Flight from Mayhem (22 page)

“Yes, Han,” Ralph said.

“I'm more of a rogue than he was, and my bike is way cooler than the
Millennium Falcon
.”

Suddenly getting the reference—I had been watching a lot of movies as of late—I laughed. “You may be more of a rogue, but you aren't as mercenary.” But then, I, too, sobered. “I don't like Bette putting herself out on the line, but she's right. We don't have a clue as to what to do other than this. There's no way to find the doppelgänger without luring it in.”

Ralph let out a long sigh. “Shimmer's right, Alex. Otherwise, this thing will kill again, and then move on to fresh fields.”

Chai narrowed his brow. “What are you talking about?”

I explained Bette's plan.

“Dangerous, definitely. The woman is brave. But truly, what else can you do at this point? Ralph is correct—the creature will move on to a different city and try the same game. No matter how much you warn people, when someone is lonely, they don't want to believe that the person who is offering them love is a fraud.” The djinn shrugged. “Let her try it—we can keep a close eye on her.”

And with that, we were decided. We delivered Curt to the security at the conservatory, with a plausible story that
we had found him running around outside a bar. As he spun his tale of a giant lizard to the man, I put on a wide-eyed
have-no-clue
look, and the security guard just shook his head and hauled him off to his frat house, muttering something about rich kids.

After that, we headed back to the office. There, we found that Bette had sent Gerta packing out to the Fae Sovereign Nation known as Talamh Lonrach Oll.

“I put her in a taxi. I thought that would be the safest place for her at this point. Tonya's out picking up takeout for us. Well, not for you, sugar lips, but then, you drink your meals.” She winked at Alex.

“You sure Gerta will be okay with the Fae Queens?” He ignored her taunting.

“Yeah, they'll take care of her and hopefully snap her out of moping. What about the lizard?”

“Sent back to its home.” Chai joined us in the break room.

Bette nodded. “Then I can close it out on the books and contact Lydia?”

“Go ahead. Tell her we took care of it.” Alex dropped into the chair at the head of the table, his legs stretched out in front of him. He dropped his head back for a moment, then straightened up and pulled himself close to the table. “Bette, we talked over your plan to bait the doppelgänger.”

“Don't you say no—” she started, but he interrupted.

“It would seem, after much discussion, that we agree it's the best option.” He gave us a pointed stare. “Some of us agree more reluctantly than others. Provided the creature's still in the area. We have no way of knowing that. So, if you could set it in motion, maybe we'll see results. But I want you to promise me . . . to promise
all of us
 . . . that you won't go anywhere with anybody without checking in. Promise me you'll be extra cautious. I know you can take care of yourself, woman, but the doppelgänger is smart.”

Bette stared at him for a moment. “You wouldn't be so worried if you didn't think I might be taken in by it. I assure
you, I'm not that susceptible to flattery.” She sounded almost insulted.

He shook his head. “No, you aren't. But there are other ways to worm yourself into someone's life. You've shown yourself in the Community Center to be someone who can take care of herself, but you also have shown yourself to be someone who has a soft spot for people in need. I'm just thinking this creature may attempt to get to you in some other way . . . through your desire to help out friends in need.”

Bette frowned, but didn't contradict him. “Yeah, yeah. I get your drift. I'll watch myself. Meanwhile, I called Dent and told him we needed to chill things down. I was going to go over there for breakfast, but really, it's just . . . it's done. Tomorrow, I'll have lunch at the center and put our plan into motion.”

Alex gave her a slow nod. “Until then, what do we have on the docket?”

Bette tossed a clipboard on the table. “Not much, we've closed out most of our current caseload.”

At that moment, Tonya entered the room, carrying two big bags of food. “I couldn't decide what to get, so I stopped at a couple all-night joints. We have tacos, and fish and chips. I also picked up a box of doughnuts.”

Ralph jumped up to take the bags from her. He set them on the table. As Bette and I began unpacking the food, Ralph brought out paper plates and napkins from one of the cupboards.

I glanced at Alex. “Does it ever bother you to sit and watch us eat?”

He shrugged. “Once in a while. I do miss food, but it's been long enough that I don't give it much thought anymore, love.” With a wink, he added, “Not for you to worry yourself over.”

Tonya slipped out of her jacket and hung it over one of the chairs, then settled in beside us. “I heard what you were saying. Since you don't have anything pressing, would you mind hearing me out?”

“Be my guest, love.” Alex pulled out his tablet and prepared to take notes.

She filled her plate with a couple of tacos and a fish fillet and fries. “I think I'm being stalked, but I'm not sure.”

Ralph frowned. “What do you mean, you're not sure?”

Tonya took a bite of her fish, then—after swallowing—said, “I'm not sure. I'm not sure if I'm reading the situation wrong, or if there's really a problem.”

Alex flashed her a warm smile. “Why don't you start at the beginning? Maybe we can figure it out.”

After a moment, Tonya took a long sip of her soda and then let out a long, slow breath. “It started before we met—before you came up to Port Townsend to help Patrick. I have a MyFriend page, like half of America, and I started getting friend requests from people I didn't know. Some I accepted, because they sounded interesting and we had mutual friends. Others, I didn't know—they were smarmy guys, or people who wanted me to teach them magic. I refused those. But then, I got a friend request from someone who said he knew my mother. He said that while I was gone—when I moved away—he became friends with her. He told me how sorry he was that she died, and said that he missed her. That she had been like a second mother to him. The whole spiel. So I accepted his friend request. His profile places him at around my age, and he doesn't have much personal information listed. Mostly that he lives in Gig Harbor, and that he runs a chicken farm.”

I didn't know much about social networking, though it seemed to be a huge thing among humans. I did know enough that, if I had decided to create a profile on any site, I would probably be overly paranoid about accepting friend requests. In fact, given my nature, I rather doubted I'd allow anybody on there, so it would be pointless.

Alex was jotting down notes. “What's his name?”

“Jack Skelton. S-K-E-L-T-O-N. At first it made me think of
The Nightmare Before Christmas
, but that's Skellington,
not Skelton.” She frowned. “His middle initial is P, but I'm not sure what it stands for.”

“Got it. Go on.”

“Anyway, so shortly after I friended him, he sent me a direct message. He told me I was beautiful, like my mother had been, and that he really appreciated all she did for him. It was a little . . . it wasn't crude or anything, but it implied a lot. I thought maybe it was my imagination, though, thanked him, and left it at that. After that, the messages started in earnest. He began sending me at least two or three messages a week. We should meet for coffee, or he would come up to Port Townsend and take me out to dinner. Again, nothing rude, but I began to cringe when I saw his name. Something just felt . . . pushy?” She shrugged, looking both confused and irritated.

Bette leaned forward. “It sounds like you felt crowded?”

“Yeah, sort of like . . . every time I turned around, there he was. Again, the messages weren't overtly sexual, but they were . . .
insistent
, I guess the word would be.”

Alex nodded. “What did you say to him? How did you answer them?”

“Most of them, I didn't. At first, before I realized I might have a problem on my hands, I said sure, that a meet-up would be fun. But then I began to get nervous. I started avoiding MyFriend. After a couple weeks when I didn't go on there, the e-mails started. Now here's the thing: I don't have my private e-mail address listed online. I have the one for the shop, yes, but nowhere have I listed my private e-mail addy. I keep that for a few good friends. I have a separate e-mail for online shopping, newsletters, that sort of thing.”

“And let me guess. He sent his letters to your private address?” I was beginning to get the gist of the problem. The guy had gone out of his way to find info on her.

She let out a soft sigh. “Yes. He asked where I was—said he missed me on MyFriend. He asked if I was mad at him. I didn't answer him, but I posted a note on my profile that I was
taking an Internet break and that nobody should worry. He stepped up his e-mail campaign then. Was I okay? Was somebody bothering me—it took everything I had to not respond and say, ‘Yes,
you
are.' But I didn't. A week or so after that, he began to get abusive. His language devolved from polite to crude. He said I was a cocktease, and that he didn't like to be strung along.”

Ralph opened his laptop and began tapping in information. “Did he post anything on your profile?”

“Yeah, here . . . let me friend you and then you can see.” She gave him her profile name, he sent her a friend request, and then she pulled out her phone and accepted it. “I haven't been on there in a couple days so I haven't . . . oh crap.”

“I see it.” The smile slid off Ralph's face. He turned the laptop around so the rest of us could see the picture. Somebody by the name of Dr. Jack had posted a picture of a bouquet of dead roses on her page. A knife pinned one of the roses to the background and blood streamed out of the rose. The caption read,
WAYS TO KILL A ROMANCE
.

“Is he a real doctor?” I asked.

Tonya shook her head. “I don't know. I doubt it. But yeah, that's his profile.”

Ralph clicked on the man's avatar—which was an animated skull—and up came a page filled with mostly memes. Most of the posts were pictures of television stills—all characters from horror movies or crime shows who were female, and who had been either battered or murdered. Or both.

“This dude is running some seriously sick energy,” Ralph said, grimacing. He turned the laptop back to him and began his search again.

Tonya paled. “I haven't seen his page in a while. It wasn't like this when he first contacted me.” She wrapped her arms around her shoulders. “I'm scared. I should be scared, right?”

“I think you've got damned good reason to be. Let me find out something . . .” Ralph muttered away as his fingers danced quickly over the keys.

Alex leaned forward. “Do you know for sure that he lives in Gig Harbor?”

Tonya shook her head. “No. His profile said Gig Harbor, but people can lie. I do know that. And I never asked him—I didn't want him to think I was interested in him, so I tried to keep things on a superficial level, especially once he began messaging me so much.”

Bette pushed the food across the table to her. “You've only picked at your food. Eat something more—it will help ground you. Get a good meal inside you.”

Tonya mutely obeyed. I crossed to behind Ralph and leaned over his shoulder, watching what he was doing. After a moment, he glanced up at me.

“Would you mind not doing that? I don't like it when people stare over my shoulder. I feel crowded.”

“That's how I felt with his messages, like he wasn't giving me room to breathe.” Tonya finished another taco. She opened her bag and pulled out a stack of what looked like already-opened mail. “After he began bombarding me with e-mail, these started coming.”

As she tossed the letters on the table, I shivered. Something felt really off about them, and I realized that I was feeling the residual energy that belonged to the sender. And it made me want to take a shower.

Bette looked at the letters. “Has anybody else handled these besides you and the mailman?”

Tonya frowned. “Whoever sorted them out at the post office, I guess.”

“Wait a moment . . .” Bette crossed to the counter for a pair of latex gloves. She slid them onto her hands and then began sorting them out. “Didn't you notice that none of these have a postmark? Nor are the stamps canceled.”

“That means he could have put them in my box directly.” As the full implication of this hit home, Tonya paled even further. “He's been to my house, hasn't he?” she stuttered.

“I'm not sure, but I think I'll take these back and run
some print tests on them. If he's human, he's going to have fingerprints.” Carrying them carefully, Bette headed out the door.

We had a mini–fingerprint lab in the back, and somehow—I wasn't sure of the particulars and had never bothered to ask—Alex seemed to have access to the IAFIS, the FBI's fingerprint database. I had the feeling that not even Chase Johnson knew about
that
, and the less said, the better. That was one thing I had learned early on: In this line of business, you learned to keep your mouth shut. And luckily, I wasn't one to spill secrets.

As a rule, dragons were private individuals. We all had a true name, spoken to us at birth by our mother, and only the child, the mother, and the record's keeper ever knew a dragon's true name, because if you knew a dragon's true name, you could cast a spell to summon or control them.

Unfortunately, I didn't have one—there was no record of my birth, with me being a foundling. And without my true name and lineage entered into the Hall of Records, it meant that I had no legal existence in the Dragon Reaches. It also meant that nobody could magically make me toe the line, at least not in the way of normal dragons. Hmm, now that I thought of it, maybe there was an upside to being orphaned.