by Kay Hooper
Because he had, so far, played his part to perfection.
She saw Tony and Jaylene standing a few yards from the command center near the front of the sheriff’s department and went to join them. “Gabe should be here any minute,” she told them quietly.
Tony almost idly, watching a casual gathering across the street of deputies and several agents, including Dean Ramsey, said, “Are we sure the bait will draw him out?”
“It’ll draw a reaction,” Miranda said. “Beyond that, I don’t know what’s going to happen.” She watched as DeMarco joined the group of cops, saying something that made two of them laugh.
“A vision right about now would be nice,” Jaylene murmured.
“Tell me about it. Unfortunately, we’re flying blind this time.” Whatever else Miranda might have said was pushed aside as she watched Gabriel Wolf escort a handcuffed man toward the sheriff’s department.
The man was almost shockingly ordinary. Around forty or so, he was a little above medium height, with a stocky build and an untidy thatch of dark hair. And he was smiling.
“How come serial killers so seldom look the part?” Tony wondered aloud. “Jesus, really the guy next door. That’s disturbing.”
“He’s an animal,” Miranda said. “Doesn’t matter what he looks like.”
“Oh, yeah, no argument. It’s just—”
Miranda saw DeMarco turn suddenly, staring toward a cluster of trees on a low ridge behind the sheriff’s department. In almost the same instant, the handcuffed prisoner’s head jerked, blood and tissue sprayed out of what had been his face, and as he sort of stumbled and then dropped to the pavement there was, finally, the craa-aack of a high-powered rifle.
Before the echoes had died, there was a second craa-aack.
And then silence.
Many of the cops and agents had hit the deck, but several of them remained on their feet. Miranda caught DeMarco’s eye and waited for his nod before walking out slowly to join Gabriel.
With a singular lack of pity, Gabe said, “Well, he saved the state a whole lot of trouble and expense. And deprived the shrinks of another serial killer to study. No great loss, I’m thinking.”
As Miranda had expected, other cops and agents were slowly coming to join them, taking their cue from the calm pair standing over the executed prisoner. But her heart skipped a beat when she realized one in particular wasn’t among them.
Before she could get her thoughts organized, Chief Deputy Neil Scanlon stepped out of the command center, holding a small, limp body to his chest like a shield. Ruby. She was unconscious at best, possibly already dead.
But there’s no sign of a wound, so maybe… Goddammit….
“Where’s BJ, Miranda?” Scanlon called out, his voice unnaturally calm.
Despite a muttered curse from Gabe, Miranda took a step toward Scanlon. At this distance, she knew she could take him without hitting Ruby. If she could get her gun out and aimed before he fired his. Even without the bulky vest restricting her movements a bit, the odds weren’t good.
“He’s gone, Neil,” she called back, her voice as calm as his. “When he shot Rex, it pinpointed his location for us. And we were ready. Where’s Galen?”
“I put a few bullets into him. But we both know that won’t keep him down long, right? Long enough, though. Just long enough. Where’s Bishop?”
Very deliberately, Miranda said, “He’s the one who took out BJ.”
Something vicious flashed across that tough face, and Scanlon moved Ruby slightly. “Tit for tat. I’m going to take out your little freak here.”
“Why bother? It’s over.”
“Not quite. If I can’t have Bishop—”
His hand was moving in a blur, aiming his gun toward her. Miranda moved as well, instinctively throwing herself sideways.
The craa-aack of a rifle sounded almost simultaneously with the duller report of Scanlon’s gun. Miranda saw his head virtually explode, saw him tilt and fall toward the pavement, still holding Ruby’s limp body. She pushed herself up and ran, reaching the girl only heartbeats later.
“Ruby? Ruby?” As far as she could tell, there wasn’t a mark on the child.
Time seemed to slow abruptly. Miranda was dimly aware of Hollis racing toward her from the direction of the B&B, aware of other pounding feet and voices, but all she saw was Ruby’s pale face.
Then her eyes fluttered open, and she whispered, “He gave me… some kind of… shot. It’s okay. I… knew I was … a pawn. Had to… be… sacrificed… to win. I couldn’t… hide Bishop… and me too…. Tell Galen… not his fault. Don’t be sad…. “A single long breath escaped her, and her head rolled to the side.
Miranda felt a jolt of pain and thought that it didn’t hurt enough, that nothing could hurt enough for the loss of this child.
“Hollis—help her. Help Ruby.”
Hollis reached for Ruby, gently removing the girl from Miranda’s grasp—and then handing her to someone else. She was speaking, but what she was saying made no sense.
“Miranda, lie back. Easy. Let Gabe help you. Jesus, get her vest off—”
“What’re you talking about? I’m not…”
Bishop ran up at that moment, his face ashen. He dropped his rifle and then dropped to his knees, cradling her head. “Miranda—”
She looked up at his face, wanting to reassure him that she was fine, but then she felt another stabbing pain, this one deep in her belly. And she knew what was happening. What had happened.
“No,” she whispered. “Oh, God…Noah, I’m sorry…” And then a white curtain fell, and she fell with it into silence.
“Hollis—help her, please.” Bishop’s voice was hoarse.
As soon as the vest was out of the way, Hollis put both her hands over the bullet wound low on Miranda’s rounded abdomen. She went still for an instant, her eyes closed, then looked at Bishop in shock.
“Shit. I can’t—Bishop, I can’t save him. The baby. He’s already gone.”
He closed his eyes for an instant, then nodded jerkily. “I know. Just—help Miranda.”
She nodded in return, closing her eyes again to concentrate, to pour all the energy she could call up from inside herself to heal….
“Feeling better?” Reese asked, sitting down beside Hollis on the big sofa in the B&B’s front parlor.
“The energy’s coming back. Slowly. I’m fine. Still worried about Miranda, though. I should be at the clinic—”
“No, you shouldn’t. You should be here where you are, getting your strength back. Besides, I think we all know that Bishop and Miranda would rather be alone right now. To grieve.”
“Yes. Yes, of course. I heard the medic say she was at least five months along. It didn’t show.”
“Those loose sweaters of hers. And the vest that was specially made to be a little longer in front.”
“She shouldn’t have been here.”
“Probably not. But they weigh risks all the time, those two. So many people were dying, and they felt responsible. They knew the bodies were bait and this was a trap, for Bishop and for the SCU. Neither one of them could walk away. It wasn’t going to stop until they stopped it.”
Hollis nodded slowly. “I know they function best as a team. I know they weigh risks. And it was their risk to take. Still… I wish I could have done more for them.”
“You probably saved Miranda’s life, Hollis. You may have even made it possible for her to get pregnant again someday. But there was nothing you could do to save that baby. The bullet did too much damage. He was already gone.”
“I know, I know. Just… I’m sorry for them. To lose their baby and Ruby—I don’t know if Bishop will ever forgive himself.”
“They did what they could to protect Miranda. The vest should have protected her. And probably would have, if she hadn’t dived to the side like that. Her training and instincts betrayed her, for once. As for Ruby… Well, maybe Bishop shouldn’t forgive himself for that.”
Hollis looked at him.
“You really feel that way?”
DeMarco hesitated, then shook his head. “I don’t know. Just like I don’t know whether Galen will ever be the same again after finding out the brothers from hell have been using him as a spyglass.”
Hollis winced. “Yeah, that’s definitely a rough one. I mean, I’m glad we didn’t have a traitor on the team, but to find out you have—had—three older brothers with serious mental issues would be traumatic enough without being used like that and then being shot by big brother Neil.”
“Yeah. Family.”
She looked at him again, not at all sure whether he was making a wry comment or just voicing a wry truth. She cleared her throat. “Um… listen.”
“Yeah?”
“I have a dim memory of saying some… really weird things at the hospital last night. Because I was so tired. After I healed Diana.”
He lifted a brow at her. “I don’t recall anything weird.”
“No?”
“No.”
She began to feel relieved. Suspicious but relieved. I’ll ask Diana later. Or not, “Okay, Good, then.”
He eyed her. “Something else is bugging you. What?”
“You’ll laugh.”
“Would that be so bad? I could use a laugh about now.”
Hollis frowned, then said, “I’m seriously bummed to know you can get yanked out of heaven. I mean… it’s heaven. Is nothing sacred?”
“What are you talking about?” His voice was patient but amused around the edges.
“Diana’s poor mom got yanked out of heaven—apparently—and sent back here to try to stop her father. How crazy is that?”
“Pretty crazy.”
It was her turn to eye him. “You don’t believe me.”
“Sorry. Actually, it’s heaven, not you, that I don’t believe in.”
“Well, I’m not sure I believe in it either. In fact, I’m more sure now that I don’t, because if you can get yanked out of heaven—”
Hollis glanced toward the doorway and broke off abruptly, her eyes widening. DeMarco watched gooseflesh rise on her bare arm and was aware of a tangle of emotions rather than thoughts.
Astonishment. Wonder. Happiness. A kind of contentment.
And awe.
“Ruby,” she murmured.
He waited until she blinked, as though coming out of a dream, and said, “You saw her spirit. Is she all right?”
“She’s better than all right. Wow.”
Curious, he said, “You see spirits all the time.”
“Yeah.” Hollis smiled at him. “But this is the first time I’ve ever seen one… with wings.”
Epilogue
IT WAS THE first of June when Sonny Lenox woke up from his coma. The doctors were astonished, though when pressed they tried to make it sound as if they’d known he had at least a chance of actually walking out of the hospital. Still, three months in a coma after a car crash… Well, most patients with that kind of trauma never woke up.
Amazing, the ability of the human body to heal itself.
The nursing staff, a lot more blunt, whispered that he couldn’t possibly be right after coming out of that. Bound to be messed up.
But he was right enough only five days later to say a few words to the one TV newswoman the hospital allowed to visit him. Right enough to smile, to be able to feed himself almost from the start. To dress himself. And, with more than a little help, to walk.
He dedicated himself to the physical therapy, working hard every single day to regain his mobility and independence. He was quiet, polite, uncomplaining. The nursing staff loved him.
They were saddened, as they had been during his whole stay, by the fact that Sonny Lenox appeared to have no family or even friends; in all that time he never had a single visitor. When he came out of the coma and was able to talk to them, he told them he was alone in the world and hadn’t lived in town very long before the accident. He hadn’t even found an apartment yet, had been staying in a motel, and didn’t doubt that the manager had long ago packed up his meager belongings and given them to some charity. Or sold them, of course.
It was okay, though. He’d get along.
The nursing staff, feeling even sorrier for him, got together some hand-me-down clothing and a used duffel bag and chipped in for new underwear, so at least he’d be able to leave the hospital with something.
It required more than six weeks of intense therapy before the doctors were willing to discharge him, but by then the young man was able to smile and thank everyone, and when they wheeled him to the door he was able to get up and walk steadily away, his duffel in hand.
He didn’t look back.
In his used clothes, carrying his used bag, he walked slowly but determinedly, with a very specific destination in mind. He had to sit on a handy bench along the way several times to rest, since his stamina wasn’t what it should be. What it would eventually be. So it took him more than an hour to walk to a narrow street near downtown, a street that hadn’t yet been “revitalized” by money and interest.
There were old apartment buildings not yet condemned but close, an old church with colorful and profane graffiti on one wall, and a ramshackle mission where a small group of dedicated humanitarians did what they could to feed and house the poor.
He stood half a block away and studied the mission for a few minutes, then approached it.
Outside the front door, a young man with leaflets and an intense expression was trying to talk to the few passersby who, very clearly, just wanted to pass by. And the apparent regulars to the mission simply brushed past him, intent only on going inside and getting their meal or cot before the mission ran out of both.
The young man remained determined.
“Sir! Sir, have you accepted Jesus Christ as your personal savior?”
Sonny Lenox looked at him for a long moment, his eyes holding a curiously flat shine, and then he smiled.
“Why, yes, I have. And I’d love to give you my Testimony.”
Author’s Note
We’re now twelve books into the Bishop/Special Crimes Unit series, and because of that we’ve decided to begin including a bit of additional information for the benefit of both new and longtime readers. We’ve based these offerings on the type of mail and email I receive, letters and notes asking specific questions.
So here in Blood Ties you’ll find about a dozen footnotes throughout the book, all titles of earlier books in the series. I’ve found that many readers want that information, asking in which book a specific character was introduced or specific events took place. I hope the footnotes will provide that information quickly and easily.
Here at the end of the book, I’ve also provided brief character bios of the SCU team members appearing in Blood Ties, bios of the Haven operatives involved in the story, and a list of psychic abilities and their SCU definitions.
This is something of an experiment, so I hope you’ll feel free to email me ([email protected]) and let me know whether you like or dislike the additional information. If it proves to be popular, we will continue to provide this as the series continues.
And, as always, if you’d like to read more in-depth background facts about the series and its characters, please visit my website at www.kayhooper.com.
Special Crimes Unit Agent Bios
Jaylene Avery
Job: Special Agent.
Adept: Psychometric, is able to pick up impressions from objects. Sees her ability as a tool, pure and simple, and is less interested than most of the others in the scientific aspects of the paranormal.
Appearances: Hunting Fear, Blood Ties
Bailey
Job: Special Agent, guardian.
Adept: Open telepath, but her strength is a powerful shield she’s able to extend to protect others.
Appearances: Blood Dreams, Blood Sins, Blood Ties
Miranda Bishop
Job: Special Agent, investigator, profiler, black belt in karate, and a sharpshooter.
Adept: Touch-telepa
th, seer, remarkably powerful and possesses unusual control, particularly in a highly developed shield capable of protecting herself psychically, a shield she’s able to extend beyond herself to protect others. Shares abilities with her husband, Noah, due to their intense emotional connection, and together they far exceed the scale developed by the FBI to measure psychic talents.
Appearances: Out of the Shadows, Touching Evil, Whisper of Evil, Sense of Evil, Hunting Fear, Chill of Fear, Blood Dreams, Blood Sins, Blood Ties
Noah Bishop
Unit leader (Chief, Special Crimes Unit), founder
Job: Special Agent, profiler, top investigator, sharpshooter. Has a few unusual abilities he deliberately cultivated, including lock-picking and computer hacking, and is licensed as a pilot.
Adept: Touch-telepath, exceptionally powerful. Also possesses secondary or “ancillary” ability of enhanced senses (hearing, sight, scent) familiarly known as “spider sense,” as well as the shared (with his wife) ability of precognition. Was driven to found the unit out of a strong desire to bring psychic ability into the mainstream as a useful investigative tool. Totally committed to his unit—and extraordinarily committed to his wife.
Appearances: Stealing Shadows, Hiding in the Shadows, Out of the Shadows, Touching Evil, Whisper of Evil, Sense of Evil, Hunting Fear, Chill of Fear, Sleeping with Fear, Blood Dreams, Blood Sins, Blood Ties
Diana Brisco
Job: Special Investigator.
Adept: Medium, specializing in the ability to “walk” with spirits in an eerie corridor between life and death she calls the gray time. Like many mediums, also possesses some healing ability, though hers is virtually latent.
Appearances: Chill of Fear, Blood Ties
Reese DeMarco
Job: Special Crimes Unit Operative, pilot, sharpshooter. Has specialized in the past primarily in undercover operations. Ex-military.
