Corpse Whisperer Sworn

by H. R. Boldwood

  “I think you guys forgot something.”

  Ferris and I glanced at each other and then followed Rico’s gaze to the floor.

  Neither of us were wearing shoes.

  “Why don’t I just go on ahead?” Rico said, locking eyes with Ferris. “You don’t have a problem taking Nighthawk. Right?”

  “No problem at all, dude.”

  Rico left, bounding down the steps to his car. Ferris pushed the door closed and then turned to me, wearing a wicked grin.

  I punched him in the chest. “See? I told you that would be awkward.”

  9

  Holy Humping Hedgehogs

  After saying good-bye to the terrible twins and locking up the house, Ferris and I hustled to his car. If we were lucky, we would make it to the task force meeting on time. If we weren’t lucky, humiliation would be the crowning glory of what might possibly be the most mortifying day of my life.

  The task force, headed by Director Dickhead, operated under the auspices of the Patriot Act. Its purpose was to locate and apprehend the person or persons responsible for the manipulation of the Z-virus, which brought about a new genus of deadheads that weren’t sun-blind. The synthetic strain could be spread by injection, where the original strain could not.

  We had our work cut out for us.

  I leaned back in the passenger seat and closed my eyes. Rico’s sullen stare returned to haunt me. Surely, the brain bitch was screwing with me, making a mountain out of a mole hill. How bad could our encounter this morning have really been? Ferris wasn’t as close to Rico as I was. He’d be able to put things into perspective.

  “So, now that we’ve had a few minutes to process things, am I over-reacting? Was that scene with Rico really as awkward as I thought it was?”

  “Oh, absolutely.”

  “Just checking.”

  I’m not sure why I bothered to ask. When I step in shit, it’s always with both feet.

  Ferris pulled into a parking space at the Kenwood FBI office. I checked my watch and inwardly groaned: 8:31 a.m. A minute late and we hadn’t even made it inside the building.

  We sprinted through the entrance, took the elevator to the third floor, and speed-walked to Dickhead’s office. Damned if he hadn’t already closed the door. Ferris sucked in a breath and rapped twice. The muffled sound of footsteps filtered into the hall. When the door finally opened, Rico stood on the other side. I scooted past him, unable to meet his gaze.

  The cone of silence descended, as Ferris and I eased past the podium, and walked the long green mile toward the two remaining seats on the far side of the table. Dickhead glanced at his watch, and waited until we were seated to pounce.

  “Thank you, for gracing us with your presence, Agent Ferris.”

  Ferris sat up straight and tugged at his collar. “Sorry, sir. Won’t happen again.”

  Dickhead rolled his eyes toward me. “Ms. Nighthawk, perhaps you can use this meeting to play catch-up, since you’ve been AWOL for the last month. Welcome back.”

  The sarcastic ass-munch.

  Little Allie had apparently lassoed my tongue, because the only response I could manage was a red-faced nod.

  Having successfully drawn his pound of flesh, Dickhead circled the meeting back to order.

  “In the last several weeks, we have added some depth to the task force.” He glanced across the table at three unfamiliar faces. “Cyber Specialist, Agent Kelvin Thomas. Profiler Psychologist, Agent Barbara McMillen. And Bio-terrorism Specialist, Eli Stanton. Agents, meet Special Agent Sean Ferris from the Cincinnati Field office, Officer Rico De Palma, Paranormal Crimes Liaison for the Cincinnati Police Department, and his partner, Ms. Allie Nighthawk, the ah…Corpse Whisperer.”

  Those last two words stuck in Dickhead’s throat like a splintered chicken bone.

  Kelvin Thomas looked like your average cybergeek: young, twenty-something, bone-rail thin, with curly red hair. The only things missing were adhesive tape on the bridge of his glasses and a pocket protector. Barbara McMillen, mid-forties, had hawkish features and a stoic intensity. Definitely not the warm and fuzzy type. Eli Stanton was knocking on the backside of fifty, hair solid grey and crew cut. His bright yellow bow tie was an unexpected treat. The group nodded introductions across the table and then quieted, so Dickhead could continue.

  “Before Leo Abruzzi passed away, he provided Nighthawk with a thumb drive containing an encrypted second set of books for the Giordano crime family. Nighthawk broke the encryption and identified our prime suspect, Toussaint Le Clerc, whereabouts unknown.”

  From the corner of my eye, I saw Rico’s gaze dart to me.

  “The WHO and the CDC have been able to isolate the synthetic viral strain. Currently, they are working on developing an antidote. From a tactical perspective, we’ve issued a BOLO to the field offices for Le Clerc. We’ve also issued advisories, urging operatives to keep their eyes open for a newer genus of zombies that are able to see in daylight, and possible injection marks in virus-infected victims.”

  Dickhead’s eyes gleamed as he turned to me.

  “We’ve also issued an agency-wide training video that contains detailed information on zombie physiology, the associated science of Carovescology, and the most efficient means of acquiring and eliminating disease-infected targets.”

  “Oh, really,” I blurted. “And what brain-dead, half-assed expert led that class?”

  “Why, you did, Ms. Nighthawk. Captain Dorsey was kind enough to share the video of your training session—from earlier this year. March, if I’m not mistaken. The one where the biter got loose. Surely, you remember?”

  Holy Humping Hedgehogs.

  How could I forget? Talk about a clusterfuck. There was zushi everywhere. Splatz had to come in. Nobody died, and before it was over, I took the corpsicle down, but it wasn’t my best work. And they were using it as a training video? My stomach roiled; I wanted to hurl.

  Dickhead smirked at me from behind the podium, and added, “Of course, we took the liberty of a few edits. No use belaboring the unfortunate…developments.”

  One of these days, I would feed him his nads through his eyelids, but not today. At this rate, I’d be downing Xanax by noon.

  Dickhead turned his attention back to the group. “Before I let you go, the recent horde attack here in Cincinnati bears discussing. Although the biters involved were of the day-blind variety, we cannot rule out the possibility that they are in some way related to the Z-virus case. According to Ms. Nighthawk, biters are solitary creatures and don’t, as a rule, horde. This suggests a potential behavioral change which could be related to viral mutation or manipulation. It also begs the question, did these deadheads randomly wander into a cluster and attack a target of opportunity? Or did some person, or persons, wrangle a gaggle of rotters, with the intention of creating a horde?”

  He took a sip of water and glanced around the room.

  “We don’t know the answer to these questions yet, but they bear close scrutiny. I’ll be issuing an advisory, asking our folks to be mindful of any horde activity that might surface.”

  A crisp rap on the door brought the meeting to a pause. An agent I’d never seen before entered the room and whispered something in Dickhead’s ear. They murmured back and forth a few times, and when the whispering ended, Dickhead’s face blanched and he narrowed his eyes.

  “Thank you, Evans,” he said, as the agent turned to leave.

  Dickhead stared out from behind the podium. “It appears we have a more pressing agenda. There’s been another horde attack. In New Orleans, at Tulane University.”

  Tulane? Oh, Sweet Jesus, no, no, no.

  I grabbed the arm of my chair and bolted upright. “Did they get the victim’s name?”

  The director exhaled a long, ragged breath. “It was Leo Abruzzi’s son, Vinny.”

  10

  Anger, Anxiety, and Asshats

  “Is Vinny okay?” I asked.

  Dickhead shrugged. “That’s not entirely—”

 
“Damn it! Was he bitten or not?”

  “We don’t know yet. NOLA field agents are responding to the scene.”

  Rico and Ferris turned their eyes to me. I didn’t have to be a mind reader to know they were thinking about the promise I’d made to Leo. Toussaint had threatened to kill Vinny if Leo testified against him before the grand jury. The only way Leo would give up the information we needed was if I swore that the three of us would protect Vinny. As if that weren’t complicated enough, it turned out Leo and Vinny weren’t all that close. Vinny didn’t even come to Cincinnati for Leo’s funeral. Vinny wanted nothing to do with his father, or with us. The kid was twenty-one years old. I couldn’t sit on him. I resigned myself to keeping an eye on him from afar. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

  But Toussaint would hurt him, or worse, if it suited his purpose.

  Dickhead scanned the faces around the table. “Agents Thomas and Stanton, consider yourselves on standby. Agent McMillen, and the rest of you, are going wheels up at ten-hundred. Dismissed.”

  Wheels up? Not in this lifetime.

  I chased after Dickhead as he picked up his portfolio and strode toward the hallway.

  “Director, I’ll take the bus. It’s cheaper. Save you some money. Or I can ride my motorcycle.”

  “Nonsense. The trip will take twice as long. I’m surprised at you, Nighthawk. For someone so concerned about Vinny Abruzzi’s well-being, I’d think you’d be moving heaven and earth to get to him.”

  Yeah. You would think that, but for one small detail.

  I looked up to find Rico staring at me with eyes that sparkled like Everclear. “Nighthawk, why don’t I give you a ride back to your place, so you can pack a few things?”

  Rico lived less than ten minutes from me. Ferris lived across town. That only made sense. So why did it feel so awkward?

  After telling Ferris that I’d see him at the plane, I walked with Rico to his car.

  “It’s the heights thing, isn’t it?” Rico asked, as he ducked inside the driver’s side door of his Mustang. “You’re afraid to fly.” His voice shimmied, like he was stifling a laugh.

  “Bite me, blue boy.”

  “Back at you, ballbuster.”

  His comment was a little too on the nose. I’d gone slightly mental on Leo’s case when we had to scale a five-story fire escape to rescue him. What can I say? A fear of heights sneaks up on you when you’re dangling fifty feet in the air.

  But I’d soldiered up. I’d done my job, saving Leo’s bacon. I’d saved Dickhead’s too, that day when a biter got the drop on him. So what if I’d almost tossed my cookies in the process? And why bring that up now, when I was about to get on a plane? I climbed into Rico’s car, thinking that was a bush-league move, throwing that night in my face. Then again, after oversleeping and getting the morning off to such a craptacular start, maybe I had it coming.

  Rico went quiet as he pulled out of the parking lot, doing his best to pretend I wasn’t there. Sullen wasn’t a look that suited him. Clearly, the elephant in the room wasn’t going anywhere, unless I poked it with a stick.

  “So, about this morning…”

  Rico stared straight ahead, without as much as a flinch.

  Had he even heard me? “I just think we should talk about it. You know, clear the air.”

  He darted his eyes to the dashboard clock. “You’re only going to have a few minutes to throw some clothes in a bag. The plane leaves in an hour.”

  What the hell? “Did you hear me? I said we should talk about this morning.”

  “What about it?”

  “It was…awkward.”

  “What you do on your own time is your business.”

  “Damn straight it is.”

  Rico’s response came slowly, as if he were weighing his words. “But if you start shitting where you eat, things could get complicated. Even dangerous—for all of us.”

  “Speaking from experience? I know what I’m doing.”

  “Do you?”

  I threw open the passenger door, as Rico pulled into my driveway. Before he could bring the car to a stop, I hit the blacktop running and screamed over my shoulder, “I’ll pack as fast as I can.”

  You arrogant pinhead.

  I took the steps two at a time and slammed the door closed behind me. With my job, I’m always carrying concealed, so after cramming three pairs of black jeans, six T-shirts, a handful of underwear, and plenty of extra mags into my duffel, I thought again and added my Dopp kit and a phone charger. Little Allie put a bug in my ear, and I circled back to my dresser, dug to the bottom of the top drawer, pulled out a small, white box that I’d almost forgotten was there, and tossed it in my bag. Next, I dialed Nonnie and begged her to watch the terrible twins again while I was gone.

  She took it well, considering I had no idea how long I’d be away. Maybe a little too well. Knowing Nonnie, nothing ever came easy. She had to have an end game. It’s a good thing she wasn’t in it for the money, but one of these days she might expect me to cough up a kidney or something.

  Kulu fluffed herself into a fat feather duster and squatted on her perch, sulking and muttering Sicilian curse words—words she learned during her last stint with Nonnie, the Nose of Palermo. Headbutt lay atop his favorite floor vent and yawned, then rolled a bloodshot eye at me and turned away. I hadn’t even left yet, and I was already in the dog house. Or was it the bird cage?

  I tore down the steps, tossed my duffel into the back of the Mustang, and plopped into the passenger seat. Rico backed out of the driveway, headed up Pitty Pat Lane toward Red Bank, and picked up our conversation where we’d left off.

  “There’s a reason the FBI has rules about fraternization.”

  Little Allie let out a yelp. “Are you kidding me? You’re going to tell Dickhead?!”

  “It’s not my place,” Rico said, shaking his head. “I’m just saying that you should think twice about getting romantically involved with your partner.”

  “Oh, really? But it’s fine for you to play hump-the-ho with your hoochi-mama.”

  “Hump who?” Rico made the connection and frowned. “It’s not the same. And don’t call her a ho.”

  “How is it different? She follows us closer than toilet paper stuck to a shoe.”

  “But my life isn’t in her hands. And neither is yours.”

  I snorted. “Technicalities. Thanks to her, you could have been zombiefied today.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  Rico might be right about my life not being in her hands, but she sure made my life miserable.

  I did a double take as Rico drove past Madison Road. “Isn’t your house back there?”

  “Yes, but we’re headed to Lunken Airport.”

  “Don’t you have to pack a bag?”

  He sighed and threw me a glassy stare. “I have a packed go-bag in my trunk at all times. The day I found out I was on the task force, I threw in extra ammo and enough clothes for a week. I take my job seriously. You should try it, sometime.”

  “Hey, I keep a go-bag. It’s in my locker at the precinct.”

  True enough, although it paled by comparison, a couple of outfits and a sports bra. Point taken. This task force was international. We could travel anytime, anywhere. I needed to be ready.

  Damn. I hate when he’s right.

  I climbed the steps of the Gulfstream, eyeballing one of its turbine engines. “You’re sure this thing’s safe?”

  Rico chuckled. “Safer than driving I-75 at rush hour.” He stood at the bottom of the steps, swept his eyes the length of the plane, and whistled. “She’s a beaut. A G5. Sleek and sexy.”

  Freaking gorgeous. Wait ’til I puke in the aisle, I thought. He won’t think she’s so sexy then.

  I made my way down the aisle and found Ferris buckled in and waiting for the rest of us to arrive. The seats were grouped facing each other, with tables in between. Further down the aisle was a couch. It was good to know that after I hurled, I’d have a place to lie down. />
  I plopped into the seat across from Ferris. Rico sat next to me on the aisle. Barbara McMillen, the profiler, boarded moments later and took the seat beside Ferris. She smoothed her hair with a bony hand, tucking a few loose strands back into a topknot that squatted on her head like a balled-up ferret. Long, spindly legs and Cobbie Cuddlers poked out from beneath her trench coat. She nodded in our general direction and fastened her seatbelt.

  Rico glanced around the interior and then nodded at Ferris. “Nice ride. You G-Men travel in style.”

  “Courtesy of our friends at Homeland Security. Horton wrangled it. The Z-virus is hitting some nerves.”

  I buckled the seatbelt so tight I almost cut off circulation to my lower extremities. Barbara fished a pair of cheaters out of her purse, then pulled a copy of Science Today from her briefcase and buried her head behind it. Not exactly a social butterfly.

  The captain strolled back to introduce himself and announced that we’d be leaving momentarily. Then he closed and latched the cabin door and returned to the cockpit.

  I nudged Rico’s elbow. “That pilot looks awfully young. Why isn’t he flying commercial jets?”

  “He’s had a couple of crashes.”

  “What?!” I said, starting to hyperventilate.

  “Sorry.” Rico grinned. “Couldn’t resist.”

  I yanked the collar of my T-shirt away from my neck. “Is anyone else hot in here?”

  The plane began to roll. I sucked in a breath and watched the other planes on the tarmac slip from view. Then, the engines whined, and the plane picked up speed and roared down the runway. My body compressed against the seatback. Within seconds, the jet slowly lifted off the runway and climbed into the air. As if that weren’t horrific enough, I watched my hand take on a life of its own and clutch Rico’s arm in a death-grip.

  “We’re flying,” I whispered.

  “That’s the general idea.”