"Let's cut to the chase, sir. Are you arresting me?"
"Are you confessing?"
"No. For the record, I didn't kill Brody." John fought to keep his patience. "I didn't even know he was there."
Gamble stared at him, his expression unreadable. Finally, he heaved a small sigh. "Let's just say that right now, you're a 'person of interest.' Pending further investigation, you're relieved of all duties except one—helping
Dresden
."
John didn't like it, but knew better than to argue. He reached for his badge, but Gamble palmed it and moved it out of his reach. "I'll hang on to this for a while. The gun, too," he added when John reached for the weapon.
The
Glock
was department issue, but…
"The
Airweight
is mine," he said, picking it up and tucking it into his ankle holster. "Is there anything else you wanted?"
"No. That'll be all."
John left, managing not to slam the door after him, and headed for his desk. There were papers and files there he needed to get. Some distance behind him, he heard the sound of Gamble's door opening.
"I'm going to lunch," he heard the assistant chief grumble to his secretary.
John flipped through a stack of folders on his desk and pulled out the ones he wanted: all the
Exsanguinator
files. Glancing around, he noticed the bullpen was nearly empty. Only a few cops remained at their desks on the far side of the room. Picking up his files, he was about to leave when a thought occurred to him. Setting his files down, he grabbed an empty folder off his desk and walked to Gamble's office. As he passed the secretary, he held up the folder.
"Gamble wanted this on his desk before he got back from lunch," he said, barely glancing at her as he headed for the door.
She nodded, reaching into her lower desk drawer to pull out her purse. "Just set it anywhere," she told him. "I'm going to lunch now, too, unless you need something."
He shook his head. "No, I'm good. Enjoy lunch."
He stepped inside the office and slowly eased the door shut behind him.
Gamble's desk was a mess, but it didn't take long to find the file on Brody. He picked it up and scanned the contents. There wasn't much there.
Closing the folder, he carried it to the door and peeked out. The secretary was gone. Behind her desk, the copy machine beckoned. What he was about to do would no doubt be the nail in his coffin if anyone found out, but John figured his career was already over, so what did it matter?
Ten minutes later, he'd copied the contents of the folder, returned it to Gamble's office, placing it exactly where he'd found it, and was back at his desk, gathering his things. With a final look around, he left. He was almost to the elevators when the doors opened and
Dresden
stepped out.
"Detective
Boehler
?
Are you leaving?"
Dresden
asked,
his superior tone instantly grating on John's nerves.
John didn't slow down as he passed the shorter man, wanting only to be in that elevator when the doors closed, preferably with
Dresden
on the other side.
"Where are you going?"
Dresden
demanded
,
taking a step to follow him just as John hurried onto the elevator. "You're supposed to help me today."
"Just delivering a few files, Dick." John held them up with one hand as he punched the lobby button with his other and watched the doors close.
He spent the rest of the afternoon at home, reading the file on Brody's murder and reviewing the other
Exsanguinator
cases.
John couldn't find any reason why Brody would be involved with the
Exsanguinators
as Miles Van Home had been. More likely, Brody was a victim because he matched the latest victim profile—he was a killer who'd escaped justice. Further reason to believe the man he'd seen in the park that night was an
Exsanguinator
.
John tried to remember the man's face, but instead saw only the image of a raven-haired beauty with brilliant emerald green eyes that had scorched him last night when he'd left her. He rubbed his temples, trying to wipe her face from his mind, and turned his thoughts to the
Exsanguinator
once more. It seemed unlikely that he would find the man in
The night was alive with screams of pain and death. Fear kept her frozen in place. She wanted to shut her eyes, but couldn't. The creatures were everywhere, looking human except for their talon-like fangs and fiery red eyes. There were so many of them.
Too many.
She huddled closer to her mother's side.
Felt her mother tremble.
Then, in a flash, her mother was gone and she was alone.
She looked around—desperate, terrified
—
and saw her mother lying on the ground.
So still.
Unmoving
.
"Momma, wake up." She crawled to her, frightened at the sight of blood covering her mother's neck and body.
Feeling a cold trickle of fear lance down her spine, she turned and fell back. One of the creatures was coming toward her. His mouth was covered in blood; her mother's blood. When he smiled, his fangs dripped a crimson red.
She scrambled back, pumping her childlike legs as hard as she could, knowing she could never move fast enough. Never get away.
Heart slamming against her chest, Jessica pulled
herself
from the nightmare only to feel hands holding her down. Immediately, she struggled, knowing she was fighting for her very life.
"Hold her," a disembodied voice ordered.
"I'm trying," a second voice grumbled. Another set of hands joined the first, pinning her to the bed as she straggled against the captivity. She felt a sharp pain in her thigh and, in her mind, saw fangs sinking deep into her flesh. She cried out in frustration and fear.
The sharp pain seemed unending, and she felt her body grow sluggish from the loss of blood. She continued to fight, but her efforts seemed ineffectual. After a few minutes, the hands holding her eased their painful grip and finally let go. She tried to jump out of bed, to escape, but her body was too heavy to even move. She should have been terrified, but she wasn't. She lay still, strangely calm in the face of her own death.
From somewhere in the darkness, the voices spoke again.
"What do you think?"
"I don't know.
Maybe a psychotic episode or maybe just a nightmare."
The voices grew fainter.
"That must have been one hell of a nightmare…"
The ringing of the phone dragged John from his sleep with an eerie feeling of déjà vu. After hours of wandering around the park in vain the night before, he'd finally dragged himself to bed at four in the morning.
"Hello?" he barked into his cell phone.
"
Yo
, Johnny.
I can't hang on to the car forever. You want to see what's in it or not?"
Shit, he'd forgotten.
"Sorry, Billy.
Thanks for calling. I'm on my way."
After shaving, showering, and putting on a fresh change of clothes, John felt almost human as he headed for the impound yard.
"Found it over by
John peered through the windows and spotted a purse on the floor of the front passenger seat, with a silver-and-onyx sword scabbard propped next to it.
"Thanks, Billy. Looks like you were right." He straightened and pulled out the keys that he'd confiscated from the woman the night before. He pressed the button on the automatic opener and heard the satisfying click of the lock bolts opening on the doors. Now, he thought with anticipation, it was time to find out exactly who this Jane Doe was.
It was almost
when John pressed the buzzer on the door to the lockdown wing of the psych facility. The paperwork had taken longer than he'd anticipated, not that he'd hurried.
He turned his face to the camera so the guard inside would have a good view of him and waited. Seconds later, John was given instructions over the intercom to enter, followed by the mechanical grind of the heavy-duty door sliding back. John stepped past it and stopped at the next set of doors, which didn't open until the outer door closed behind him. Once inside the facility, he crossed the open seating area, quickly scanning the faces of the dozen or so "guests" sitting there, searching for one in particular but not finding it.
He made a brief stop at the nurses' front desk before heading to the room where he expected to find Jane Doe. Jessica, he quickly amended as he knocked on the door and waited for a response.
He was met with silence, and though courtesy dictated that he should knock a second time and wait, after what
he'd discovered digging through her purse he wasn't feeling particularly
inclined toward courtesy.
He pushed open the door and found her sitting on the bed, leaning against the headboard. She was wearing a pair of unisex institutional coveralls; the makeup around her eyes was smudged and her hair hung in snarls about her face.
She looked up when he walked in and relief briefly flickered across her face before she masked it.
"I see you're availing yourself of the amenities," he criticized, even though her appearance did nothing to diminish her attractiveness.
She put a hand to her hair and then let it fall as she barely glanced at him. "I was not provided with amenities. It would seem you forgot to approve them. No doubt you thought I'd try to drown myself in the shower or slit my wrist with the comb."
He felt momentarily guilty. "I'm sorry. I forgot."
"What are you doing here?" she asked, sounding sullen, but he thought he detected a note of hope.
"Time to go."
He tossed the bag he'd picked up at the front desk onto the bed. It held the clothes she'd been wearing the day before. "Put these on. I'm leaving in ten minutes, with or without you."
He left her staring off into space, showing no sign that she'd heard a word he'd said. A dull ache in his jaw told him he was grinding his back teeth again, so he forced himself to relax. He'd read the report from the night before and knew they'd had to sedate her. It bothered him that no one had tried to talk to her before resorting to the use of drugs, but he supposed that in this facility they had their reasons.
Exactly nine minutes and fifty seconds later, her door opened.
"Cutting it a little close, aren't you?" He fought his irritation as he stepped out of her way. She gave him a disdainful look as she walked past, carrying herself with a regal air as if she were the queen of
England
. As soon as she was in front of him, however, John saw the reason why.
"Hold it." He was half-surprised when she stopped and turned back to face him. Taking her by the shoulders, he turned her around and stared at the dark hair caught in the buttons on the back of her shirt.
"Problems?"
"Don't touch me," she ordered, trying to move away from him, but it was a
halfhearted
attempt.
"Hold still." He tried not to notice the silken feel of her hair as he unhooked it from around the buttons. In his imagination, he saw the combed strands flowing between his fingers like a cool stream of water on a hot day.
Get a grip,
Boehler
, he chastised himself.
"Okay," he said, his voice sounding a little huskier than normal as he lowered his hands and took a step back.
"All done."
"Thank you."
The words, even the tone, were lost on him as soon as he lowered his gaze to hers. Suddenly, the air between them seemed electrically charged as those emerald green eyes held him momentarily mesmerized. It was ludicrous, he told himself, and yet he had the hardest time breaking the spell. That bothered him a lot more than he wanted to admit.
"Come on," he growled at her. The sooner they left, the sooner he could be rid of her.
"Am I under arrest?" Jessica asked, trying to ease the tension in her shoulders without the detective noticing. The drugs they'd injected into her the night before hadn't entirely left her body, but they were nothing compared to the lingering images of the nightmare. It hadn't felt that real in a long time, but she knew why last night had been different.
She cast a surreptitious glance at the detective. It was hard to judge his age, but she guessed him to be in his late thirties or early forties, which made him a good ten to fifteen years older than
herself
. His dark hair was overly long, but she thought it was because he had put off getting it cut more so than because that was the intended style. His jaw was covered in a layer of dark whiskers, giving him a slightly rugged appearance. Physically, he was an attractive man, but the thing Jess noticed most about him was his presence. This man exuded quiet confidence, in a take-charge kind of way. She thought he probably had a hard time working undercover because this was not a man one could easily overlook.