Phoenix Feather (27 page)

“Hmm, both.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Immigration has several possible matches for our sketch,” Bryan said as he came into the bullpen and took a seat at his desk. “Most of them have permanent addresses, but some are off the grid. What’s that?”

Jess was looking over a handful of reports. “Results from ViCAP. This guy has been doing this for a long time.” She handed him the file. “Similar cases dating back forty years.”

Bryan took the folder and scanned it. Dozens of victims spread across the East Coast and Mid-West. No wonder they hadn’t caught him yet. He had experience, had honed his skill and knew how to not get caught. Bryan frowned at the details of the victims. “The ages change.”

“Yeah,” Jess said. “They gradually get older until we come to our recent murders, which start younger.”

“All these women were adopted?” he asked incredulously.

“No. That’s something new this time.”

He looked up sharply. “So, what, a different killer?”

Jess grunted in frustration. “I don’t know! Every detail is the same except for the age and adoptions. And as far back as it goes suggests our own guy who has experience.”

“Excuse me, Detectives,” someone interrupted. “I’ve got something from Interpol.”

Bryan practically snatched the file from the rookie detective in his eagerness. He skimmed the page. “Similar murders in Germany and Russia.”

“Looks like it began in Russia,” the younger detective remarked.

Bryan looked at the dates. “Our guy wouldn’t even have been born yet.”

“I thought the car guy said he was Russian,” the young man insisted.

Bryan looked at Jess. “More than one generation?”

She lifted her brows as she considered it. “Possible.”

“The murders in Russia were of twenty-year-olds. Germany the ages change to thirties.” Bryan grabbed the murder reports from the East Coast. “The ages get older as the murders move west. Then they start in the twenties again here.”

“That makes no sense,” Jess said.

“It does to our killer.” If only they could decode his mind, they would be able to stop him. Then again, he had stopped. “Maybe he’s looking for someone,” Bryan mused.

“If this started a generation ago, then whoever that person was is long dead.”

“True, but the urge to play it out isn’t.” Bryan sat down and put his elbows on his desk. “That’s what serial killers do, isn’t it, find surrogates? Suppose our guy did learn this from his father, and now he’s compelled to repeat it.” He surveyed the countless photos of women with red hair. “He’s looking for who his father was looking for.”

“How does the adoption thing fit in?” Jess asked.

Bryan shook his head. He couldn’t know any of this for sure; it was all just guesswork. “Maybe this guy figured out a more efficient way to go about his search. Recordkeeping wasn’t the same then as it is now.”

Jess tossed her pen down. “This doesn’t help us.”

“No,” Bryan agreed in disappointment. “We need to go through immigration records starting when the murders first occurred on our continent and go back to when they stopped in Europe.” More paperwork. Another lead with the potential to end up nowhere. At this point, Bryan wondered if the killer would die of old age before they caught him. And if that was the case, was there a next generation murderer ready to take up the family torch?

***

He had almost despaired again when his treasure had disappeared right when she was in his grasp. It was as though Fate mocked him. But here she was again, going about her daily activities as though her absence hadn’t affected anyone. She couldn’t know the agony she had caused him the past week. No more waiting, he decided. His planning was less than perfect at this point, but his impatience won out over reason. The parking lot had a few cars, the restaurant a few patrons. If he was quick and silent, he’d give no one cause to notice.

He pretended to be waiting for the bus to arrive. Her car stood only five spaces away. He watched her through the restaurant windows as she seated her last guest, went back to the ladies room and came out in different clothes—she looked lovely in that burgundy sweater—and finally as she donned her coat and headed outside. He counted the pace of her steps in order to time his own. He slipped from the bus stop, walking with intention, his head up, eyes facing the restaurant. He could still see her in his peripheral vision: her cheeks glistening pale in the cold, her eyes bright against such pallor. She was eight feet from her car, keys in hand. He passed her as though his interest was breakfast, but veered sharply and came up behind her as she opened the door of her car.

He had his hand under the damp cloth in his pocket the whole time, and as he reached up with the other hand to grab her arm, he brought the chloroform up and over her mouth. He pulled her down between the car and open door to keep from being seen. She struggled for a brief moment before he felt her weight give in to him. Then he pushed her into the car, across the driver’s seat and into the passenger’s. He picked up the keys from the ground, got in, and started the engine.

She looked asleep in the seat next to him, her head leaning against the window. He reached over and pulled the seatbelt across her, clicking it into place. Adrenaline screamed inside him. He pulled out of the parking lot and had to force himself to not drive over the speed limit and draw attention to himself. He was ecstatic. After years of searching, he had what he wanted. And as soon as he got back to the house, he would prove it.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Trent left a few minutes early to go meet Aidan for breakfast. Bryan now had him worrying about a scary man hiding in shadows, so Trent planned to drive by the restaurant as Aidan was getting off, see that she got into her car, and follow her to the tea shop. He wondered what she would think or say if she knew any of this was going on. Was it a violation of trust, not telling her? Or would it be paranoid to bring it up? Trent sighed. This morning would not be what he had hoped.

He stopped at the red light perpendicular to the restaurant and glanced at the parking lot. Aidan’s car pulled out onto a side street and headed for the intersection. What was he thinking? Trent mentally berated himself. Then he stopped and stared at the man behind the wheel of Aidan’s car. Trent looked back to scan the parking lot. Maybe he had mistaken a similar car for hers, but there were no other blue Corollas in the lot. He looked back at the other car as it turned right onto the street he was on. The back corner of the windshield had a Seattle U student parking permit sticker. It was her car.

Trent’s heart rate quickened, and as soon as the light turned green, he drove after it. The man who was driving had looked old, and had a long, grayish beard. Where was Aidan? Trent had a sickening lurch in his stomach as he thought of the trunk. His cell phone lay in the backseat, but he didn’t want to take his eyes off the car ahead of him long enough that he might lose it. He’d have to wait to call for help.

The man drove only slightly over the speed limit, not enough to draw attention from a traffic cop. He headed north, away from the city. Trent continued to follow, hoping that the man wouldn’t notice. Bryan hadn’t been paranoid after all. If only Trent could call him.

They drove for almost twenty minutes, into a moderately wooded area of Edmonds with large homes set in the back of long driveways. Private. The blue car finally turned onto a small road that led to a huge old house. Trent pulled over beside some bushes so he wouldn’t be seen and tried to see up the drive. He watched the old man get out of the car, walk around to the passenger side, open the door, and lift out a woman in his arms.
Aidan
.

Trent clenched his fist and tried to remind himself that she was probably alive. He remembered what the papers said: he liked to torture them first. He reached back and grabbed his cell phone, finding Bryan’s number quickly in his recent calls list.

“Yeah, Trent.”

“Bryan, he’s got her.”

“What?”

“He grabbed her at work, in her car,” Trent tried to explain quickly. He needed to get inside. “I followed him to Edmonds to his house.” Trent gave Bryan the address.

“I’m on my way, don’t do—”

Trent hung up. He wasn’t waiting.

***

Aidan felt a heavy weight slowly recede from her eyelids, and as thought processes returned, she realized she was very uncomfortable. She tried to move, and felt resistance on her arms. The angle seemed strange to her, until she felt the harsh metal rings around her wrists, holding her arms up. She was chained to a wall. The realization almost brought out a laugh, as she could have sworn she was in a different century by now. She felt light dancing on her eyelids and blinked them open.

She was in what looked like a private study, dimly lit. A fireplace with crackling flames stood across from her. Huge, ceiling-high bookshelves lined both sides of the hearth. A large desk sat off to her left, and the door stood in the far right corner. It was shut. There were no windows. She tried to remember what happened, but the lingering grogginess chased it away.

“Ah, you are awake.”

Aidan jumped as a figure moved not ten feet away from her. He had been sitting in a dark corner where the fire didn’t illuminate him. Now he edged forward into the light. The orange glow danced sinisterly across half his profile, highlighting a hard and weathered face and gleaming in his excited eyes. Aidan recognized a Russian accent. She was about to ask what he wanted, but then her eyes fell on a rectangular glass box, the corner edges lined with golden rods, standing upright on a small table next to him. Inside, almost as if weightless, stood a large red feather on its tip, shining like a sun.

Aidan didn’t need to ask what he wanted.

He watched her eyes as they stared at the box. “Yes, it is you.” He laid a hand gently on top of the case. “You know vhat this is.”

Aidan didn’t want to look at him. He knew what she was. He had a piece of her. In 1913, in the forests near Siberia, Aidan had died and been reborn. She had shed her natural, fiery form and transformed into a human. That feather had been left behind. And someone had seen her. It was the only explanation. The feather was nothing but a mystery unless there was a witness who knew what it meant, whom it belonged to.

“You weren’t there the day that fell to earth,” she said, her voice oddly calm. A trace of her past warrior lives flickered in her gaze.

He stroked the glass as though it were a pet. “My father searched his whole life and died empty.” He fixed his eyes on her and smiled. “Not me. I found you, my love. And now ve have eternity.”

Aidan’s heart raced, blood pounding in her ears. She lifted her chin. “I’m sorry you inherited his burden. But it won’t satisfy you.” Nothing would. He had been driven mad by a glimpse of a sacred beast, spurred by a compulsion that should never have been awakened.

He pushed himself up with a force that knocked his chair over and walked toward her. Aidan resisted the urge to shrink back. She had nowhere to go anyway. He held a lighter in his hand and clicked forth a flame. Aidan stared warily at his eyes, trying to judge what he might do. He knelt down and with his other hand whipped out a knife. He brought it up to neck level, paused with it poised there, and then down and cut off her sleeve. He held the live flame under her upraised arm. She tried to pull away, but the chains held firm. She stared into his eyes and watched them grow wild while watching the flame flutter over her skin without bringing forth the smell of burning flesh. She didn’t even scream.

“Yes, yes!” He unchained her from the wall, cupped her by the back of the neck, and dragged her to the fireplace. She struggled, but wasn’t very strong—developing muscle hadn’t been a priority this century around. He held her in his iron-like grip and thrust one of her hands into the fire.

The flames licked and curled around her fingers and palm, singing to her blood, rekindling the fire that had lain dormant within it. Her eyes rolled back in the overwhelming ecstasy of ancient power coursing through her. The flames were warm and caressing, like waves of winged water lapping over her skin. The kindred spirit did not burn her.

Aidan vaguely heard, as though it were far off, the voice of her abductor shouting in elation and delirium. Then she felt a huge object ram into her and carry away the weight that was holding her down. She hit the carpet hard and heard someone familiar calling her name. Her mind snapped back into focus when Trent’s face appeared in front of her. He knelt on the floor, pulling at her arm.

“Let me see.”

Aidan looked at the Russian lying on the floor, and back at Trent. His frantic hands stilled when he saw her arm. His eyes widened in confusion and disbelief.

“But,” he stammered. “The fire…”

Aidan heard moaning and the creak of the floorboards.

“No, she is mine!” The Russian stood over them, aiming a gun.

Aidan pushed herself at Trent and a loud crack exploded in her ears. She landed on top of him and heard three more ear-shattering pops, followed by a loud, heavy thud as the Russian hit the floor. Aidan pushed herself up again. Bryan stood in the doorway, his gun still pointed at the man on the floor. He moved past them to get the other gun and check the man’s pulse.