The Community Series, Books 1-3

by Tappan, Tracy

  She looked at Waterson. “The body was drained?” For what sick purpose, she didn’t want to know. Cult freaks were such psychos.

  “Evidence suggests it wasn’t.”

  She arched her brows at him in a what now? expression.

  Waterson gestured, a hint of wryness slanting his mouth. “You want to take a look?”

  “At what? You are aware that I deal in actual, physical blood, right, Detective? The kind of stuff that can be viewed under a microscope and put in a centrifuge?”

  Another smile tried to make it onto Waterson’s mouth. “Just give it your best guess, Doc.”

  Sighing, she marched over to the body and crouched down. The dead guy was young, maybe only nineteen or twenty, his features smooth and adolescent despite a stern chin and cruel-looking lips. He had a tattoo on his face, black flames crawling up his left jaw like rotten ivy. Biting back an ugh, she opened her medical bag and snapped on a pair of latex gloves, then dug out a scalpel. She grabbed the body’s wrist.

  “Watch out,” Waterson warned.

  She glanced up.

  Waterson nodded at the corpse’s hand. “The ring on the perp’s finger will give you one helluva shock if you touch it.”

  “You’re kidding.” Who in the world booby-trapped a ring? She turned the corpse’s wrist to get a better view of it, catching the sparkle of a strange red crystal in the center. Shimmering and undulating, the thing looked like it was filled with some sort of boiling liquid – or as if it lived and breathed. God. This night was reaching new levels of creepy.

  Steering clear of the ring, she carefully cut into the corpse’s wrist. The vein was empty, not even a trace of blood in it. Absolutely nothing. She sat back on her heels and slowly peeled off her gloves. Weirder and weirder. “I can’t think of anything that would leave a vein totally stripped. Maybe some chemical …? But I really don’t know. You need to get the body on a table and have an ME do a thorough autopsy plus a full chem panel.”

  The CSI pounced on that. “That’s exactly what I said.”

  She looked at Silas. “Did you?” She shifted her eyes over to Waterson.

  Waterson met her gaze without expression.

  A flush of heat rolled up the back of her neck. “I see.” She threw her scalpel and gloves into her medical bag and snapped it closed. “I’m sorry I couldn’t have been more help.” She came stiffly to her feet. “Good luck with the case.” She spun on her heel and headed through the door, her strides clipped. Of all the unbelievable –

  “Toni!” Halfway down the stairs, Waterson caught up with her. “Wait –” He took hold of her elbow.

  She twisted her arm out of his hold, her pulse kicking up a notch. “Don’t touch me, John.”

  Waterson stepped back, both hands raised, palms out.

  “Tonight’s call was bogus,” she accused, her voice sharp with anger. “This case couldn’t be analyzed onsite and you knew that.”

  “All right, you got me.” He dropped his hands. “I called you here somewhat unnecessarily. But how else am I going to get to see you? You won’t go out with me.”

  “So stop asking!” she flashed.

  Exhaling a long breath, John glanced away. He took a moment, then shook his head and looked back at her. The color of his eyes deepened. “I can’t,” he said softly.

  She pinched the bridge of her nose, drawing a breath to calm herself. “Look, John, just … please just try to understand this has nothing to do with you personally. Okay? I’ve just had a long string of bad dates, lately.”

  A really long string, starting all the way back in high school with Brad Flannigan, the super-popular jock star who’d asked her to Homecoming Dance when the head cheerleader had come down with the flu. That night, he’d convinced Toni to give him her virginity, only to broadcast that fact all over school by first period bell come Monday.

  Since then it’d been one after another of men who’d start out dating her for her bra size and then get scared off by her IQ size. Or who’d date her for her face, expecting her to be as “perfect” on the inside as they thought she was on the outside, then discover that she most definitely was not, and, God, she was so sick of being a disappointment.

  The miserable dating run had thankfully come to an end last year when Robert what’s-his-name, an anesthesiologist, had loudly announced in front of a movie theatre full of people that she had about as much feeling as a “Dr. House with tits.” And after all the faking in bed she’d done for him, too.

  Waterson’s voice lowered. “I’m not like the rest of the men you’ve dated, Toni, I can guarantee it. I work on the Occult Crimes Unit, and I wouldn’t do that if I liked normal. So, you know, you can be weird, and it’s fine.”

  A spasm of laughter unhinged inside her chest. “That’s a relief.” He was probably an all-around nice guy and a great kisser, too. But if she did something stupid like go out on a date with this man, she might then do something even stupider, like crack open the door to her heart. And once again she’d just end up facing down the vast and consuming loneliness which always got worse whenever she was – paradoxically enough – with a man.

  Thank God the meat wagon boys started up the stairs just then.

  She and John stepped apart to allow the two men hauling a stretcher to pass. “I appreciate the offer, Detective. But I’m afraid the answer’s still no.”

  She left the house, crossing the street at a near run. She fumbled in her purse for her keys, making a noise in her throat, then unlocked her car door with a sharp twist of her wrist. She jerked hard on the handle, throwing her purse and medical bag onto the –

  “One date,” he said behind her.

  She froze, her breath catching in her throat.

  “That’s all I’m asking for,” he went on quietly, “then I’ll leave you alone forever, I swear. Is that really so unreasonable?”

  She closed her eyes, the logical part of her mind saying, “No, it’s not unreasonable.” What was one night out of her life in the larger scheme of things? Except that it was painful as hell to keep discovering, over and over, that she had some uncanny knack for repelling men.

  He moved closer, apparently interpreting her pause as acquiescence. A masculine hand appeared on top of her door, another one bracing itself on the roof of her car. The warmth of his male body stole up right behind her. She inhaled a slow, even breath, recognizing his scent at once, that metallic hint of handcuffs and handgun, tobacco, of course, and just a trace of Drakkar Noir cologne. Heat snaked through her limbs, a surprising jolt of yearning landing in her belly.

  “I’m thinking The Fish Market restaurant would be a great place to go.” His breath caressed the back of her neck, sending a shudder down her spine. “Toni –” His hand dropped to the curve of her waist and he turned her around. “Please don’t keep us dancing around this thing that’s been between us for months.”

  He dipped his head, and her heart skipped a beat when a lock of hair fell across his brow. He hesitated, no doubt waiting for her to do her usual and reject him, but …. His tempting lips were so close to hers, his body warm and smelling so damned masculine that her nucleus accumbens – the pleasure center of her brain – just took over and started making decisions. Her chin lifted on its own, offering him her lips.

  No more dilly-dallying now. John settled his mouth on hers. She exhaled a small sigh through her nose. His lips were soft and warm and moist, and he tasted surprisingly good, just the slightest suggestion of tobacco covered up by a flavor that was all man. The kiss was light, no more than gentle and reassuring … until she linked her arms around his neck and pressed her breasts against his chest.

  A rough groan rushed out of him, and he instantly deepened the kiss, angling his head to the side and opening his mouth over hers. His arms pulled her so close she could feel his heart thundering against her breasts. Her own heart surged into a faster beat. God, he felt wonderful. Everything a man should be, strong and solid, all the things that could make a woman want. With a bre
athy moan of her own, she slipped her tongue into his mouth and felt his shoulders stiffen. He met her tongue hungrily with the wet heat of his own, and while their tongues dueled, her stomach did a funny gyration. She waited for that little something more … and then there it was: a nice, slow-burning quickening, down low.

  She pulled her lips away from his with a gasp, nudging him back a step before her nucleus accumbens could really take over and make her plop down right there on the asphalt and to hell with the show she and John would give Officer Bug-Eyes over by the front door.

  John stood staring at her through the shadows, his eyes glittering hotly in the silver moonlight, his lungs working in short pants.

  “Well, that was convincing,” she breathed out, her own chest laboring. She turned toward her purse on the driver’s seat of her car and pulled out a business card. She was a fool to give him her number, knowing full well that she was setting herself up for heartbreak again. But damn it, she was also a woman who hadn’t had a man’s hands on her in over a year, and that kiss had been a doozy. “This is my work number” – she held it out to him – “but it connects to a message system that texts my personal cell phone.”

  He moved to take it, looking slightly stunned.

  She quickly angled it out of his reach. “Which Fish Market? Del Mar or Harbor Island Drive?”

  He blinked once, at half speed, then his lips spread into a slow smile. “Harbor Island Drive, of course, with that view of the Coronado Bay, the Beach Boys hopefully playing in the background, and us cracking crab legs.” His eyes sparkled mischievously. “I happen to think you’d look dynamite in a large plastic bib.”

  “Right.” She snorted and rolled her eyes. “If that’s the only thing I was wearing.”

  “Ho!” John clutched his chest and stumbled backward as if he’d been shot.

  She laughed. Oops. Wrong imagery, there. She handed him the card, still laughing. He really was irresistible.

  He tucked it into his breast pocket next to his cigarettes, his eyes remaining steady on hers, his mouth still too dangerously inviting.

  She quickly hopped into her car and buckled up. He closed the door for her, and she unrolled the window. “I only ask that you don’t smoke around me, okay?”

  He nodded once. “Fair enough.” He leaned through the window and snatched a quick kiss. “Get home safe, Doc.”

  She met his eyes with a warm smile. “I will.”

  He slapped the roof of her car.

  She pulled away, watching in her rearview mirror as he headed over to a blue Chevy and jumped inside next to Pablo. She caught her own reflection and saw that she was grinning like an idiot. She was an idiot. An all too familiar twist of panic shot through her belly, and she shut down her smile. She needed to be prepared going into this thing for it not to work out …. For her to like him more and more, and then for him to eventually leave because that’s –

  Her cell beeped the arrival of a text message. Frowning, she tugged her IPhone out of her purse and glanced at the screen.

  So how desperate is it that I’m already messaging you? I’m really looking forward to our dinner … :o) J.

  Pleasure entered her chest. Okay, maybe this was going to be –

  A horn blared a warning. She jerked her eyes up. Oh, my God! The headlights of another car were swerving toward her. With a gasp, she yanked her steering wheel hard to the right, her cell phone jettisoning from her grip. Her car shrieked into a sideways skid, tires smoking and screeching, and –

  The cars collided.

  She cried out as her body lurched forward violently. The exploding airbag punched her back in the seat and sent her head snapping against the headrest. A searing pain tore through the backs of her eyeballs. Glass tinkled, steam hissed, and ….

  There was only blackness.

  Chapter Two

  It started out like a normal enough mission. Then again … all missions do, don’t they?

  Jacken Brun stood braced for action next to his other two operatives, all three of them riding up the Scripps Memorial Hospital elevator in focused silence. Their fourth operative, Cleeve, had already been dropped off at Admin. There, as per their usual MO, the young computer dweeb would hack into the hospital’s system and enter transfer orders for their target female, giving this abduction a nice, official stamp of approval.

  On Jacken’s right was Vinz Mihnea, decked out in a Brooks Brothers suit and lab coat for the role of doctor he’d be playing, reeking of Elvis appeal with those thick black sideburns. On Jacken’s left was Thomal Costache in a pair of scrubs. Thomal’s flattop blond hair might’ve made him look too much like the soldier he really was, but his face would distract from that; he had the kind of unreal good looks most women found fertility-inspiring. Having Thomal along pretty much guaranteed a whole lot of babbling, “Of course, sir. Anything you want, sir.”

  Jacken had no way of knowing that in less than fifteen minutes one of these men would have a knife planted in his chest. And not just any knife. A Bătaie Blade.

  Yeah, that’s what the real goatfuck turned out to be. Jacken hadn’t even remotely considered that there might be competition for the woman at the hospital, especially from someone who carried a Bătaie Blade. They’d never faced opposition before, not in their six previous, immaculately executed abductions. For a short second, Jacken had worried his team had gooned something up. It’d been two long years, after all, since the data-filtering spyware they’d embedded in the laboratory computers of various hospitals around San Diego had spotted a woman’s blood containing the coveted Peak 8 in it. But no. Their only mistake had been getting caught with their pants down.

  The elevator dinged its arrival on the fifth floor.

  Game on.

  Vinz broke right and headed for the doctor’s lounge, where he’d wait for the go-ahead from Jacken once the transfer orders were complete. Thomal went left, a syringe filled with 250 mgs of Ketamine tucked in his breast pocket next to a fountain pen – really a mini camera and microphone – and headed for his destination: Room 506, temporary living quarters of their target.

  One Dr. Antoinetta Parthen.

  Jacken found the nearest deserted waiting room, and stationed himself there – as good a place as any to conceal himself from the general public. Sunny Californians seemed to get all jumpy around the distinct Rambo vibe he gave off. He bought a Styrofoam cup of coffee from the vending machine, planted his butt on an uncomfortable couch, then set his laptop on the coffee table and flipped it open.

  The main screen instantly lit up into three smaller screens: video inputs from each operative’s fountain pen camera. Two quadrants were on top – one for Vinz, one for Cleeve – and a half-screen on the bottom for Thomal. From this point on, Jacken would serve as the team’s communications center. Even though his men could hear and speak to each other through earpieces, he was the only one who could see the whole picture.

  Cleeve’s voice crackled into his ear. “Transfer orders are in, cha-ching.” The kid angled his fake fountain pen toward his face and tossed Jacken a pleased-as-punch smile. “Who d’ya love, huh?”

  Jacken twisted his lips. That was damned fast. “I owe you a beer at Garwald’s Pub, runt. Now shut up and get out of there. Vinz – show time.”

  “Aw, man, I just grabbed a jelly donut.” The image in Vinz’s quadrant changed, a long hallway appearing, at the end of which was a nurse’s station.

  Jacken sipped his coffee as he marked Vinz’s progress; Thomal’s, too. The lower screen showed that Thomal-the-male-nurse was just arriving at Antoinetta’s room. Passing by the door, Thomal continued down the hall about ten more feet and stopped beside a gurney.

  Jacken narrowed his eyes at Thomal’s half-screen. What the hell was the man doing?

  “Good morning, I’m Dr. Bernard,” Vinz was saying to a busty nurse with the name Barbara Hollowitz stamped on her ID tag.

  “Um, Jacken,” Thomal said in a low tone. “The subject’s awake.”

  Jacken furro
wed his brow. “At 3:45 in the morning?”

  Vinz cleared his throat pointedly. “Yes, Miss Hollowitz, I see by the patient’s chart that Dr. Parthen has a concussion and is being awakened periodically according to proper procedure.”

  “Ahhhh,” – Thomal elongated the sound in understanding – “that explains it. You want me to go in there and charm her, chief?”

  Jacken plunked his coffee cup down. “It’s why I put up with your annoying personality, Costache.”

  Thomal half-stifled a laugh. “Well, no prob on this one. I caught a whiff of the lovely Miss Parthen on the way past and … damn, she smells hot.”

  The busty nurse tsk-tsked sympathetically. “My, Dr. Bernard, you’re certainly getting an early start this –”

  “Just get moving before I call in Arc to replace your ass.” Arc was Thomal’s older brother, taller and longer-haired but with the same blond “dreamboat” attractiveness. He was currently hanging out in the downstairs parking garage with the other backup team members, probably chewing gum and playing hacky sack, not a worry in their heads about this mission. Jacken grunted. “He’s better looking than you are, anyway.”

  “That hurts me, man.” Thomal strode into Room 506, switching to a cheery, “Good morning, Dr. Parthen.” He moved over to Antoinetta’s bedside, giving Jacken his first glimpse of her: the soft lines of an elegant profile, shimmering strawberry blonde hair spread out across the pillow. The muscles in his stomach tightened. Even with her image pixelized by the computer screen – not to mention she probably wasn’t at her best in a hospital – she was a knockout.

  Then things got moving. He shifted his gaze back and forth between screens as he kept track of his two main players, the babble of multiple voices filling his earpiece.

  “ … sure you’ll find everything complete, Miss Hollowitz,” Vinz assured the nurse, “with the transfer request ….”