhood deli they both liked—Tank claimed he got a headache and a case of indigestion.
“Got any antacids, Bayliss?” True to form, Tank didn’t even say hello.
“Of course,” Aiden said with only the barest hint of sarcasm. He got the bottle from the bathroom and watched as Tank chewed through four of the minty tablets.
“Nasty situation here, Mr. Bayliss.”
“The worst I’ve ever seen.”
“Really? Hmmm. You know anything about it?”
“Only what I’ve told your detective. Which is not much.” He was trying to decide if he should tell Tank about the letter he’d seen in Three-A’s box. Dave had been up front that only packages came for them, but he’d seen letters yesterday morning. Thick, official looking letters.
“Lots of people want to hear your story. Whole buncha guys out there in the hallway clamoring to get more info. They figure,” he slanted a sly look Aiden’s way, “that they could get more info from you all than my detective could.”
“Uh-huh,” Aiden said, distracted by the thought. “Doubt it. Hard to get it when there isn’t any.”
“My detective says you and your neighbors were cooperative. Up till a bit ago, that is.”
“Mrs. Potts started it
.” Aiden grinned. “She wanted to go home. Dr. Brennan left as well. That guy, Chavez, ruffled a few feathers with the ladies, I’m afraid.”
“Asshole,” Detective Herman muttered.
“Beg pardon?” Aiden asked, amused.
Herman grinned. “Nothing.”
The detectives and agents stayed till well after three a.m. Aiden could still hear the rumble of voices and the squawk of radios beyond the thick wood.
As Tank left, he threw the bolt, and unfolded the paper from Cait.
Any time. And her number.
Aiden dialed. It rang twice, then silence, then a moment filled with strange clicks, beeps and whirs, before it rang one last time.
“Hello, Aiden.”
His phone was practically glowing with power.
He could sense the energy radiating from it, but it wasn’t anything he’d done, and it wasn’t any magical frequency he knew.
“Let me guess, the call won’t be traceable.”
“Smart man.”
“Smart woman,” he replied, irritated that he hadn’t thought of it. Then again, that “simple” action took some serious power, given the spells already on his phone.
Another mark against Cait Brennan.
“I thought it might be best if we talked privately.” Her rich voice sounded in his ear again.
“You’re a master of understatement, Dr. Brennan. But beyond that, just what are you?” Time to go on the offensive.
“It’s a very, very long story. Before I get into it, what’s an adept and why did you ask if I was one?”
“You can see my signature. You know how to work triage. You have some kind of military training. Don’t think I didn’t see you react tonight. You were the first to think about the man down. What do you take me for?”
“I take you for an intelligent and probably dangerous man. But I’m not an enemy or an adversary.” She paused and he could almost hear her thinking. “When I still lived here…full-time, I did some work for the government,” she conceded.
Now we’re getting somewhere.
He wondered what important information she was editing out. Her next words gave him an additional twist in his gut.
Modern Magic Page 100
