by HK Savage
“They are a winter borne creature, migrating at the end of the season and going into torpor during the warm months.”
“So we have to catch it before spring or it’s gone until next year?”
“I’ve never run across one of these things.” Ryan yawned, removing himself from the conversation. “This is Mike’s forte.”
“We have to check in with the local police. See if there’s something in the files that might give us some history.” Michael’s hand dropped to his pocket. “There’s something not quite right here. The attacks aren’t sloppy like they should be. They’re too random and far apart to be just one acting alone.”
The water got stuck in her throat and Becca temporarily lost the ability to swallow. “I thought these things were like zombies.”
“You said there was only one.” Ryan ran a hand through his hair, leaving it gripping the back of his head. One hand remained propped on his hip, pushing his back forward, and he stopped stretching.
Becca put down her glass and pressed her point. “You know, brain dead versions of vampires wandering through the woods taking the occasional victim. You mean someone can use these things? Like some sort of attack dog?”
“Anything can be conditioned to follow simple commands.” Michael was already dialing his phone. “Even a brain dead zombie vampire,” he told her without the slightest hint of levity.
Ryan, on the other hand, guffawed loudly, offering no apology when Michael cut him an impatient scowl. “I’m sorry Mike, that just sounded too funny. Thanks, I needed that after a whole night of pissed off Gabs.”
Becca caught the strain in his voice and got annoyed for the millionth time with Gabrielle. The woman was an absolute bitch, how Ryan managed to like her even some of the time astounded her. Thinking the double meaning of the term brought a titter bubbling up. Immediately she bit her lip to kill the grin that went with it and Michael withheld the glare she imagined was coming.
Holding his phone up as an explanation, he made his way past where Ryan leaned by the door, and closed it behind him.
Instead of returning to his room for the sleep his body was screaming for as evidenced by his unusual flat affect, Ryan crossed the room and fell on his face on the nearest bed.
Becca gave him a few seconds to finish groaning. “Do I need to ask how last night went?”
The baby blue floral coverlet muffled his encore groan, but he held both hands up over his head in an “oh my God” gesture.
“I’m sorry you ran all over the place following that thing. Michael thought if we went out there he’d confuse the scents.”
The shaggy head rolled so that he was facing Becca with his eyes closed. “I would have chased that damn dead thing all night. It’s Gabs. She’s making me crazy.”
The subject of Gabrielle’s attitude wasn’t a new one for Becca to ponder, but it was a new conversation for her to have with Gabrielle’s boyfriend. She was careful with her answer. “I’m sure she was just tired. I mean we got in and you guys went right out and were running all night,” she justified.
Ryan made a sound. “That explains one night, not all of them.”
Becca knew better than to take the opening. Even if Ryan was mad today, he might not be tomorrow and he would remember whatever she said. “Well, everybody deals with things differently. Maybe Gabrielle has some worries about the two of you. Have you tried talking to her?”
Big green eyes opened slowly and Ryan lifted his head. “Can you see Gabrielle seriously talking about her problems?”
Thankfully he didn’t expect an answer. Becca kept her lips pressed tightly together.
“Besides,” he went on, fully in therapy mode, “we don’t really talk about stuff. We pretty much work together and screw. It’s all she’ll give me.”
“That’s not true,” Becca was really uncomfortable with the turn their discussion had taken and was hoping her phone would ring or Michael would come back. Maybe a meteor would come crashing through the roof. “I’ve seen you two talking when we’re not working.”
Rolling over onto his side, Ryan propped his head on his hand. “We talk about work or what a bastard Black is when we’re out of earshot. It’s never anything personal.” He focused on his hand, splaying it out to cover two giant white polyester flowers. “I’ve tried to talk to her, to get her to talk about stuff I hear her say in her sleep.” He clenched the flowers in one fist. “She mentions people.”
Becca’s thoughts turned to her own situation. Before Michael she’d never spent the night with a man, fearing what she’d say in her sleep. Worried her sight would rear its intrusive head, suck her into a vision, and freak out the poor guy next to her. Not Michael, he knew what she was from the start and accepted it. A part of her felt violated on Gabrielle’s behalf. “She was probably just dreaming. You can’t hold that sort of thing against her.”
He continued, softly, to himself. “How can I be jealous of someone she dreams about? Some guy that’s probably dead by the way she calls out for him.”
Finally, the doorknob turned and Michael walked in. He took in Ryan’s position before questioning Becca with his eyes. Feigning ignorance, she raised her shoulders and dropped them.
“Ryan, why don’t you get some rest in your room.”
A grunt and the big Marine was on his feet, roughing up his hair. “I’ll go sleep, but I don’t know how restful it’ll be.” He shuffled to the door, pausing before he opened it. “What’d Black say? What’s our next move?”
“He’s making a call to local PD letting them know we’re working the case. Becca and I will go to the station and see if there’s something else in their records that didn’t make the files.”
He was giving Becca a queer look. What had Black said that he couldn’t tell her? She was sure that was it. He always got that sort of sick look when Black swore him to secrecy. She’d learned to recognize it. He had it a lot lately and, maybe it was paranoia, but she feared it was about her.
After Ryan left she watched Michael pace the room. Up and back three, four, five times before she had enough. She got up and stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Michael, what is it?” Becca smiled gently when he evened out his face. “Don’t hide from me. I know Black told you something.”
The lack of a reaction was confirmation enough.
“And I know he told you that you can’t tell me.”
He blanched. Another confirmation.
“I grew up with secrets.” She pointed a hand at her chest and smiled again, “Marine dad, remember? I know there are things you can’t tell me.” He didn’t need to know how she knew. She was fairly certain he hadn’t told her about Black’s grip on him for the simple fact that he didn’t tell anyone about it. “Black trusts you with a lot of secrets about how all this works and I get that. I’m not going to ask you to betray that trust just because we’re involved. I only bring it up because I can tell it bothers you.” The other hand joined the first. Her fingers spread out to cover his taut chest, rock hard with tension. “And I want to tell you that I trust you too.” Taking a deep breath, she looked him directly in the eye and willed her next words to be true. “I know you won’t do anything that will get me hurt no matter what Black says. Any of us.” The appearance of several dancing spots in her vision brought tears to her eyes. Quickly she blinked them back.
Surprisingly restrained, Michael frowned at her and then smiled tightly. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
Before she could say more, he took control. “I would assume you packed something appropriate for bluffing our way into a police station?”
“Of course,” she answered lightly.
The River Falls Police Station was an attractive modern building with lots of glass, stone, and brick. The front wall facing the street curved outward, an architect’s attempt at making the building seem innocuous. Oddly, despite a commonly held misconception that a police station was a loathsome place, most weren’t. Especially those built after the 1990’s when Public Affairs
decided to make the push that police are our friends, not the enemy. River Falls had obviously bought in. Their headquarters looked more like a library than police station.
Getting out of the truck first, Michael gave the place a long look while Becca came around the back to join him. Both of them had packed non-combat attire and, when they entered, Becca could read on their lips and minds, “Feds are here.” She kept her expression light but blank, allowing one hand to sweep over her suit coat even though she knew there were no wrinkles. She’d left her black wool overcoat in the truck. Thank goodness for modern materials. A little spandex in a pantsuit did more than just allow for a shoulder holster it kept the rumples of travel at bay as well.
Becca lagged behind, taking in the large open foyer, wincing at the brightness as the sun reflected off the snow and ears ringing from the sound of her own heels clicking on the hard tile. Michael took point, heading straight for the receptionist housed behind a long sheet of bulletproof glass that spanned the twenty or so feet open to viewing as people walked up.
Even knowing their every move was being monitored on camera and by a dozen or so curious eyes, Becca caught her eyes straying to where the cut of Michael’s trousers fit snug on his waist then draped over his firm backside. Taking a hurried step, she brought herself up even with him, matching his long strides. Inwardly she chastised herself for being unable to control her hormones. What was she, a teenager?
As soon as her eyes were off Michael’s ass, they caught the receptionist’s locked onto Michael’s gorgeous blues. Becca knew they would be that deep blue they went to when he was totally focused. She could almost read the woman’s mind. It was exactly where Becca’s had been about ten seconds ago. Her lips tightened and her hands balled into fists.
The sound of Michael’s throat clearing brought her back to her senses, or rather from her senses. A quick pass of his hand, it would look accidental to any onlooker, brought a sense of calm back to her being. That he’d had to rein her in made her burn in another way and he brushed her forearm again. This time, he left his fingers on her for a count of two. He was warning her.
Becca swallowed her wounded pride and averted her eyes from the woman who was not respectfully doing the same. Becca busied herself with scanning the desks and occupants she could see in the front office. Any who met her gaze looked away. Only one held it. A young cop in his mid-twenties, not much older than her. Unblinking, he tipped his head and watched her come to a halt next to Michael.
“Good morning,” Flirty McFlirtypants, or Pam, according to the name plaque on her white formica desk, greeted Michael warmly.
“Hi Pam,” he let his timbre change, drawing her in. It would help their cause to butter up the gatekeeper although it set Becca’s teeth on edge. “We’re hoping to talk to the chief of police. We were sent over to help out with a case. Someone from our office should have called.”
Apparently Michael’s influence was working too well. Pam was entranced. Simpleton.
“Pam?” He backed off of his influence, stripping it from his tone. “Would you call the chief, please?”
Movement at the white steel door over to the left of the glass wall caught their eye and Becca shifted with Michael. They wheeled to face the person coming out.
Lean, white haired and mustached, the man who approached was garbed casually in navy pants, a tweed jacket, and open necked tan shirt. At no more than five-foot-eight and still fit despite his maturity and surely sedentary job, the man had a presence Becca sensed as soon as he came through the door. “Never mind, Pam,” he waved off his useless employee. “I got it.” Striding forward, he held out a hand first to Michael. Old-fashioned, she was used to it. “Chief Kowski, I was expecting you.”
The smaller man was just to Michael’s shoulder but when it was her turn to clasp hands, she felt the strength in his grip.
“I have to say I’m surprised the military is interested in this one.” His bushy brows wrinkled. “Somebody come back from the war with troubles?”
“Possibly, sir.” Michael offered him a grim nod. “This one must have caught someone’s eye at the top. We’re here to offer our services.”
Experience wizened brown eyes scanned first Michael, then Becca. “The call I got was more than an offer, son.” He lifted a brow skeptically. “But right now, I’m beyond a pissing match. We want to catch this son of a bitch, and if you two can help, I’m all for it.”
“Us too.” Becca tried to be friendly.
Another long appraising glance, this time of her, and Chief Kowski touched the badge he wore at his waist. “Come on. We might as well get started. My town’s on eggshells and the guys are getting itchy. We’re worried something’s gonna blow. Soon.”
Chapter 8
“Here.” A stranger’s voice startled Becca from her stupor and her elbow scooted off the edge of the dark wood veneer desk. Catching her body before she fell out of her chair and made a complete ass of herself, she half turned to see who had entered the office. The way the computer was positioned in the corner of the “L” shaped desk, her right side was to the door, which had been mostly closed. The helpful officer hovered in the doorway and had pushed the door halfway open. The same dark haired detective that caught her eye hours ago when they’d come in was standing in her doorway holding a Styrofoam cup; coffee by the smell.
His cheeks colored and he stepped forward to set the cup on the edge of the desk before retreating to the relative safety of the doorway. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He pointed toward the desk out front where he’d been when she first noticed him.
Chief Kowski had given Becca an office on the outer wall with a door versus one of the desks out in the open, offering privacy while she searched through endless unrelated reports of violent crimes throughout the entire state. Thus far, she’d yet to find anything even remotely like the string of murders at least in the last ten years. She hoped Michael was having more luck combing through the boxes of evidence taken at the crime scenes and detectives’ notes in his office three doors down in the corner.
Remembering herself, she cracked a smile. Crack was right, her lips were dry and she licked them before trying again. “Thanks, that was nice of you.”
Dark brown, near black eyes twinkled back. “I could hear you snoring all the way out there. I figured you might need a little caffeine boost. A small offering of inter-department goodwill.”
Her cheeks colored. “Is it that obvious?” She flicked a finger at her monitor and reached with her other hand toward the steaming cup. It smelled good. Something else did too, his cologne. It was a combo of sweet and fresh. Maybe Armani. “Officer?”
“Detective Salvo.” He lifted the corner of his black sport coat to flash her his badge. “I know I can’t handle being at my desk for more than a few minutes.” He jutted his chin at the offending box. “You’ve been staring at that thing for the better part of two hours.” Genuine concern leaked through his professional mask. “You look kinda tired.”
She recognized the name from the case files. This young man, not much older than her, was the lead detective on a high profile case. That was odd. Surely the department had someone older who was itching to have one like this on his resume, the chief even. Becca leaned back in her chair, holding the steaming cup in both hands. It was cool in the office and being immobile had slowed her circulation to a trickle. She didn’t want to give the curious young detective anything more than she had to. He seemed willing to handle both sides of the conversation so she let him, giving him only a friendly smile meant to encourage.
“So you and your partner are here from…?”
“We were asked to help out. We have some experience with these types of cases.” She let him draw his own conclusions.
“What, vets with PTSD who come back and cut up the locals?”
“Do you think it’s a vet come home?”
“No. We checked out all the local boys already. Everybody with a record, felony and military, has been cleared. Anybod
y who could handle a knife like that.” Detective Salvo straightened his tie. “It would take a freakin’ ninja to sneak up on some of these victims. Whoever did it had to be sly enough to use that knife without them getting a sound out. He took his time too, judging from the amount of blood at the scene.” Somber, he smoothed a hand over his lower face. “Bill Tyler, the farmer,” he clarified needlessly for her sake, “was in ‘Nam and about as paranoid as they come. His wife was in the house not twenty yards away. She didn’t hear a thing, not until she heard a woman screaming. Same as all the others, it was all over by then. Who knows how far away the screams came from. Sound travels in the country, especially in the winter, and we haven’t been able to trace them back to any specific locations.”
Unfamiliar with snow and any differences in acoustics it lent, Becca was curious. “Sound travels differently in the winter?”
