Blood of Innocence (Sloan Skye) (16 page)

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Authors: Tami Dane

BOOK: Blood of Innocence (Sloan Skye)
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When the kiss finally ended, I stared up into his eyes and murmured, “Wow.”
“Wow back.” His lips curled into a seductive smile.
My hands took a little tour of his torso, starting at the sides of his waist and working up, over the top of his knit shirt. Even through the cotton, I could feel the deep lines cutting across his abdomen. It was the kind of stomach that made a girl drool a little.
He just stayed there, arms extended, holding himself up so he didn’t crush me as I explored. “I’m getting warm.”
“Me too.”
He shifted his weight back, kneeling upright, knees trapping my legs between them. He took off his shirt and tossed it somewhere. “Your turn.”
I got my shirt up to my bra when the doorknob jiggled. I yanked it back down just as Katie wandered into the apartment.
JT didn’t budge, so I shoved him. He still didn’t move.
Katie looked at me, at him, then back at me again. Without saying a word, she headed to her bedroom.
JT took that to mean it was time to get back to what we’d been doing. I took that to mean it was time to get something to eat and get to work. The gray matter had received a little oxygen, and I was thinking more clearly. However, a second look at that shirtless JT was threatening to whisk away all thoughts of work again.
He gave me a man-on-the-hunt look.
I reluctantly shook my head. “JT, we need to work.”
He sighed. “Damn it, I knew you were going to say that.” He flung his leg off me, allowing me to get up. I went for his shirt, tossing it at him. He didn’t look happy as he tugged it over his head. When it popped out, his hair was all messy and sexy and I had to fight the impulse to grab a handful of curls and kiss him hard.
I pointed at his chest. “You order the food and I’ll go get my dad’s research papers.”
“Okay.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket. “What’ll it be? Italian or French?”
“Italian. I think I’ve had enough French for a long,
long
time.”
He mumbled something that sounded like “ntmrblsht” as he poked the buttons on his phone. I headed to my room to drag out the big box of papers that had once been down in storage. After they’d proven so useful in our last case, I decided it was a good idea to keep them accessible.
I dragged the box down the hall to the living room. Once JT saw me struggling, he dashed over, hauled it into his muscular arms, and set it down next to the coffee table.
“The food’ll be here in about a half hour,” he said as he pulled the top file out of the box.
My stomach responded. “Good.” I wrapped one arm around my midsection to muffle the sound and grabbed a file out of the box. JT sat on the couch. I opted for the floor. I concentrated better with at least five feet of space between us.
Forty minutes later, when the food arrived, I’d done a ton of reading but hadn’t found anything useful. I was ready for a break. I set the bag on the kitchen counter. JT pulled foam containers out while I gathered plates, forks, knives, and napkins. We dished out some salad and pasta, then carried our plates back to where we’d been sitting and dug in.
JT put on the television while we ate. We amused ourselves by talking about how unrealistic the show
Criminal Minds
was. I managed, somehow, to avoid doing anything foolish, like flirting with JT, or kissing him.
Before I knew it, my plate was empty. I dumped it into the sink, shoved the leftovers into the refrigerator, and turned to find JT blocking me in the tiny kitchen. There was no way out, but one. I’d have to squish past him.
From the glitter in his eye, I was guessing he was happy about that fact. He set his plate on the counter. “That was delicious.”
“It sure was. I’m ready to get back to work now.” I clapped my hands together.
He caught my wrists. “But what about dessert? I provided dinner. So you ...”
I could see where he was going with that.
But it wasn’t going to work. Oh, no, it wasn’t.
Staring at the counter to avoid meeting his lusty gaze, I reached blindly for the cupboard, knowing Katie had a box of chocolate graham crackers in it. I grabbed the box and smacked it against his chest.
“There you go.” I shoved past him, trying hard not to melt at the sound of his low, deep chuckle. I went back to reading; JT’s crunching and munching resounded in the background.
 
 
After a couple of hours spent reading, I started to get slightly frustrated. My father had researched thousands of paranormal creatures. And when I say “researched,” I mean he wrote long, detailed descriptions of each. From what I could tell, there was no order to it at all, no classification system. So I’d read about a
Rakshasa
from India, then a
Leahaun-shee
from Ireland next.
I sighed. “We need to organize this stuff, create some kind of system to classify the creatures. We’re wasting time.”
“I’m with you there.”
I powered up Gabe’s laptop, opened a new spreadsheet, and stared at the screen. “Now, where to begin? What categories should we have?”
While moving the files into stacks, JT suggested, “How about vampires, shape-shifters, noncorporeal—”
“Sure, but some vampires—many, actually—shape-shift too. And some creatures are noncorporeal at some times and corporeal at others, like Elmer, for instance.”
A file in each hand, he glanced back and forth. “We could cross-categorize each creature.”
“That’ll take years. We don’t have time for that.”
JT set the folders down. “Here’s a thought. It’s your father’s research, right? Why not ask your father to do it?”
“If I thought it might get done in a timely manner, I would insist he do it. He is, after all, the most familiar with the subject.”
We both mulled over the situation for a few moments. JT started flipping through another file. “Why not just go to him with what we have and see if he can figure it out?”
“That’s against bureau rules, isn’t it?”
“It’s a gray line, that one.”
“Fine. I’ll ask him.” I started putting the dozens of files we’d stacked back into the box.
“Just don’t tell him too much.”
“Right. Not too much.”
JT gave me a hopeful look. “Now that we’re done working for the night—”
“Don’t even think it.” I gently pulled JT to his feet. Then I ushered him toward the door. “Good night, JT. I’ll see you in the morning.”
JT hesitated to give me a lingering, smoldering look.
I shook my head. “It won’t work.”
“It worked before.”
“I was weak. Low blood sugar.”
His adorable chuckle and glint in his eyes made my knees go a little soft, but I still managed to get him out of the apartment without throwing myself at him.
Most men lead lives of quiet desperation and go to the grave with the song still in them.
—Henry David Thoreau
 
15
 
On my way to work the next morning, I called my dad. No answer. As I was leaving the message, my call-waiting kicked in, but I missed the call. I left a message for Dad, telling him I needed to consult him on a case, and headed into work. When I got to the unit, the place was deserted, with the exception of Hough, who was hiding out in her techie-geek lair.
I poked my head into her cave. “Where is everyone?” I asked her.
“At the scene,” she said. “JT just called, said he was trying to get ahold of you, but you weren’t answering.”
I checked my phone. “He called once and left no message.”
“That’s JT for you. Anyway, here’s the address.” Hough handed me a piece of paper with an address and a second one, with a map that had several virtual pushpins plotted on it. “JT asked me to map out all the victims’ homes. Would you mind giving this to him when you see him?”
“Not a problem. I guess I’ll head out then.”
“Th-thanks.” Suddenly Hough was looking a little green.
“Are you okay?”
“Yep.” She burbled, grabbed the trash can beside her desk, and heaved.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She gave me a wilted smile and a nod then stuck her head in the trash can again. I decided now was as good a time as any to head out.
I tried my father’s cell phone several more times during the drive over to the home of Mr. and Mrs. Klinger. Still, no answer. When I arrived, it appeared I was the last to show. The meat wagon was already gone, and only a few police cars were angled at the curb. Inside, I found JT. No Gabe. No Fischer. No chief.
JT was talking to a man who looked like he’d been to hell and back, no doubt because he had.
“I didn’t hear a thing,” Gil Klinger said. “I just woke up, and there she was dead.” His hands shook as he tapped a cigarette out of a pack.
“And you say your wife went to bed last night at what time?” JT asked, scratching notes in his notebook.
Klinger lit the cigarette, inhaled and exhaled a ribbon of smoke. “Right around eleven.”
“And you didn’t notice anything unusual?” JT asked.
“Nothing.” The man inhaled another lungful of carcinogens. Exhaled. “We watched the ten o’clock news, then went to bed, like we always do.”
“Thank you.” JT gave me a nod. “Sloan?” He started toward the rear of the house.
I followed. “What’s the story?”
At the staircase, JT motioned for me to go first. “This isn’t like the others.”
I clomped up the stairs. “Really?” At the top, I hesitated, waiting for JT to show me which room it was.
“Yes, really.” Looking grave, he stepped into the first room.
I followed him. Immediately I noticed the huge stain on the mattress. The blood spatter on the wall, on the floor.
“Oh.”
“I’m guessing whoever killed Madeline Klinger thinks they’ve copied our unsub’s MO. Fischer’s done a good job of keeping certain key pieces of evidence out of the press, though. So he didn’t realize there should be no blood.”
“This is awful.”
JT motioned toward the bathroom. “He dumped the blood in the toilet after draining it.”
“Please tell me she wasn’t pregnant.”
JT didn’t respond.
“Bastard. Are you thinking it’s the husband?”
“Everything points to him.”
Angry and irritated, I swept my gaze over the horrific scene. “What’s he still doing here?”
“He’ll be taken in for questioning soon. We don’t want him to know what we suspect. We want him to think we’re pegging this on the ‘Baltimore Vampire.’”
“‘Baltimore Vampire’?” I echoed.
“Yeah, that’s what the press has dubbed her. Oh, and they’ve also decided she is a he.”
“That’s interesting.”
“At any rate, this is clearly not a case for us. So we’ll be stepping aside on this one.”
“Just for kicks ...” I motioned to the window. “Should I check it?”
JT shrugged. “Sure, why not?”
I checked the screen. Intact. “Okay. I’m ready.”
We thanked Klinger on our way out, and passed two uniforms as they were heading in to escort him down to the precinct for a friendly chat.
With what that guy did to his wife, and the innocent unborn child she was carrying, I hoped the guy got what he deserved. And then some.
“Bastard,” I muttered as JT walked me to the car. “What do you think it was? Money?”
JT stopped on the opposite side of the car, looking at me over the roof. “That would be my first guess. He has no priors. Lost his job recently. And the house was in foreclosure.”
“So he decided his wife and child didn’t deserve to live?” I slid into the seat, cranked the engine, and powered down the window.
JT shook his head as he ducked down to look in at me. Bent at the waist, he leaned his arms against the door. “Part of our job is to think like a killer, to anticipate their next move. But that doesn’t mean we really understand their motivations.”
“I don’t think I want to try.”
“I hear you.”
My phone rang. I glanced at the display. Dad. I checked the clock on my dashboard. It was eleven twenty-eight. I lifted an index finger, letting JT know I was going to take the call, and answered.
“I need you to come with us. I’m not sure I can do this alone,” he said in greeting.
This was a man who protected a queen. This was a man who commanded an army.
“I need to talk to you anyway, Dad. Your appointment’s at twelve, right? You didn’t change it.”
“I didn’t change it.”
“Hang on, Dad.” To JT, I said, “Where are you going now?”
“Back to the office for a while.”
“I’m going to meet up with my dad, talk to him about the case.”
“Good. Call me when you’re done.”
“Will do.” After giving JT a farewell wave, I tucked the phone between my ear and shoulder and pulled away from the curb. “There’s no chance I’ll make it before twelve.”
“Please. I need you here.”
“It’s physically impossible. I’m at a crime scene. It’ll take at least a half hour to get—”
“I’ll do anything.”
“You’ll tell your queen you can’t travel for the rest of Mom’s pregnancy?”
Silence.
“You said you needed to talk to me about something,” he then said, trying to force me into backing down.
“I can’t do that over the phone. Time’s ticking,” I told him, sensing I had him.
“Fine,” he snapped.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
And I was. It just wasn’t at twelve on the dot. But I hadn’t promised I’d make it on time. That’s not to say I took my sweet time getting there. I broke a few laws, rolled through a few stop signs, and stretched the speed limits a bit when I could.
My father looked relieved when I eventually found him and my mother sitting on a bench outside of Allegra Love’s mysterious black psychic reading room. “She’s still in there with the last couple. I don’t think things are going so well,” he whispered. “I hear someone crying.”
“You’ll be fine,” I said, sitting on the other side of Mom. “How are you feeling?” I asked her.
“Starving. Do you have anything in your purse to eat?” She eyed my handbag and licked her lips.
“No. I might have some gum.”
“That’ll work, I guess.”
I pulled out the pack and started to take a stick out for her, but she snatched the whole thing and stuffed it in her mouth, foil wrappers and all.
Dad sighed.
I stared. “It generally tastes better without the wrappers.”
She gulped. Smiled. “Delicious. Do you have more?”
I looked at Dad.
He shrugged. “She ate two Whoppers, a large fry, and an ice-cream sundae on the way here. That was twenty minutes ago.”
“I can’t help it if I get hungry,” Mom said, sounding wounded. “It’s the baby. She’s doing it to me. I eat and a little while later, I’m starving again.”
“I’m sorry, dear.” My father patted her knee. “We’re not trying to make you feel bad.”
Mom smoothed her skirt over her thighs. “If you tell me I look fat, I’ll cry.”
The door swung open and a woman with bloodshot eyes, and a bad case of running mascara, emerged; a man was cradling her elbow. Her gaze was locked on the floor as she sniffled and snorted past us and out the main exit.
What the hell was that all about?
Allegra Love came out, gave my mother and father an assessing look, then asked, “Are you ready?”
I thought about telling my folks to forget the whole thing. But before I could get a word out, my mother shot to her feet.
“You bet,” Mom said.
My father followed.
I stood, thinking I’d go in with them, but Allegra Love blocked the door with her ample body.
“No one but the couple is permitted in the room during the reading. It throws off my reception.”
What a freaking quack.
“Reception of what?” I asked.
“Energy. Everyone casts off waves of energy at different frequencies. I sense those frequencies and determine whether the couple’s energy waves are harmonious or discordant.”
“I won’t say a word.”
She flinched as if I’d poked her or something. Shifting back, away from me, she said, “That won’t make a difference. I’m sorry. You’ll have to wait outside.” She stepped into the room and slammed the door in my face.
Rudeness is so unnecessary.
Mumbling a few expletives under my breath, I pressed an ear to the door. I could hear voices but couldn’t make out any words. They were too muffled.
I returned to my seat.
What seemed like six hours later, my phone rang. Thankful for a distraction from the monotony, I answered.
“Hey.”
JT, the caller, said, “Hey back. Where are you?”
“At the house of some crackpot psychic minister. She’s doing a ‘reading’ of my parents to see if their energies are harmonious.”
“I need to talk to you.”
“I’m stuck here for at least a little while longer. I’d leave, but if this thing goes bad, my father’s going to need my help.”
“Where’s the house?”
I gave him the address, and he said he’d be there in ten minutes and hung up.
After what felt like an hour, he was being escorted back to where I was waiting.
“Are they still in there?” JT indicated the closed door with a tip of his head.
“Yes. They’ve been shut up in that room for quite a while. Not sure if that’s a good sign or a bad one.”
“Hopefully, they’ll stay in there a little longer. I need to talk to you.”
“What’s so important? Is it the case?”
He shifted in his seat, turning so his body was angled toward mine. “No, it’s personal.”
“Okay.”
JT fumbled with his laptop case. “You see, I’ve been wanting to tell you something—”
The door swung open and my mother, looking very cheery, came prancing out of the room. “Our energies are perfectly matched,” she told me. “Of course, I never had any doubts.”
My father, walking behind her, gave me a thank-God-it’s-over look.
Mom swung around to address Allegra Love. “Then we’ll see you in three weeks.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” Reverend Love slid a glance our way before smiling at Mom. “Good-bye.”
Mom threw her a wave and half-danced/half-walked down the hall toward the exit.
Dad gave me another look. “Are you coming back to the house for lunch?” he asked. “You said you wanted to talk to me about your case.”
“I had Sergio make your favorite too,” Mom yelled.
I glanced at JT. “I guess I’d better, then.”
JT didn’t appear too happy about my response. “I really need to talk to you, Sloan.”
“He can come too!” Mom shouted.
“I’d hate to make you drive all the way over to my folks’ house when you have so much work to do.”
Of course, he’d driven over here to tell me something. That meant he’d already gone out of his way. And he hadn’t had a chance yet to tell me whatever it was that he’d come to say.

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