Scientists do not have to
turn their backs to the standard methods of scientific research to
investigate the existence of paranatural creatures. In truth, these
creatures are as organic as the species we have dissected and
labeled and collected for eons. In fact, one could argue their
existence is more readily proven than some theories of
astrophysics.
—James Skye, Ph.D., Comparative Analysis of Vampiric Species
24
JT and I worked on our profile all
night long. And only when it was complete did he call the chief and
tell her we were ready to present it. She arranged for everyone to
meet at the Baltimore PD early that morning. Then, both of us
looking like death warmed over from our all-nighter, JT turned to
me, smacked my knee, grinned like the wolf that was about to eat
poor old granny, and said, “I want you to do the
honors.”
“Me?” I shook my head. I don’t like
public speaking. In fact, I avoid it at all costs. I swear, it
gives me hives. “No, that’s okay. You do it.” I gathered the dirty
cups, snack bags, and crumpled napkins off my coffee table and
hauled it all into the kitchen.
JT followed me, leaning against the
kitchen counter, blocking my egress. “I insist.”
Painfully aware of how tiny the kitchen
was for the first time, I dumped the trash in the can. “No,
really.”
“Sloan.” JT gave me a
you’re-not-gonna-change-my-mind look.
“JT.” When he didn’t respond, I added,
“I’ll pay any price.” Unable to get around JT, or, rather,
unwilling to try, I cranked on the water and dumped some soap into
the sink.
JT considered my offer for a moment,
and I decided, despite the fact that my hair would make a rat’s
nest look tidy, and my makeup had worn off hours ago, I might have
made a mistake by making that offer. He sauntered closer, and I
knew I’d made a mistake. Standing close enough to kiss me, he ran a
fingertip along the scoop neck of my knit top. His teeth sank into
his lower lip, and my heart rate kicked up to double time. “No, as
tempting as that is, I think it’s better this way.”
“Why?” I snapped. When JT’s brows rose
to his forehead, I realized he’d misunderstood the question. “I
mean, why are you insisting I present the profile?” I scrubbed a
cup. The cup was very dirty. This was going to take some time. Lots
of time. I leaned over the sink, trying to put a little distance
between my body and JT’s. It wasn’t working.
“Because you deserve to.”
Still scouring, I stared down at the
soapy water. I didn’t want to think about how close he was, or how
good he smelled. Or how much I wanted to kiss him. “What did I do
to you?”
“Nothing.” JT leaned over my side and,
with a hand on my chin, coaxed me to look at him. His expression
was all business now. That was a huge relief. “You were concerned
about your reputation at the bureau... .”
“And this would change things for me?
Is that what you’re thinking?”
“It wouldn’t hurt.”
I sighed, loud and hard, and dropped
the cup into the sink full of bubbles. “Fine. I’ll do
it.”
“Excellent.” He scooped up a dish towel
and shoved it into my hands. “Don’t worry. You’ll have everything
you need.” He stepped back, out of my personal-space
bubble.
“One question.”
JT nodded.
“What if they all laugh in my
face?”
“They won’t. I promise.” Was that a
little twitch I saw at one corner of his mouth? Was he holding back
a guilty grin?
He wouldn’t ... he couldn’t be feeding
me to the wolves, could he?
“I don’t know about that.” I gave him
some squinty eyes. “You said yourself everyone at the bureau thinks
the PBAU is a joke. Who’s to say whether the entire Baltimore PD
could feel the same way? You could be setting me up.”
“Who me?” He batted his eyelashes,
which were disgustingly long and thick. “Do you really think I
could be that mean?”
“I do.”
“Then you don’t know me as well as you
think.” He gave me a little nudge toward the bathroom. “They called
us. Remember? Why would they do that if they thought we were a
joke?”
“That doesn’t mean they’ll believe us.
I mean, it’s a little far-fetched. A bloodsucking vampire that
turns into a firefly?”
“It’ll be fine. Come on, they’re all
waiting. And you need a shower.” He fanned the air.
“Trying to tell me
something?”
“I’m trying to tell you, you should
probably do something with your hair if you want anyone to take you
seriously.”
I patted my head. “Yeah, yeah. Why
don’t you tell me again how you’re doing me a favor?”
An hour later, we were standing on
Baltimore Street, behind the Baltimore Police Department. Concrete
walls loomed around me. I had a bad feeling about this. Very bad. I
had to make one final try at passing the buck to JT. What could I
say or do to make him change his mind?
On the drive over, I’d tried discussing
the situation with him, arguing every point he made in favor of my
presenting the profile. Finally, when that failed, I begged him to
do it.
JT couldn’t be swayed.
I was back to bribery. There wasn’t
much time left.
We entered the building and were
directed to a conference room at the end of a narrow
hallway.
“Dinner?” I offered as I dragged my
feet down the corridor. “With dessert? On me?”
“Sure. Thanks! You owe me a date,
anyway.” JT beamed.
“Damn, I’d forgotten all about that
bet.”
“I figured you had. I’m still not
letting you off the hook. You’re presenting the profile.” He opened
the conference room door for me, and I stepped inside to face at
least thirty Baltimore “boys in blue,” as well as Chief Peyton,
Chad Fischer, and Gabe. Baltimore’s police commissioner announced,
“I think we’re ready to begin.” Everyone started heading for a
seat. The shuffle of feet and scrape of chairs being dragged out
from under tables echoed off the room’s white walls.
JT shook a few hands as he strolled up
to the front of the room. I followed him, trying to pretend I
wasn’t wishing I could become invisible. He chitchatted with
Baltimore’s police commissioner for a moment before introducing me.
I shook Commissioner Allan’s hand. He had a strong, sure grip. It
matched his demeanor.
“Good to meet you, Commissioner,” I
said.
“I’ve heard good things about you, Miss
Skye.” The commissioner released my hand, but he held my gaze with
his sharp eyes. This was a cop through and through, no doubt about
it.
“Thank you.” I felt my cheeks warming,
a surefire sign that I was blushing. How embarrassing.
“Sloan’s going to present the profile
today,” JT told him.
“Very good.” Commissioner Allan
motioned to the table at the front of the room. “At this point,
we’ve identified three persons of interest in this case. First
there’s Trey Chapman, who has a motive and opportunity in the cases
of Deborah Richardson and Hannah Grant. It appears they were once
good friends, until they both discovered he was engaged to both of
them ... at the same time,” the commissioner stated. “But we
haven’t been able to tie him to the other victims. Then there’s
Yolanda Vargas. She was also a friend of Hannah Grant’s. She was
the last person to see Grant alive. She has access to a wide
variety of infectious agents. What we don’t have is a motive. Nor
do we have a connection to the other victims. Finally we have
Rosemarie Bishop. Outside of living within a quarter mile of
Richardson, Miller, Yates, and Quinley, we have nothing on
her.”
“I think you’ll find you actually have
more than you think,” I said.
“Very good. I’ll let you get to it. We
want this monster off the street. I’ll be glad to know who we’re
dealing with.”
“I think you’re in for a surprise,
sir,” JT said.
The commissioner’s smile was knowing.
“I’ve seen a lot of shit in the thirty years I’ve spent on the
force. Nothing surprises me anymore.”
I was curious to see if that statement
would hold true in this case.
JT steered me toward the front of the
room. “Good luck. I’ll be right over here if you need me.” He
stepped to the side.
I cleared my throat, and in a
heartbeat, everyone’s eyes were fixed on me. “Good morning.” A few
mumbled responses followed. “My name’s Sloan Skye. I’m an intern
with the FBI. In this capacity, I’ve spent some time on this case.
My colleagues and I have put together a profile we believe will
lead you to the killer.” There was the rustle of paper as the
officers prepared to jot notes. “Beginning with the basics, based
on DNA analysis, we know our unsub is a Caucasian female. And from
the crime scenes and MO, we know she is what we call an organized
killer. Organized killers are intelligent. They methodically plan
their crimes, often use a ploy to lure their victims, and are
socially adequate. They are able to conceal their crimes, hiding
evidence and disposing of it to hamper a police investigation. They
also follow the investigation in the media. To sum it up, they are
the Ted Bundys of the world. Our unsub shares all of these traits,
with some minor differences. Her crimes have been triggered by a
stressor. As a result, she is gradually devolving as she loses
control of her body and mind. Her crimes appear on the surface to
be well planned. In reality, though, they could be classified as
spree kills.”
I stopped and scanned the room. So far,
so good. The officers were with me. The chief gave me an
encouraging nod. JT smiled. I continued: “There is one final
difference between our unsub and a classic organized killer. The
evidence tells us she is an adze, a vampiric
creature most commonly found in Africa. The adze takes the form of an African species of firefly
after sunset. Once it is captured by a child, it adopts the form of
an adult family member. It then feeds upon the child every night,
creating a strong physical and—on a certain level—an emotional
dependence upon the child until it is discovered, dies, or is
captured by another child.” I paused, expecting a wave of gasps and
murmurs to fill the room. But none came. They
believe me? I glanced at Commissioner Allan. He gave me an
I-told-you-nothing-surprises-me look.
Feeling more confident now, I kept
going. “If the child is taken away from him or her, or otherwise
lost, an adze may go on a killing frenzy,
becoming an extremely dangerous killer. Fortunately, this is, as
far as I can tell, only the second incidence of an adze being discovered in the United States. Somehow, it
was transported here, most likely in its insect form.”
A patrol officer in the second row
raised his hand. At my nod, he asked, “Does this creature have any
identifiable features?”
“No,” I answered. “When it is in its
human form, he or she will appear to everyone around him or her as
a normal Homo sapien.”
“What about an MO?” another officer
asked.
“This is one of the most reliable ways
to identify the creature. Its weapon is its bite. To a child, the
bite is painful, but not lethal. But to an adult, it is a deadly
weapon. The moment its fangs pierce the skin, one of any number of
infectious agents are injected into the victim. Ebola, dengue
hemorrhagic fever, malaria, typhoid fever. The strains delivered by
the adze incubate in an accelerated time
frame, producing symptoms within hours. Victims die within
twenty-four hours. That concludes our profile.”
I’d done it. I’d presented the PBAU’s
first profile. It was over.
JT stepped up. “We would be glad to
answer any questions at this time.”
One officer raised his hand. At JT’s
nod, he asked, “What is the safest way to take an adze into custody?”
“Good question.” JT looked at
me.
He wanted me to answer all the
questions too? “According to Professor James Skye’s research on
vampiric beings, the safest way is to apprehend her after she has
shifted into insect form. She will change into Luciola discollis at sunset and will remain in that form
for exactly sixty minutes. Therefore, you may be able to capture
her easily enough, but you must transport her quickly to a tightly
sealed container large enough to accommodate her human form while
safeguarding against escape in insect form.” After waiting for a
moment, I asked, “Are there any more questions?”
A moment later, Chief Peyton joined me
at the front of the room. “If there are no further questions, I’d
like to add that my team is available, should your department need
any additional support or information. Thank you.”
Commissioner Allan stood and thanked
us, and that was it. My first profile—our first profile—was
done.
Once again, the room filled with the
scrape of chairs and the shuffle of feet.
Chief Peyton gave me a smile. “Well
done, Skye.”
I slanted a look toward JT. “I didn’t
do it all by myself. I had plenty of help. From JT and”—my gaze
swept the room, but I didn’t see the person I was looking for—“Gabe
too. He was the one who put the two together.” The room was pretty
much empty now, with the exception of the three of us. I lowered my
voice. “I was totally shocked by their reaction when I said it was
a vampire. Am I the only one who thought they’d laugh their asses
off when I told them that their killer was a paranormal
creature?”
JT and Chief Peyton glanced at each
other. JT shrugged. “Not really.” He laughed. “Okay, I had a small
concern that they would have some doubts.”
The chief motioned toward the door.
“The thing is, whether they believe Rosemarie Bishop can turn into
a firefly or not doesn’t really matter right now. They’ll find out
soon enough that it’s true.”
I grabbed my purse, which was sitting
on the table, and checked my cell phone. No call from Mom. No call
from Katie either. “Hopefully, they’ll take the precautions I
suggested. If they don’t, they’re in for an unpleasant
surprise.”
“I have a feeling they will. I’m hoping
they’ll call us in when they’re ready to make the apprehension. I’m
going to recommend it to Commissioner Allan.” Chief Peyton led me
toward the exit. “You did great, Skye. But I knew you
would.”
“Thanks.”
Outside, the chief added, “Now, about
your mother.... Brittany asked me to give you this.” She pulled a
small envelope out of her pocket and handed it to me. “Take JT with
you.”
“Thanks.” I opened the envelope and
unfolded the paper.
The chief said, “She was able to track
down that license plate. The car your mother was seen getting into
was rented by a James Irvine. He has an out-of-state address. I
suggest you check the local hotels. I have a feeling he will be a
registered guest. Call in the local PD, once you have his location
nailed down.”
“Will do.”
JT moseyed up to us. “I’m ready for
that dinner now, if you are.”
I laughed. “It isn’t even lunchtime
yet.”
“That’s okay. We’ll call it an early
dinner.” He glanced at the paper in my hands. “What’s
that?”
“The info you’ve been waiting for.” I
handed it to JT and watched him read it.
“I guess dinner can wait till
dinnertime. Let’s go make some phone calls. To the
office?”
“Sure.”
We headed toward the car.
Gabe popped out of the vehicle parked
next to JT’s. “You did good, Sloan,” he said, beaming. “I’m jealous
as hell, but I’m happy for you.”
“Jealous of what?”
“‘Jealous of what?’” Gabe echoed. “You
got to present our first profile.”
“Sorry, maybe next time.” I leaned
closer. “Frankly, I think they made me do it, just in case we were
laughed out of there. Better if the new girl, with the
schizophrenic mother, looks like a fruitcake than the whole team.
Right?”
“No doubt.” Gabe’s jaw twitched ever so
slightly as he glanced at JT, who was standing on the opposite side
of his car, waiting for me. “The chief has me on paper duty. I’d do
anything to get out of it. Where are you headed now? Got anything
for me to do?”
I hooked my fingers under the door
latch and pulled. “Not bureau business, sorry.”
“Damn.”
“But I owe you one ... or two, after
all the help you gave me on this case. If I can come up with
something, I’ll call you.”
“Thanks.” Gabe elbowed me in the side
and whispered, “Watch it with that guy. Coming into the office
together might look ... you know.”
“Yeah, I see your point.” I pulled open
JT’s passenger door. “Thanks.” I sat, turned to JT, who was just
folding his bulky body into place behind the steering wheel, and
said, “Maybe we should go back to my place before we head to the
office, so I can pick up my car?”
“Sure, whatever you want.”
Several hours after a trip home, a
drive to the office, and a bagged lunch, we’d found Mr. Irvine. He
was a registered guest at a hotel on the Baltimore waterfront. JT
called his buddy at the BPD to inform him of what we were about to
do. We had no search warrant, so there was no need for police
backup. But he wanted to inform them that we were making a visit to
a person of interest—just in case something went
wrong.
JT asked, “Do you have the stun gun I
gave you?” At my guilty headshake, JT took a small gun out of his
desk drawer and handed it to me. “Just in case.”
I stared down at it, afraid to move my
hand. “I think we’ve already established you’re safer if I don’t
have this. Did you forget what happened at the shooting
range?”
JT thought about it for a moment; then
he took the gun from me and put it back in the drawer. “I guess
you’re right.” From another drawer, he produced a Taser and slapped
that into my hand. “At least if you hit me with this, you won’t
kill me—though for a minute or two, I might wish you
had.”
I shoved the Taser into my pocket and
headed out to my car. JT pulled up just as I was getting settled
in. “Don’t you think it would be better if we drove to Baltimore
together? Nobody’s going to know.”
“I guess that would be okay.” I made
myself comfy in his passenger seat. “Thanks for helping me with
this.”
“No problem.” He zoomed out of the
lot.
A half hour later, we pulled into the
hotel’s parking lot. It was a pretty swanky place, hardly the kind
where you’d expect to find a fugitive holed up with a kidnapping
victim. As JT drove to the rear of the lot, I craned my neck,
looking up, up, up. That was one nice-looking hotel. “I don’t know
about this.”
“What’s wrong?” JT parked the car and
we climbed out.
“Nothing’s wrong. This guy couldn’t
have kidnapped my mother. Or else ...” I didn’t want to think of
the or else part. As we walked into the
building, I noticed all of the people coming and going. “For one
thing, how would he sneak a hostage in here without being
noticed?”
“He couldn’t.” We stopped at the front
desk. JT said, “Maybe he gave her a ride somewhere? Let’s call him
down and ask if he’ll talk to us.”
“Okay.” Hoping Mr. Irvine would know
something, and would be willing to cooperate, JT flashed his badge.
We asked the woman at the registration desk to call Irvine’s room.
A few seconds later, she asked for my name. And I repeated it for
her. She ended the call, gave us the room number, and directed us
to the elevators.
My hands shaking, we strolled across
the lobby to the elevators and stepped into the one dedicated to
the concierge-level rooms. JT gave me a slightly pitying look as
the elevator climbed up, up, up, but he didn’t say anything.
Neither did I.
When the car stopped at Irvine’s floor,
we stepped out and headed down a silent hall. My eyes scanned the
room numbers displayed on little plaques next to dozens of
identical doors. The one we were looking for was at the
end.
JT didn’t knock right away. He
listened. I listened too. I didn’t hear anything. I guess JT didn’t
either. He shrugged and whispered, “I guess we should knock.” He
rapped his knuckles on the door. A few seconds later, the lock
clacked, the door swung open, and I got the
shock of my life.
The man standing in front of me was the
spitting image of my father, twenty-some years ago. Same
breathtaking face, with those brilliant blue eyes that seemed too
clear and bright to be real. Same perfectly carved cheekbones and
angled jaw. Same wavy blond hair that skimmed his thickly muscled
shoulders. Same heavily muscled body. The resemblance was so
striking, it took my breath away.
JT keyed into my reaction right away.
He grabbed my elbow, steadying me, and turned worried eyes my
way.
“It’s okay.” I pulled my arm out of his
grasp. “He looks like someone I knew a long time ago.” I offered my
hand to Irvine. “I’m Sloan Skye, and this is Special Agent Jordan
Thomas. We’re with the FBI. If it’s okay, we’d like to ask you a
few questions regarding a recent disappearance.”
“Absolutely.” The man stepped aside,
welcoming us into a well-appointed suite with a to-die-for view of
the harbor. Still feeling a little woozy after the shock of seeing
a man who could easily pass for my long-dead father, I made a
beeline for the closest chair. Just as my butt hit the cushion, my
mother came strolling into the room, wearing a man’s white shirt
and boxer shorts.
“Mom!” I charged at her like a little
kid who’d become lost in a packed mall on Black Friday and threw my
arms around her neck. “I’m so glad you’re all right!”
Mom shrugged out of my hold. “Of course
I’m okay. Whatever made you think I wasn’t?”
“I’ve been searching for you for days.”
I didn’t bother mentioning the part about freaking out with
worry.
“Searching? Why? I told you where I was
going. And then, just in case you forgot, I left a
note.”
“I don’t remember you telling me
anything. And I didn’t find any note. Where’d you leave
it?”
“In the car. On the seat. Didn’t you
see it?”
“ No.”
“Oh, dear.” Mom pressed a hand to her
mouth and glanced at her new male friend. “I’m sorry, honey. I
never expected you to worry about me.” She motioned to the man. “I
have something to tell you.” She walked me back to the chair I’d
abandoned and waited for me to sit. She dragged an identical one
across from mine and sat, leaning forward. “This”—she waited for
Irvine to step closer—“is your father.”
I glanced at James Irvine, then at my
mom, then at him again. “Okay, I can see why you’d think that’s
him, because he looks exactly like Dad did years ago, but he can’t
be—”
“Yes, he can. I thought he was dead,
but there was never a body. He wasn’t buried.”
I looked at Irvine again, and I decided
I didn’t trust him. Who was this guy? Was he related to my father
somehow—a nephew, perhaps?—or was he someone trying to pull off
pretending to be him? Why? What did he want? “If this is Dad, why’d
he wait so long to come back?” I glared at Irvine, letting him know
I wasn’t a fool. Then I stood and grabbed my mom’s hand. “Maybe we
should go talk about this somewhere else, somewhere
private?”
Mom wasn’t budging. “No, Sloan. There’s
a reason why he stayed away. Please give him a chance to explain.”
When I didn’t respond, she repeated, “Please.”
I peeked at JT. He had nothing to say.
I narrowed my eyes at the man who wanted me to think he was my
father. Under closer scrutiny, I could see some faint signs of
aging: a few lines at the corners of his eyes, a slight thinning of
his hair at the hairline, a few gray hairs sprinkled in with the
blond. Then I peered at Mom, who looked like she’d just enjoyed a
tumble in the hay with her long-dead husband.
Was Irvine really her husband? My
father?
If so, could he have a valid reason to
have stayed away for so many years?
There was one way to know if this man
was my father or not. “So, if you’re my dad, what was my favorite
book when I was two?” Only a parent would know such a thing.
Unless, Mom had told him. “No hints from you, Mom,” I warned
her.
Mom nodded.
The man smiled—and damn, if my heart
didn’t flutter just a little at the sight. That expression brought
back so many memories—genuinely happy ones—from before Mom got
sick, and things got hard, and I had to become the
parent.
“Your favorite book when you were two
was The Meaning of Relativity, by Albert
Einstein. You said you were going to make a time travel machine
when you grew up.”
“Damn,” I muttered. I glanced at Mom.
“You didn’t tell him?”
She was teary-eyed. “I swear I didn’t.
We haven’t done a lot of talking... .” She blushed.
The man, who might be my father, sat on
the arm of Mom’s chair. “I had to disappear for a while. To protect
you and your mother.”
“From what?”
“From some very dangerous ... people.”
The man—my dad?—put his arm on Mom’s shoulder. “The problem is,
they’ve found you, and my staying away wasn’t going to protect you
any longer.” Immediately my thoughts turned to my nocturnal
visitor. “I can’t explain everything right now.” His gaze slid to
JT. “We’ll talk later.”
JT took the hint. He moseyed toward the
door. “I guess I’ll head back to the office. If you’re okay,
Sloan?”
I glanced at my mom and dad. They both
nodded. “Yeah. I’m okay.” I wobbled on somewhat shaky legs to him.
“Thanks for everything, JT.” I gave him a little kiss on the cheek
and locked the door after he left. Then I turned toward the man
who’d walked out of my life over twenty years ago, and said, “We’re
alone now. I’m ready to hear the whole truth.”