Authors: Tami Dane

Blood of Eden (14 page)

BOOK: Blood of Eden

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“Then again,” she said, wiping her hands on the paper napkin, “I could put in an application with the FBI.”

I was almost 100 percent sure the FBI could not hire someone with a documented case of schizophrenia. But I highly doubted my mother was serious about applying. She couldn't know about the rigorous physical-fitness tests a new FBI applicant needed to pass before being accepted into the academy. The mile-and-a-half run alone would convince her it was a bad idea.

“The FBI, huh?” Finishing up the sofa table, I moved on. “Any other ideas?”

“Yes, I've been watching that show recently, the one about that bounty hunter, Dog. Such a strange name for a man. Anyway, I was thinking his job looks very exciting.”

“A bounty hunter? Mom, are you serious?”

“Sure. Why not? You see, he's scary-lookingâso, of course, the fugitives run from him. But I'm not scary-looking at all, so they wouldn't suspect I'm a bounty hunter.”

“That much is true. But you do realize those people are criminalsâ”

“Alleged criminals,” Mom corrected. “They haven't gone to court yet.”

“Alleged criminals who are trying to skip out on bail. I imagine they're not the friendliest bunch.” At the side table now, I dusted some dead insects off the lamp. “Mom, you've always been antiviolence. Antigun. I can't imagine it being safe chasing fugitives without a gun.”

“Hmm. Yes, I'd have a problem with the gun.”

“You know, FBI agents have to shoot guns too.”

“Do they?” Mom grimaced. “I guess that's out too.” She heaved a loud sigh. “All the fun jobs require guns.”

“Not all, Mom. I'm sure you'll think of something.” I gave her a little pat on the shoulder with my elbow and pointed toward the kitchen. “I need to get the kitchen cleaned next.”

“That's okay.” Mom gingerly rose to her feet, scowling at the carpet, which was still covered with bugs. “I think I'll go home and do some more research.”

“Sounds good. Good luck!” On tiptoes, I followed my mother to the door. Before she left, I gave her a quick hug, being careful not to touch her with my icky hands.

“Bye, Sloan.” She patted my cheek. “I worry about you. Don't take any dangerous risks.”

“I'm just an intern, Mom. I don't take risks.”

“Everyone takes risks.” She gave my cheek one final pat. “And make sure every single one of those creatures is dead. You wouldn't want a live firefly in your house.”

“Sure, Mom,” I said. Mom had a longtime aversion to fireflies. I'd never understood why. They didn't carry diseases, like mosquitoes or cockroaches. What harm could a little firefly do? “I don't think it's possible any of them are alive.”

“Good-bye, Katie!” Mom yelled.

“Bye, Mrs. Skye!” Katie responded from the back of the apartment.

I went back to work, cleaning the kitchen. Katie came in just as I was finishing up the stove and dug in the cabinet, grumbling about her headache. I felt for her.

“Just shoot me now and put me out of my misery,” she said as she pried the top off an aspirin bottle.

“Sorry, I won't be your Dr. Kevorkian.”

“Bitch.” She stuck her tongue out, like a bratty kid, dumped a couple of aspirin tablets in her mouth, and filled a glass with tap water.

“I can't believe you just called me that.” I feigned a mortal wound and clutched my chest. I wasn't, in fact, wounded at all. Not physically or mentally. I knew Katie didn't mean it. But I was a little surprised. Katie had been raised in a very strict household, and although she'd strayed from her conservative Christian roots when she'd first read Darwin's
On the Origin of Species,
she rarely used curse words. Not even when beakers exploded in her face. The worst I've ever heard from her was “freaking.”

Katie shrugged and headed back to her room. I switched on the radio and danced around like a dork as I finished cleaning the kitchen. When I went to claim the vacuum cleaner from Katie's room, I found her lying in bed with a blanket thrown over her head. Assuming her headache was the cause of her strange behavior, I closed the door, to help cut down on the noise. I then proceeded to vacuum every inch of the kitchen, living room, and my bedroom. I finished cleaning my room early enough to catch an hour nap before getting ready for work.

I woke up, feeling slightly refreshed. I could have used another hour or two of sleep; but out there, somewhere, was another woman with a time bomb ticking in her body. I wasn't going to let a little thing like lack of sleep stop me from doing whatever I could to help her. I would simply have to consume some extra sugar and caffeine. It just so happened, I liked stuff with sugar and caffeine, anyway.

This afternoon, I was smart. I donned some comfortable pants and a knit top. And I tossed those awful pumps in the trash and slipped my feet into the most comfy flats I owned. When I hurried into the PBAU, I found the place as lively as a mausoleum. I plopped into my chair, powered up the Netbook, and checked my e-mail, hoping Chief Peyton had sent me a message. Nada. I checked my phone messages next. Nothing. And there were no notes on my desk either. Not from the chief, JT, or Gabe. There wasn't even a new batch of notes from Fischer to peruse.

Feeling very lonely, I wandered over to Brittany's office. Her door was closed. I knocked. No answer.

This sucked. I was going to have to find a way to be useful on my own.

I headed back to my computer and started Googling everything and anything I could think of that might be related to our case. Malaria, dengue fever, suspicious puncture wounds, bite marks. While I was reading a Wikipedia article about typhoid, Gabe came strolling in, looking rested and cheery. He gave me an up-and-down look as he passed my cubicle, on the way to his.

“What's up?” he asked.

“Nothing. Nothing's up at all. They're all gone, even the computer girl. And I'm sitting here with nothing to do but stare at the walls. Ever since you joined the team, I've been treated like a leper. I don't get it.”

“Don't take it personally.” He slugged my arm, then pulled a chair up and sprawled into it. His eyes narrowed. “You look like shit.”

“Gee, thanks. That's the way to make me feel better.”

“Didn't you get some sleep when you went home?”

“No, there was a little ... situation ... I had to handle.”

“Your mother again?” he asked.

“No. We had a minor insect infestation. Fireflies. Not anything icky. Katie bombed the place last night, but that left a big mess for me to clean up this morning.”

His brows pinched together. “Who ever heard of a firefly infestation?”

“I know. But that's what they were. No doubt about it.” I pointed at my computer. “Anyway, I've been sitting here, trying to make myself useful, reading up on anything that has to do with our case.”

“Find anything interesting?”

“Not yet.”

“Then let's get out of here,” he said.

I was all for that, but only if we would be productive. The stakes were too high to be cruising around just for kicks. “Probably we should call the chief and ask her what she wants us to do.”

“Probably.” He took out his cell phone and dialed.

I eavesdropped on his end of the conversation while I skimmed Google search results.

“She wants us to stay here and wait for the rest of the team. They're on their way back.”

Damn.
“Okay.” I sounded as thrilled as I felt.

He leaned over my shoulder; for a brief moment, I wondered what the hell he was up to. He whispered, “While we're waiting, I have something for you. Meet me outside, at my car.”

“Okayyyy.” I was 90 percent sure this was a bad idea.

“Don't go out right after me. Wait a few.”

Now I was 99 percent sure. “All right.”

This was either going to be interesting or dangerous.

I went back to surfing the Net. He headed out to his car. I checked the clock on my computer every minute or so, until it had finally counted off eight minutes. Then I headed out to the parking lot and slid into the passenger seat of his Jag.

He handed me an envelope. “Do you know anyone who can analyze this?”

“What is it?”

“Remember, I told you about the DNA analysis?”

“Yeah?” I opened the envelope and peered in. I found some sheets of paper and a small insulated package. Inside the package was a test tube containing a frozen sample. I knew for a fact this was serious. Serious enough to get both Gabe and me fired. But I was curious to see what the problem was with the testing.

“I have a sample, and the results. So, do you know anyone who has access to a lab?”

“I don't know. Katie's a chemistry major. She doesn't run DNA analyses, but she might know a way to get this sample tested at school.” I folded the envelope, taking care not to break the test tube. “What about your friend?”

“Too risky.”

“And trying to sneak this sample into the university isn't?”

He pointed at the envelope. “This might be our only lead.”

“Or it might be grounds for dismissal. Maybe even grounds for being arrested.”

“All the more reason to make sure whoever you get to run the test is trustworthy.”

“I don't know if I like this.” I left his car, heading straight for mine. I stashed the envelope under the passenger seat of my car.

As I straightened up, somebody said, “What do you have there, Skye?”

The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible.

âOscar Wilde

I whirled around and forced a smile, hoping the person behind me couldn't tell I was absolutely petrified. Considering JT worked for the FBI, profiling criminalsâand therefore a pro at reading body languageâI doubted I'd be successful pulling it off. “Heya, JT. I was ... looking for my ... cell phone. It fell off the seat when I was driving.”

“Can I help you look?”

“Oh, no.” I dove into the car, shoving my hand under the seat. My fingers hit the envelope. It crinkled. “Wow, there's a lot of trash under here. This might take a few. I'm sure you have more important things to do. You don't need to be wasting time out here with me.”

“Well, the sooner you get inside, the better. You're a valuable member of the team too.”

If you asked me, that was a bald-faced lie, but I decided calling him on it wasn't the best idea at the moment.

“Thanks.” I grimaced as my fingers brushed against something sticky. It had been a long time since I'd cleaned out my car. There was no saying what that might be. “If I don't find it in the next few seconds, I'll head inside, anyway.”

“Okay.”

I shooed him off with the hand that wasn't elbow deep under the front seat. He loped away. And even though he was beyond my line of sight within thirty seconds, I kept up the looking-for-my-phone act for a while longer, trying to decide where else I could hide the envelope. I'd be stupid to leave it where it was. Granted, I didn't think JT was the kind who'd sneak out to my car and look to see what I'd lied to him about. But I couldn't take the chance.

I glanced around the parking lot.

Where could I hide the envelope? Where?

I popped the trunk but slammed it shut right away. That was too obvious. I considered stashing it in a wheel well, then popped the hood and shoved it into the first crevice I found that was big enough. I took a few minutes to calm myself down before heading back inside.

Everyone was in the conference room, except for Brittany Hough. They all stared at me as I joined them. I slinked to the closest chair. JT was on my right; Gabe was on my left. They both shoved a blank piece of paper and a pen at me.

I muttered, “Thanks.”

“And so,” Chief Peyton said, continuing a conversation I had missed, “I'm afraid we will be forced to split the team. JT will be lead for the first case. Fischer will take the reins on the second. Skye, you'll continue with JT. Wagner will go with Fischer. I'll be supporting both teams.”

A second case. I wondered what it involved.

“The next team meeting will be tomorrow at oh-eight-hundred. Good luck.”

Evidently, the PBAU worked a seven-day schedule, including Sundays.

I turned to JT. “I guess you're stuck with me.”

He didn't look too put out. “We make a good team.”

Gabe and I exchanged a look as he followed Fischer out of the room.

“So what's on our agenda this afternoon?”

“I need to bring you up to date, since you were out today. Then I say we'll call it a night.”

“That's it? You're sending me back home? With someone else on the verge of dying?”

“Skye, I'm doing you a favor. You can't let this job take over your life. You won't last long if you do.”

I glanced at the countdown clock. It still displayed all zeros. Chief Peyton hadn't reset it. “But women are dying so quickly. I feel guiltyâ”

“Don't.” He shook his head. “There's no reason to. If you push yourself too hard, you'll either get burned-out or sick. The bottom line is, how many people do you think you'll be able to help if you catch the flu or stop caring because you're just too damn tired?”

“I guess I see your point.”

“The file's on my desk. Let's get you up to speed and then I want you to go home and get a good night's sleep.” JT followed me to my desk, pointed at my phone, which I'd forgotten had been sitting in plain view when I'd gone out to the parking lot.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“Well, look at that.” JT raised his brows, motioning toward the phone.

“I swear, I don't remember bringing it in.” I shoved the dumb thing in the front pocket of my laptop case.

“You didn't sleep today, did you?”

If the phone thing didn't make me look sleep deprived, I supposed the enormous bags under my eyes did. “I slept. For an hour. I had a little problem to handle at home.”

“I swear, if you come in tomorrow morning looking like you do today, I'll turn in a recommendation to the chief to put you on sick leave immediately.”

“That wouldn't be very nice.”

He gave me a squinty-eyed glare. “Don't make me do it, Skye.”

He used my last name. He must mean business.

“Fine.” I was tempted to do something nasty behind his back when he turned and sauntered toward his desk. Of course, I didn't. Instead, I plunked down in the chair he'd pulled up to his desk and waited for him to give me a rundown of what he'd been up to since we'd parted ways.

“At this point, we don't have much on this unsub. DNA analysis was inconclusive. The samples were all tainted with foreign DNA. About the lead I was following last night, turns out Debbie Richardson's best friend was sleeping with Chapman for the last six months. They got married last night in Vegas.” JT handed me a thick file. “I haven't had a chance to dig into the friend's background yet. Been too busy. I'd have Hough do it, but she doesn't work weekends. We spent most of the day collecting information about the latest victim. Name's Patty Yates. She lives in the same subdivision as Debbie Richardson. Age, thirty-four. Married. No kids. A nurse. COD, complications of dengue hemorrhagic fever. Hasn't traveled recently. We're looking into the possibility that she was exposed to dengue at work, though the bite marks suggest she was infected the same way the other victims were. She showed no symptoms prior to collapsing.” JT paused for a moment. “So we're up to four victims, most of them living within a one-mile radius of each other, all of them displaying the bite marks, and all of them dying from infectious diseases while showing no symptoms prior to death. Now go home.”

“Okay.” I tucked the file under my arm and stood. “I guess I'll do some reading tonight. That's allowed, right?”

JT caught my arm as I turned. “Skye ... Sloan ... I'm not trying to be a prick. You know that, don't you?”

“Yeah, sure.” I pulled my arm out of his grip.

“I haven't been with the Bureau long, and yet I've seen two good agents burn out and walk away from it all. Everyone suffers when that happens. The unit. The agent. The victims. You'll make a damn good agent someday, and you'll save lots of lives, but only if you learn to pace yourself.”

I couldn't argue with him. In one respect, what he said made a lot of sense.

I thanked him, packed up my stuff, and headed out to my car. I popped the hood and fished out the envelope before climbing in. I didn't notice the broken window until I sat. One piece of glass stuck me in the ass. I lifted my laptop case to find the majority of the remains of the passenger-side window lying in the front passenger seat. The rest of it was scattered on the floor, the center console, and, unfortunately for my ass, the driver's seat.

Someone had broken into my car. Who? And why? Had they been looking for the envelope? Or something else?

I'd left the unit before JT had. He couldn't have done this. But if not him, who had? I cleared my seat with a snow brush and sped out of the lot, watching my rearview mirror for a tail. I took a few turns, going out of my way to make sure nobody was following. After the fourth turn, I noticed the car.

I knew that car.

I pulled into a 7-Eleven parking lot and waited for the tail to park next to me. I knocked on the window. “Mom, what are you doing?”

Mom adjusted her very large, very dark sunglasses. If that was her idea of a disguise, she was in for a big surprise. If I made her, anyone could. For one thing, the copper penny hair was a little hard to ignore. “I'm following you.”

“I see that.” I pointed at the sunglasses. “Nice disguise.”

“It was the best I could come up with at the spur of the moment.” As if she read my mind, she added, “I didn't think it would work.”

She climbed out of the car. She was wearing sneakers, a black T-shirt, and jeans. I can't remember the last time I saw my mother wearing jeans and a T-shirt, let alone tennis shoes. Of course, they all looked very familiar. Ironically enough, I owned a pair of black canvas shoes just like those. And my drawers were full of black cotton T-shirts. And ... now that I got a better look ... those jeans were familiar too. I hadn't worn them in ages. Way too tight. Yet, I couldn't make myself part with them. Wishful thinking, I guess. What bothered me more than anythingâshe looked good in that getup. Decades younger than she had earlier today.

“Mom, did you happen to borrow those clothes from my closet?”

Mom hurried toward the store's entry. “It's a good thing you stopped here. I'm in the mood for a Slurpee. Do you want one too?”

I followed her into the store. “Mom.”

She made a beeline for the Slurpee machine in the back, pulled a cup from the stack, and then started filling it. “Yes, Sloan. I did borrow the clothes. I don't have any good PI clothes. I didn't want to take the time to go shopping. It can take hours to find a pair of jeans that fit right, you know.” Wasn't that the truth? “Plus, I'm a little short of cash until my next Social Security check comes. You don't mind, do you?”

“No, I guess not.” I decided a Slurpee sounded good. Standing next to her, I began dispensing yellow bananaâflavored frozen beverage into a paper cup. “So ... you're a private investigator?”

“Yes, I am. And I'm on my first case.”

“You are?” I was confused. And slightly worried. “Who hired you?”

“I can't tell you that. I have to respect my client's privacy.”

“Okay. So, can you tell me what I have to do with your case?”

“Sorry. No.” Mom snapped the domed lid on her cup and carried it to the cash register. At the counter, she motioned toward me. “My daughter's taking care of this.”

“Yes, madam,” the clerk said, punching buttons on the cash register. When I strolled up to the counter, he announced, “That'll be two ninety-eight.”

I stuffed my hand into my pocket, withdrew my cash, handed him three singles, and headed for the door. “Put the change in the âFeed the Hungry' jar.”

“Thank you,” the man mumbled, dropping the two pennies into the jar.

I felt a little guilty and went back to the counter. I shoved a dollar into the jar and headed outside.

Mom and I stood between our parked cars, sucking down ice-cold frozen drinks.

“You can't tell me who you're working for, or what you're investigating. What can you tell me?” I asked.

Mom smacked her lips. “I can tell you ... this is very delicious.”

Argh! “Mom, you know that's not what I meant.” Slightly perturbed, I yanked open my car door.

“Where are you heading now, Sloan?”

“Home.” I slid into my seat, started the car, and rolled down the window. “Mom, were you watching my car in the FBI parking lot?”

“No, of course not.” She strolled around the front of my vehicle. “What happened to your window?”

“Someone broke it.”

“Well, that's not very nice. Why would anyone do such a thing?”

“That's what I'd like to know. Unfortunately, I don't have time ...” A lightbulb blinked in my brain. “Would you like to take on another case?”

“Oh, I don't know. The one I have now is going to keep me pretty busy... .”

“I'll pay you.”

“How much?”

I didn't have a lot of expendable cash at the moment, thanks to Mom's antics. But I had to wonder if hiring her would keep her away from her so-called experiments, thereby saving me money in the long run. I didn't believe for one minute that she'd been hired by anyone, yet. She was just telling me that, so she could follow me around and make sure I stayed safe ... and alive. “A hundred dollars.”

“I'll think about it.” Mom slurped. “My other client's paying me a lot more. But I might do it for you at that price, as a favor. Since you are my daughter.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I'll let you know tomorrow.” She got into her car and smiled. “Ready to head home?”

BOOK: Blood of Eden

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