Standard Deviation of Death (The Outlier Prophecies Book 4)

by Tina Gower

  I rush out the door, afraid they will escape too quickly and I’ll miss them. Becker is outside. Someone pulled up a metal chair, and he’s got his elbows on his knees, head low. I kneel down to his level and slide my fingers to massage his neck.

  He catches my hand in his and squeezes. “Go. I’m fine.” He meets my eyes. His are a little red.

  A lump forms in my throat and I nod because I don’t trust my voice.

  I get the guard’s attention. “They said I can accompany Ms. Lee to her room.”

  He doesn’t look up from whatever book he’s reading and the door to the hallway buzzes next to us. I push it open and meet the orderlies on the other side, who are adjusting Talia so she can walk to her room. We don’t make it far. Two steps maybe? A nurse comes at us, her body and expression tight. Her tablet gripped tightly in the fold of her arm. The plain white sneakers make a soft thump sound with each of her steps. Her oversized mint scrubs drag a little at the heel.

  She holds up her hand to stop us. “I’m sorry, they told me not to disturb the questioning. But your associate isn’t done searching the room.”

  “My associate?” My brow furrows. Becker is in the hall. Ali is at work. “Detective Hank Lipski?” It can’t be right, because he’s working the day shift on a different case.

  The nurse looks annoyed. “She said she needed the room and she had a search order from the Department of Health Predictions.”

  We follow her down the hall where two guards stand outside the room.

  One of them shakes his head. “Ms. Lee, you’re to wait outside. The order is very specific. The patient cannot be in the area during the search.”

  Talia isn’t conscious. She hangs between the two orderlies.

  The tattoo one gets a little feisty. “She needs a bed.”

  The nurse massages her temples. “I’ll see what I can find.”

  The orderly isn’t pleased and scoops Talia into his arms as easy as a father would a toddler. Talia is tiny, but this guy is some kind of supernatural to be able to hold her like she’s nothing.

  I peek into the room. Michelle Kitman has several items laid out on Talia’s freshly made bed, and she’s muttering to herself.

  She looks up from her pile of evidence. “Hale, get in here.”

  I scoot past the guard, half wondering if I should call her on whatever truth stretch she used to get past security pretending to be with us, half wanting to know what brilliance she’s worked up. Because let’s face it, Kitman is amazing and I’m about to see it firsthand. I’ll have a Kitman story of my very own to tell at actuary events for the rest of my career.

  She folds out a map and drapes it over an exam tray. “The average distance blood fever exposure can travel is only theoretically a little over a quarter of a mile. I worked a case in Health as an intern that had one blood fever case affect a family of six on a ranch with no other neighbors for seven miles. We tracked it down to blood magic spells in a camping trailer on their back forty where they get out maybe once a month during irrigation. Yeah”—she rolls her eyes—“I had an internship way out in the sticks. I made the best of it with what little experience I could gather and eventually worked my way into bigger and bigger cities. When you don’t have much, you get the best at what you do, wherever you can, and move on to somewhere that will make whatever success you’ve earned seem idiotic in comparison. Humility is good for education.” She pulls out a geometric compass from her purse.

  I bite my lip. I might have gotten a little turned on over the fact she carries a compass to have on hand. The bag hangs open enough for me to see a protractor and highlighters. Who’s Ian Becker? I’ve found a new crush.

  “So that trailer was approximately a half mile distance. I tracked the seven students who are at highest risk for the fever and you’ll see I’ve marked their apartments. Most of them centered in this dorm hall right here on the corner, but one stubborn one is all the way over on the other side of the apothecary district.” She adjusts her compass, checking the map legend to be sure she has the most accurate measurement possible and draws a circle around each potential blood fever victim. The circles converge on the mental hospital. More specifically in the ward where Talia Lee’s room is located. Then she strolls over to the bed to show a diabetic lancet and packages of various herbs that would be harmless and allowed in the facility for patients, but together with the addition of blood would make a mighty powerful spell.

  I frown. I’d figured Talia was getting her blood from somewhere, perhaps the other patients, but she’d been defending herself. If she told me the truth, then she hasn’t used her magic in the last twenty-four hours and she hadn’t been here long enough to create a blood fever outbreak in the surrounding area. But this map tells a different story. This map suggests Talia is the sole cause of the fever outbreak. She has the side effects. She admitted to using the magic. She admitted to working with the Norns in the past. Could she be hallucinating that others were after her?

  Kitman packs up the map and compass. “So, I came in just under the wire. All I have to do is fire off my report, but I’ll let you off the hook for the bet, seeing how you offered the distraction to keep her from her room long enough for the search.” She shoulders her bag, a sparkle in her eye. “You do have some tricks up your sleeve, Ms. Hale. I’ll pull a few strings with Hayman and Deluca to ease off your death notice and let Gretchen have you at work. Sixty percent maximum barely meets the minimum risk threshold. Police officers are allowed on the job for as high as eighty, and even then it’s not mandatory suspension. They get a choice.” She leans in further. “We should get a choice. Don’t you think?”

  The air in the room gets thick. It’s like my answer will prove my worth in some weird way. Am I tough? Will I push my way to the top or will I settle for whatever scraps come my way? But there is also something more, something I can’t put my finger on just yet. Was it the tone of her voice? The confidence she exudes? The way her left eye twitches when she smiles?

  Or is it my own guilt? I should tell her about Wyrd and New Karma. She’s at risk for as long as she stays in the area. They’re systematically going after each of her old cases, and if it were me, I’d want a piece of them just for that.

  “I’d like to return to Accidental. I have cases I’d like to see finished.”

  She winks. “Good.” She pats my cheek. “I’m counting on it.” She’s about to leave, but she pauses at the door, sliding her hand along the frame. Head high, she turns so I can see her profile, but her gaze is somewhere off in the distance. “Do you ever regret the time you’ve spent chasing after fate?”

  I hesitate. “No. This is my destiny.”

  She harrumphs, a light smile on her face. “So you haven’t had it yet.” She nods. “Good.”

  “Had what?”

  “The case that breaks you. The one that makes you question everything.”

  Her words make me think of Jack Roberts, my first real investigative case in Accidental and how I missed one small detail that got him hurt. Or Nita getting away with harassing Yin and creating a mess with the love predictions at Ever After because we didn’t have the evidence to bring her down the official way. Or how Becker and I have to play fast and loose with most of the rules to accomplish the impossible.

  But I have Becker and he has me and our partnership lessens the burden because we share it. Right now Ian has a burden and I’ll spend the rest of the day sharing it with him. I can’t take it away, but I won’t let it break him either.

  I rub at the ache in my chest. “I’m still here, aren’t I? I’m going to keep doing what’s right. And this feels right.”

  Her head drops; her smile fades. “Me too, Hale. I’m still here and I’ll keep doing what’s right. No matter the consequences.” Her hand slides from the frame and she steps into the hall.

  “Wait!”

  She pauses, but doesn’t turn around. Gretchen had said it was good I’d have someone after she issued me my death notice. I wondered about Kitman
. Would she have someone if I dropped my case on her? Or if she were to be caught in the crossfire?

  “Do you have someone?” I push the question out, a slight twinge in my gut at the awkwardness of asking. “You know, someone to share the hard things with?”

  She turns around. Her smile is more of a placeholder for a fond memory, not really reaching her eyes. “I did. Once.”

  She pivots and marches away too quickly for me to respond. It’s not as if I can’t run after her, the echo of her heels on the laminate flooring is like a sonar detector to her location. The way she answered was too heartbreaking and she’d already spent enough time with me as it is.

  So if our blood fever case is unrelated to the witch fate casting for Wyrd, it means the evidence we have on Emmanuel Brazil and Becky Williams is tenuous at best, although it was sort of thin anyway. And I had no way of knowing for sure that Talia Lee’s fate-tampering spells weren’t giving Wyrd and New Karma what they needed instead of warding them off as Talia had hoped.

  What if they were using her, just not in the way I thought? Talia wasn’t exactly clear on the exact way she’d been defending herself. What if she’d placed herself in here to keep them from being able to force her to use her magic for their bidding against her will? In that case it would be a simple matter of keeping Talia safe and under supervision. We’d monitor her room to be sure nobody would be able to enter who wasn’t authorized or approved by Becker, Talia, or myself.

  Not many witches would agree to long- term blood magic spells. Talia is example one as to why that isn’t a desired career path.

  I meet up with Becker, who is looking a lot more pulled together. He has my laptop case, strap across opposite shoulder, his hat pulled low over his head, and a fierce grimace that says not to question him or ask for my stuff to schlep myself. Again, I want to remind him that if we’re in real trouble my laptop bag wrapped around his torso isn’t going to save me or make running after an assailant any easier, but I’m learning not to question werewolves on some matters.

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” he says with feeling.

  I share his sentiment, so I go ahead and lead the way. Becker’s arm slings over my shoulder. He drops a kiss on my temple and it causes me to stutter step. I gape at him and glance at his hand dangling next to my neck. He clears his throat, apparently as surprised as I am for his unexpected public display of affection. An apology hangs for a second. His mouth is working up the ability while we continue to the car and he utters a few false starts and ums and uhs.

  I slide my hand over his, the one still draped on my shoulder, and pull myself slightly closer. “I liked it. Don’t you dare say you’re sorry.”

  He nods after a considerable recovery time. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Becker does a thorough inspection of the car. There’s no more hex bags, no more threats. He opens the door for me to sit, and I do. He jogs around to his side. I’ve already got my phone out, hoping Lipski can come over early. Sure, Becker is fine now, but if I know grief it will sneak in again when he least expects it. I’m not the best candidate to deal with an angry werewolf. I don’t know what to do with a sad one either, but Lipski has been through this with him. He’ll know exactly what to do.

  It rings twice before Lipski picks up as if he can sense I need him.

  “Kate, I’m glad you called.”

  “Hey, Hank…” I grapple for the right words with Becker sitting next to me. I can’t exactly give full details and get Ian worked up again. Maybe just a simple “there’s been a development on an old case. I think you should be here”—he’ll get it. He understands subtext.

  Lipski continues before I can decide my tactic. “I can’t come by the house for the swing shift. Family emergency.”

  My mouth hangs open, unable to decipher what he’s talking about. I’m still processing the news Talia has slammed us with, Michelle’s surprise appearance, and the last forty-eight hours in general.

  Swing shift? My brain catches up to Lipski’s words. Oh, right. Becker is supposed to report to work at eight tonight. Ali’s closing down the cafe, so there would be an hour where I’d be unsupervised. Lipski was going to hang out for that time span.

  Lipski rattles on, completely unaware of my predicament. “Kid number four slid a little too hot into second base at softball today. Came down hard on her elbow. She’s got angel bones, so nothing’s broken. And gremlin skin, so no bad scrapes. Unfortunately, we don’t have anything special in the ligament and muscle department, so she dislocated her shoulder. Had to rush over from work to meet Angela here and it doesn’t look like we’ll be released anytime soon. The place is a mad house and we’re a low priority.”

  “I’ll probably be fine for an hour.”

  Becker shakes his head next to me and furiously taps on his phone. I hope he’s not balling Lipski out via text. The poor guy is probably dealing with enough in the hospital right now.

  “Great. Good.” Lipski is already switching gears back to concerned father and supporting husband. “I’ll call you in a bit and you can give me an update on the case.” He hangs up.

  Becker starts the car and we roll out of the parking lot to the smell of fried chicken. “I’m not leaving you alone for an hour. I told Morales I’d be late and he’s going to cover for me.”

  “Becker, you don’t have to—”

  “I do have to. And Morales owes me. He took off early the last several months because he has a newborn. Kid should be sleeping through the night now.”

  “All right. Problem solved then.” I force a relieved grin, but Becker knows I’m a liar.

  The fact he lets it go without calling me on it must mean he’s thankful for the gesture. We’re pretending that he’s better. He’s fine. No problem.

  Yeah, we’re going to have an interesting evening.

  Chapter 14

  As expected, there’s a painful attempt at conversation that is mostly lots of long pauses and fumbling for new topics. All this behavior is me. Becker is quiet, content with the silence. He doesn’t seem to mind it’s awkward silence, although he must sense my distress. Likely, he’s too tired to react or pretend any longer.

  Dalia calls about ten minutes into our drive, but it feels like we’ve been in this car for hours.

  “Yes,” Becker says, his shoulders lower like he’s been caught doing something naughty. “No. I’ll get more sleep tonight before my next shift.”

  There’s a long pause. I hope she’s balling him out for not fully recovering before jumping back out into the case. Maybe Dalia is all right after all.

  “Sure.” He sighs. “No. It’s fine. Thanks for checking up on me.”

  There’s another long pause.

  “No. It’s okay. Yeah. Bye.” He ends the call and sets his phone between us on the console.

  “She really cares about you.”

  He gives me a look as if he’s worried about my reaction to Dalia calling to check on him. “It’s more sisterly.”

  “That’s not what I mean.” I close my mouth before I say something else that might come off as jealousy.

  I was worried about Dalia breaking us up, but now it was clear Becker cared about her too. She made him see that he couldn’t run from me if he loved me. She helped him understand the things he didn’t about being a werewolf. Sister or no sister, we had to help her. And she cared about Becker. It was clear from the phone call she’d worried about him after she took care of him when he’d overdosed on magic sort-of-fateless cookies last night. They were forming a bond and I had to figure out how to be okay with it.

  He must have sensed my unease, because he changes the subject to Michelle and the blood fever case. We chat for a while, mostly reminding me that I didn’t get much information on Michelle’s past cases. I’d been too wound up and dealing with the fallout from my werewolf boyfriend’s past coming back when we least expected it. We’re back to square one. I go quiet.

  “I didn’t want it near you. I couldn’t have it in the car.” Be
cker interrupts my thoughts.

  “Hm, what?”

  “The hex bag.” He keeps his eyes on the road. “You said we should analyze it and you’re probably right, but I couldn’t bring it near you.” He glances at me for a second, then back to the road. “I’m sorry. It was another werewolf thing.”

  I watch him, waiting.

  He shrugs. “I thought you should know I make mistakes too.”

  We park the car in the garage of the safe house. “Michelle may have very well solved the blood fever case, but we can’t be sure that our witch or witches aren’t still on the loose.” In fact, I’m betting on it. Not a single fiber of my body believes Talia is our suspect.

  “The threat is still out there.” He grips the wheel tight as if some unseen energy runs through him as a reminder of the danger.

  “We should set up an interview with Becky Williams. I mean Dorcus.” I let out a strangled laugh, but he doesn’t bite on the joke. I fiddle with my zip-up sweater folded in my lap, the flux of an unpredicted warm front making it too hot to wear. “Make sure we’re not letting anyone slip by.”

  “Sure.”

  My fingers play with the hem of my sleeve. I’m deep in thought.

  Becker doesn’t make a move to leave the car either.

  I glance his way. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I—”

  “No.” I hush him with my hand on his. “I mean are you okay? Really okay? No bullshit.”

  He looks to our connected hands and then to me. “You already know the answer to that.” He slides away from me and leaves the car, ambling into the house.

  I follow, getting tangled in the seatbelt; otherwise I would have been right on his heel. I do manage to stop, corner, and corral him in the kitchen.

  Head down, he glances at me for a second, then places his hands on the counter behind him. Not missing a beat, I place my hands on his chest. He lets out a long breath.

  I lay my ear over his heart. It’s pounding like a soccer ball in a dryer. “What will help?”

  His eyes are on my lips, my throat, my chest, then flutter to the cabinet that holds all the tequila.