Bitten 2 Page 10

  “Holy crap! You’re Janice Everett, aren’t you?”

  Her eyes remained on the picture where her finger traced the outline of Sorrenson’s face, but I caught the shallow bob of her head.

  The name Janice Everett was almost as much of a household name as Sorrenson’s. She’d protested and rallied alongside him for nearly twenty years before he died in what had been labeled “friendly fire” during a rally-turned-riot. Anyone who had even half a brain cell knew that silver bullets weren’t standard issue for police back then, but the circumstances of his death were quickly glossed over with promises for reform. Forty years later, we were still waiting for many of those promises to come to fruition.

  In the years following Sorrenson’s death, Everett had sought to continue his work, lambasting Washington for ignoring the disparity of rights between mundanes and supes. Ridicule and near constant threats of violence had turned the effervescent young woman—who, like Sorrenson, believed in peaceful protest—into a vigilante freedom fighter. There had been rumors for years that she was responsible for the destruction of several “mundane-only” businesses throughout the United States.

  “But everyone thinks you’re...” I began, letting my words trail away. Creepy as she was, even I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the entire world thought she was dead, and that she’d been relegated to the pages of a history book.

  “Dead?” she asked, pulling her gaze away from the picture of her youth to pin me with unblinking hawkish eyes.

  “Well, yeah. The books all say you died in the bombing of the Akron Municipal Building.”

  Everett shook her head and let out a rasping sigh. “It wasn’t a bombing, it was a broken gas main, and an unfortunate coincidence.”

  “Don’t you care that you’re blamed for all those deaths? Or that no one knows you’re alive?”

  Her bony shoulders rose in a shrug, sending another cascade of feathers to pepper the floor at her feet. “Someone had to be blamed for such a senseless loss of life. It’s just as well that they blamed a ghost.”

  “But you’re not dead,” I insisted, unsure why I was filled with the sudden need to see a glimmer of vibrancy in her face. Perhaps I’d seen so much death and sadness in my own life, and after witnessing Whitlow’s heartbreak, couldn’t bear to see someone else so ravaged by loss.

  “More’s the pity,” she murmured, turning away and shuffling back towards her nest.

  It struck me then, like a fist in the center of my chest, knocking the wind from me and bringing moisture to my eyes: she’d lost her life’s love and was heartbreakingly alone. I’d been eager to get the hell out of there moments before, and now I found myself sinking down to the edge of the arm chair and asking, “What was he like?”

  A small glimmer of hope swelled in my chest when I saw the sweetness of memories bloom on her face again, erasing the ravages of time to reveal the dark haired beauty who still lived deep inside.

  “He was such a majestic man, full of conviction and strength. But he was gentle, too, and so kind.”

  * * *

  “I’ll be back to visit soon,” I promised, waving goodbye to Everett and stepping back out into the cold.

  Sparing a glance for the sun sliding ever closer to the distant horizon, I thought I just might be able to make it home before dark. I’d lingered longer than intended with the harpy, but was glad for the time I’d spent with her, listening to her tales of a youth spent fighting against injustice. She’d had no answers about who may have attacked Kensington, but the hours spent in her company had not been a total waste. I left her filled to the gills with weak tea, but also with a renewed surety that I’d figure out who had been attacking vamps, and that I’d make them pay.

  I’m definitely bringing my own cookies next time though, I thought, grimacing at the stale aftertaste of the cookies she’d dug out of the back of a cupboard.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  RELIEF FLOODED THROUGH me as I rounded the last curve in the road leading down to my cabin, the dwindling sunlight bathing it in warm light, gilding the drifts of snow on the roof. I was always glad to return to my mountain hideaway after a trip down into the bustling noise and stink of Denver, but after spending the afternoon with Whitlow and Everett, my homecoming was that much sweeter. Listening to them talk about the loss of their loved ones had reminded me of my own losses over the years. All I wanted to do now was curl up in front of the fire with Loki and a bag of cookies I’d squirreled away in the cabinet over the fridge.

  Unfortunately, my relief to be home was short lived.

  A thread of unease wove its way into my consciousness as I slid down out of the SUV and was greeted by silence. No chirping birds, no squirrels cussing at each other as they hopped from branch to branch; even the pine trees stood as silent sentinels, the air devoid of their constant susurration. Every instinct in my body told me to climb back into the car and drive away, but curiosity, ever a cruel mistress, called me forward.

  Looking around, I caught sight of an odd, pale shape on my doormat. In the shadows cast by the overhang above my front door, I couldn’t tell what it was from beside the SUV, but dismissed it as a beat up package.

  Probably just something I ordered online and forgot about. Again.

  Moving closer, I had one gut-wrenching moment when I thought the lump on the doorstep was Loki. Stumbling forward, fear and dread warring with fury, I breathed a sigh of relief as I grew closer and saw that the shape was larger than my lazy cat and lacked the dark tips of his ears and paws.

  The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach remained, however. It wasn’t Loki, but there was still some other creature lying broken and bloody on my doorstep.

  Inching closer, I struggled to make out what kind of animal it was and recognized it as a coyote, probably close to a year old. Dread sent a shiver down my spine as if my veins had been filled with ice water. Whatever had happened to the poor thing hadn’t been an accident, and it was entirely possible that the perpetrator was still somewhere close, perhaps even watching me. It took a supreme effort of will to ignore the itch between my shoulder blades and stay where I was instead of running into the house and bolting the door behind me.

  I stood slowly and cast my gaze around the surrounding trees, looking for an unwelcome presence as much with my ears and nose as with my eyes. My heart gave a panicked thump when I thought I caught a whiff of cigarette smoke, a scent I had come to associate with my number one fan, former Agent Harry Johnson. Before I could pinpoint its origin, it was gone. Redoubling my efforts, I was both relieved and disappointed when I couldn’t detect anything out of the ordinary. Whoever had left the coyote hadn’t stuck around to see my reaction. I wasn’t sure if that set me at ease or not.

  Stepping over the body, I went into the house to change into some sweat pants, an old t-shirt, and grab a pair of rubber gloves. I sure as hell wasn’t picking up a mysterious dead body bare-handed, and I knew all too well how hard it was to wash out blood stains. It wouldn’t do to return Alyssa’s shirt with a bunch of conspicuous stains. Loki met me at the door, emitting a welcoming trill that melted into a loud hiss when he spied the present on the doormat.

  “Stay inside, buddy,” I instructed, already making a beeline for my bedroom.

  My warning turned out to be unnecessary—after giving the body one more investigative sniff, he shot after me like a rocket. Bounding into the room, he jumped up onto the end of my bed and proceeded to regale me with his vocal abilities. I had no idea what he was trying to tell me, but whatever it was, he considered it to be of great importance.

  “Chill out, Loki. I’m gonna take care of it,” I assured him, stopping beside the bed long enough to scratch the downy fur behind his ears. Usually his sweet spot, I was surprised when he ducked out from under my hand and continued to berate me.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you? Are you pissed I didn’t come home last night? I’m sorry, buddy. It was really late, so I crashed at Alyssa’s. Though as weird of an experience as
that was, I’d have preferred being home,” I said, shuddering as I recalled Marvin and his penetrating stare.

  My words seemed to calm him for the moment and he ceased his insistent yowls long enough for me to fetch a pair of rubber gloves and a trash bag from under the kitchen sink. Sticking close to my heels he trailed me through the house, acting as my loyal defender, until I opened the front door again. At that point he parked his furry ass inside the doorway and watched me kneel next to the bloody body. He didn’t freak out again, but he didn’t look happy either.

  Picking up the limp corpse, its head hung at an awkward angle, I was momentarily distracted by a blood smeared envelope fluttering down to the ground. I went still, barely even daring to breathe as I stared down at the envelope, looking innocuous except for the stark splash of scarlet. My heart went from breaking to hammering against my ribs in a split-second.

  Ah shit. That’s not gonna say anything good.

  The presence of the note changed the situation from some sick and twisted prank to something more sinister. Fighting against the panic taking root in the center of my chest, I had the wherewithal to set the body down on the front step and backed away. I’d watched enough episodes of CSI to know not to touch the letter.

  I didn’t know who to call. My first instinct was to call Holbrook, but he’d been MIA for days, and I wasn’t sure I could hold it together if I got his voicemail. I could have called the local police department, but they were as well equipped to deal with a zombie apocalypse as something like this. That left me with two options—call Chrismer, my arch nemesis, or, worse still, Agent Billy Tillman.

  Billy still hadn’t forgiven me for breaking his nose and handcuffing him to a handrail in the ladies’ bathroom at FBI headquarters. I’d been desperate at the time, half-crazy with fear that my ex-boyfriend was going to gut me. Tillman had the misfortune to be the only thing standing between me and my escape. Once upon a time, Holbrook had thought that Tillman had a crush on me, but beating him up had squashed whatever warm, fuzzy feelings he might have had.

  It took several minutes for me to work up the courage to make the call, and another five to work my way through the endless loop of automated menus. I hoped whoever invented those damn things spent the rest of eternity burning in hell.

  “Agent Tillman,” he answered, the background filled with the familiar hustle and bustle of the FBI building.

  “Hey Billy, it’s Riley,” I said, sadness settling in the pit of my stomach as silence stretched out between us.

  “It’s William,” he finally said, his words icy and clipped. “Agent Holbrook isn’t here.”

  Looks like I’m still on his shit list.

  “I know, he’s out of town somewhere. That’s not why I’m calling.”

  Tense silence reigned once more, the only sounds those of the people bustling around him and his even breaths. As the seconds ticked by I struggled to keep myself from sighing. I knew he had every right to be pissed at me, but did he have to be such a jerk about it?

  When it became apparent that he wasn’t going to cut me any slack, I broke the silence by saying, “Someone dumped a dead coyote on my doorstep.”

  “Call animal control,” he said, dismissing me, and no doubt already halfway to hanging up.

  “I think it was Johnson,” I said before he could disconnect the call. “Or one of his whack-a-doodle Humans for Humanity buddies.”

  I could sense that Tillman still wanted to tell me to go fuck myself, but I had piqued his interest. Harry Johnson, formerly of the FBI, and Holbrook’s partner for more than five years, had turned out to be a supe-hating nut job. His deranged and violent tendencies had come to light when he kidnapped, beat, and attempted to rape me while he was supposed to be protecting me from Samson. It turns out the devil you know is a lot less terrifying than the one lurking just beneath the surface of someone sworn to protect you.

  When I’d outed him in front of his boss and Holbrook, Johnson had set off a disruption spell and escaped from FBI headquarters before anyone else even realized anything was amiss. He’d been in the wind ever since, always just out of sight. The fact that he was likely a member of Humans for Humanity made him that much more of a loose cannon and a threat.

  “What makes you think it was Johnson?”

  “They left me a note.”

  “Did you touch it?”

  “No, I’m not a total idiot,” I replied, though the pause in Tillman’s reply gave me the impression that he didn’t agree with me.

  Fair enough.

  “Don’t touch anything. I’ll have a team there within a couple hours.”

  “Thanks, Bill... William, I really appreciate this,” I said and then realized that he’d already hung up on me. I set my phone down with exaggerated calm, refraining from pitching it across the room with a herculean effort of will. Pushing back from the table I went straight to the cupboard above the fridge and dug out my emergency package of Milano cookies. The situation called for some serious sugar binging.

  * * *

  I’d already started to come down from my cookie-induced sugar high by the time the horde of black SUVs descended on the cabin and was well on my way to being groggy and grouchy. I needed a nap more than anything, but didn’t think the agents would wait while I caught some Zs. Skirting around the body and envelope I’d left on the doorstep, I approached a familiar figure sliding down out of one of the SUVs.

  “Hey, Myrom.”

  Agent Deb Myrom’s dark, slicked-back hair made her look like a stern librarian, but she had the sense of humor of a teenaged boy. Nothing cracked her up more than a well-timed fart joke.

  “Things get too quiet around here for you, Cray?” she asked with a smile, meeting me halfway across the open stretch of gravel and snow in front of the cabin. Her gaze moved past me to look over the blood stained envelope on the doormat, the blood having dried as rusty brown smears on the paper.

  “You know it.”

  Wrapping my arms around myself as if the action would ward off the chill that had settled in my bones, I watched as she directed a contingent of crime scene techs and agents to fan out across the property to gather any evidence of whoever had left the little gift. I knew it was wishful thinking, but I still hoped they’d find something that pointed to Johnson and provided a detailed map of where the scumbag was hiding out.

  Unsurprisingly, after an extensive search that took over an hour, the agents found no such thing. In fact they didn’t find anything. Not even a broken twig or stray strand of hair. Either Johnson had developed a brain, or I was dealing with someone who knew what they were doing. Neither option set me at ease.

  I was about to go sulk in the privacy of the house when another government issue SUV pulled up next to the others lined up along the driveway. Tillman’s nose had healed with only a minor deviation I doubted anyone else even noticed, but the damage to his ego had yet to heal as evidenced by the other, more obvious, changes to his physical appearance. He was still tall and a little gawky looking, but the suit that had hung on him before, now strained at the seams as he stalked towards me. He’d packed on a surprising amount of muscle in the few short months since I’d last seen him, and now more closely resembled one of the FBI’s muscle-bound goons than the dorky young agent I remembered.

  “Holy crap, Tillman. You start juicing?” I asked. Beside me, Myrom snorted in amusement.

  Except for a tightening of his eyes, he ignored me and addressed Myrom instead. “The techs complete their sweep of the area?”

  As surprising as his physical transformation was, I was more taken aback by the hard edge to his voice. Gone was the awkward kid who’d been teased by his colleagues about his shyness, and in his place was a man who radiated authority and no small amount of simmering anger.

  The smile died on Myrom’s face. “They’re wrapping up now. Harrison’s getting ready to start on the hot zone.”

  “He’s not done yet?” Tillman asked, his eyes narrowing in accusation as if the delay was his
partner’s fault.

  “He just got here. He’ll be done as soon as he can,” she replied, the tightness around her mouth telling me that this wasn’t the first time Tillman had acted like a douche.

  “Make sure I get a copy of the report as soon as he’s finished.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Myrom said, the ‘fuck you’ unspoken but coming across loud and clear.

  So maybe not partners anymore after all.

  I waited until Tillman had strutted away like a ticked off peacock before asking, “What’s up with Tillman? Is he always like that?”

  “These days? Pretty much,” she replied with a sigh, her gaze following the path he carved through the crowd of agents and police officers, barking orders all the while.

  Seeing the sadness on her face as if she’d lost a friend, I couldn’t help feeling guilty, knowing as well as everyone else that it was my fault.

  Well, crap on a cracker.

  * * *

  Feeling about as welcome as a turd in a punch bowl, I left Myrom to oversee the crime scene tech examining the envelope and carcass, and retreated into the house. I’m not proud of it, but I’ll admit that I hid inside as much to get away from the guilt as to stay out of the way. With no work to distract myself, I ended up fixing a fresh pot of coffee and curling up on the couch with Loki. He, at least, had the decency to not remind me that I had no one to blame but myself for this mess. I tried—and failed—several times to lose myself in the latest Tom Clancy book Holbrook had left on the coffee table the last time he was over. Political thrillers aren’t my thing, and I struggled to quiet my mind enough to let the story sweep me up. My thoughts kept returning to Tillman’s drastic change. Was it all my fault, or was there something else at play?

  After trying to read the same page for the fifth time and getting no further than the first paragraph, I set the book aside and reached down to stroke Loki where he lay sprawled in my lap.