Touch of Darkness (33 page)

“Okay,” Ruby agreed.

I heard footsteps coming up the hall outside the door. Without even thinking about it, I sent my mind outward to check. Joe was on his way, and Elaine and Brooks were with him. Time to hand the baby back to Ruby and change the subject. But I didn’t want to. Little Jacquie was sleeping sweetly in the crook of my arm. But I knew that, once we got through the next few days, I’d have the rest of my life with this child. Ruby wouldn’t. Even with an open adoption, today and tomorrow were all she really had. I could understand that she wanted to hold Jacquie while she could. Cram all of the love she could manage into that brief bit of time. There are people who think it is terrible for someone to give up their baby for adoption. I could only marvel at her courage. Even knowing it was in the child’s best interest, I’m not sure I would have had the strength. I turned and bent over the bed, handing my daughter back to her birth mother.

23

« ^ »

“Hey, Reilly.” Brooks stepped into a room that was becoming increasingly crowded. The mother in the other bed had pulled the curtains closed around her bed in a huff. I wasn’t sure what had annoyed her, and honestly didn’t much care. She’d get over it, or she wouldn’t. It wasn’t like she and Ruby were going to be best friends.

“Come out in the hall a minute,” Brooks suggested. “We need to talk.”

“Okay.”

I started to step away from the bed and stopped. On impulse, I leaned down and gave Ruby a hug. “Thank you. Thank you more than you’ll ever know.” I whispered the words to her as I leaned over to kiss Jacquie on the forehead. Ruby didn’t answer. I’m not sure she was capable of speech. That was okay. There was nothing more to say anyway. So I stepped away from the bed and walked out the door after Brooks, with Tom at my heels. Tom closed the door firmly behind us and gestured toward the sitting area at the far end of the hall. Either nobody was in labor right now, or the fathers were all in delivery rooms, so we had the place to ourselves. Seemed like as good a place as any for a private chat. It might even be far enough away from the room that the wolves wouldn’t be able to overhear. It wasn’t a particularly big room, about twelve by twelve, painted a simple, soothing dove gray. The chairs were made of chrome and heavy, dark gray plastic in rows of four all welded together into one unmovable piece. There were four rows total, with the inside pair of rows joined back-to-back, facing out toward the other two. They looked a lot like the seats in airport concourses, and were probably just as uncomfortable. But they were practical, cheap, and easy to clean, a staple of public buildings everywhere.

Brooks sat in the far row, gesturing for Tom and me to take seats across from him. He looked grim, determined, and a little bit intimidating. The suit he wore today was solid black. He’d paired it with a pale gray shirt that was almost the exact color of the walls of the room we were sitting in and a tie that had charcoal, black, and silver stripes. It took me a minute to realize why he was probably angry at me. I winced. One of us should’ve called and told him about the vandalism. We were only renting after all and I certainly would want to have known if one of my tenants had their place broken into. But it honestly hadn’t occurred to me. “Look, John, I’m sorry. We should’ve called. But Tom and my brothers got the mess cleaned up. You can’t even tell—” I would’ve finished, but he waved me to silence.

“I’m not here about the house, Reilly. I already heard about it from Mrs. Loren next door.” He kept his voice low.

“I’m here on police business.”

My heart sank, my throat going suddenly dry. He was a homicide detective. Judging from his voice, police business meant somebody was dead, possibly somebody I knew. My first worry was Bryan. I still hadn’t heard from him. Without thinking I sent out a tendril of psychic power. He was alive, busy unloading paper products at the store. My next thought was Miles. I said the name out loud, knowing for a certainty as I did that my friend was dead. As I thought about it, I even knew how.

He’d been at the computer, typing. His seat was an antique wooden office chair, wheeled, but with a high, carved back. He’d tied a cushion onto the seat so that he could sit on it longer without his rear going numb. It was a match for the huge old wooden desk that he used. The file with the notes I’d given him was lying open on the desk next to the keyboard. The doorbell buzzed, but he ignored it in favor of finishing what he was doing. This was important. Whoever was at the door could wait, or not. He wasn’t expecting anyone, so it didn’t matter to him.

He hit “send” and closed out the e-mail program. Whoever was outside was persistent. They were leaning against the doorbell now, so that it was an angry, constant buzz in the background.

“Fine, fine. I’m coming!” he called out. Shoving back the desk chair he rose. For a moment he considered closing out the word processing program and shutting off the computer, but decided against it. He’d take care of whoever was outside first. He walked down a paneled hallway, turning right into a living room that was well, if sparsely, furnished. Looking out the peephole he saw a petite woman in a familiar blue and red uniform and hat. She was standing at the door, holding the red vinyl zipper pack used to hold pizza boxes and keep their contents warm.

He undid the chain and dead bolt and opened the door. “I’m sorry. But I didn’t order—” He didn’t finish the sentence. He couldn’t. A force slammed into his mind, overwhelming his free will in a single, powerful wave. The Thrall moved his body like a puppet, making him step back from the door so that she could come inside. Sweat beaded on his forehead. I could feel him struggling, trying to fight. Every move he made was stiff, slow, as she forced him to walk down the hall in front of her.

“Sit down.” She gestured to the chair by the desk. “Put your hands on the armrests and don’t move.” He did as he was bid. He couldn’t not. Every muscle quivered with the effort he was making to fight. She, on the other hand, was calm, smiling; she wasn’t even straining herself.

Setting the vinyl box on the desktop she unzipped it and began pulling things from inside. First, latex gloves. She pulled them on with the practiced ease of someone who uses them regularly. Next, the box that had given the case its shape. Flipping open the lid she removed a length of plain white nylon rope, the kind you can buy almost anywhere. One end had been tied into a hangman’s noose. Sweat poured from his reddened face, every sinew in his neck showing as he strained to make his body obey his will. With casual ease she climbed up onto the desktop to wrap the loose end of the rope around the ceiling fan, securing it with a quickly and competently tied knot before jumping lightly down to the floor.

“Time to join your true love, doc.” She turned to him, giving a bright smile that showed a flash of fangs. “Upsy daisy.”

He didn’t move. Her smile vanished instantly, replaced with a vicious and angry expression. “I said, get up.” She gestured with her hand and he jerked to his feet like a badly controlled puppet. He stood there quivering as she wheeled the chair beneath the noose.

“Now up on the chair.”

Miles didn’t move. It was costing him to fight her. His eyes were bulging, and I could see flecks of foam at the corner of his mouth, but by God he wasn’t going to go easily, not if he could help it. It made me proud, and sad. Because I knew how the story ended, knew he’d lost.

Tom’s arm went around my waist, pulling me close. At his touch I was back in my body, back in the present. I felt tears well in my eyes. I’d killed him. Oh, the vampire had done the dirty work, but I was the one who’d come to him with the information from Carlton, knowing they were ready to kill to keep it quiet. Brooks noticed my distraction. Any other cop would’ve pounced on the fact that I’d known it was Miles, thinking I might be involved. But John also knew my history, my abilities. He wouldn’t just jump to the conclusion I was involved merely because I’d known the victim.

“It was made to look like a suicide. Like he’d hanged himself in his home office. Considering he’s been depressed for months, it wasn’t a bad plan.”

It wasn’t a suicide. I knew it. Hell, Brooks knew it. I could tell by the way he was holding himself. There was contained power in his bearing, like a fighter poised to enter the ring, a cat waiting for the right moment to pounce.

“The CSI folks found some inconsistencies.” He gave me a long look. “They also found a couple of e-mails he’d sent a few minutes earlier. One of them was to you.”

I couldn’t talk. Tears were choking off my voice. Miles was dead. My friend was dead and it was my fault. It was all I could do not to sob violently against Tom’s chest. I wanted to. I wanted to break down under the weight of the pain and guilt. There should be anger too. But there wasn’t. I didn’t feel any rage. Not yet. The shock of loss was too fresh. But when the rage came, I’d use it to drive me, to help me do what needed to be done. Because there were other lives at stake; lives that could be saved with the information in that e-mail. I held myself as still as I could, trying hard to breathe, panting for air because my nose was too stuffed up from suppressed tears to let oxygen through.

“I’ve read the e-mail, Reilly. So have the techs. What in the fuck is going on?” His voice was practically quivering with anger, and I could see a flush rising beneath his dark skin. Brooks controls his emotions well, but almost no one can hide emotions that intense completely.

“She hasn’t seen it yet.” Tom spoke for me. “Dr. Watkins gave her migraine medicine yesterday that knocked her out. She was home until we came here, and we haven’t replaced her home computer.”

“So she was home with you all last night?”

“Home with me and a houseguest,” Tom assured him. “And there were others who came and went during the course of the evening.”

Brooks nodded, as if he’d already known the answer. He might have. Who knew what witnesses he’d interviewed before he got to me. But it didn’t matter. Only two things mattered right now. Miles’s death, and that it not be for nothing. I wouldn’t let his life be wasted.

I felt the heat of anger beginning to build and I welcomed it. Felt the strength of it flowing through me, shoving aside the tears and grief. I put my hand on Tom’s chest, pushing gently so that he’d let me loose. When he did, I turned to face Brooks.

“I need to see that e-mail.” My words still sounded wet, but there was no weakness in them. Brooks gave me a long look. I saw a flicker of… something, recognition, satisfaction, maybe both, pass through his eyes. He reached a hand into the inside pocket of his suit jacket to pull out a folded slip of paper. He handed it across to me, watching me carefully as I unfolded it and read.

Kate, I was right in my suspicions. These are case notes. It’s rather complex, but the simplest summary I can give you is that it is a retrovirus designed to introduce the DNA of a psychically gifted werewolf into a human simultaneously with Thrall infestation. The result is a werewolf host that can be psychically linked to the hive.

The notes also indicate that the hosts chosen for this have been very carefully selected, using Eden zombies who were not brought completely back to free will.

In short, the Thrall plan to create an army of werewolves over which they will have complete psychic control. The e-mail went on, but I couldn’t read it. My hand was shaking so hard the paper was rattling. Shit. Shit, shit, SHIT! It was horrible. But it exactly matched what I’d seen in my visions. Toby, a former Eden zombie, as both a vampire and werewolf; the werewolves that smelled of vampire and attacked the lone wolf in the park, even the wolf that Tom fought in the churchyard. It explained everything.

“Breathe, Katie. Breathe.” Tom was pushing against my back, forcing my head between my knees. Apparently he thought I was going to pass out. He might be right, based on how light-headed I felt. I put my head down, taking deep breaths. Slowly, deliberately, I used everything Henri Tané and his books had taught me to build shields around my thoughts. But this time I did it differently. I needed more than a single shield, which could be broken with enough power; this one was more like the layers of an onion. Each individual layer just a little different from the last. It would take a lot of energy, a lot of work to break through those layers. And this was a good thing. Because I was going to be coming up with a plan to stop the Thrall in their tracks, and I wanted the element of surprise.

“The e-mails refer to notes you gave him, but we didn’t find anything like that.” He gave me a long look. “That was one of the inconsistencies. There was a suicide note typed on the computer. It had a typo. His secretary tells me he was fanatical about those sorts of things.” He sighed. “But what makes me not believe it was suicide are the e-mails. I didn’t know Dr. MacDougal well, but I’d met him, and I can’t believe he’d check himself out when there was something this dangerous he could help with. Not after what happened with Samantha Greeley. He blamed himself for that. This would be his chance to make up for it.”

He was right.

“It wasn’t a suicide.” I spoke softly. “The vampires killed him.”

“For what was in the notes.” Brooks nodded at the e-mail.

“Probably.” I folded the e-mail and handed it back to him. It was evidence. I could print my own copy later. Print it and keep it to remember him by.

“Do you know what’s going on? Why the vampires would be building their own army of vampire-werewolf crossbreeds?”

“Why does anyone ever build an army?” I sounded almost as angry and bitter as I felt. Damn Dylan. Miles MacDougal had been a good man, and a good friend. Yes, I’ve killed, but it’s been in self-defense, and defense of others. With Dylan in control the Thrall were killing people to further some abstract plan, and sometimes just because they could.

Brooks slid the e-mail back into his inner pocket. “There are really only two reasons. To defend themselves, or to attack somebody else.”

Tom nodded. “And we all know who the Thrall would attack first, who their enemies are.”

Brooks gave Tom a hard look. “You’re thinking this has something to do with the Conclave that’s starting tomorrow at the convention center. I know Mary Connolly had to get a city permit to hold it there. The city clerk insisted there be officers in uniform present.” It wasn’t a question, but I answered as though it had been.