Out of Sight (21 page)

G
ray was not surprised to see Nat walking toward him outside the morgue. It wasn’t usually necessary to have both of them there at the same time, but these were extraordinary circumstances. Blades had called Gray when he was taking Marley back to their flat.

“Hey,” Nat said. “Command performance, huh?”

“Seems like it.”

They went in together. This was not a place that was ever convivial and welcoming, but in the evening it seemed particularly somber.

“Nat? Gray?”

Sykes came through the door and walked briskly to join them.

“Looks like a party,” Gray said.

“Yeah,” Nat said. They all turned their mouths down. “Let’s find the man. I’ve got other things to do.”

“Hot date?” Sykes said, and Gray winced.

Nat’s face lost any expression. “Let’s get on with it.”

Gray peered through the reinforced window into Blades’s domain. “Shucks,” he said. “I thought he’d
called us down to show us what the new interior decorator did.”

At that, Nat laughed and pushed the door open.

White light, stainless steel, chrome and white, white, white met them. And even more sheeted bodies than earlier, even though many of the ones they had seen must have been moved by now.

The night watch must have started because there were only two men present, both in scrubs, masks and caps. They washed their hands at a row of sinks behind the autopsy tables.

“Can I help you?” one of the men said.

“Dr. Blades asked us to meet him here,” Sykes said.

“He’s having dinner,” the guy said. “I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

Gray muttered something and “Dr. Death” was mixed in with whatever he said.

“There’s a lounge. Last door on the right. Wait there, if you like.”

Nat thanked him and they filed out. “I don’t like,” Nat said. “He’s an arrogant bastard to call like it’s an emergency, then not be here when we arrive.” But they found the unappealing room the lab assistant had indicated and settled into green plastic-covered chairs with stuffing poking through slits and punctures.

“Look on the bright side,” Sykes said. “He probably has something really important to tell us, and we’d all like that.”

“He’s getting as frustrated with these cases as we are,” Nat said.

“No, he’s not,” Sykes told him. “He doesn’t have the kind of personal involvement some of us do. And I’m not talking about you. I figure you’ve got a lot riding on this, too.”

The sight of David Millet walking in silenced the rest of them.

He skidded to a halt, his black duster almost at ground level. Gray noted that he had a faint bristle of dark red hair visible on his scalp. The dark glasses were in place.

“Blades called you?” Sykes said. “Why the hell would he do that?”

“Who’s Blades?”

Gray gaped at the kid. “What are you doing here?”

David swallowed loudly. “What are all of you doing here? What’s happened? I saw…felt. Um, I caught sight of Sykes coming in here, so I followed. The guy down the hall sent me here. This is the city morgue.” He glanced anxiously around. “Who did you come to see?”

“Dr. Blades,” Nat said dryly. “He’s the head honcho around here, the chief chopper-upper.”

David neither shuddered nor laughed. “Just tell me who it is.”

Gray realized the boy was even more pale than usual.

“Settle down,” Sykes said. “No one you know, thank
God. That’s the problem, isn’t it? You think we came to identify someone we know.”

David fell into a chair and let his head hang back. “Yeah. Stupid but I thought it could be…my…Pascal. He gets so mad about things he could have a heart attack.”

“Well, he didn’t. This is police business.” Sykes gave him a significant look. “Have you been following my—you know?”

David’s mouth set in a firm line and he didn’t answer.

“Nat,” Gray said. “Sykes has forgotten his manners. This is David Millet—Pascal’s son, Sykes’s cousin.”

There was no missing the disbelief on Nat’s face before he covered it up and nodded. “Hey, David. Your dad’s quite a guy.”

“I know,” David said and actually smiled.

“So where’s Blades?” Gray said. “I don’t want to be too late back to Marley. She worries.”

Gray was just as worried about her. She had calmed down but there was no question about how she hated his new career development.

Silence became long and awkward.

Gray cleared his throat. “Did you know Pascal got himself a cat?” he asked the other men. “Damn great orange thing. Marigold, if you can believe that.”

“That’s because she’s the color of marigolds,” David said defensively. “She’s a great cat. Slept on my bed all day. I like her and so does…Dad.”

Gray hid a smile.

“I met her,” Sykes said. “I still bear the scars on my legs.”

“She didn’t scratch you on purpose,” David said, frowning. “She paws because she’s happy. Dad thinks she had a hard time before he found her.”

“That’s probably why she weighs about twenty pounds,” Sykes said.

“Only eighteen,” David cut in. “I weighed her.”

“What’s with everyone in this family finding overfed, abandoned animals?” Sykes said. “If some critter comes after me it’ll be hauled off to the humane society or whatever.”

Gray smirked. “I guess you’d do that. I see how much you hate Winnie and Mario.”

Sykes looked at the ceiling. “Yeah. Mario and Marigold. Cute.”

“Where the fu—were is Blades, dammit all.” Seeing Nat’s color heighten wasn’t easy, but there was a definite bronzed glow over his cheekbones.

As if he heard the call, Dr. Blades came into the room. He carried his gray cotton jacket in one hand and a hamburger in the other. A large bite was missing from the hamburger and he chewed steadily, working the purplish hollows in his emaciated cheeks.

When he’d swallowed he said. “Company, huh? I’d offer you dinner, but there isn’t enough.” Another major bite went into his mouth and the chewing action also made the prominent bone where his eyebrows should have been move up and down.

“What’s going on?” Nat said.

Blades crooked a finger and set off.

“Bloody Pied Piper of Hamelin,” Gray muttered. “Doesn’t he need a flute or something.” They went single file.

Into the morgue itself they went, and Blades held the burger between his teeth while he shrugged into his coat.

He removed the food and waved it, more expansively than Gray had ever seen him do anything. “We’ve got another pattern and you’re not going to like it.”

“I haven’t liked any of them so far,” Nat said, deadpan.

“No nicks and scratches this time. Not a puncture or a cut like the other times. That’s different. I’ve been trying to figure it out.”

Gray saw Sykes cross his arms and frown. “Then maybe this isn’t what we thought it was,” he said. “Doesn’t have to be Embran.”

“Oh, yes. They’re Embran. You really ought to look at what’s happening to some of them. Turning into weird monsters and they’re falling apart—we’ve seen their kind before. But things have changed for them. If it hadn’t, they wouldn’t be showing up the way they are.”

Nat tapped a toe. “We were saying earlier that there hasn’t been any sign of those eggs this time. You haven’t found any pieces, have you?”

“No. I was going to mention that. You saved me the trouble.” Blades’s nostrils flared with his indrawn breath. “Remember me talking about allergic reactions. One person to another?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, don’t wimp out on me. The problems are on the inside.”

They looked at each other, and David swallowed loudly again.

Blades seemed to notice him for the first time. “Who are you?” he snapped.

“He’s my cousin,” Sykes said promptly. “This is family business and I want him with me.”

David gave a small, pleased smile.

“Cousin?” Blades said, obviously confused.

“My dad is Pascal.”

Blades actually laughed, a hollow sound, before he cleared his throat loudly. “That’s interesting,” he said. “Is he likely to pass out on us?” He directed this to Sykes.

“No,” Sykes said promptly. “Quit building the mystery.”

“Do you know what an
auger
is?” Blades asked.

“Like
Jack and the Beanstalk,
” Gray said. What was Blades getting at?

“Like a tool you make a hole with,” Blades said sounding disgusted. “Not an
ogre.
They come in all sizes for clearing obstructions in joined pipes. Some are big enough they’re fed down from a crane. But there are
manual ones to bore different-sized holes. They look like pointed screws only usually bigger and with a handle in the middle to rotate around and around, three-sixty.”

“Oh.” Sykes nodded. “You said something off the wall about rotators or something.”

“Yeah, only now I know more about it. I know what happens—at least to the women.”

“Good,” Gray said. He always seemed to talk under his breath in Blades’s company.

Blades glanced at David and it showed that the boy’s presence made him uncomfortable.

“He can take it,” Sykes said.

Gray figured he was thinking about the kind of life David had lived and assumed he had seen a good deal.

“There was intercourse. Or it was made to look that way.”

David didn’t even blush, Gray noticed.

“So the things that have all been mutilated have been Embrons. Who’s doing this to them and making them decay? Humans? That’s the allergic reaction?”

“I’m talking about allergic reaction because of what was left behind afterward. Skin, some tissue, and it started to show unnatural signs right away. After the intercourse, that’s when the auger came in.” Gray was surprised to see the pathologist show distaste. “I think the cause of death was shock again, this time because the vagina was, er, destroyed. Same for the penis, only the tool had to be different.”

“Which is the reason for the smart comment about a pencil sharpener?” Sykes said.

“Yeah. We’re working on finding out if there’s something portable that would make a screw.” Blades had the grace to fight with an urge to make some other comment at that.

“Jesus,” Nat said. “Are you sure?”

“Wanna take a close look.”

“Not unless I have to before this is all over,” Nat responded quickly.

“Let’s pass for tonight,” Sykes said.

Gray felt sickened. Again he checked David over. He looked a little green but was holding up better than most would.

“Look,” Blades said. “It’s late and I want coffee before I clear up one or two things I’ve got to do. If you want more information in the morning I’ll be happy to talk to you then.”

Gray saw both Nat and Sykes tighten up and said, “Gotcha. We’re all past ready for dinner.” Although he wasn’t sure he’d be eating tonight.

“For the record,” Nat said, “you did assemble this little gathering tonight. We didn’t just barge in for a chat.”

Blades’s deep-set eyes narrowed to slits. He raised his forehead, sending ripples of creases upward into his high, bald dome of a head. “I assembled it? As in, I invited you over?”

“Yeah. You said earlier you’d want to see us again.”

“But I didn’t ask you to come tonight.”

“The hell you didn’t,” Sykes said. “I got a call.”

“So did I,” Gray said. “Marley and I were almost home.”

Looking around at them, Blades didn’t look happy. “I never contacted you tonight. I didn’t ask you to come here. Or you, Nat.”

Seconds moved like hours filled with whirling thoughts—and encroaching fear.

“They got us out of the way,” Sykes said, striding for the doors. “This was a setup.”

P
oppy didn’t know how long she was unconscious. She didn’t think it was long because she could hear familiar street sounds, music, hawkers, people yelling.

Tied up on the floor of some sort of vehicle she tried to move her hands but they were bound behind her back. Her ankles were tied together and her head was covered, a head that ached and buzzed.

She wasn’t dead. If “Marcus” had wanted to, he would have killed her and left her in the alley.

He wanted her for something else.

Poppy’s stomach turned. Her heart beat hard and she broke out in a sweat. A gag tied between her jaws made her gorge rise.

The vehicle stopped but the engine kept running.

She saw a wash of red glow and the vehicle slowed. Had to be a traffic light. Poppy did her utmost to raise herself in hopes of being seen by someone in another car.

A slap on the side of her head sent her sprawling again. She hurt so badly all over.

“Make it easy on yourself,” a voice she didn’t recognize said. “Don’t move. Do what you’re told to do when you’re told to do it and it’ll go easier for you.”

The gag was soaked and she tasted blood. She let herself lie where she was and tried to pretend she had passed out again.

“She okay?” a different voice said.

“Yeah. But she won’t be.” The first man laughed. She thought it was Marcus. “Has she passed out again?”

A hand beneath her chin turned her covered face up and she made sure her neck was loose so her head fell back heavily when released. “She’s out,” the second man said. “You didn’t go too far, did you? The boss won’t like it if you did.”

“We never even seen this boss,” Marcus said. “Maybe we ought to get a lot more for her than he’s offering. I’m not afraid of anyone.”

“If you’re planning to roll the dice on a double cross, count me out.”

“We were sent to do this job together,” Marcus said. “If I go down, so do you only that’s not going to happen. I know what I’m doing. Don’t forget that.”

“You threatening me?”

“Take it any way you want.”

They ran out of conversation and drove without speaking. Poppy had no idea how much time passed or which direction they were headed. She didn’t expect any success but she pulled enough calm together to reach out to the mind of the man behind the wheel.

He came in loud and clear.

Almost at once she shut him off. Money was on his mind, and sex. He was seeing her legs in the dress that had ridden up beyond the level of her panties. And he was weighing his chances of fucking her before he had to hand her over. He’d let his partner have a turn, so there would be no worry about being given away.

This boss, whoever he was, wouldn’t listen to anything the woman said, not that she’d have enough wits left to try complaining.

Poppy struggled against tears. They would only help choke her and achieve nothing. But tears ran down her temple nevertheless. She had had mild success contacting Sykes psychically but she didn’t have any idea where to direct her efforts.

She considered all the behaviors others would have found weird. As Sykes had said, aura reading—and brain wave patterns come to that—would be useless. What else could she do?

Nothing.

Poppy held very still and fought to quiet down and think. She had strong hands, really strong. When she was little, eight or nine, her brothers had called her “numb knuckles.” It had all been a joke for a while but they had impressed on her that the only reason she could make an arm or leg—belonging to someone else—go numb by knuckling it was because they pretended it worked.

She had forgotten that but then, they were probably right and she’d given up the whole thing after a few months.

When she had pressed her knuckles into Liam’s leg he fell down. Or pretended to. They had learned as children that each of them had a method of self-defense and for a while she had thought that was hers.

But her hands were still unusually strong.

Poppy felt so sick, she wanted to faint. This wasn’t the time to make a fool of herself by pressing her fingers into desperate people and waiting for them to fall over. Anyway, they would only get up again.

She felt the little green velvet bag Wazoo had given her and wished she could touch it, just for comfort.

These apes had her completely incapacitated.

She thought about the bag and how Wazoo had told her to wear it always, which Poppy had. It comforted her to imagine Wazoo’s spirited little presence and she hoped she would see her again.

If she ever saw a friend again.

“You worked for this guy before?” the man in the passenger seat asked.

The other one grunted.

“Is that yes or no.”

“It’s mind your own goddamn business. I’m going to pull over just up here and go in behind some buildings I know. They’re abandoned.”

“Why?” The passenger sounded anxious. “I didn’t see this boss of ours, but that weird guy who talked to
you said the guy he works for is a scary dude. We shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

“We’re running early—thanks to my quick work.” Marcus didn’t sound as sure as he wanted to. “We’ve got a little time to enjoy ourselves.”

“Enjoy… You hungry or somethin’? I wanna get paid and get away.”

“Why shouldn’t we have some fun with the lovely lady before we hand her over?” Marcus said.

The other guy made an explosive noise. “Straight there, straight back and make sure you don’t hurt her. Those were the instructions.”

“We’re not going to hurt her, just make her happy.”

“Sure. And when she tells them what happened, what then?”

Marcus laughed, not a pretty sound. “There was a big struggle and she got banged up—trying to escape. You saw how bad they want her. They won’t be listening to her, anyway. The man wants something from her and he doesn’t care about any complaints she could have.”

Something thumped against the rear of the vehicle and it swung.

“Shit,” the passenger said. “Watch where you’re driving. All we need is to blow a tire.”

“You will be in on my plan?” Marcus said. “Up to you. If you just wanna get your jollies from the show it’s okay with me.”

Poppy couldn’t settle her mind. Terror messed with every thought she had. Terror and revulsion.

“Damn, you hit something else.”

It was as if the rear of whatever they were in dropped down, dragged, then continued on.

“I’ll stop,” Marcus said. “You get out and check.”

“Nothing doing.”

“Do as you’re told, unless you’re tired of living.”

“Don’t threaten me. They want both back, remember? They’re not stupid, they want us watching each other and doing what the big man wants done. Nothing more, nothing less. Let’s get her where she needs to be.”

“Damn you,” Marcus growled. “It isn’t every day you get a chance at one like her.”

But he kept driving and Poppy dared to hope he wouldn’t stop after all.

The vehicle slowed down.

“Now what?” the passenger said.

“I’m just going to check her over and make sure she’s okay.”

“Shit,” the other man said again and with feeling. “Too bad you can’t keep it in your pants.”

“Shut up and remember I’ve got the gun and the keys.” Marcus swerved to the right over bumpy ground and slammed on the brakes. In minutes his door opened and Poppy heard more noises. Then he was on her, his hands all over her, tearing open the front of her dress, his rough fingers scraping up her thighs.

He knelt behind her and used her torn dress to start yanking her onto her back. And Poppy ground the
knuckles of both hands into his calf, the only part of his legs she could reach. She twisted and shoved as hard as she could. If nothing else, his muscle wouldn’t feel so good afterward.

Marcus grunted. He released her and squirmed around, moaning.

The vehicle started to rock, to bounce up and down until Poppy heard something snap.

“Get yourself up here,” the second man yelled. “This thing’s falling apart on us.”

Marcus rolled away from Poppy and she could feel him lying beside her, breathing hard and moaning.

“What the fuck’s the matter with you?” the second man said.

“Get yourself in the driver’s seat.” Marcus’s voice came in bursts. “And keep your mouth shut.”

Again a door opened and the springs moved as Marcus got out. Poppy heard him cry out and curse. Then there was weight on the front of the vehicle again as he must have got in, or dragged himself in.

She realized her mouth was open with shock and closed it. “Numb knuckles” had done it. Those brothers of hers had put her off from using a lifesaving skill and they were going to hear about it.

“What’s the matter with you?” the man who was driving asked Marcus.

“Leg gave out on me. Cramp or something. Get where we’re going and not a word about any of this.”

Poppy heard keys change hands.

“You got it,” the man said, sounding relieved.

They drove on, a scraping sound following them. “You sure we shouldn’t get back there and check this thing?” the new driver said. “May only be the exhaust crapped out on us, but—”

“We’re almost there,” Marcus said, gasping. “Let’s do this and get the hell out of here.”

More silent minutes passed, silent except for whatever bounced and scraped along behind them.

“They’re waiting,” the driver said. “Damn, I told you we couldn’t waste any time.”

“Shut up and stay that way,” Marcus said. “When they open the gates drive only partway in so they can’t shut us inside. I don’t trust these crazies. They can get her through the side door.”

The swinging of large gates was unmistakable and the man behind the wheel drove forward only a couple of feet before they stopped again and the brakes jammed on.

Poppy felt air through an open window, and Marcus yelled. “She’s behind my seat. Slide the door open.”

She couldn’t hear the response.

“We got engine trouble,” Marcus said. “We gotta get this baby to the shop. Take her out. We’ll get a loaner and be back to settle up.”

More unintelligible conversation.

“Okay,” Marcus said. “So we’ll take her back with us and get here again when we can.”

The slam of a sliding door jarred every nerve in Poppy’s body.

She was picked up gently enough and carried in someone’s arms.

It had to be a man who had her and he seemed to do his best not to jolt her as he walked swiftly. What she heard next was unmistakably gunfire and she started to choke on the gag. The man who had her broke into a run and didn’t stop until they had gone through what seemed like several doors. At one point his shoes stopped clipping a hard surface and she figured they were on carpet.

“Get that off her head,” a huge voice roared. “What have they done to her? My instructions were that she was to be treated with absolute care.”

“This is how she was delivered, Protector.” Her feet were set on the floor and more than one pair of hands unfastened the bag from her head, slashed the bonds at her wrists and ankles and rapidly straightened her clothes.

The room was dim.

“Get that away from her.” Looming before her, a massive head of carrot-colored hair, and a shaggy beard and mustache to match stopped the breath in her throat.

But the gag was cut off and she covered her face, her aching jaws. The corners of her mouth hurt and she felt blood there.

“Put her there.” Long silver robes swished as the huge figure turned and pointed to an opulent couch, suddenly illuminated by spotlights.

Swept from her feet again, she was carried and set
down as if she might break. Silken pillows supported her head and more silk settled softly over her body.

At last she spared some attention for these other people. Insignificant, a small number of ordinary people in ordinary clothes, their faces bore no expressions, their eyes must see but did not register reactions.

“And the two who brought her?” the red-haired one asked. His shaggy eyebrows moved dramatically with each word. Heavy gold rings shone in his ears. The hand he extended toward her showcased long, curved nails encased in solid-gold covers chained together at thick wrists.

“Dead,” a flat voice announced. “They tried to leave, and we saw they had touched the woman.”

His attitude and the atmosphere around him thunderous, the great creature approached her, frowning down, eyes glowing.

“Get out,” he told the others. “Take the bodies of those two and have them thrown to our sick. They will enjoy some vengeance, even if only on two dead humans.”

The whispering of people departing very quietly followed.

“You have an important purpose,” the big man said to Poppy, his voice vibrating from the walls. “You will help save my people.”

“What?” Poppy could just croak out. Was she unconscious again and having nightmares?

He gave a vast laugh. “Through you I will get what
I must have. You and all the humans’ greatest weaknesses will get it for me—their empathy, their honor and conscience, their ability to love.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Zibock, Protector of the Embran. I am here to do what I can no longer trust to others. You will become my…what do you call it? My accomplice.”