The NightShade Forensic Files: Fracture Five (Book 2)

by A. J. Scudiere

  For the first time she actually hoped he had a little of his father in him, though the thought—and the memory of what she’d seen—made her shudder.

  “Nervous, Red?” Gray tilted her head.

  “Only for your guy.” That was a lie. She was nervous for Donovan, and afraid that these shits had blown their op—again. The nervousness gave way to being pissed at that thought. “You need to stand down.”

  “Listen, Red—”

  “No, you listen, Bitch.” Eleri leaned forward, feeling her blood surge. “You have no clue what you’re playing with. Do you really think the FBI doesn’t know what he is? Do you really think your kind are the biggest, baddest asses in the gene pool? Because you are in for a rough lesson. So I would get the fuck out of my face if I were you.”

  The woman pulled back, not liking what she saw.

  Eleri wanted to believe it was just her own bad-ass-ness, but she felt it this time. Donovan had tipped her that there was something there, and she wasn’t shocked when Gray whispered one word at her.

  “Bruja!”

  Witch.

  “You’d better fucking believe it.” Eleri stood tall and unmoving, and she heard several things simultaneously. The dog fight was over and Ken Kellen was saying something about ‘get off’ and ‘down.’ She wondered if he’d shoved Donovan off him. She wouldn’t doubt it. That sucked, but it kept up the realism.

  She also caught a glimpse of Walter Reed coming up on her right. Leaning in toward Gray, Eleri took advantage. She pitched her voice low and spoke succinctly, “Do you smell her? She’s half metal. Go on. Sniff the wind, Bitch.”

  As she watched, Gray’s nostrils flared, and from the corner of her eye, Eleri saw the two men do the same. A wolf she didn’t recognize walked up beside the one man and stood patiently, but even he sniffed.

  “Do you smell it? You do not want to tangle with me. Or her. So crawl back into your little kennel, and if you come near me again, I will shoot you on sight. I’ll claim you interfered with an ongoing investigation and that you were a threat to the population at large.”

  Gray whispered the word again. “Bruja.”

  “Don’t you fucking forget it.” Eleri stood as tall as her small frame would hold her until the four walked away, three of them on two feet, one of them on four.

  “That was pretty bad-ass.” Walter commented.

  “Yeah, they’re awful. Don’t mess with them if you see them again. Gangs.” She added the last word, hoping it would make everything seem as normal as possible.

  Walter laughed. “No, I meant you.”

  “Oh, thanks.” Eleri was taken aback, finally startled from her anger. Walter managed to take advantage, explaining what she was doing there before Eleri could ask.

  “I hope I didn’t mess anything up for you. I was actually running an errand, and saw you with them. I knew you were tracking Kellen, and this looked more like a random situation than anything.” Walter seemed apologetic.

  “No, you did exactly the right thing. We ran into that group once before, and they are starting to piss me off.” She watched as they turned a corner, disappearing from sight, and she wished she could smell them the way Donovan did. “I lost Kellen a little while ago, so no worries. I was trying to see if I could catch up, and I almost did, but these guys interfered and . . . Well, I think he got in his car and left.”

  Walter nodded. “Looked like it to me. I’d offer to trade off and see if I can catch up to him, but if he saw us together, I may have blown the cover. I’m sorry.”

  “Not your fault. Theirs.” Eleri pointed to where the lobomau had turned the corner. She really hated them for a growing number of reasons.

  As she swung around to check the parking lot about a block over, it looked as though Kellen’s car had disappeared. She also saw Donovan, loping back toward her, but he stopped when he spotted Walter with her and he turned another direction.

  This time she faced Walter as though she didn’t know anyone else on the street. “I’m sorry. I really appreciate your help, but we shouldn’t be seen together. Not any more than we have to be.”

  Just a nod, an informal handshake, and an “Anytime, ma’am, I’m just glad I could help.”

  Walter was dressed in camo today and looked like a soldier helping a civilian in a street altercation. Eleri loved her and tried not to smile as she walked away.

  “Are you okay?” A man walked up to her, his suit clean and pressed. “I saw what happened.” He reached out for her arm, a little over-forward.

  “I’m fine.” Her words were clean and Southern, the belle brushing off the problem. Inside, she was pissed. Really? Where were you when the shit was going down? But she reminded herself that any human who got involved with that fight was risking more than they knew. “I’m good, thank you.”

  He was so late to the damn party, but then he nodded and seemed to understand she wasn’t going to faint into his arms, and he backed off. Right as she decided to memorize his face. Why had he come forward? So late in the game? And he touched her. People who touched her always made her wary, and she was no less so after that brush with the lobomau.

  He had a round, clean face. A gentle smile. Straight teeth. Brownish hair, short, parted, a slight curl to it. She smiled a little, hoping he wouldn’t see that she was cataloging him. “You’re so nice to offer to help.”

  She cataloged his height, approximate weight, and shoe size before extricating herself from yet another involvement in this one cursed, square meter of pavement.

  Donovan couldn’t join her now. She made her way back to the car, thinking she’d have to pick up her partner at their designated back up location. The car was in gear and rounding a corner to take the long way, when she had the thought.

  Too many people had touched her. Gray, the one lobomau, Walter, now this man.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  She was sitting at the third stoplight when she finally found it stuck under the hem of her jacket.

  Sonofabitch! She’d been tagged. Just like they were trying to do to Kellen. But this wasn’t one of their pieces of tech. The only one she could be relatively confident that it wasn’t was Walter. To be honest, that was just her gut, not entirely supported by fact. She breathed out and removed the tracker, wanting to throw it out the window but knowing that was the opposite of what she should do.

  Turning off her blinker, she headed straight, away from her meeting point with Donovan. She’d just have to be late.

  It took her five minutes and help from the onboard GPS to locate a gas station, and when she did, she managed to go into the store, buy a coke and put the tracker on a man who looked like he was putting on a lot of pounds via Twinkies and soda. She hoped he gave whoever was running the tracker a very boring, useless day.

  When she was certain she wasn’t being followed—and she’d watched her car, making sure no one put a tracer on it while she was inside—she finally headed back to pick up Donovan.

  He wasn’t there when she pulled up. Then again, he couldn’t be seen sitting on the corner waiting, then hopping into a car that pulled up at exactly that spot. There were too many homeless people down here, waiting in the corners, watching everything. So Donovan was likely tucked away nearby.

  Eleri made the pass without seeing him, then went back a second time about five minutes later. No Donovan then, either. Another ten minutes. Another check of the rearview, making certain she wasn’t followed, that no one was watching. No one was in the buildings overhead, not hanging on what were probably the only fire escapes in LA, checking out the goings-on below.

  At the third pass, when Donovan still didn’t show, she picked up the phone. But then, who did she call?

  Not Marina. She didn’t even know Donovan like this, and looking for the man would be a waste of time. Eleri was wondering if he’d been captured, was hurt, and whether she could dial up Westerfield—seemingly her only option—when he appeared out of a corner, a slight limp slowing him down.

  She was so g
lad to see him, intact and at least mostly okay, that she popped out of the car and opened the back door for him.

  When he climbed in, she gave him the good news. While she’d been waiting to circle back, she’d checked the tracker. “You got the tracker on Kellen. It’s working.”

  He gave a small nod as she smiled.

  “We got him. He’s on the move.” Then she put the car in gear and headed out. “Do you need any medical attention?”

  She was worried and wondered if he could smell it on her. But his head went side to side, a clear motion now that it was only the two of them. Eleri aimed her second question. “Can you change in the car on the move?”

  Even as she said it she took it back. “I’m sorry. I won’t ask again. That was stupid.”

  She wanted to follow Kellen, but she needed her partner back. And he might have twisted an ankle or something worse than she thought. The drive back to the Bureau lot was long and her heart beat hard in her chest, wanting to know what was happening. Wanting to check the tracker on Kellen, but she couldn’t in this traffic. That was dangerous as hell and an accident with Donovan in the back was the last thing they needed.

  Instead she bought time, telling Donovan about what he might not have seen with the lobomau. About Walter, the man with the sweet smile, and the tracking device that had been placed on her.

  They pulled into the lot, parking in the back corner as a matter of course now, the back of the car facing the cement wall. She hopped out, waited, her back to the car, until Donovan emerged too.

  There was some dirt on his arm, a scrape, a scratch.

  “Holy shit.” Her voice echoed back to her in the horrible acoustics of the cement square. “You got bit.”

  “It’s nothing.” He flexed his arm, but the hesitation revealed that it wasn’t quite nothing after all. Dirt snuck out from beneath the edge of his short sleeved shirt. When he spotted that, Donovan pulled on his jacket to cover it, not needing to be told that they were entering a building of very observant people.

  Moving in here had been a mistake. But how else could they keep everything they needed at their fingertips and secure? It was a no-win situation.

  They made it to their suite on the top floor. Though Eleri half expected it, no mysterious package had arrived from Grandmere today. She found herself a little grateful for that, though she couldn’t place if that was because she didn’t want to have to explain Grandmere again, or if it was because she was glad that Grandmere didn’t see the need for more voodoo. In no shape to sort it out, Eleri peeled her jacket and waited while Donovan took a shower.

  She changed her own clothing and curled into the corner of the couch where she logged in to check the tracker. She wasn’t sure if it was still with Kellen or not, but she was going to find out.

  It took a while to load everything. When it did, it revealed the device had already been disabled.

  For a moment, she wanted to cry. How would they get anything done if they couldn’t follow the people they needed to? At least Cooper didn’t drive much, but Kellen just hopped in his car and went. Maybe they should trace the car.

  Then again, he’d found this piece inside of two hours. He was no dummy, that was certain. She pulled up data. Looked at where the tracker had been before they’d disabled it—possibly under the heel of someone’s shoe. The trail led into a neighborhood marked on the map as “Valley Glen.” She grabbed a second tablet and pulled up a map and a street view.

  Small, neat homes lined two lane streets. Sidewalks fought with old growth trees and most of the yards had charming fences and too-green sod. Cute places. Kellen had exited the freeway, taking Victory Blvd and turned south on Ranchito Dr. After a few more turns, he’d parked and gone up to a house. She pulled the address, wondering what was special about it. Or maybe it was special simply because it wasn’t.

  It meant nothing to her, though she took note of the picture of the front of the house. Eleri headed to her next bit of intel as Donovan came out of his room. Dressed, his hair was still wet and he rubbed a towel over the short ends, nearly drying it. She hid her jealousy and reminded herself she’d never survive with hair that short. Then she turned on the sound from the tracker.

  It should have recorded and broadcast up until it was disabled. But there was nothing.

  “What’s that?”

  “Audio loop from the tracker.” She looked up at him, even as she fast-forwarded it to almost chipmunk speed. “It recorded and transmitted until it was disabled—” she checked her watch, “forty minutes ago.”

  “Crap.”

  She shrugged. Her mood lifted a little as she watched him hobble ever-so-slightly into the kitchen area. Coming in had been the right thing to do. They’d lost the tracker, but she still had her partner. Hopefully he’d walk fine on it tomorrow.

  Voices cut the audio in high pitches, and she jolted back to the task at hand, running a quick rewind and playing it back at regular speed. It wasn’t English, though that did sound like Ken Kellen’s voice.

  She frowned at Donovan as he frowned at her. They listened again, trying to place the words. “Is it . . . Hebrew?”

  Neither of them knew, but she added a layer to her map. “Look.” Six synagogues ringed the house. “It’s a Jewish neighborhood.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “Literally holy. They all are.” She let the air out of her lungs wondering what other surprises the day could hold. It was only four o’clock.

  Donovan spoke the new conclusion even as her phone rang. “So Fracture Five has another branch?”

  She answered the phone, Marina Vasquez not even taking the time to listen to Eleri’s hello. “I found Jacob Salling. He’s in the car with me, coming back to headquarters. He has a lot to tell you.”

  32

  It took two hours for Vasquez to bring Jacob Salling back to Los Angeles to talk about his father’s religion and zeal. Donovan tried to use the time wisely.

  Apparently, “wisely” included letting Eleri badger him into wrapping his ankle in a bandage on the hope that it wouldn’t get any worse. He’d managed to put her off until she went with the guilt play and told him if he twisted it again when they needed him at full capacity, how would he live with that?

  So now his ankle was fat with elastic bandaging stuffed into a lace-up shoe. He grudgingly admitted that it did feel better and yes, doctors were in fact the very worst patients.

  He filed a report on putting the tracker on Ken Kellen. Eleri filed one on running into the lobomau again, and Donovan added to it. One of those bastards had been in wolf form and tried to start a damn dog fight with him on the street. He’d bitten at Donovan’s front leg, and Donovan had given him the what-for. He’d been pissed as hell.

  He needed to bump into Ken Kellen well enough to get the tracker in a pocket. Not the best place to hide one, but who would suspect the big dog they sometimes saw wandering downtown of something as nefarious as laying tech on someone? No one in their right mind, that’s who. But as soon as the fight broke out, Donovan became a ‘dangerous dog’ and it got harder to ‘bump’ into Kellen.

  In fact, it had been Kellen who knocked him over and twisted his ankle. He hadn’t mentioned the bruised ribs from that fall to his partner, but in the shower he’d seen the purple start to bloom on his side. In his wolf form, he didn’t have the flexibility to reach out and stop a sideways fall. Advantages and disadvantages to everything, he supposed.

  He and Eleri had listened to and gotten interpretations of the last bit of the audio-recording since neither of them spoke Hebrew. Once a translator was located—not a hard job in the branch office in Los Angeles, apparently—the interpretation came pretty quick. It was less than two minutes of audio.

  It entailed Kellen and the other man greeting each other and a version of “you know the drill.” At which point Kellen must have been wanded or something for radio trackers, because there was a loud beeping and they found the tracker with no fanfare whatsoever. Kellen was accused of tracking him
self. He cursed and commented that he wasn’t so stupid and someone must have put it on him. He didn’t seem to suspect the dog he’d knocked back when it tried to approach him and Donovan never commented on what a punch Kellen packed.

  There were a few moments of undecipherable murmuring, followed by, “Is that a microphone?” Then the sound went off and fifteen seconds later the entire tracker stopped relaying any information at all.

  So it had been pretty much what Donovan and Eleri suspected from their first listen, given the tones of the conversation. The translation itself was relatively useless, but all together the information told them a lot.

  One, Kellen was going to a place where he was getting checked routinely for tracking and signaling devices. Two, it was a different cell—which made Eleri shake her head as though she might explode. Donovan thought this was bound to happen, there had to be more than just three. But Eleri had had enough apparently. Too bad, she didn’t get to decide when the terrorists were done building cells. And three, it gave them a location to start.

  They had the homeowner’s name and info within a handful of minutes, though they couldn’t drive by, the cell would be on high alert. They’d probably move their location first thing—at least they would if they were smart—so a visual check wouldn’t give any information other than what the roses smelled like. But they had a thread to pull.

  Somehow they still had an hour before Marina Vasquez arrived with Jacob Salling and Donovan ordered in food and tried to catch a quick nap before they headed into yet another interview. The sleeping part didn’t work.

  His brain boiled with ideas. Questions with no answers. Problems with no solutions. When Eleri knocked on his door to tell him food had arrived, he jolted awake, apparently having fallen asleep after all. Instead of feeling rested, he felt only the effects of having been pulled from deep under.

  She had everything laid out on the table and he ate without tasting it until the call came from Vasquez. She was downstairs with Jake Salling. Donovan wondered if he was trying to shake off the biblical times with the nickname. Three more bites went into his mouth with rapid succession before he grabbed a shirt that said “interview” more than “I’ve been asleep for the past thirty minutes” and tried to get ready.