Blood of Dawn (13 page)

Authors: Tami Dane

BOOK: Blood of Dawn

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“Hmm. Still deserves some further investigation.” I hit the enter button. The screen filled with links: 115,000. I was going to have plenty of reading ahead of me. “Thanks for the information. And for getting your friend to look at that stereo.”

“No problem.” He didn’t leave.

I elevated my eyes up at him, giving him the okay-you-can-leave look.

“Listen, Sloan, about all the stuff that’s been going on between us lately.”

I wish I could recall what that “stuff” was. “Gabe, we need to work together. So I’d rather keep things professional.”

“So you’ve said. But . . .” He leaned closer, invading my personal-space bubble; for some crazy reason, I didn’t want to back away.

His gaze flicked to my mouth, and warning sirens squealed in my head. A flash of heat blazed through my body. And I suddenly found myself facing the possibility that a longtime fantasy was about to come true.

Gabe was going to kiss me.

One thought raced through my head:
What about Damen? I’m supposed to be courting him. That has to mean something.

Gabe’s face descended toward mine. Seconds dragged by; time seemed to slow to a crawl. I had plenty of opportunity to react. But I just couldn’t seem to comprehend what was about to happen.

His mouth hovered over mine. “Sloan?” he whispered.

My eyelids fluttered shut.

The image of Damen’s face flashed in my head.

I smacked my hands on Gabe’s chest and gave him a shove. “I can’t do this.”

Gabe moved back, not fighting me. His gaze searched my face. “I’m not going to apologize. Sloan, I’ve cared about you for years. Waited for my chance to tell you how I feel. And I did, and I can tell you have feelings for me too.”

“There’s someone else,” I enunciated.

“No, there’s not. If there really was someone else, I wouldn’t have even made it that close.” Without saying another word, he went back to his desk, grabbed the stereo, and left the unit.

His words echoed in my head as I watched the glass door swing shut behind him.

What he’d said—it was true.

All that is necessary to break the spell of inertia and frustration is to . . . act as if it were impossible to fail.

—Dorothea Brande

After that little episode with Gabe, I couldn’t concentrate. I had no choice but to pack up my computer and head home. During the entire drive, I chastised myself for what I’d almost done. He was right, damn it. If I cared about Damen as much as I said, Gabe shouldn’t have been able to get that close.

I called myself several unflattering names as I zoomed up the Capital Beltway toward Mom and Dad’s. I wasn’t feeling any better about my actions when I pulled into the driveway.

Or when I let myself inside.

“Sloan, is that you?” Mom shouted when I tromped through the house, heading toward the stairs.

“Yes, it’s me, Mom.”

She yelled, “There’s a package in the front hall for you.” “A package?”

I hadn’t placed any orders. I wasn’t expecting a package.

“Yes. Also, we’ll be leaving in a few hours. We decided to take a honeymoon now, before the baby’s born. We’re flying to Tahiti.”

“Tahiti, that’s great.” Much more curious about the package than Mom and Dad’s travel plans, I went out to the front hall, finding a large box sitting on the table next to the front door. The return address was Amazon. I took it, along with my loaner computer, upstairs.

Katie intercepted me in the hallway. “Sloan, I need a girls’ night out.” Her mascara had run down her cheeks. She looked like a very bad impressionist’s representation of a
Procyon lotor—
aka, a raccoon.

“Oh, hon, what’s wrong?”

“I finally heard from Viktor.”

A flare of guilt buzzed through me. Why had I let her talk me out of calling Damen to see if I could find out what was going on with him? I might have been able to ease the blow if I’d known what was coming. “You did?”

“He called to tell me he’d left something in my car. That was it. Didn’t mention seeing me again.” She started sniffling. Her eyes started watering once more.

I set the box on the floor, then grabbed and hugged her. “Men are such jerks.”

“Jerks,” she said, snuffling and sobbing.

Stepping out of the embrace, I rubbed her arms. “You deserve so much better than that. You realize that, right?”

She sniffed. She dripped. She nodded. “I know.”

“You’re intelligent and beautiful. Sooner or later, you’ll meet the one. I promise.”

“I hope you’re right.” She eased out of my hold, smiling and crying at the same time. “I hate that I get so worked up about this stuff.”

“We all do. It’s part of being a woman.”

She snorted. Her gaze gravitated to the box I’d all but forgotten about. “What’s that?”

“I don’t know.”

Her brows lifted. “Open it.”

“Sure. Okay.” I hauled it into my room and set it on my bed. I broke several fingernails, trying to pull off the tape, before Katie sighed, went to her room, and returned with something slender and silver. She pushed a button and,
click,
a knife blade sprung out. “What the heck is that?”

“It’s a knife.” She ran the tip of the blade along the seam between the box flaps, slicing through the tape like it was tissue.

“I can see that. But where did you get it? I mean, is that even legal?”

“It depends.” She hit the button and,
snap,
the blade went back in.

“Upon . . . ?”

“What state we’re in. It’s legal to possess in Maryland.”

“We’re not in Maryland,” I pointed out.

“This, I’m aware of.” She handed the opened box to me and returned the deadly weapon to its home. “My father bought it for me ages ago. It usually sits in my dresser. I’ve thought about getting rid of it a few times, but it’s one of the few things I have that he gave me. Plus, you never know when it might come in handy.”

“I guess I see your point.” I folded the box flaps out, revealing a lot of white foam peanuts. I slid my hand in, found a smaller box, and pulled it out.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“Another box.”

“I can see that. Any idea who sent it?”

“No.”

I opened the smaller box, and inside that one was yet another box. “Sheesh, reminds me of those Russian nesting dolls.” Borrowing Katie’s knife again, I opened the third box. The outside of this box had a familiar logo on it. And inside the box, I found an Alienware laptop with practically enough memory to run the National Archives and Records Administration database. At the bottom of the receipt was typed:

I thought you could use this. Had to leave town for a few days. Will be thinking about you. Damen.

My phone rang.

JT.

“Sloan, I just received a call from Mrs. Roberts. She has her daughter’s yearbook. Would you like to call her?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

He recited the number; then, after another quick thank-you on my part, he hung up. I was on my way to the Roberts house ten minutes later, after calling to make sure she’d be there. Katie rode shotgun. I didn’t have the heart to leave her at home. Not in her condition. Could I have waited until tomorrow? Probably. But I couldn’t get my hands on that book fast enough. Not with three girls dead now. Luckily, traffic was relatively light. I was on the Roberts family’s front porch in record time.

“If this will help you catch whoever did this, before they kill someone else’s daughter, then it’s the least I can do. Right?” the grieving mother said as she reluctantly handed over the book.

“I promise I’ll take care of it. You’ll get it back very soon.”

Eyes tearing, she nodded and thanked me.

I forced myself to wait before flipping through the pages. While I drove back to Mom and Dad’s, Katie complained about men, highlighting every fault she’d found in all the male Homo sapiens she’d ever met. Of course, being her best friend, I agreed with her. Men sucked. Men were rotten. Men were downright evil. And we women were better off without them.

The minute we got back to Mom and Dad’s, I started poring over the pages of the yearbook, looking for the kid I saw in the dark.

I found him on page twenty-two. I called JT first. Then Chief Peyton.

And then I called Elmer. We had some business to discuss.

I talked to JT. He returned my call within ten minutes.

I talked to the chief. She returned my call within twenty minutes.

I didn’t hear back from Elmer.

He was not going to be able to avoid me forever.

On Sunday morning, JT and I met at the BPD’s Southwest District police station. I was driving JT’s freshly cleaned car. He had caught a ride from someone. He would take me home later, once the interview of the student I recognized, Benjamin Gardener, was over.

Inside, we exchanged pleasantries. JT was most definitely still not himself.

“Any news on Brittany?” I asked as we checked in at the front desk.

“She’s stabilized.”

“That’s good news.”

“Yeah. But she’s a long way from being okay.”

“She’s lucky to have such a dedicated friend.”

“Yeah, ‘friend,’” he echoed.

Forrester intercepted us on the way back to Interview Room C.

“We haven’t talked to him yet.” To me, he said, “Are you absolutely sure this is the one?”

“I have an eidetic memory. I can tell you what he was wearing, what she was wearing, what they were doing, and where they were doing it.”

Forrester’s gaze slid to JT. “Good enough. I’m going to let you two have a go at him first. Good luck.”

JT leaned toward me. “We’re interviewing a minor. Please let me handle this.”

“Understood.” I made a zipper motion across my mouth, and in we went. The door shut behind us.

A man, the boy’s father, no doubt, was sitting in a chair next to his son. He watched us enter with caution-filled eyes.

“Mr. Gardener?” JT offered the man his hand. “I’m Agent Thomas. FBI. Thank you for bringing your son in this morning. I’m sure this is the last thing you wanted to do on a Sunday.”

“Tom Gardener.” He looked my way as he shook JT’s hand. “Is my son in some kind of trouble?”

“Not at all.” JT motioned for him to sit. “I am a criminal profiler, a psychologist, investigating some crimes in the area and am interviewing kids who attend a local high school, to see if I can find a connection among the victims.”

The father slid his son a sideways glance. “Okay, but if I get uncomfortable with this at any point, I’m going to put the brakes on.”

“Fair enough.” JT leaned back in his chair. I guess he was trying to look relaxed and trustworthy. Nonthreatening. He turned his focus on Benjamin. “Hello, Benjamin. Thanks for coming down to answer our questions.”

The kid shrugged. “Sure. But it’s Ben. Just Ben.”

“Ben, do you know Hailey Roberts?”

The boy glanced at his father before answering. “Yes. Sort of.”

“What does that mean, ‘sort of’?” JT asked.

“It means I know she goes to Fitzgerald. She was in a couple of my classes last year.”

“That’s it? That’s all you know about her?”

“Yeah.”

The father leaned forward, but he said nothing.

“What about Stephanie Barnett and Emma Walker?” JT asked.

“Yeah. I know them too. No better than Hailey.”

JT nodded. “So you’d call them . . . ‘acquaintances’?”

“Yeah.
Acquaintances,
” the kid echoed. He had a very interesting definition of the word. I wouldn’t call someone I’d swapped DNA with an “acquaintance.” But then, maybe that was just me.

JT continued, in a friendly, just-help-me-out kind of voice. “We’re having a hard time figuring out who killed the girls and why. I’m hoping someone at your school can help. Maybe you. Can you tell me if there are any obvious connections among the three girls? Did they share the same friends? Or enemies?”

“I didn’t know them that well.”

“None of them?”

“Nope.”

JT paused. I had a feeling the hey-we’re-buddies chat was over. “We’ve been told you were seen leaving a party with Hailey Roberts the night she died.”

“That’s it.” The father smacked his flattened hands on the table. “Interview’s over. Ben, we’re leaving.” He stood, grabbed his son’s arm, and hauled him to his feet.

JT remained seated; his expression was calm and cool. “We’re not implying your son had anything to do with anyone’s death. We’re trying to find out what happened after they parted ways.”

“It’s okay, Dad. I don’t have anything to hide. I did leave the party with Hailey. We hooked up, messed around a little. But that was it.”

“Shut your mouth, Ben,” his father snapped.

“I didn’t kill
nobody.
If I don’t talk, then they’re going to think I’m trying to hide something.”

I agreed.

His father probably didn’t.

JT asked, “Where did you ‘mess around’?”

“In my friend’s front yard. I kissed her a little. That’s all. Then I walked her home and went back to the party. People saw me there, when I came back.”

“Which people?” JT asked.

“Lots. There were a lot of people there.”

“Can you give us some names?”

“Sure. Jake, Matt, and Dalton.”

JT wrote the names in his notebook. “When you dropped her off, did she go directly into her house?”

“Yes, I think so. I mean, I didn’t watch her go in.”

“Was anyone else with her, besides you?”

“No.”