“I think we’ve found a solution to our problem.” Murphy motioned to the woman. “This is Special Agent Alice Peyton. She’s chief of a new unit in the FBI, and she could use your help.”
Yes, yes, yes, the angels were singing! And I was ready to join them in a lively round of Handel’s “Hallelujah Chorus.”
I had no idea what kind of work Chief Peyton’s unit was involved in; I didn’t care. All that mattered was I had a job, and it was within the hallowed halls of the FBI Academy. Gabe hadn’t ruined my summer, after all. And dear old mom wouldn’t be sharing the overpass with Crazy Connie, the bag lady—who wasn’t crazy at all, if you ask me.
Sane has always been a relative term in my world.
I cranked up the wattage of my smile and offered a hand to my soon-to-be boss for the summer. “Sloan Skye.”
“Alice Peyton. It’s good to have you with us.”
“Glad to be here.” That was no lie.
Murphy turned my way. “Special Agent Peyton will take care of transferring your paperwork. I hope you have a good summer, Miss Skye.”
“I will now. Thank you.” I shook his hand.
Chief Peyton motioned toward the elevators. “Let me show you where you’ll be working. We’re one floor up.”
“That would be great. I’ll get my things.” As I snatched up my purse and laptop case, I caught Gabe’s openmouthed gawk. I couldn’t help noticing he held a coffee cup in both hands.
Within Gabe’s earshot, Chief Peyton said, “I’m hoping you can do more than fetch coffee. Do you have a valid passport?”
Karma was my new best friend.
I tossed Gabe a little smirk. “You mean I’ll be traveling with the unit?”
“Of course, Skye. Wherever we go, you go too.” Chief Peyton stopped in front of a bank of elevators. “Speaking of which, Skye is an unusual name.”
“Yes, I suppose it is, statistically speaking. According to GenealogyToday-dot-com, it was the sixty thousand one hundred eighty-fifth most popular surname in the . . .”
I’m doing it again.
“. . . Sorry, I get a little carried away with statistics sometimes.... Um, I was told my father was Scottish.”
“I thought he might be. What does he do?” Chief Peyton pushed the elevator’s up button.
“Well, my father’s dead. He was a professor at the University of Richmond.”
“I’m very sorry.” When the elevator door opened, Chief Peyton motioned me in first, then followed.
I stepped toward the back of the car. “It’s okay. He died when I was young.”
She hit the button for the third floor. “I see. He was a professor of . . . ?”
I wondered for a second or two why Chief Peyton seemed to be taking such an interest in a man who’d been dead for more than twenty years. But I quickly shrugged it off as small talk, her way of making me feel more comfortable. “Natural science—specifically, biology.” I left out the part about how he’d been shamed into giving up his position at the university after publishing an article arguing for the existence of fictional creatures—vampires, werewolves, ghosts, and goblins, that sort of thing. I was fairly certain that would be low on Chief Peyton’s need-to-know list.
“That’s very interesting.” As the elevator slowly rumbled up to the third floor, Chief Peyton began explaining, “The PBAU is a brand-new unit within the FBI. We’ll be handling our first case this week, and we’re very fortunate to have you on our team.” When the car bounced to a stop, she motioned for me to exit first, then followed me out.
Wondering what the acronym PBAU stood for, I headed straight for the open area where the unit members’ desks sat in tidy rows. It was exactly as I’d imagined the Behavioral Analysis Unit, aka BAU, would look. Semitransparent half walls separated a half-dozen identical cubicles from each other. And around the back ran a raised walk, which led to a couple of rooms closed off from the main space. But this wasn’t the home of the BAU; it was the
PBAU
. And instead of a bustling room full of busy agents, it was eerily silent.
“I’m very happy to be a part of the team. I’m eager to get started,” I said.
“We’ll be meeting for our first case review in a few minutes. I want you to join us.”
Join them? I almost giggled like a little girl, I got so excited. I never giggled, not even when I was five and I’d built my first robot, using LEGOs and a few electronic bits I’d “borrowed” from various sources around the house. Mom didn’t need that old drill, anyway. Or the toaster. We never ate toast. And the computer . . . it had been useless, outdated, and begging to become spare parts for Heathcliff, my new best friend. “Sure.”
My new boss tapped the back of a chair, tucked under a nearby cubicle desk. “This’ll be your work space. We’ll get you a computer, supplies, and phone by the end of the week.”
“I get a desk of my own?” I peered at the inhabitants of the adjoining cubicles, thinking I’d introduce myself, but both had their backs to me.
“Sure. Of course you get a desk,” Chief Peyton answered.
“Well, thanks. Don’t worry about the computer. I brought my own.” I lifted my computer case.
“We’ll need to have it checked for security before you can log into our system.”
“No problem.” I set my case on my desk and unzipped it. “This is great. It’s like I’m a permanent part of the team.” Trying not to think about the fact that this whole thing sounded too good to be true, I tried the chair out for size. It was a perfect fit.
“Perhaps you will be someday.” Chief Peyton patted my shoulder, then announced, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Case review in five minutes. Let’s take it up in the conference room.”
Scuffling and chatter followed; in less than five, I was introduced to the three other members of the PBAU.
Of course, there was Chief Peyton. Also on the team were Special Agent Jordan Thomas, Special Agent Chad Fischer, the media liaison, and Special Agent Brittany Hough, the computer specialist/techie geek. They had all transferred to the PBAU from other units. That meant I was the only clueless newbie. Each greeted me with a friendly smile and a handshake.
Finally, with the introductions over, we all took our seats. Standing in front of a whiteboard, Fischer taped up a color photograph of a dead body. Fischer launched into his presentation. “The Baltimore PD is asking for our help solving a suspected murder case. At this point, all indicators are pointing to a nonmortal suspect. . . .”
Did he just say “nonmortal”? No way.
“. . . Bite wounds on the victim’s neck suggest we may be looking for a vampiric predator. . . .”
Vampiric?
“. . . It’s too early to say what the cause of death is, but local law enforcement doesn’t want to wait. The media’s hot to cover the story, and they can’t be held off for long.”
Had Chief Peyton known all along who my father was and what he’d researched?
No. Okay, maybe. Crazier things have happened.
“. . . It appears to be a single vampire killing, blitz attack. We don’t know much, but one thing is certain. This unknown subject—unsub—won’t stop until we catch him.”
They all looked at me.
What were they expecting? Should I have whipped out a wooden stake and led the charge, yelling, “Die, you bloodsucking bastard”?
My phone, set on vibrate, started buzzing.
“Skye, what are your thoughts?” Chief Peyton asked.
“Well . . .” Lucky me, not only was my mother calling, asking me to solve another crisis, no doubt, but it also seemed I’d just been dubbed the FBI’s Buffy the Vampire Slayer. There was only one problem. My mother had taught me plenty—Latin, vector integral calculus, quantum physics. For some silly reason, though, she’d eschewed vampire psychology and comparative biology of shape-shifters.
I didn’t know a Sasquatch from a yeti.
When no coherent response came from my direction, Chief Peyton turned back to Fischer. “I agree. If the unsub is a young vampire on a feeding frenzy, there will be more. And soon.”
Vampire. They were actually thinking this crime was the act of a vampire?
Again, I should’ve known it was too good to be true. This had to be some kind of joke. A freaking brilliant, absolutely hilarious one. Gabe Wagner was behind this. It had his name written all over it.
“Not only must we profile our killer’s personality, but also his species,” Chief Peyton said.
Species? God, this was good. Anytime now, one of Gabe’s friends was going to pop out of a corner and shout, “You’ve been punked!” Then everyone was going to laugh, including me. And then I’d be escorted to my real boss, and I’d find out I don’t get a nice desk and my own computer and phone, but rather a rusty old file cabinet, a yellow legal pad, and that crappy broken chair, shoved into a supply closet.
“Excellent point,” Fischer said. “The being’s physical characteristics will influence his behavior as much as psychological factors.”
Yep, any minute now . . .
My phone, sitting in my lap, started vibrating against my leg.
Gabe?
No. Mom again.
I ignored the call and played along with Peyton’s game, nodding at the appropriate moments, raising eyebrows, and scribbling notes on the pad of paper that I’d dug out of my laptop case.
Very interesting. The body had bite marks on the neck.
Oh, yes. Fang marks were most definitely a sign of a vampire attack.
It appeared blood was missing from the victim’s body, but if so, the body hadn’t been completely drained.
Hmm. “Perhaps the unsub had been interrupted midfeed-ing.
Cena interruptus,
” I offered.
Everyone concurred with a nod.
Okay, this practical joke was stretching on too long. I leaned back and tried to peer around the corner. I didn’t see any sign of Gabe or his posse. Where was he? This had to be a joke. It couldn’t be real.
I checked my phone, thinking maybe I’d missed his call. Nope. Nobody had called but my mother.
At the end of Fischer’s presentation, the team members stood, each one giving me a look as they filed out of the room. Finally Chief Peyton walked to my side of the table, pulled the chair out next to me, and sat down. “We’d like you to come with us.”
“You would.”
“To Baltimore. We’ll be leaving in just over an hour.”
“Oh. Um, I don’t know.” I am so rarely struck completely mute, but this situation had done just that. There were so many questions clogging my brain, I couldn’t think.
“This case is local, but I should mention every member of my team has to keep a ‘go bag’ with them at all times, stocked with the basics—a couple changes of clothes, toothbrush, makeup, hairbrush—”
“Excuse me, but what exactly does PBAU stand for?” I asked.
“Paranormal Behavioral Analysis Unit. Like the BAU, the mission of the PBAU is to provide behavioral-based investigative support to local FBI field offices. Unlike the BAU, the cases we are called to assist with all involve acts of violence that have some tie to the unknown, the paranormal, or the occult.”
Seriously?
I couldn’t help asking, “You don’t really believe there are Edward Cullens running around, chomping people in the neck. Do you?”
“Not the kind of vampires you see in movies, no. Of course not.” Finally this very sensible-looking woman was saying something reasonable. I pulled in a lungful of air and let it out slowly. “I have yet to see a vampire that sparkles,” she added, looking dead serious. “Now, come on, I’ll tell you more in the car. I thought we’d all drive together. It’ll give us a chance to discuss the case.” She checked her wristwatch. “Time’s tight. We need to get going. Sunset’s a few minutes after nine tonight.” Not waiting for me, she headed for the conference room door.
I followed her. “Is it too dangerous to be outside after dark?”
“We’d like to get as much time as possible at the crime scene during daylight hours. It’s hard to see after sunset.”
Why did I feel like I’d just said something totally stupid? “Gotcha.”
She waved Jordan Thomas over. As I’d noticed earlier, he was the closest to my age. Fischer and Chief Peyton were older, thirties, maybe early forties. I’d noticed another thing about him too—he wasn’t hard on the eyes. He had nice . . . glasses. “JT, I need you to give Skye a rundown of our policies and procedures before we leave.”
“Sure, Chief.”
Chief Peyton tapped my arm and looked me straight in the eyes. “Are you with us, Skye?”
That was the fifty-thousand-dollar question, wasn’t it?
The way I saw it, I had two options: either forget about an internship with the FBI, and let my mom down; or chase imaginary monsters.
When I looked at it that way, spending three months profiling vampires and werewolves couldn’t be any worse than emptying Porta-Potties in the county parks. And that I’d done, for more summers than I cared to remember.
I shrugged. “Sure. I’m in.”