That was interesting, but it didn’t help my case. I was dealing with human men, which meant Atlanna had to breed them with human women. Our scientists had tried splicing alien and human DNA to create halflings, but it simply couldn’t be done. Something about the different cell types being foreign and trying to kill each other.
I read the rest of Harte’s article and stilled when I came across the name A. en Arr, who was helping fund the research. A. en Arr. Atlanna en Arr. So, she wanted her aliens to be able to have more babies. So what did she need with the human men? They couldn’t help her with that.
I typed my notes and thoughts into a new base titled “Fertility Murders and Abductions.” I worked for the next half hour, relieved that I had one answer, at least. Without a doubt, Atlanna was the killer.
When I finished, I muttered, “Save and close,” and my computer shut down. I stood. It was time to meet Jaxon for dinner. I could barely wait to tell him what I’d learned.
Just then my phone unit erupted in a high-pitched wail. My dad, was my guess, so I purposely didn’t answer as I gathered the rest of my guns and knives. I didn’t have time to deal with him. A few moments later, my cell unit erupted in a series of beeps. Caller ID revealed the station house.
I immediately answered.
“We found Rianne Harte,” Jack said. “She’s dead.”
I stood in the middle of the crime scene, cataloging the details. Unlike William Steele, Rianne Harte had not been posed to look seductive. She’d been posed to look brutalized. Of course, she had been brutalized. Her eyes were still wide with terror; she lay inside a coffin, her legs and arms painfully akimbo.
We had the casket completely open, giving us an unobstructed view inside. Naked as she was, I was able to catalog the welts, scratches, bite marks, and bruises that marred her entire body. The hair atop her head had been hacked off completely. Her nails were ragged and broken.
She was barely recognizable as the smiling woman I’d seen in ID photos, yet a blood sample had revealed this was indeed Miss Harte. She’d been locked inside the stifling black coffin with some sort of snake or lizard, only it was bright red and obviously not from this planet. Mandalay had found her here in Whore’s Corner, in the same woods we’d discovered Steele.
“Damn shame,” Mandalay muttered before striding to her car.
“Lilla couldn’t have done this,” Jaxon said beside me. His voice carried on the winter breeze. He stared down at the body, shaking his head. “Not enough time.”
“You’re wrong. She had plenty of time. This body isn’t fresh, and Lilla hasn’t been in custody long. To be honest, though,” I added, “I don’t think she did it. Again, this crime is too methodical. Too precise. Every detail complete.”
I paused as a thought occurred to me. “Was Harte, or is she, pregnant?”
“I don’t know.”
“You,” I called to one of the agents nearby. “Do a pregnancy test on her blood, pronto.”
Five minutes later, I discovered she was not and had not been pregnant recently.
“Ghost found two strands of hair,” Jaxon said. “Arcadian.”
“Of course.”
“They were located on the same branch as before. It’s highly doubtful the killer would snag their hair twice in the same spot. Either they were planted and we’re on the wrong path, or the killer is taunting us.”
“We’re being taunted.” Yes, Atlanna was taunting us. I told him what I’d found out about fertility, Harte, and the deadly Atlanna. “She’s cocky as hell and assured of success. That much we already knew. But why not pose Harte as prettily as she posed Steele?”
“Could be we’re getting too close to the truth, and we’re pissing her off. Could be Harte betrayed her. Or could be Steele was a gift to us, but Harte is a warning.”
All of those made sense. Atlanna had seen me in the parking lot. I’d shot at her, tried to catch her. That had to have pissed her off. “Only one way to find out for sure,” I said.
“By catching our gal,” Jaxon finished for me.
I nodded. Easier said than done.
CHAPTER 12
When homicide arrived, Jaxon and I gathered our notes and vacated the scene. We had all the information we needed, anyway.
“Let’s visit Dallas,” I told him. “Then we’ll do dinner and talk.” I hadn’t seen him in a while, and I suddenly needed to assure myself that he was okay, that he hadn’t slipped closer to death.
Jaxon must have sensed my desperation, because he opened his mouth to protest, then snapped his lips closed. “Good idea,” he finally said.
He drove to County without another word. I rested my head on the back of my seat and emptied my mind. Minutes or perhaps hours later, we arrived, and I found myself striding down the twisted, bland hospital hallways. Visiting hours were over in ICU, but the staff was smart enough to let us pass.
While Jaxon waited in the corridor, I stepped into Dallas’s room, drew in a cleansing breath, and perched myself at his beside. I read his chart. His condition was still considered stable, though there had been no new improvement. I held his cold, limp hand. His complexion had faded slightly; his breathing was not as strong as before.
I fought back a wave of fear, wishing to God I could cling to life for him.
“Listen up,” I told him. “You’re going to recover. Do you hear me? You’re going to recover. I’ve got a plan.” And I proceeded to tell him every detail. “Jaxon is going to help me. He doesn’t have your flare for drama, but I think he’ll provide some entertainment.”
Once, Dallas actually squeezed my hand, as if he heard every word I uttered.
When I left, I felt revived, more willing to conquer the day’s events.
“You hungry?” I asked Jaxon.
“Always.”
I sped down the highway and parked at the front of Trollie’s, in a no parking zone.
Jaxon and I ate a quick, silent meal, both lost in our own thoughts. I had the special, club sandwich, fries, and a bowl of steaming beef soup. Jaxon had wheat toast, plain chicken breast, and a large orange juice.
“How do you survive on so little?” I asked him.
“By eating more meals than the average person.” When he finished, he wadded up his napkin and tossed the crinkled paper onto the tabletop. “Something you should consider.”
The time for relaxation had ended.
A hard gleam entered Jaxon’s eyes, and I knew the same gleam was reflected in mine. Time for business. I leaned back in my seat. “The most important thing is to find Atlanna, but we have no leads on her. There are two people who seem to know the most about her—Kyrin and Lilla. Lilla’s in lockup, and I’ll question her again, but we need Kyrin too. We can play them off each other.”
“If we’re going to have any hope of catching him, we need to talk with Lilla’s boyfriend, St. John, ASAP,” he said. “Get our ball moving, so to speak, for the big event.”
Ah, yes. The fake execution. “Let’s go.”
Half an hour later, I found myself standing inside St. John’s office.
This was nothing like the sparsely decorated enclosure Lilla had occupied. Here, plush burgundy carpet layered the floor. The desk was composed of high-gloss Moroccan wood, expensive and rare. The chairs were padded with altar cloth and mated with matching, perfectly rounded footrests. Murals of cavorting, naked religious figures covered the walls, their mocking expressions so richly detailed that they almost appeared alive.
St. John was seated behind the desk, his freckled face cold and hard. His fingers were laced in front of him. At least he was dressed, and his hands weren’t filled with breasts. I noticed he didn’t ask us to take a seat. I didn’t want to anyway.
A tall, muscular Ell-Rollis, though it wasn’t Bob, I noticed, stepped inside the room. He was wearing a shiny purple suit. “You okay, boss?” he asked, eyeing us like we were ice cold mugs of water and he’d been trapped in the desert for at least a year.
“I’m fine,” St. John said. “You may go.”
The other-worlder gave a quick nod, turned, and snapped the double French doors shut behind him.
I crossed my arms over my chest and waited.
“I want you to know my lawyers are working diligently on Lilla’s case,” he said through clenched teeth. “She’ll be released before you can snap your fingers.”
Just for the hell of it, I snapped my fingers, then glanced over each of my shoulders. “Think she’s been released?”
Beside me, Jaxon grinned.
St. John’s nostrils flared, and he leapt to his feet. His chair skidded behind him, blending with the sound of his hissing breath. I heard the tick, tock of the wall clock as St. John glared at me with hatred in his eyes, but he visibly reined in his temper. He eased back into his seat.
“What can I do for you, Agent Snow?” he asked, his tone all that was polite, though I caught a hint of fury in the undercurrents.
“What were you doing February second between the hours of nine and twelve P.M.?” I asked.
He laughed with genuine amusement, completely abandoning his anger for the moment. He even lifted a cigar from a small humidor on the corner of his desktop and ran the length through his fingers, practically daring me to arrest him for the illegal possession. “You’re not going to implicate me in this murder.”
I arched a brow. “Answer my question.”
Still grinning, he shrugged. “I was here, working. A thousand people can verify that.”
“So you weren’t at the murder scene,” I said, unfolding my arms and planting my fists near the weapons strapped to my waist. “That doesn’t mean you weren’t involved in the actual killing.”
Just like that, in the space of a heartbeat, he lost his good humor. He bared his teeth in a scowl. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You were jealous of Steele, weren’t you?”
“No, I wasn’t.”
I ignored his reply. “What’s the cost to make a hit these days? One thousand? Two? That’s pocket change to you.”
Silence thickened the air.
Then, “Your desperation is showing, Agent Snow,” St. John stated quietly, menacingly. “I’m not involved.”
I gave him a slow, smug smile. I really liked this part of my job. “Maybe. Maybe not. I think it might be fun to try and prove you were.”
“Be careful.” His eyes glowed with menacing fire. “You don’t want to push me. I have many, many influential friends.”
I rested my foot on the edge of the closest chair and swept back my coat to display my gun. I hadn’t yet had time to replace my pyre-gun, and this one was set to kill. “Well, I have a temper, Mr. St. John, and I don’t always follow the rules. I highly doubt you want to push me.”
When he caught my meaning, he paled. His fingers were shaky as he reached for his phone unit to punch for security.
Jaxon stopped him with a quickly uttered, “I think you’ve gotten the wrong idea here, Mr. St. John.” He kept his tone affable. “We know you’re not responsible for Steele’s death. It’s simply standard procedure to question everyone familiar with him.”
The man’s finger stilled over the button, and his eyes narrowed. “Is it standard procedure to accuse and intimidate?”
“No, sir,” Jaxon said. “I apologize if we’ve offended you.”
My lips pressed tightly together, preventing me from shouting obscenities. I refused to apologize to this dirty little weasel, but I wasn’t going to undermine Jaxon’s efforts either.
St. John gave his blue silk lapels a tug, his expression somewhat mollified. “I’m certainly glad someone isn’t blind to the truth. Now, if you’re done with your questions, you may see yourself out.”
Yeah, like I’d leave that easily.
“There’s one more thing,” I said. “I’m suspending Ecstasy’s license of operation until further notice. Not only do you have illegal substances in plain view, you were harboring a predatory alien, and charges could be brought against you.” Watching him, I sauntered to his desk, leaned over, and straightened his tie. “Think about that while you decide if there’s any more information you have for us.”
In a seething explosion of fury, he once again jolted to his feet. “Who do you think you are? You can’t suspend me. You have no right.”
“I have every right.” I waved my index finger in a sugary-sweet good-bye. “Have a nice day, Mr. St. John.”
“Why, you bit—”
I closed the office door with a snap and smiled up at Jaxon. “I think it’s safe to say we got his attention. Call your contacts at every media outlet in the area. I’m ready to deal with Kyrin.”
He held my gaze, nodded. “Thank God you’re not my enemy,” he said with a slow grin.
11:43P . M .
Our plan began perfectly.
I’d almost panicked the moment I pictured Kyrin molecularly transporting himself and his sister out of the building. I calmed down, however, when I realized that wasn’t something he could do.
He would have done so already.
My guess was he couldn’t transport inside a building. Still, I wasn’t taking any chances; I planned to erect a force field at the proper time. That could hold anything.
I’d spent the last hour interrogating Lilla again and got nowhere. Afterward, I had replaced my defunct pyre-gun with one that actually worked, and now I sat in Jack’s office with Jaxon. Waiting. Pretending to listen to my boss as he instructed me on the night’s mission.
