Read Blood of Innocence (Sloan Skye) Online

Authors: Tami Dane

Blood of Innocence (Sloan Skye) (14 page)

“Hmm,” he said again. Then he shook his head. “No. Nothing.”
“Why the ‘hmm’ then?”
“Because I was thinking.”
“About ... ?”
“When we get back home, I want to dig into your father’s research again. We need to figure out what we’re dealing with.”
“‘
What
we’re dealing with, ’” I parroted. “Then you’re convinced the unsub isn’t human?”
He shrugged. “Call it a hunch.”
I had to admit, his hunch made sense. While I couldn’t deny human beings could do some strange and terrible things—read a few history books and nobody could argue that point—this felt off. The pieces weren’t fitting. Some were missing entirely.
Like motivation. Why drain the blood?
Like method. How was the unsub getting access to her victims, and exactly how was she killing them?
Turning a slow three-sixty, I scanned the room, searching for an access from outside.
My gaze settled on the fireplace.
Expecting an arm covered in soot as a reward, I put my hand up the chimney to check the damper.
Sure enough, it was open.
“I think we have our access point.” As I withdrew my hand, something black fluttered down, landing softly on the empty log grate. A feather.
Risking a face full of ash, I decided to poke my head in and look up. The full length of the chimney was clear, no obstructions. But it sure was narrow.
I said, “If a human being were standing on the roof, threading a tube down the chimney to drain the victim’s blood, he or she would need someone in here to get it to the victim. There’s no other way.”
“Which is exactly why I’m thinking it can’t be a human.” JT came to stand next to me. As I withdrew my head from the filthy fireplace, he bent down, moving way too close to me for comfort. He picked up the feather and said, “Hmm.”
“Another ‘hmm’?”
“Birds can fly down chimneys.” Holding the feather pinched between his finger and thumb, he smiled as he straightened up.
“And birds can sit on skinny tree limbs two stories up.” I stood, dusting off my knees. “Then again, so can bats. And insects. That long tube Townsend saw could be a proboscis. Brings to mind an insect’s mouth part. If you’re going to go
there
—meaning, paranormal—we need to look at all the possibilities. Insects. Birds. And bats.”
“Good point.” He ran the feather between his fingers; then he lowered his hand, as if to let it fall. He didn’t release it, though. Instead, he handed it to me.
Accepting the feather, I said, “When we get back, I’ll send this to the lab and see what I can find in my father’s stuff.”
“I think we’re finally getting somewhere. Let’s do a quick interview of the husband, Chad Bibens, then head to Michigan.”
 
 
A little less than an hour later, we were back on the plane, waiting for the pilot to complete his inspection for the second time today. We’d already received a call from the ME. The Bibenses’ infant was missing, like the others. Although neither of us had said it, we were both assuming it was the same unsub. We still had no information on the whereabouts of our one and only suspect, Terry Pietrzak. But it was hard to imagine she would have traveled so far to kill Renee Bibens.
At the moment, JT was squinting at his laptop screen. I was pretty much doing the same thing with Gabe’s computer. Though, by now, I wasn’t so focused. The results of my search had proven to be far from satisfactory. According to the many Web sites I’d perused already, many varieties of vampires were known to shift into some form of animal, bird, or insect.
Knowing I would have to shut down the computer soon, I powered it down and closed my eyes. It had been a long day, and it still wasn’t over. The flight to Michigan was short. We’d find a hotel for the night, catch a few hours of sleep, and then head over to the Canton Township Police Department in the morning.
The chime signaled that the pilot was ready to take off. I tightened my seat belt and put the seat back up. With my eyes shut, I listened to JT ready himself for takeoff.
“Sloan, are you sleeping?”
“No.” I rocked my head to the side to look at him.
He had a book in his lap and was looking at me strangely, as if he was struggling with something. “Things have been strained between us lately.”
“Not really.”
“You don’t think so?”
“No.”
Silence.
The plane started backing away from the airport terminal.
“Are you upset about something?” JT asked.
“Upset? Should I be upset? You sound guilty.”
“No, of course not. I just noticed you’ve been acting differently.”
He was sounding a little like a girl. I found it charming. “I guess I’ve been a little stressed-out.”
“About what?”
“About everything. The case. My parents—Mom’s pregnant. They’re getting remarried. Oh, and did I mention they want to have this huge wedding? And they’re inviting a queen. Plus, I’m playing matchmaker for a certain prince who is hell-bent on getting married tomorrow. And if I don’t find him a wife soon, he’s going to force me to marry him.”
“He can’t do that,” JT snapped, sounding far angrier than he should. “If that little bastard tries anything again—”
“Don’t worry. He won’t kidnap me again. No need for threats.” I tried not to think about how sweet and protective JT was acting right now. One look at him and I could tell he wouldn’t hesitate to act upon any threat he made.
“Oh, they aren’t threats,” he said. “They’re promises.”
“I know.” Conscious of how vulnerable I was feeling, I shifted in my seat. “And I appreciate your concern, but I’ve got things under control. Well, I do with Elmer. My mother, on the other hand, is another story.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“Don’t I wish. Unless you happen to know a wedding planner who’s available.” At his head shake, I sighed. “What about any contacts with someone at Maryvale Castle? My mother has her heart set on getting married there, but I’m having a hard time getting it booked.”
“Sorry, can’t help you there either. But if that falls through, I might be able to help you line up something else. My father’s a member of a country club. It’s a pretty decent place. I think they do weddings there.”
“Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Welcome.”
We stared at each other for a moment. My heart did some little flutters. That was not good.
I faked a yawn. Yeah, I know, pathetic. “Wow, am I exhausted. As soon as we get to our hotel, I’m going to bed.”
JT grinned.
I scowled. “Don’t say it.”
“Okay, I won’t.”
I closed my eyes.
He sighed. “Want some company?” he asked.
I slanted some squinty eyes at him. “You said you wouldn’t say it.”
“I couldn’t help myself. I’m weak.” His grin was 100 percent evil. And 100 percent adorable.
“That you are.” I smiled to soften the blow of the insult and turned my head so he wouldn’t see my cheeks burn.
How I despised the effect his smile had on me!
Keep looking below surface appearances. Don’t shrink from doing so just because you might not like what you find.
—Colin Powell
 
13
 
I am on a beach, the sun blazing, a fragrant sea breeze tossing my artificially enhanced shoulder-length hair.
I’m lounging in a comfy chaise; JT is sitting in an identical lounge on my right.
Gabe comes strolling up, shirtless, droplets of seawater sparkling in the sunshine.
Life is
so
good.
“We’re here,” Gabe says in a soft voice. “Time to wake up.”
I have no idea what he means by that. I am awake.
Or am I?
 
 
“Sloan, wake up.”
It was JT’s voice I was hearing now.
And someone was shaking me.
The sea was gone. The image of shirtless Gabe too.
I opened my eyes. “Damn.”
“Sorry, but we have to get off the plane.”
JT looked apologetic enough. If he’d known what kind of dream I’d been enjoying, he might have been even more apologetic. Then again, maybe not.
“Come on. Let’s get to the room. We don’t have far to go. The hotel’s attached to the airport.”
Pushing myself out of my seat, I coughed to clear my throat. “Wow, I was out.” I grabbed Gabe’s laptop case and checked around my seat, to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything.
“We’ve had a long day.” JT led me out of the plane, down the stairs, and across the concrete tarmac to the airport’s entry. It was cool outside for June. If not for the bright lights illuminating the runways, it would be dark outside too.
“What time is it?”
“A little after eleven.”
We stepped inside. Having entered at a mostly empty wing of the airport meant we had a
loooong
walk to the hotel, which was located at the opposite end of the sprawling building. What felt like an hour later, the doors to the Westin
whooshed
open, welcoming us inside. We checked in—the bureau was paying for separate, though attached, rooms. I asked the clerk if they offered the basic essentials to guests and was rewarded with a little plastic bag containing a toothbrush, toothpaste, razor, and plastic comb. Up we went to our rooms. JT opened his door; I opened mine. We wished each other good night and didn’t move.
I wanted him to kiss me. I was pretty sure he wanted to kiss me too. But, at the same time, I didn’t want him to.
As if reading my mind, he ambled over to me and held my door open as I stepped inside.
It swung shut.
We were alone.
In a dark room.
The lights were out. He smelled so good.
“Sloan, I’m sorry, but ...” His hands found my waist. He firmly pulled me flush to him, cupped my cheek with one of his hands, and then he kissed me.
Stars exploded behind my closed eyelids. Heat crashed through my body. Huge bursts of electricity buzzed up and down my nerves. It was a kiss to remember. A kiss to savor. A kiss that should never end.
But then it did, and the synapses in my brain started working.
What the hell am I doing?
His hand still flattened against my cheek, he looked into my eyes. “Sloan, I’ve needed to do that since our date.” His eyes flicked down to the general region of my breasts. The pad of his thumb caressed my lower lip.
A few bits of my anatomy decided they liked where this was going. I gulped a lungful of air.
“JT, still, we shouldn’t.”
“We’re in a hotel. Alone. Who’s going to find out?”
“Nobody. But that’s not the point.”
“What is the point, then?” He pulled me closer. A very prominent bulge, hard and long, was poking at my stomach. My breasts, which were a little on the sensitive side, were squashed against him. “I want you. You want me. We’re adults. We’re single. We can—”
“I can’t.” With great effort, I pushed against him while taking a step backward to put some distance between my flaming body and his. “I just ... can’t. And what about Hough?”
“We’re friends. Only friends.”
I wanted to believe him; really, I did. But something was standing in my way. Fear, maybe? His teeth sank into his lower lip, the one that had just been brushing over mine such a short time ago. He’d tasted so good, like mint and man and need. How I longed to taste him again.
You’ll regret it.
“You’re sure you can’t?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“If you change your mind ...”
“I won’t.”
“I’ll be next door. Just knock.”
“Good night, JT.”
After giving me one lingering look, he left.
I brushed my teeth, stripped out of everything but my undies, and dropped into the bed. What felt like five minutes later, someone was knocking on a door. I poked my head out from under the covers and followed the sound with my eyes. No, it wasn’t coming from the door opening to the hallway; it was coming from the door leading to JT’s room. No doubt he was going to try convincing me to change my mind about sleeping with him. I checked the clock.
Eight o’clock? In the morning? Could that be right?
“Sloan, are you awake yet? We need to get rolling.”
“Hang on!” I shouted as I rolled out of bed and scampered to the bathroom. “I’ll be there in a few.”
“Meet me at the breakfast buffet,” he shouted through the hollow door.
“Will do.” I hurried through my morning routine. A five-minute shower woke me up. I did what I could with my hair and brushed on a little blush and lip gloss—at least those hadn’t been lost in my go bag. Then I scurried down to the breakfast buffet, set up in a small dining area positioned off the lobby.
JT was sitting in the corner of the room, an empty plate on the table in front of him. He saw me right away and gave me a good-morning grin, which made my day.
I trotted over to him and slumped into the chair opposite his. “Sorry. I guess I slept in.”
“We’re fine. I called the lead detective. He’s not available to meet with us until after ten, anyway.” He motioned to the food, displayed on an L-shaped counter. “Hungry?”
My stomach rumbled. “Starving. Be back in a few.”
JT pulled his laptop out of the case sitting at his feet. “I’ll be right here.”
I returned a few minutes later with a toasted bagel, some fruit, and a glass of orange juice. While I smoothed some cream cheese on the bagel, I asked, “Find anything interesting?”
“No. Your father’s work is far and above better than anything I’ve found on the Net. You?”
“Nothing specific enough to be useful.”
JT shook his head. “I put in a call to the chief this morning, asking her if she’d gotten anywhere in the search for the missing infants.”
“Yeah?”
“Nothing. The bureau has some agents working on the infant black market trade, but so far they haven’t seen any increase in recent activity in the area.”
“What is she doing with the infants if she’s not selling them?” I was still utterly confused about how the infants were being delivered and subsequently stolen without leaving a bit of evidence, or waking the men sleeping in the same bed with their wives. We were missing a big piece of the puzzle. A giant one. “Do you think they’re still alive?”
“I hope so, but ...” JT’s expression darkened. He shook his head. “It’s not looking good.”
I set down my bagel. “We need to stop her.”
“We will.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“Because we have you on our team.”
“I don’t think that’s enough in this case.”
“Don’t cut yourself short, Sloan. You’re brilliant. You’ll figure it out.”
 
JT’s words echoed in my head as we checked out of the hotel, picked up our rental car, and drove to the Canton Township Police Department.
JT had so much faith in me—more than I did, that was for sure. True, I’d helped track down the killer in our first case. But did that mean I’d be able to do it again? It could have been a fluke.
Oddly, for the first time in my life, I was having serious doubts about my own abilities. That scared me a little.
No, it scared me a lot.
At the Canton Township PD, we introduced ourselves to Detective Grigsby, and he led us to his cubicle up on the second floor. On his desk sat a single file box. It was labeled with a number on one end. He rested his hand on the top.
“This is everything we have. The case is old. There’s not much to go on.”
“Thanks.” I eyed the small space. “We appreciate the chance to take a look.”
The phone rang. It was sitting on Grigsby’s desk, in the corner. We all stared at it.
As he eased past us to answer it, Grigsby said, “How about I set you up in a conference room where you’ll have space to spread things out?”
“Sounds good,” I said.
JT and I stepped outside his cubicle to wait while Grigsby took his call. Then we followed him down the hall to a conference room that boasted a big table and comfortable-looking metal-framed chairs, with cushy cloth seats.
After thanking the detective one last time, we dug into the box, pulling file folders out to inspect the photographs and reports.
The date on the box: August 7, 1984.
“Could it be the same unsub?” I asked. “That’s almost twenty-eight years ago.”
JT flipped through a report; then he handed it to me. “We did think the unsub had been at it for a while.”
Right off the bat, we could see the similarities in the cases. The victim was found in her bed. There’d been a small puncture wound in her groin. There’d been no sign of forced entry, no blood spatter, no trace evidence. And it was confirmed, the victim had been pregnant. But that infant had died in utero. And there was no mention of damage to the window screens in the room. From the photos, I concluded there was no alternative entry to the room, no fireplace or skylight. Of course, it would make no sense whatsoever to go inspect the windows now, nearly twenty-eight years later.
“The baby ...” I swallowed a hard lump in my throat.
“Maybe she hasn’t always delivered the infants before killing her victims? Perhaps she’s evolved?”
“Maybe. Other than that, it’s all familiar,” I said, summing up what I’d read.
“Keep reading.” JT, currently inspecting a photograph of the victim’s wound, handed me another folder. “Here.”
I accepted the folder and flipped it open. More photographs. Of the floor, the door, the windows. I noticed something in the last picture. Something pink was sticking out, seemingly caught between the window and the frame.
“JT, look at this.” I showed him the picture. “Could that be the proboscis?”
“Don’t know. But somewhere in here’s got to be an interview of the husband. Maybe he mentions something.”
I dug through the remaining paperwork until I found the interview transcript. It was lengthy. Clearly, the detective on the case at the time had suspected the husband of the crime. By the time I’d read through the entire thing, my stomach was rumbling again. We’d been sitting in that little room for over three hours, poring over the details of a decades-old case.
Ah, the glamorous life of an FBI agent.
“There’s nothing in here about the window or anything suspicious coming from it,” I grumbled.

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