Predator (7 page)

Just tell him
, Bree said to herself.
Just tell him you went to meet Liam
. But she couldn’t. It would just lead to questions she didn’t want to answer. Instead she said, “Stop treating me like I’m a baby. If I’m old enough to drive then what’s the problem?”

Her dad placed his hand on her shoulder, but Bree jerked away. With compassion in his voice, he said, “I’m sorry you’re upset, Bree. I am. But just like at home there are rules here. You may not like them, but they’re there for a reason.”

“I need a life too, Dad.”

“Look, I know you miss your friends, and you’re stuck with me most of the time. But, in comparison to all we’ve been through lately, I thought we were having a great summer. You learned a lot, you made an incredible discovery—maybe two—and you met Liam. Doesn’t that count for something?” When she didn’t respond, he said, “Come on, Bree. I know you hear me.”

Her dad looked down, smoothed his rumpled pajamas. “I don’t want to lose you too, Bree. You’re all I have left. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.”

His sorrow stirred her own feelings, and Bree struggled to keep from crying. She turned her head away to hide the tears welling in her eyes.

“All I’m asking is that you use some common sense about these things,” he said. “You’re going off to college soon and you’ll be on your own. If you’re out late at night, make sure someone’s with you. There are all kinds of crazy people in this world.” His voice quieted until he said nothing more.

Sensing he was waiting for her to do or say something, Bree wiped her eyes with the back of her hands and faced him. He smiled softly and watched her as if considering her anew. After a long moment, he said, “I love you, Bree, more than you ever can imagine.” He reached out for her and drew her against him, wrapping her tightly in his arms.

And she let him.

“I’m so sorry,” Bree said against his chest. He smelled like soap and sweat and laundry detergent.

“I know. Me too.”

They stood together in silence for what felt like forever. In the cocoon of his protection it seemed like everything was right in her world again somehow, and that the pain she had tried so hard to bury couldn’t hurt her anymore.

But from now on she’d have to be on the lookout. Even if someone wasn’t following her—and that was a big
if
—Kelsi was still out there, and who knew what danger she posed in her effort to protect the hand.

Ireland Archeology Institute, Largheal, Ireland

The lab buzzed with activity. Paleoethnobotanists and entomologists examined plants and insects collected near the bog body, soil specialists analyzed the peat samples Conor had collected, and a forensic odontologist checked the bog body’s remaining teeth for dental wear and disease. A radiologist skimmed through a magazine while waiting off to the side for the go ahead to transport the body down the hall to the diagnostics area, where x-rays and a CT scan would enable him to explore the inside of the bog body without damaging delicate tissues.

Bree couldn’t wait to hear what all the experts found; and if she wasn’t working with her dad and Conor on the hand she had discovered at the second site, she’d be right in there with them. Turning away from the glass wall that separated her from the main lab, she examined the hair on the hand more closely. It looked nothing like the solid strand of color she’d seen under the site work lights. At the tip it was dark brown, but as it neared the skin it turned lighter, changing shades at least twice. To get a good representation, she inspected hairs near the thumb, the wrist, the index finger, and a half dozen other spots, jotting down her observations on the clipboard by her side.

After a while, her dad spoke. “This hand really looks odd. And the measurements and the tissue samples don’t add up.” He massaged the back of his neck as if increased circulation there would help him think.

“I think this hand might be the one that’s missing from the bog body,” Bree said.

Her dad took a step back. “You’re kidding, right? It’s at least three times the size of the other hand. You’re going to have to explain that leap.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?” Bree said. She glanced at Liam—he’d heard her pronouncement from across the room and joined them—but Bree turned her attention back to her dad. “Take a look at the marks on the wrist. They’re similar to the ones on the bog body, only much larger. If the shapes match up, which I bet they do, then this could be the missing hand.”

“It still doesn’t make any sense,” Liam said. “How do you explain the size difference?”

“And how do you know it’s not a completely different hand severed in the same manner?” Conor added.

“I don’t,” Bree said. “Not yet anyway. Help me analyze the marks on the hand. Dad, go take a look at the ones on the bog body.”

“I’m still not getting where you’re going with this,” Liam said. “If the hand’s from the same body, how can it be so much larger than the other one? It would have to be the same size.”

“Not if the hand was severed right before death,” Bree said. “The lycanthrope could have transformed back into human form before it died, which would explain the difference in size. The lycanthrope hand couldn’t transform once it was severed from the body.”

“That’s assuming it’s from a lycanthrope,” her dad said.

“But the theory fits—”

“We need to study the DNA to be certain. But let’s take this one step at a time.” He and Conor left the room and entered the main lab. As they approached the body, the experts cleared the way.

Bree watched them for a moment longer and then began measuring the marks on the hand. Liam took notes. When her dad returned, they compared their findings.

“In extrapolating the data,” her dad said, “it seems like they’re a match.”

“See?” Bree said. “I was right. And whatever killed this lycanthrope had to be strong. I bet there are more bodies or body parts out there.”

“No more assumptions,” her dad said. “For definitive answers, we need to look at the DNA.”

“You get all the proof you need,” Bree said, “but I’m going to figure out what made these marks on the bog body. Someone murdered this man and I want to know how.”

The morning bustle in the lab settled into mid-day quiet. There was no talking, or music, or clicking of fingers against laptop keyboards, only the steady hum of the air exchanger. “I guess everyone’s still at lunch,” Bree said as she looked around.

“We were only gone twenty-five minutes,” Liam said.

They looked at Bree’s dad.

“What can I say? I’m eager to extract the DNA from the hand.”

Conor turned to Bree. “You better find something to keep your da busy over the next three to four days.”

“Why’s that?”

“It takes two days to purify the DNA and another day or two to sequence it. You know how impatient he can get when waiting for results.”

Boy did she ever know. He once threatened to drive all the way to Florida and drag her mom’s doctor home from vacation if someone didn’t immediately tell them her mom’s scan results and whether the tumors had responded to chemo.

Her dad cleared his throat loudly. “First of all, I’m right here, so stop talking about me like I’m not. And second, there’s plenty to do to keep me busy. Or did you forget we still have the bog body?”

Conor smiled. “Sorry about that, Dr. Sunderland. It’s just…well, you know how you get when you’re excited about something.”

“True. And I must admit this is all pretty darn exciting.”

They took the stairs to the second floor and entered the changing area of the laboratory dedicated to ancient DNA, where they removed their street clothes and donned sterile scrubs, gloves, caps, and face masks. Once suited up Bree and Liam followed her dad and Conor into the airlock connecting the changing room to the lab. After the door closed fully behind her, Bree signaled her dad and he opened the door to the lab, which had its own airflow and specialized filters to further remove contaminants. Positive air pressure prevented anything from getting into the lab from outside.

They proceeded to the table and her dad set down the hand he had brought with him. Liam slid two tall stools next to the table and held one for Bree as she sat. Her thighs brushed against his hands, sending a pleasant chill through her body.

She forced her attention away from Liam and onto her dad. “So how do we extract the DNA?” she said, eager to get started.

“First thing is to cut out a piece of bone from the hand,” her dad said. “Then we drill into the bone to produce bone powder. We treat the powder with chemicals and enzymes to digest the cellular components and proteins. Once that’s finished, we add silica. The DNA binds to it. Then we wash everything else away and we have pure DNA, which we then remove from the silica for further analysis.”

Bree’s eyes narrowed. “Sounds complicated.”

Conor stabilized the bone. “Not really, once you know what you’re doing.”

Bree was both fascinated and grossed out. What did it feel like to cut into bone? Was it easy or hard? Why did the inside of bone look like it did? But she didn’t ask for fear she’d mess up her dad’s concentration and he’d ruin the hand.

Her dad turned on the Dremel and cut a section from the bone; it sounded like drilling a tooth. He looked up from the table and said, “That should do it. Let’s get the rest of the process started. Then it’s just a painful matter of waiting for the results.” He shook his head. “When I came here to study bog bodies, I never,
ever
, expected something like this. If this really is a lycanthrope hand…” He smiled and the corners of his eyes wrinkled. “I can’t even begin to imagine the possibilities of what this discovery would mean for the scientific community, let alone my career.”

Conor pushed off the stool and shot her dad a look; it was part amusement and part disbelief. “Since when are you worried about beefing up your career? You’re one of the most respected forensic geneticists in the world, and the only one with a duel specialty in forensic anthropology.”

“Your career?” Bree said. “This would look great on my college applications.”

“And it would definitely get me some scholarship money,” Liam said. “Or at least a paid research position at university.”

Her dad shrugged. “What really concerns me is that if this turns out to be what we suspect, it’s going to turn into a circus around here—and Kelsi was just the beginning. We need to keep this under wraps. Only when we have evidence to present will our findings leave this room.” He looked at Conor. “I assume you told your wife.”

“Yup, but she knows how important it is to keep it quiet. And I won’t tell her anything more.”

“And you,” her dad said, turning to Bree and Liam, “you can’t tell any of your other friends. Not a word. You understand?”

“You got it,” Liam said.

Bree nodded, although she hated keeping secrets, especially good ones.

And this was a biggie.

But her dad was right. If word got out, they’d have a lot more than Kelsi to deal with; and worrying about Kelsi and whoever was following her was hard enough.

Craic Carnival, Largheal, Ireland

A dizzying display of colored lights surrounded Bree and Liam. Joyful screams mixed with laughter. Rides clanked and clanged. The sugary smell of candy floss and greasy burgers filled the air.

They squeezed through the crowds past the Ferris wheel, skirted the bumper car line, and crossed the gaming section to a row of five tents. Mylar streamers fluttered atop the tent poles.

“It’s over here,” Liam said as he led Bree to the right.

She parted the canvas flaps and entered the tent. The carnival faded to the background. The air felt thicker inside: dim lights, strange music, and, near the door, a huge bucket of teeth.

“There used to be a couple of gold ones in there, but you can’t trust carnie folk.”

Liam turned. “Seamus?”

A scrawny man threw a tattooed arm around Liam’s shoulder and hugged him hard. “Got another inch or two on ya, I see.”

“And you’re as scrawny as ever. You fall asleep under a steamroller?”

The man smiled and said to Bree, “The name’s Seamus, but ya can call me Seamus. All my friends do.” He chuckled at his joke. “Take a look around. I bet ya ain’t seen nothing like it.”

Bree nodded. She wanted to get down to business, but Seamus obviously had something else in mind, so she strolled around to take in the tent’s other oddities. More than a dozen wax eyeballs surrounded a shrunken head with foot-long black hair. A vampire killing kit containing stakes, a gun with silver bullets, a mirror, and other items that looked hundreds of years old took up most of a table. Blood-red felt lined the inside of the wooden box.

“Ya interested in vampires?” Seamus asked as he came up behind her.

“No, not really.” Bree sidestepped to an animatronic dummy. The face was cartoon-like, but the eyes looked real. The dummy’s jaw dropped open, and it bellowed a noise like something out of a horror movie. Bree jumped at the sudden outburst.

“He scares a lot of folks, especially kids,” Seamus said. “Yet they keep coming back for more.”

“People are drawn to odd things,” Liam said. “And you’re the king of odd.”

Seamus beamed with pride. “Always looking for something new, so if ya come across anything ya let me know.”

Across the tent Bree spied a gravestone, a battering ram, a miniature skeleton, and a bunch of glass cages with what looked to be snakes. Most of it was probably fake, but the shrunken head she had spotted earlier looked awfully real. She had her doubts that Seamus knew anything that could help her, but she figured it couldn’t hurt to try. She really wished she could ask him about the monstrous hand, but she had promised her dad she’d keep it under wraps. Instead, she took her cell phone from her pocket and brought up a photo of the object Conor had found. “You have any idea what this is? We found it under a bog body.”

Liam scooped up two of the wax eyeballs and rolled them in his hand like a pair of dice.

“It looks familiar,” Seamus said.