Bound by Blood (The Garner Witch Series) (2 page)

“Wow, nice digs!” The agent gave an appreciative whistle while he slowly turned to admire the place.

It was a beautiful condo, right in the heart of the historic district in Downtown Denver. The space was tastefully decorated in neutral colors with little splashes of color in the artwork and accessories. Although not feminine, the condo was stylish with a bit of a contemporary feel and definitely possessed a woman’s touch. It was also obsessively spotless.

When I entered the living room, the agent’s back was to me, but as he turned, his features slowly became clear.

“Shit,” I cursed under my breath.

For the second time that night I was caught off-guard. The first, when I saw the victim, and then as I recognized my knight and shining armor from the bar. Only an hour had passed, but his eye was bruising up nicely. 

“Great. What a way to make an impression, Reece,” I muttered. “It’s a nice place,” I agreed loudly, making my presence known.

The look on his face as recognition dawned was almost comedic.

“You? What the hell are
you
doing here?” he asked gruffly.

I produced my credentials and flashed it slowly, giving him enough time to examine it. “I’m Special Agent Brianna Reece. I just transferred from Chicago. You must be Agent Morrison.” I tried to keep the humor out of my voice. “I’m your new partner.”

His face turned a remarkable shade of red as he digested the news. Though, to his credit, he managed to bite back whatever thought accompanied the sudden spike of annoyance I sensed rolling off him.

“Agent Hunter called to let me know there might be another murder in the serial case you’ve been working on. He asked me to give you a hand. I hope you don’t mind—I started taking notes while I waited.”

He stood there silently, glowering at me with an irritated scowl.

He was tall—about six foot two—with sandy blond hair and wide shoulders. He wore dark denim jeans that accentuated his bulging thighs, and a button up white shirt that hugged his very muscular upper body. Overall he was exceptionally attractive. Unfortunately, he knew it. Arrogance sort of came with the territory in the FBI, but this guy—I could tell he had an ego the size of Texas.

“Anyway, it’s nice to meet you.” I extended my hand in greeting… and waited.

“Hmm,” he grunted, ignoring my outstretched hand. He brushed past me and headed toward the bedroom while snapping a pair of latex gloves over his hands. 

“So you’re the new hot shot from Chicago?” he threw disdainfully over his shoulder.

I ignored the remark, determined to focus on work. And rather than unleashing the profanities I had on the tip of my tongue, I briefed him on the scene instead.

“The deceased is a thirty-one-year-old female named Morganna Tate. According to the officer out front, a friend discovered the body about two hours ago. She entered the apartment with a spare key and, as far as I can tell, there’s no sign of forced entry. No one touched the body—she was found exactly like this.” I nodded at the victim.

“Wow! She’s hot,” Morrison commented, gaping lewdly at the body lying supine on the bed.

Insensitive asshole.

I took a deep breath to calm my rising anger. “She’s dead Agent Morrison. I assure you, she’s very cold.”

I heard him laugh under his breath and could sense the smug satisfaction he derived from my rejoinder. It seemed Agent Morrison enjoyed being offensive, especially if it needled me. As I took in the pleased curl of his mouth, I vowed I wouldn’t react to anymore of his asinine comments. He’d gotten enough reactions from me tonight. Case in point: the nice shiner forming on his eye.

I looked at the bruise and smiled sweetly. “Can I get you some ice for that eye? It looks a little sore.”

He bristled, and snarled, “Let’s just get back to work.”

Nodding in agreement, I continued my assessment. “You wouldn’t know by looking that cause of death wasn’t natural.” My tone shifted to detached professionalism. “There isn’t a single mark on this girl, not a scratch or a bruise that I can see. Hell, there’s barely a hair out of place. I’ve never seen a crime scene that was so… neat.”

My professional façade slipped as I gazed at the victim. Every time I looked at her, confusing and unsettling emotions stirred. Agent Morrison stared at me intently for what seemed like a long stretch of time. When his gaze touched mine, he seemed suddenly aware of my uneasiness.

Damn.

Then he surprised me. Instead of calling me out, he softened his hard eyes and continued in a matter-of-fact tone. “This scene is a duplicate of the others. I’m willing to bet when the coroner gets a look at the body, they’ll discover she’d been exsanguinated.”

“According to the file, that’s how they’ve managed to connect the cases, by cause of death. Is that right?”

“Most serial killers leave a signature with their killings. The method of exsanguinations in each of these cases are unique, and most definitely a signature. It’s rare enough to find a victim with all of their blood drained, but to have absolutely no sign of how it was accomplished... The chances of one murderer capable of accomplishing such a feat is unlikely, but three? It’s statistically impossible,” Agent Morrison explained, visibly searching for any marks or wounds on the victim.

“There are no defensive wounds that I could find. I can’t imagine someone lying still and not struggling while their blood was drained.” I glanced at the spotless floor and unruffled bed. “And how is he doing it without spilling a drop?”

“The FBI hasn’t been able to figure it out. There’s no sign that he’s cleaned the scene, or that the body was moved. And that’s why we’re the lucky ones who’ve been assigned the case. Welcome to VICAP, Agent Reece,” he said sardonically.

VICAP was the FBI’s Violent Criminal Apprehension Program, and they specialized in solving unexplained or unusual violent crimes. It had been a goal of mine the past few years to be transferred into this division, especially in Denver where they seemed to have more unexplained crimes than anywhere in the country. Possessing my abilities made me the perfect person to work in this particular unit. Not only was my mind open to the unusual, but I was also a walking lie detector. I had an excellent track record with interrogation back in Chicago.

Sometimes, I could even channel the last emotions the victim experienced before their death, a useful tool in many cases. If I connected to the murder victim and discovered they felt betrayal, for instance, I knew the killer was probably someone the victim trusted. It helped to narrow the field of suspects. The problem was, I hated tapping into the victim’s emotions and avoided it if possible. In fact, I never walked into a crime scene unguarded. I learned the hard way that crime scenes were overly charged with emotions and I often experienced their physical pain as well. But in cases like this, with no other evidence, what choice did I have?

“I’m going to look around,” Agent Morrison announced before leaving the room.

“All right. I’m going to stay here.” My voice sounded shaky, but he didn’t seem to notice.

Since I probably wouldn’t have had another chance to be alone, I decided to stretch out my senses and see if I could read anything from the victim. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, concentrating on calming my nerves.

I was accustomed to guarding myself from the onslaught of everyday emotions, so I had to go through a mental exercise to remove the psychic shields I’d erected. In my mind’s eye, I slowly began to peel the force field away from my body, and as I pulled it away, I drew it into myself until there was nothing left. Once I removed the last remnant of the shield, I opened my eyes. Suddenly, I crumpled to the floor, gasping for air. It felt as though I’d been knocked over by a tidal wave.

I couldn’t breathe.

Chapter 2

Undiluted panic erupted inside me. My mind frantically fought to understand how I could be perfectly fine one minute, and then struggling to breathe the next. Then a fleeting thought allowed me to gradually calm myself. Did the oxygen suddenly vanish from the room? Logic dictated no. So, why was I all of a sudden gasping for air? Once I started to think rationally, my trepidation ebbed and I realized I actually
could
breathe. There
was
air in the room, but there was something else as well.

There are thousands of nerve endings in the human body, and every single one of mine had just sparked to life. Frissons of static skittered across my skin, and an electrical current hung heavy around me, like a thick cloying fog, overwhelming me with its oppressiveness. It was then I realized this was what caused my initial panic, giving me the feeling I couldn’t breathe.

As I regained my equanimity, I berated myself for the moment of weakness. 

“You all right in here?” Morrison popped his head into the room.

Still panting heavily, I lied. “I’m fine. Asthma.”

“If you need to leave, I can handle this alone.” Surprisingly, he made the offer with genuine concern.

With my shields down, I could sense Agent Morrison’s emotions with perfect clarity. He was annoyed about having me as a partner—not that I needed psychic abilities to ferret out that little tidbit—but there was more. As he glanced at the body, I was taken aback by his reaction, especially considering his callous comment when he first saw her.

If an emotion was particularly sharp, it emitted an aura. It didn’t happen often, but right then I saw a dark mustard color radiating from Agent Morrison’s heart.

Grief.

Something about this woman brought out a deep seated grief within him. His glib comments and rude behavior was an act, a performance to mask his real emotions.

I suddenly felt less irritated with my new partner. This case affected him too, and if anyone understood the need for defenses in this line of work, it was me.

“You go ahead and finish what you were doing out there,” I said sympathetically, deciding to cut him a bit of slack. Apparently, there was more to Agent Morrison than I’d originally suspected.

He looked at me and cocked his head slightly, confused by the sudden tenderness lacing my tone. Then, as if he knew he’d let his mask slip, I watched with fascination as the colorful aura receded, his defenses slamming back in place.

“Fine. If you think you can avoid a heart attack, I’ll leave you to it,” he said gruffly, leaving me alone again. 

Once I ensured my composure was intact, I edged closer to the woman. I knelt down beside the bed and looked into her eerily familiar eyes one more time. I felt vulnerable and exposed, but I reached out to her anyway and allowed the link to her emotions to form.

It’s true what people say about tension—it hangs in the air, leaving such a powerful impression that even someone with no psychic abilities can feel the remnants after an intense argument. At a murder scene, the emotions are even more compelling, and they tend to linger.

I was able to link to her final emotion, and I could sense it with crystal clarity. Unfortunately, the revelation did nothing but confuse me further.

Euphoria.

The last thing she felt was complete and utter peace. How was that possible?

I stood and walked to the doorway. “Agent Morrison!”

“Yeah.” He poked his head around the corner.

“Were any of the other victims drugged?” It was the only conclusion that made sense. It would explain her last emotions, and the lack of defensive wounds.

“No. I wondered the same thing. We couldn’t test their blood since there wasn’t any left, but the coroner took tissue samples. They all came back clean.” He ducked back into the other room.

The lack of progress forced me to attempt something else, something I rarely permitted. But with nothing else to go on, and my growing sense of uncertainty, I thought I’d try to focus on the killer’s emotions instead.

Forming an emotional bond with the killer quite frankly, scared the shit out of me. I’ve always heeded the words of Friedrich Nietzsche, “Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And when you look long into the abyss, the abyss also looks into you.”

Would I become a monster? How many times could I look into the dark abyss of evil before it changed me? But what choice did I have? If I wanted to stop this man, I needed to understand his motives.

I made myself comfortable in the overstuffed chair that sat next to the bed and prepared myself for anything. I severed my link to the victim and opened my mind to the murderer. I knew the moment I was successful. Nausea bubbled up as the evil consumed me. The darkness of this man’s heart was a black hole, capable of devouring anything good, and leaving nothing behind but emptiness. 

Often times, murderers were enraged when they killed. That wasn’t the case here. There was no anger. The victims simply had something he wanted, and he killed to get it. The only thing I sensed was…fulfillment, and an impatient satisfaction, like he’d been waiting a long time to get what he came for.

I immediately shut off my tie to the killer, feeling even more aggravated than when I began. I learned nothing new, at least nothing that would help me to discover his identity. However, I was now certain about two things: He was evil, and he was not going to stop until he had everything he wanted.

“What the hell does he want from these women?” I whispered, letting out an impatient sigh.

“Hey, Reece. I found something,” Agent Morrison called from the living room.

As I joined him, I noticed he was holding something. “What’ve you got?”

“A solid lead.” He handed me a business card.

“Donovan Security? Who are they, and why is this a lead?”

“It’s a security company based in Denver. But more importantly, it’s the first tangible connection between the victims. One of the other vics hired Donovan Security because of a stalker situation. She’d turned to the police, but they couldn’t do anything since there was no proof she was actually being stalked.” He paused. “This can’t be a coincidence.”

“I think we should go talk to Nathan Donovan,” I suggested, reading the name on the card.

“I agree. Let’s go home and get some rest. We’ll stop by Donovan Security first thing in the morning.”