by Cat Connor
“Come on, Ellie,” Mac said. Two paramedics wrapped blankets around our shoulders. I heard him mutter, “I need clothes.”
“So do I,” I mumbled, while being helped into the back of the ambulance.
Mac grinned. It was a little lopsided and very cheeky. “Oh no, you look just fine.”
“Now how did I know you’d say that?”
He shrugged and winked at me.
It took the paramedics mere seconds to determine that I would in fact survive my current injury and that the wound was indeed superficial. The evidence I carried under my nails needed removing and preserving. The paramedics complied, and let me extract the evidence myself.
“My next request is an escort so we can get some clothes and personal belongings,” I told the officer.
“Yes, ma’am, but I can’t let you back into that bedroom.”
I scowled. “My bag is in there and my gun.”
He gave a half smile. “I’ll bring your gun to you.”
“Thank you.” I turned to Mac. “Looks like you get your wish. My clothes are in my bag ... I’m stuck in this tee shirt and panties till I can get some spares.”
“As delightful as that sounds I think it’s a little too cold to be wandering around scantily clad. You had jeans in the dryer. Did you get them out?”
“No.”
“Then they’re still in there.” He smiled and tapped his head with one finger. “Steel trap.”
The officer in charge cleared his throat. “If you two are ready, I’ll take you back in so you can retrieve some belongings. Agent Grafton is on his way out. His approximate ETA is thirty minutes.”
We walked beside the police officer into the house. Inside, another officer told us that the upstairs was clear, and Mac was free to get whatever he needed and to dress. Mac headed for the stairs. I knew he didn’t want to hang around any longer than necessary.
I made my way to the basement and found a pair of my jeans in the dryer. I wished there had been a sweat top in there, too, but there wasn’t. I pulled on the jeans while a police officer waited. He opened the door as I walked towards him. “Ma’am.”
“Thank you. I need to go to Mac’s office.”
He followed behind me. I piled my wallet, credentials and cell phone on my laptop case. Mac appeared in the doorway carrying a black overnight bag and a jacket.
“You done?” he asked me.
“Yep. Is there anything you need from in here?” I gathered my belongings into my arms.
“Yeah, my wallet.” He walked over to his desk and picked up his wallet and the notebook he had neglected to put away earlier. “Car keys?”
“Kitchen counter,” I replied, without thinking.
He nodded. “Right, that’s it. Let’s go.” He took the jacket from over his arm and draped it around my shoulders. “This will swim on you but at least you won’t freeze.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.”
The officer by the door said Caine had arrived at the scene.
Mac hissed into my ear, “It’s not a scene, it’s my house!”
“I know. I’m sorry,” feeling bad for getting Mac involved in the situation at all and even worse for bringing something so alarming into his home. I felt pretty low and unworthy as a friend. He placed his hand in the small of my back and walked me out the front door.
As we descended the porch steps, he said, “This isn’t your fault. It’s shitty as hell but it isn’t your fault.”
Caine stood waiting for us. I read correctly his unimpressed expression. “Have either of you given statements?”
“I think they were waiting for you,” I replied.
“Fine, great, good,” he spluttered. “I’ll get someone to take your statements.” He spun around to face an officer standing a little more than three feet away. Caine pointed at him. “Can you take a statement?”
The officer nodded.
“Then do it!” Caine demanded.
The officer stepped forward into the glow of the security lights, acknowledging us both. I noticed something: Mac knew this person.
“Take Mac into the living room. Separate interviews. Come for Agent Conway when you’re done with his statement,” he told the officer.
Mac rolled his eyes at me as he led the way to his own living room. Half an hour later, he emerged and it was my turn.
After the longest, most bizarre half hour I had ever spent, I, too, emerged, wondering all the while, how insane my story sounded. I related what started as a dream, that wasn’t, but it may have been, or at least part of it may have been. Once back outside I discovered Caine barking orders left, right and center. No one was enjoying his presence.
I grabbed his elbow and commented in his ear, “This is not helping.”
He glared at me, then his eyes softened, and his facial muscles relaxed.
“In case you missed it … these guys are the front line and if you piss them off they may not be so keen to help in the future!”
He twitched remarkably, his steel-gray eyes narrowed. “Gimme a sec.” He disappeared into the house.
“Where’s he going?” Mac asked, watching Caine stride away.
“Hopefully to apologize to the police on scene for his asshole behavior.”
Mac raised his eyebrows at me. “He pissed?”
“You could say that.”
Caine joined us a little while later. He appeared somewhat humbled, and his manner was more agreeable.
“You two are free to go. I want you to check into a hotel, out of this area.” He handed me his own car keys. “Take my car.”
Caine turned to Mac. “Sorry, Mac. We’re keeping your truck, it contains evidence.”
I saw the look of horror on Mac’s face. I guessed this was something else he didn’t want to know.
“You’re going to need clothes and such, Ellie.” He gave me a long look. “Something that fits would be a start. Use the company credit cards for whatever you need, and that goes for the hotel, too. I don’t want to see your actual names appearing on anything traceable to a location. Zero paper trail.”
Mac looked very serious. I don’t think I had ever seen him look so serious.
Caine passed Mac his gun. “Found this in a shoebox,” Caine said. “Tomorrow I want you both to meet me at my office at the Hoover building. I will arrange for you to have a permit to carry and temporary credentials that say you’re with us. Make sure you are always armed.”
Mac’s tanned complexion blanched as Caine continued with his instructions.
“Keep off the Internet; keep out of the chat room ... unless you use satellite. Use your mirrors. Be evasive. This person may be a watcher, and if so, he’s probably watching us now.” Caine’s concern was obvious in his voice, but as always, his facial expressions gave nothing away.
“Okay,” I replied.
Caine studied my face. “Are you all right?” he asked, tilting my chin, and inspecting my throat. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
I shrugged. “I’m fine.”
“Might pay to get a turtleneck sweater when you go shopping. That’s going to draw some attention.”
“Good idea.” I had a question burning to break forth. I just had to know. “What’s in the truck?”
Caine looked set to evade the question.
“Tell me.”
“We’re waiting on the medical examiner. We’re not sure who it is yet.” He delved into his pants’ pocket and pulled out a paper baggie. This time Caine read the blood-smeared yellow Post-it note to us, “‘The sky is falling, screamed the martyr, my blood dripped from the ceiling, I met a fate like Carter.’”
Yay, another sick poem. So far, none of the poems triggered any recognition of their style or lack of.
Mac and I made eye contact. I knew we were thinking the same thing: David Edwards AKA Metallurgic.
“There’s a possibility it maybe someone from Cobwebs,” I said. “I asked the Manassas field office to locate David E
dwards when we noticed he was missing.”
“I’ll contact them. We’re going to be here for the rest of the night and most of the day.”
“How’d he get into the house?”
“We found a circular piece of glass missing from the backdoor. I’d say he cut a hole in the glass, then reached in and unlocked the door.”
“It’s not even an unusual skill to have.” It would’ve been better for the investigation if he’d used some cool Special Forces way of gaining entry. At least then we could’ve narrowed the investigative field.
“I know. You two get going, find a hotel and get some sleep. Meet me at my office at five tomorrow afternoon. We’ll know more then.”
“All right,” I replied, masking a yawn. I looked around but couldn’t see our belongings. “Where’s our stuff?”
“I’ve put all your things in my car. Go, Ellie, take Mac, and get out of here.” Caine stepped forward and did something completely out of character. He hugged me. I wasn’t a hundred percent sure how to react to that, so I didn’t react at all. Somehow, a fatherly hug from my boss was enough to make me realize how dangerous the situation was. He shook Mac’s hand and said something to him that I didn’t hear.
We walked down the dark street and found Caine’s car. I turned the ignition key, and we left without looking back at the line of police vehicles or the house. The quiet suburban neighborhood had transformed into a sideshow, with every freak in the County attending.
Six
Tumbling Dice
We twisted and turned our way into Washington DC, doubling back several times until I was sure nobody was following us, before we found a hotel.
I took care of checking in, signing us both as out-of-town federal employees, which was by no means unfamiliar to the staff of the Marriott. Our lack of luggage raised no eyebrows either. It wasn’t unusual for federal agents to arrive minus luggage in the early morning, although I was sure agents didn’t normally arrive wearing a jacket belonging to a much bigger person, and no footwear.
Twenty minutes later, I left Mac flicking through TV channels and went into the bathroom. I turned on the shower, and removed what few clothes I wore. I inspected my yellow tee shirt. There was a good deal of blood smeared on it, especially at the neck. I soaked the shirt in cold water and scrubbed the blood with soap, then hung it over the towel rail to dry. My jeans were fine, so I folded them and put them on a shelf below a huge mirror. I stood under the hot water for a long time, refusing to let my mind wander back to the events that led to our being in Washington. Despite my protests, parts of the dream managed to sneak into my conscious thoughts.
The room filled with steam until I couldn’t see in the mirror at all. I didn’t want to see myself, or the latest physical wound. I didn’t want a reminder.
I wrapped a thick, white hotel robe around me, towel drying my hair as I went back out to the room.
“Come here,” Mac said, holding his hand out to me. He reclined on the bed, resting on several pillows with the TV remote in one hand. Mac leaned forward and patted the bed in front of him as he moved his legs. I sat with my back to him. His legs stretched out either side of me. He took the towel from my hand and finished drying off my hair while he talked. “They mentioned the killer on the BBC. How weird is that? Even had a shot of the neighborhood.”
“Pretty weird. Did they say anything much?”
It just keeps getting better – now we’re international news.
“Nope. Just that it appeared as though the chat room killer had struck again.”
I ran my fingers through my hair trying to detangle it a little. Something tugged my hair. I caught sight of a hairbrush in Mac’s hand. I smiled. “Always thinking, huh?”
“I have my moments. I scooped up your stuff from the bathroom. Girls need such things,” he replied. Mac brushed my damp hair as we watched an infomercial for the Miracle Knife III.
“How’s your throat?”
“My throat is fine. My forehead is fine. They both pull a bit, but it’s fine.” I considered that ‘fine’ wasn’t the right word, but would do for now.
He put the brush and remote on the nightstand, and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close. Wednesday’s sun peeked through a gap in the curtains. My eyes stung. I snuggled against Mac and closed my eyes.
Strong sunlight dappled the room, causing me to stir. I felt Mac’s body against mine. I sighed. It wasn’t so bad being rescued.
My eyes closed, blocking out the daylight. Sleep came in the safety I found within his strong arms. No dreams, no nightmares, just blissful deep sleep.
The next time I awoke, I rolled over and reached out to an empty bed. I sat up and flicked my hair back off my face. The smell of fresh coffee wafted into the room on a light breeze. I took a minute to work out where I was. A shadow fell over me. A hand reached out and brushed a stray hair from my eyes.
“Coffee, sleepyhead?”
I smiled, raising my eyes to see his face. “Please.”
Mac smirked at me. “You’re all tousled and cute.”
I felt my cheeks flush and hoped he wouldn’t notice. Who was I kidding? He noticed everything.
He smiled again. “You really are cute.”
The blush deepened. “Shush you. Where’s my coffee?”
“Get up, it’s waiting.” He disappeared out the door to the balcony.
I dragged myself from under the covers, rearranged the robe I was almost wearing, and joined Mac sitting at a table outside on the terrace. We drank coffee and watched people move about on the street below.
“What time is it?”
“Almost three,” Mac replied.
“We should get moving. I really need clothes.” As I stretched my legs out in the warm sun, the robe fell away exposing my thigh. I flipped the robe back, covering my legs. I heard Mac sigh. I looked up to see him grinning like a little kid with his hand in the cookie jar.
“Oh, really?”
He laughed and said, “Uh huh.”
“In your dreams!”
“We’ll see.”
With some effort, I ignored him and drank my coffee while considering how the rest of the day would shape up.
A thought occurred to me. “Oh man!”
“What?”
“I’m going to have to walk about the city in socks.”
Mac’s head tilted back. “Oh yeah, you’re bootless.”
“What must people have thought when a shoeless FBI agent with no luggage and blood stains on her tee shirt arrived at the hotel at seven this morning?”
“Nothing compared with what people are going to think this afternoon. It’s normal to have shoes on when you go shopping for footwear,” Mac remarked. “Drink your coffee, then we’ll go shop.” He paused, then said, “I called my dad earlier, from your cell. I gave him your number, hope that’s okay.”
“Of course.” I was still preoccupied with my lack of clothing. “Everything all right?”
“Yeah, Dad had already learned of last night’s incident from Darren, the cop back at the house.”
“Uh huh.” I was right, he did know that cop.
“Darren told Dad about the killer and Mom overheard. She freaked a little. Dad said we can stay with them.” He shook his head from side to side. “Not even as an absolute last resort.”
“I reckon.” I agreed. It was the last place on earth I would consider staying. Well, the second last place on earth: The first being my own parents’ home.
“Oh, and Darren found my poor terrified cat and took her to Mom and Dad’s.”
“Good.” I am not a cat person, but even I like Mac’s cat, and I was relieved it wasn’t part of the cat hanging from the ceiling. I picked up my cell phone and called Caine. “You found this prick yet?”
“No, not yet, Ellie.”
I snapped, “Why the fuck not?” before wresting back some control. “By the way, the BBC ran a short bulletin on the chat room killer early this morning.”
“Not good.” H
e groaned. “We’re gathering evidence. We need a goddamn break. I have people working around the clock trying to track everyone from that chat room of yours. Do you have any idea how easy it is to create an email account with false information?”
“Well, yeah. Can’t you just run a ping and trace?”
“You’d think that’d be easy, right? Ohhh no, several Internet providers are fucking us up. They’re having ‘privacy issues.’ I have to get warrants for people who have no names yet. Any clue how that’s going down with the Deputy Attorney General?”
I took a breath. “People are dying. Not only that but dead people keep turning up near me. Any clue how that is going down with me?” I knew I was losing it. “Fuck privacy issues!”
“Settle,” Caine soothed, then changed the subject. “You got clothes yet?”
“No.”
“Shop, then get your ass over to my office.” He was quiet for a beat, “Tell Mac I have temp credentials and a permit for him.”
“Are we done?”
“See you at five,” he replied.
I pressed the end button and dropped the phone onto the table. “How hard can it be?”
“They haven’t found him?”
“Nope.”
“Cheer up. They will. Go dress. We have to shop.”
I nodded. “I’ll be ready in two minutes. It’s not like I have much to put on.” I may not have had many clothes to wear but thanks to Mac and his cleverness I had my mascara; it could’ve been worse. Minutes later, I was dressed.
“Mac can I borrow your belt?” I asked.
He unthreaded it from his jeans and handed it to me.
“Thanks.” I never did like this pair of jeans. They fitted great right from the drier but from then on in it’s a case of the ass bagging out and waistband loosening almost immediately. I couldn’t wait to get some that fitted properly.
We entered the elevator. I wore my short yellow tee shirt which barely met my jeans so there was little hope of concealing the gun I’d shoved in the waistband. I thought the white blood-splattered socks on my feet were a nice touch. With no hair tie to hold it back, my hair kept falling over my face. But I had a subtle coat of mascara upon my lashes and that gave me confidence.
