All we know is still
infinitely less than all that remains unknown.
—William Harvey
12
“Don’t hide from me.
You can’t hide anymore. I’ll find you.”
It was back again. She
could tell. As always the warmth, the life, had been sucked from
the room. Her eyelids squeezed tightly, she concentrated on
breathing slowly, evenly, and silently prayed for it to
leave.
Don’t move. What does it
want?
“Where are you, my
little mouse? Come out of your hole. I have a nice treat for
you.”
The stench of death
seeped through the blanket covering her face. Her throat
constricted. Don’t gag. Something poked
through the blanket, piercing the skin of her upper arm. She fought
the urge to flinch.
“Ahhh, there you are,
little mouse.”
The blanket slid down
her body. Goose bumps prickled over her arms and shoulders. A draft
so cold, it burned drifted across her body. She opened her eyes and
looked up, toward the voice and—
“Wake up, Sloan!”
I jerked up. My eyes darted around the
dark room. My hand smacked against my breastbone, as if it could
still my racing heart. “What? What!”
“It’s me, Katie.”
“Katie.” I took a breath. Another one.
I still felt shaky and foggy-headed. “Oh.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle
you.”
“It’s okay. What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. I feel ... strange. My
head. It’s not working right. Can’t think.”
“What do you want me to do? Is it
another migraine?” I asked.
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Were you inhaling fumes today? Did you
take too many pills for your migraine?”
“I ... I don’t know. I can’t remember.”
Her voice rose with every word. “I can’t remember what I did today,
Sloan. Why can’t I remember?” Katie grabbed me. She shook me. She
squeezed my arms. And I saw stars as my brain splatted against the
inside of my skull.
“Katie! Stop!” I broke out of her grip
and scuttled out of her reach.
“Everything’s a blank,” she said. “I
don’t remember.”
I glanced at the clock. It was just
after midnight. “I’m going to take you to the hospital, okay?” On
hands and knees, I crawled to the opposite side of the bed. Katie
mumbled while I tied on a pair of tennis shoes and stumbled into
the bathroom. Squinting against the glaring light, I finger-combed
my hair. “Let’s go.”
Katie clung to my arm as we hurried out
to my car dodging fat raindrops. I put her in the backseat, afraid
there was still some glass on the front, and sped down flooded
streets to the closest emergency room.
Hours later, the rain had stopped. And
my soggy clothes and hair were dry. I drove Katie home, now doped
up on Xanax. The diagnosis: anxiety. The doctors had found nothing
medically wrong. I caught a few more hours of sleep before dragging
myself to the shower. Katie was still asleep when I headed out to
work. Mom’s car was in the lot. She waved at me. I waved back and
strolled to her car.
“I’m making a coffee stop on the way to
Quantico. Do you want something?” I asked.
“Sure. I’ll take a bagel and some black
coffee.” Mom scowled. “You look terrible, Sloan. You need to take
better care of yourself.”
“I’m trying, Mom. I really am. I have a
lot going on right now.” Hoping JT wouldn’t notice the bags under
my eyes were now big enough to hide a small child, I scurried to my
car and settled in for the drive. At the bagel shop, I bought our
bagels and coffees, delivered Mom’s to her car, and chugged half of
mine before I pulled out of the lot. I noticed Mom didn’t try to
follow me all the way to the FBI Academy. Because the building is
located on a military base, only people with a military ID were
permitted. She did, however, give me a little wave
good-bye.
I hurried into the office, my breakfast
in my hands, my laptop bag slung over one shoulder. Inside, I
headed straight for my desk. JT, I noticed, was already at work,
pecking at his laptop’s keyboard. I chomped on my bagel as I set up
my computer.
“Did you think I was lying?” he asked,
standing behind me no more than a minute later.
“I don’t know what you’re talking
about. Lying about what?” Did he think I suspected him of breaking
my car window? Or was he referring to turning me in to the
chief?
“When I said I’d put in for you to take
a medical leave, I meant it.”
Aha. “But I’m not sick.” I donned my
best pity-me look, normally reserved for police officers who’ve
pulled me over, and turned to face him. “And I went to bed early. I
swear I did.” I didn’t mention the fact that I didn’t stay in bed.
“I believed you. Absolutely.”
He squinted at me. His jaw clenched
ever so slightly. “You’re lying.”
“No, I’m not. You can call my mother
and ask her. She was at my place last night. I’ll give you her
number.”
“That won’t be necessary.” He leaned
closer, and I panicked just a little, knowing the deep bruiselike
circles would be that much more obvious up close and personal.
There was only so much the inch-thick layer of concealer I’d caked
on could do. “We roll in five minutes.”
“Okay.” I stuffed a piece of bagel in
my mouth and washed it down with the last of my coffee. “I’ll be
ready.”
Thankfully, he said nothing more, just
walked stiffly back to his cubicle. I skimmed my e-mails and shut
down my computer. I stuffed it back in the case and stood just as
JT was heading my way again.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yep.” I fell into step beside him.
“Where are we going?”
“To interview a witness who claims she
saw Patty Yates get into some kind of altercation the morning of
her death.”
“Hmm, okay. The morning she died?
Couldn’t be the killer. He or she,” I said,
putting intentional emphasis on the feminine, “would’ve had to
inject the pathogen several days earlier.”
JT poked the down button, calling the
elevator. “Maybe he was watching her,
waiting for her to collapse, like we talked about. And maybe Patty
Yates recognized him and tried to get away? Remember, the saliva
samples?”
“I guess I could see
that.”
The trip to Baltimore was fraught with
tension after that point. Ever since the trip to the emergency
room, JT had been acting a little differently toward me. It was a
subtle difference, but pronounced enough for me to notice. I wasn’t
convinced he was concerned about my sleep deprivation. “JT, you
know I wasn’t the one who clobbered you over the head and threw you
in the Dumpster, right?”
“Of course. Why would you ask me
that?”
Now I felt a little stupid. “Because
you’ve been acting differently toward me since that day.” Then
another possibility came to mind. “If you’re worried about what you
said at the hospital—”
“I’m not.” He glanced over his shoulder
to check for traffic before changing lanes. His gaze flicked to me
for a second, then jerked back.
“What’s going on, then? Will you tell
me?”
“Nothing’s going on.” His jaw clenched.
He was lying. About what? His gaze zigzagged between me and the
road a couple of times.”Everything’s fine, Sloan.”
“If everything’s fine, why’d you black
out your computer screen when I came to talk to you the other
night?”
He shrugged. “I always do that. I hate
it when people read over my shoulder.”
“I see.” I didn’t, of course, but there
was no use trying to drag the truth out of JT. He wasn’t going to
spill. At least, not without the help of another bonk on the
head.
“What does it matter, anyway? I told
you what I’d found.”
I didn’t say a word the rest of the
drive. Neither did JT. It was painful, sitting in that small space,
the tension so thick I could taste it. It was a lot like being on a
bad date. But I survived. Bad dates are my forte. I just lost
myself in my thoughts, and occasionally looked behind us to see if
Mom was following. Before I knew it, we were pulling up in front of
yet another suburban Colonial. I dug a notebook and pen out of my
laptop case and followed JT up to the house.
No sign of Mom. Evidently, she didn’t
feel the need to follow me when I was riding with an
agent.
He knocked. We waited. No answer. He
knocked again.
“Are we here too early? It is Sunday.”
I checked my watch. It was a little before nine. “Or maybe your
witness has gone to church?”
“No, she said she’d be home.” He
knocked a third time, harder.
We waited some more. I stepped off the
porch to get a better angle on the front window. It looked dark
inside. A lace curtain fluttered. “I think I see someone.” An
orange tabby cat walked along the window ledge, tail sticking
straight up. “Cancel that, it’s only the cat.”
A second later, the front door’s lock
rattled. The door inched open. JT introduced himself through the
two-inch crack between the door and the frame. By the time I’d made
it back on the porch, he was inside the house.
“Mrs. Ester, this is Sloan
Skye.”
I offered my hand. “Mrs.
Ester.”
Mrs. Ester, who could very well be
older than God, took my hand in a delicate grip and gave it a
little shake. Her hand, heavily wrinkled and veined, was fragile
and soft. “Miss Skye.” She turned eyes the shade of a winter sky
toward JT. “I saw the whole thing. I was on my way to the store to
pick up a few things, and I saw her fighting with another
woman.”
“Where did you see this?”
“Just down the road.” The woman pointed
a finger toward the west. “On the side of the Dempsters’ house. I
can show you.” The woman took a wobbly step toward a door to the
left, which probably led to the garage. “I need to get my scooter,
though.”
“We can go in a minute.” JT jotted a
few notes. So did I.
Mrs. Ester opened the door and hit a
button, powering up the automatic garage door opener. I peered into
the garage and immediately realized there was no car. I hadn’t seen
one on the street either.
“I don’t drive anymore. Failed the eye
exam three times. I think the test is rigged so folks like me can’t
drive.” Mrs. Ester took a faltering step down. “My son, the little
bastard, took my car so I couldn’t drive it after I got caught
driving without a license six months ago. I showed him. I wrote him
outta my will. Everything I have is going to The Critter
Connection. They rescue abandoned guinea pigs.” I rushed to her
aid, supporting her down the second concrete step and the short
walk to her electric cart. “If you’d be so kind as to unplug me.”
She motioned to the rear of the cart.
“Sure.” I yanked the plug.
“I don’t need no license to drive this
thing, but it’s a pain in the ass when it’s raining. And snow and
ice? It gets stuck in a two-inch drift. I’m going to be housebound
from December till March, unless we get a midwinter thaw.” Mrs.
Ester’s little cart hummed as she drove it at a snail’s pace out
into the morning. JT and I followed. She stopped the cart a couple
of houses down and pointed at the area between two identical
Colonials. “They were there.”
“Between the houses?”
“No, farther back. Almost at the
fence.”
JT and I looked at each
other.
Granted, these properties were hardly
sprawling, but if Mrs. Ester was correct, she’d been watching the
exchange from a distance of no less than seventy feet. She’d failed
the eye exam and lost her driver’s license. How reliable could her
testimony be?
“What did you see?” I
asked.
“I saw the first woman jump over the
fence. She cleared it in one leap.”
I looked at the fence. Chain link.
Taller than the average residential fence. I estimated six feet.
Probably because the property on the other side was a school. I
didn’t know any woman, or man for that matter, who could leap over
a six-foot anything.
“Are you certain she jumped? Maybe she climbed?” I suggested, growing more
skeptical by the second. Did we have another Miss Zumwalt on our
hands?
“No, I’m sure.” Mrs. Ester nodded. “She
just hopped right over it. Never seen anything like
it.”
“What time was this?” JT asked, hiding
his thoughts on the witness’s reliability, or lack thereof, very
well.
“It was early. A little after
seven.”
“And you were out that
early?”
“I needed some milk for my tea. And cat
food. Nibbles gets nasty if he doesn’t have his
breakfast.”
“Don’t we all?” I joked. JT didn’t
laugh. Neither did Mrs. Ester. “So what happened after the woman
‘hopped over’ the fence?”
“The woman grabbed Mrs. Yates and shook
her. And then they started wrestling. I’ve always thought Mrs.
Yates was a strong girl. She liked to jog and ride her bike. And
she taught a Zumba class at Bee’s Dance Academy. I went to the
class once, but it moved too fast for me. But even as strong as she
was, she didn’t stand a chance against that other beastly woman.
That woman tossed Mrs. Yates around like a rag doll. And then, the
strange woman did the oddest thing, she kissed Mrs.
Yates.”
“Kissed her?” I echoed.
“Yes.” Mrs. Ester nodded. “I figured
they were lesbians, secret lovers. Fighting over ... well, heaven
only knows what. Poor Mr. Yates. He couldn’t have
known.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, at our block party just a week
before, he was crowing about what a dedicated wife he had. I didn’t
have the heart to tell him. That’s why I called you after those
other agents had left. I didn’t want him to overhear. He’d be
devastated. His whole life is—was—that wife of his. They’d never
been able to have children. He’d blamed himself, but now I’m
thinking it had nothing to do with him. Them sperms can’t do their
job if they aren’t where they need to be, if you get my drift. Then
again, maybe I should tell him. So he won’t keep blaming himself
anymore ... what do you think?”
Ah, the intrigues of suburbia. Lesbian
affairs, misplaced sperm, and catfights.
“I think you should do what you think
is best,” I said. “Are you sure the attacker kissed Mrs. Yates?
Could she have ... bitten her?”
“Bitten?” Mrs.
Ester grimaced. “Why would anyone bite someone? I suppose it’s
possible.... I don’t know.”
“So you believe the two women knew each
other?” JT asked, redirecting the conversation.
“I didn’t at first. But the more I
think about it, the more convinced I am.”
“Can you describe the woman you saw
attacking your neighbor?” I asked.
“I can try. She was more petite than
Mrs. Yates. That I can say for certain. Her hair was light and
short, shorter than yours.” She pointed at my head. “Her skin was
very pale. And she was wearing shorts and a sweater.”
I scribbled more notes. “And you’re
absolutely sure the attacker was a woman?”
“Yes.”
“What makes you so certain?” I asked.
“She was clearly very strong, to be able to ‘throw’ your neighbor
around so easily, not to mention leap over a six-foot
fence.”
“It does sound strange, doesn’t it? I
know. But all I can say is she moved like a woman. Not like a
man.”
“Do you have prescription glasses?” JT
asked.
“I do.” Mrs. Ester pointed at her eyes.
“I only wear them at night. I look better in
contacts.”
“Why did you fail the eye exam if you
have prescription lenses?” I asked.
Mrs. Ester tapped her temple.
“Cataracts. I’m afraid to go under the knife, but I know I’m going
to have to suck it up and go, sooner or later.”
I looked into her eyes, and sure
enough, I could see the slightly milky reflection of the cataracts
in her pupils.
“I can still see good enough to do most
everything else,” Mrs. Ester said. “Just not drive.”
“I understand.” I looked at my notes.
She hadn’t given us much that was useful. The only piece that fit
was the possible bite. As far as the unsub’s description went:
petite woman with short, light hair? There had to be hundreds of
those running around this neighborhood. “Did you notice anything
unusual about the attacker? Something that would help us identify
her? Did she have any scars? Tattoos? Anything?”
“What a silly question. Even if my
eyesight was twenty-twenty, do you think I’d see a little
scar?”
I swallowed a chuckle. Mrs. Ester was
quite a character. I liked her. “Probably not, but you never
know.”
“And as far as ‘unusual,’ don’t you
think it’s unusual for a woman to leap over
a six-foot fence, toss another grown woman around like she’s a
doll, and then bite her?” Mrs. Ester asked.
I nodded, exchanging a grin with JT. “I
do.”
“Then, there you have it.” She gave us
a look that said she was done with us, if we were done with
her.
JT handed her a card. “Thank you, Mrs.
Ester. You’ve been very helpful. I have one last question, if you
don’t mind, and then we’ll get going.”
Mrs. Ester nodded. “Shoot
away.”
“Have you ever seen the attacker
before? Did she look familiar?”
“I didn’t get a good look at her face.
Most of the time, her back was turned to me, or she was moving
quickly. But I’d have to say, no, I haven’t seen her
before.”
“Thank you.” JT pointed at the card.
“If you think of anything else, or see the attacker again, I’d
appreciate it if you’d give me a call.”
“Will do. Bye-bye.” Mrs. Ester stuffed
the card down her shirt, hit the button on her scooter, and motored
away.
We exchanged another grin.
“What an interesting woman,” I
said.
“Yes, very interesting,” JT
said.
“I don’t think we can believe her
testimony, not a word.”
“Hmm. What about the bite? That fits.”
JT started wandering toward the site of the alleged attack, his
gaze focused downward.
“Sure, but we sort of suggested it,
didn’t we?” Following his lead, I slowly walked between the houses,
looking for signs of a struggle. “This was disappointing. She’s the
only possible eyewitness who’s come forward, so far.”
“She won’t be the last.” JT checked the
fence, then the area around it.
Not far from him, I checked the grass
around a bush, hoping I’d find a piece of torn clothing or
something to back up Mrs. Ester’s story. “You sound very sure of
that.”
Still at the fence, JT stooped down and
ran his hand over the ground. “I am. Assuming she actually saw the
unsub and didn’t imagine it all, she walked away alive. She’s a
witness. The unsub is getting sloppy. Which means, there will be
more witnesses.”
“What if that wasn’t the unsub she
saw?”
“Then, there’s a mystery woman running
around, leaping high fences in a single bound, and kissing women.”
He stood. Shook his head. “There’s nothing here.”
“I’m not finding anything either. I
wonder if she’s delusional. What do you think? Alzheimer’s?
Diabetic dementia?”
“Could be. Of course, there is another
possibility. And we can’t eliminate it yet.” At the car now, JT
pulled open the passenger-side door for me. He stepped
aside.
“You mean, the unsub really can jump
over fences—and she wasn’t kissing the victim, she was biting her.”
I waited until JT was in the car before asking, “Seriously? You
believe that?” Was he actually willing to take a nearly blind
woman’s testimony at face value? When we hadn’t found a single clue
to back her story?
He shoved the key into the ignition and
cranked it. “Sure. Can you tell me for certain that every myth
about every paranormal creature is only that—a myth? Couldn’t there
be some kernel of truth in them all?”
“I thought you didn’t believe in that
stuff. That’s what you said.”
He shrugged. “Maybe I’m starting to
change my mind.”
“Maybe I’d be more willing to go there
if I had the testimony of somebody at least semireliable to back it
up. But thus far, we don’t.” When he didn’t respond, I added, “I’m
not close-minded, though. Give me proof that vampires, werewolves,
whatever exist, and I’ll eat my words.”
He gnawed on his lower lip for a
moment. I liked when he did that. “Okay, how about we have a little
bet?”
“I think this is silly, but I’m
listening. See how open-minded I am?”
“By the time we solve this case—which I
believe we will—I will produce irrefutable proof that paranormal
creatures exist. If I don’t ...”
“You’ll be my personal assistant, aka
slave, for forty-eight continuous hours, handling any personal or
professional matter I require without compensation,” I finished for
him.
“Agreed.” JT nodded. Then he leaned
closer and gave me a baby-you’re-mine look. “And if I succeed,
you’ll go on a date with me.”
“But that’s against FBI—”
JT cut me off by laying an index finger
on my mouth. “Chief Peyton’s policy is, ‘what I don’t know won’t
hurt you.’”
“And how do you know this?” I mumbled,
every cell in my body aware of his touch.
He removed his finger to cup the
gearshift. I had mixed feelings about that. “I asked
her.”
“You didn’t!” I jerked my seat belt
over myself, making sure to hide my face. I swear, my cheeks were
so hot, they might blister.
“I didn’t mention names. It was
presented as a general question.”
“And you don’t think she guessed who
you were talking about?”
“Actually, I think she assumed I was
interested in Hough.” I could see how she’d think that. But I
wasn’t going to say as much. Immediately, my mind leapt back to
that awkward moment, when I’d been standing outside Brittany’s
computer cave. I recalled how close JT had been standing to her,
and how she’d been smiling into his eyes. My stomach felt like it
had just gone through a wringer.
JT was a player. I didn’t like players.
They tended to be selfish, cocky, annoying. Why didn’t I find JT
any of those things?
He said, “Brittany and I like to flirt.
It’s a game we’ve been playing for years. She’s the only woman I
have ever done that with.”
Besides
me.
He glanced in the rearview mirror
before pulling the car away from the curb. “It’s because I know I’m
safe flirting with her.”
“Safe?” I echoed.
“She’s a lesbian.”
I’d seen the glimmer in her eyes that
day. There was no way she could’ve been faking it. “She lied to
you. She’s no more a lesbian than I am.”
“No way. She couldn’t be lying.” He
said that like he knew, without a doubt, she was gay.
“How can you be so
certain?”
He stopped the car at an intersection
and gave me a heart-halting grin. “I gave her away. At her wedding.
She married Michelle last summer. It was quite a ceremony. First
gay wedding I’ve ever been to.” After a beat, he asked, “So, does
this mean you’re gay?”
I couldn’t argue with that kind of
proof. “No, of course I’m not gay.”
His smile was smug.
“Good.”
I decided the view out the window was
safer; then I decided to give Katie a call, to check on
her.
No answer. Did I need to be worried
yet?
JT nudged me. “So, do we have a
bet?”
“Fine.” I turned my head to find he was
holding out a hand. I placed mine in his and gave it a quick shake
before yanking it away. Touching that man for any longer than
necessary was dangerous.
So was looking at him.
And smelling him.
And thinking about him...
.