7th Sin: The Sequel to the #1 Hard Boiled Mystery, 9th Circle (Book 2 of the Darc Murders Series)
Author: Carolyn McCray
Date: 2013-01-30 23:00:00+00:00
Keywords: hard boiled mystery; Horror; Police Procedural
Description: Praise for the Darc Murder Mysteries... A pathological serial killer is terrorizing Seattle and the only person standing in his way is Detective Robi Darcmel. From the chilling opening scene to the last lines of the first episode, I don't remember taking a deep breath. As one observer notes in the opening scene at the slaughter house to a man clearly intrigued by the sight and smell of blood, visceral and flesh--"You are one sick puppy, dude." Indeed...This is a fascinating if horrific read. One of the most unusual "heros" I can imagine, Detective Robi Darcmel has Asperger's Syndrome....Be pre
Publisher: Off Our Meds MultiMedia

From the #1 bestselling author in Hard Boiled Mysteries and Police Procedurals, Carolyn McCray, comes 7th Sin, the sequel to the blockbuster mystery suspense thriller, 9th Circle.

Praise for 7th Sin...

“McCray creates a fabulous mixture of fright and suspense that makes it impossible to put down. As Trey and Darc embark on an investigation into the latest string of murders, they have no idea just how uncanny this killer can be. McCray's knowledge of crime and law enforcement shines! She creates eerie crime scenes, sensational dialogue, and an extraordinary sense of terror. Until the very end, she will keep you guessing!!”

Lacinda Jaynes

Amazon Reviewer

“Another amazing and exciting chapter in the Darc murder mystery series. This book contained all the necessary ingredients for a successful sequel; the trademark gore and shocking horror, the mystery element as to the identity of the killer and the riveting, page-turning pace. It was also nice to see the evolving character development for each of the main characters including more of Trey's wit and humor and Darc's struggles with his emotions. If that was not enough, then there was the ending!”

Romano Robusto

Amazon Reviewer

“Ms. McCray has a knack for drawing the reader in by having characters that quickly become friends... and not so friendly. Engaging and wonderful company for the beach or a comfy weekend (ok, I was so enthralled it took me only a day). For those who have not read the prequels, it is a fine stand alone book; however, I recommend that you do so in order to appreciate the depth of plot, characters, and the world of the Darc Murder series.”

Oy Ve

Amazon Reviewer

“Imaginative and clever, "7th Sin" is a novel that will pull you directly into the action and suspense of a thrilling murder mystery adventure. This is a definite page turner, and witty besides. Although I have not had the chance to read the first installment of the series, the vibrancy of the characters and the writing swept me along instantly. It is a joy to read such a compelling, intelligently written piece of literature, and I highly recommend it!”

AR2

Amazon Reviewer

If you are a fan of characters such as Alex Cross and Hannibal or movies like “7” and Saw, 7th Sin is sure to shock and satisfy.

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Afterword

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PROLOGUE

A sense of anticipation surged through the Lord’s servant like an electric current. The feeling was akin to sexual excitement, but it was so much more than that. More full. More refined. More exalted.

The Lord’s work remained for the servant to fulfill.

Not like that other. The man who had claimed the same divine origins for his cleansing, but who had taken the lives of innocents. And he was now dead. A clear sign of his failure before the Almighty.

Martyrs died too, of course, but always with a strengthening of their designs. There was nothing like that happening in the Emerald City. It still reeked of depravity and decay. It still swam with the murky runoff of a million evil acts.

It was a city ripening for a dark harvest.

And here was the one who was the worker in the vineyard, preparing to do the work of the Master.

The servant’s hands trembled with the urgency of the task before them. There would be much for them to do. Hands washed clean in the blood of the Lamb. Hands made ready. Made holy.

The servant of the Lord watched as the subject of his observation primped and preened. Visions of the “changeable suits of apparel, and the mantles, and the wimples, and the crisping pins” of Isaiah washed before the servant’s eyes. Isaiah. Indeed, Isaiah had been a man of God.

The figure came back into sharp focus.

As the servant moved through the silence and peace of the deadly darkness, the continued sayings of the prophet walked alongside. The servant listened and smiled as the soul filled with the eternal light of the words from on high.

And it shall come to pass, that instead of sweet smell there shall be stink; and instead of a girdle a rent; and instead of well set hair baldness; and instead of a stomacher a girding of sackcloth; and burning instead of beauty.

Fitting words for the task at hand.

CHAPTER 1

Janey!

Dr. Mala Charan’s eyes shot open.

She was nestled in her bed, safe within her bedroom, the light from her alarm clock casting a soft green glow across the pattern of her blue and white bedcover. The display indicated that it was 2:37 am. Everything was in its place, familiar and comforting.

This was dreadfully wrong.

She shouldn’t be here. The last memory she had was of the priest lashing out with horrid and violent precision to slit the throat of the guard in Janey’s hospital room. He had turned to face Janey, moving toward the bed, as Mala had broken from her stupor and rushed to guard the mute little girl, her heart pounding in her throat.

A hand had held a pungent cloth to her mouth, the odor fruity and sweet. And then there was nothing. Nothingness.

Until now.

Mala turned on the bedside lamp, whipped the covers off of her body and pushed herself to her feet, noticing in passing that she was dressed in her purple satin pajamas. What was going on here? If she hadn’t been sure of her own memories and experiences, she would be questioning whether the whole thing had been some horrific nightmare.

But that had definitely happened. Father John had killed the guard. The memory was far too distinct and clear and connected to other events from the last few days to have just been some elaborate subconscious concoction.

Moving around the room, Mala found nothing out of order. Things were just as she had left them before she headed back to the hospital room to stay with Janey. She’d made just a quick stop-off for a change of clothes… and glancing to her right, there they were, hanging over the chair of the desk that sat against the wall opposite the bathroom.

There was something off about all of this. Something other than the fact that she couldn’t account for how she had gotten back to her apartment. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but the… feel… of the room was wrong.

Mala strode into the bathroom, looking in the mirrored cabinet, under the sink, behind the shower curtain that covered the bathtub. Looking for… what? What was she trying to find? Something that would explain her sensation of wrongness, maybe?

But nothing was wrong. Nothing had been disturbed. Even the box of tampons under the sink had the same number that had been there before. Everything looked completely and utterly normal.

So why did she feel so jumpy?

It was time to stop running around and figure this out. How would Darc do this? Mala had never seen anyone analyze available information better than Detective Robi Darcmel. His cognitive abilities surpassed any that she had ever seen.

And while the savant aspect of his intellect was clearly beyond her, Mala knew herself to be a capable and intelligent woman. Time to demonstrate it.

Time to do a little detective work.

Everything around her looked normal, but Mala could not get away from her sensation of oddness. Okay, perhaps she should go with that. All looked like it was in order. How did it feel? Running her fingers over her pajamas and the bedcover, something did indeed seem not quite right, but she couldn’t quite identify what that was.

Smell? There was the scent of the potpourri that she kept in the bathroom, cinnamon and clove and orange. But that was it.

Wait.

No it wasn’t. There was a faint odor of something else. Something rawer, which she hadn’t noticed due to the more familiar smell of the spices in the air.

Paint. Glue. Something chemical that had recently dried.

It had been at least a year since she’d had anything painted or had carpet installed. Nothing should smell like that in her apartment. Mala felt her pulse in her temples as she tried to quiet her harsh breathing. She kept her face as neutral as she could. If what she was beginning to suspect was true…

Slowing her breathing down to the point that she could hear the ambient noise in the room, Mala’s fears were confirmed. Her heater had always had a slight metallic whir. Now, air was moving through the vents, but no whir was present.

So unless her furnace repair guy had broken into her place to fix her heater—doubtful, since he was a lazy ass—this was not her apartment. Looking around, it seemed impossible. The placement of all of the objects in the room were so exact in their replication of her own living space.

Brushing her hand over her pajamas, she realized what had bothered her before. The fabric wasn’t worn enough. She’d had them for at least a year and a half, and the cloth had broken down a bit. But these were new.

Tiny details. Ones that would be easily overlooked. Mala continued to keep her face a still mask, showing nothing to the outside world. She refused to move to the door of her bedroom, as much as her body was screaming at her to do so. There was no need. It was almost certainly locked from the outside. Because she had realized something else as she had been examining the room.

Mala had been staring right at the priest when the cloth had been placed over her mouth and nose. It hadn’t been him. There was someone else helping Father John.

And whoever that person was had imprisoned her here. In this carbon copy of her own domicile. In a prison that suggested that her captor had an intimate knowledge of her.

Her body wanted to shake with shock and fear, but Mala suppressed the response. She would continue to show nothing as she figured out what kind of person could have done this. Once she knew with whom she was dealing, she would get herself out of here.

She hoped.

*

“Mala. She is alive.”

Detective Trey Keane felt his heart rate soar. He had thought that it couldn’t get much higher than it had been a moment ago when he had opened his eyes from a deep sleep to see his partner, Detective Robi Darcmel, looming over his bed—and then looked to Darc’s side to see little Janey, who should be in a group home sleeping off her multiple traumas right about now.

But here they were in the living room, and Darc was telling him that the woman whose head they had seen bobbing around in a cauldron filled with boiling blood… was alive. Trey battled between the surge of hope he felt swell up in his chest and the reality of what his eyes had seen.

“Dude, we saw her…” Trey glanced down at Janey, who was looking up at him with big eyes. Trey looked at his partner and mouthed the word head. “Separated from her body, man. There’s no way she made it out of that hospital room alive.”

Darc shook his head, one sharp shake to negate what Trey was saying. “It was wax. Just like the priest’s.”

Trey sat down. Hard. He hadn’t chosen to sit down, really. It was just a reaction to way too much information coming his way. Unfortunately, there hadn’t been a chair in his immediate vicinity, so Trey was now on the ground, looking up at his partner and the little girl. Maybe he’d stay here for a minute or two. Yeah, that seemed like a good idea.

“Mala’s… alive?” Trey pulled his knees into his chest and wrapped his arms around them. “That’s… I mean that’s… Wait. How do you know that she’s alive?”

“Janey drew a picture,” Darc responded, holding down a piece of paper. Trey grabbed it and held it close to his face. He couldn’t make anything out. Perhaps that was because it was the middle of the night and the only light was coming from the street outside. Trey switched on the lamp next to the couch and winced as his eyes adjusted.

“Just for the record, I’m okay with you coming to visit me during normal daytime hours,” Trey complained as he studied the picture in front of him. There was a lot of red, which was typical of Janey’s pictures, and a sad commentary on what she’d been put through at such a young age. There were also several figures standing around, with Janey in the bed. Trey squinted at the drawing, his eyes going a bit crossed in the process. “I don’t get what I’m supposed to be looking at here. All I see is people and what looks like a whole lot of blood.”

Darc pointed at each of the figures in the picture. “That is the guard who was watching over Janey. This is Father John. Here is Mala—”

“Wait. Then who is this other one behind the doc? The one that looks like he’s in a nurse’s mask?” Trey gestured to the person standing behind Mala.

“That is the person Janey saw abduct Dr. Charan.”

“Hold the phone. You said the priest was over there.” Trey shifted his focus to the part of the drawing Darc had indicated earlier. This was confusing.

“Yes,” Darc replied. “That is the priest, in the process of killing the guard. This individual is the one who abducted Mala.”

“Oh! Gotcha.” Trey had it now. He was just a little slow on the uptake at one o’clock in the morning. “That’s the Henry guy from the slaughterhouse, right?”

“Not according to Janey. She had seen Henry in the underground chapel, but when I asked her if that was who had taken Mala, she shook her head in negation.”

Okay. It was maybe time to get off the floor. Trey pushed himself up to his feet and slumped onto the sofa. This was a lot to process at the best of times.

“So… the priest had two helpers?” Darc gave Trey the beginnings of a frown, his typical expression when Trey was testing his patience. Not fair in this particular set of circumstances, but it was true that Trey wasn’t on his A-game right now. Or even B or C. Trey rubbed at his forehead, staving off the beginnings of a headache. “Right. Moving on. But just because Father John didn’t take her doesn’t mean she’s not dead.”

Darc moved into the pool of light cast by the lamp. “That is correct, but my assessment is that if she were to be killed, it would have happened immediately, as it did the guard. I believe she is being held.” Janey stirred at his side, nodding her head, her eyes bright.

And there was a whole different set of problems. “Fine. But Janey can’t come, Darc.”

“We need her. She is the only one who has seen the kidnapper.”

“Yeah, I know,” Trey muttered. “And he’s six-foot-two, has a shaved head and an annoying habit of showing up in the wee hours of the morning.”

Darc’s brow furrowed. “Your description does not fit the drawing Janey made.”

“No,” Trey shot back. “But it does fit the guy standing in front of me. Dude. You kidnapped a little girl. I’m not even going to talk about the fact that it’s way past her bedtime.”

“It was not a kidnapping. The worst charge that would be made against me would be that of custodial interference in the second degree. A misdemeanor. The likelihood is that I would never be prosecuted.”

Damn that Darc and his superior knowledge of the statues of Washington state. Still. This was not going to go well when the people from the group home woke up and found Janey missing.

“All right, all right.” Trey held up his hands. “I don’t have any other choice. I’m going to have to call the Captain. Then we’ll get Mala.”

Captain Merle would know what to do. Sorting through the politics of a situation was his job, right? And he wouldn’t be that pissed off at having to wake up at this hour, right? It wasn’t like he already had issues with Trey’s performance as a detective.

Trey sighed.

Somehow, he was less than confident as he picked up the receiver and dialed.

*

Darc traced through the patterns of glowing logic that swirled through his mind as one small part of his consciousness paid attention to Trey’s side of the conversation with the Captain. It did not sound as though it were going well.

From what Darc could hear of the Captain’s bass voice, it seemed louder than what should be heard over a phone, and in a much higher register. Indicative of shouting, perhaps. Or gaiety. Although that seemed unlikely. Captain Merle had not seemed overly attached to Dr. Charan.

The overwhelming majority of Darc’s cognitive powers were engaged in the search for Mala. From the moment Janey had drawn the picture, Darc had known that the doctor was alive. There was something odd about the knowledge, however. The logic lines confirmed that the head inside the cauldron was more than likely not Mala’s. The probability there was 83%. Enough for a statement of cautious optimism.

But as to whether or not the doctor remained alive, there was no logical consensus whatsoever. While Darc’s argument that Mala would have been killed at the hospital were she one of the targets was accurate, it did not take into account everything that had occurred afterwards.

Darc’s defeat of the priest could have sent the associate into a panic, causing him or her to purge everything related to the man, including Mala. That was a strong possibility, as Darc well knew. Mala was also intelligent and strong. She was unlikely to remain a willing captive. If she were to attempt to escape, that attempt could prompt the helper to kill her as a prophylactic measure.

And yet, something inside of Darc insisted that Mala was alive. There was no definitive line that Darc could trace to reassure himself, and yet the feeling persisted. Mala was alive.

This was a gray area that was beginning to intrude on Darc’s process more and more lately. He was not sure exactly how to proceed. These gray flashes seemed to dismiss, ignore, or openly challenge the findings of the bands of light and swirls of glowing symbols on which Darc had relied his entire life.

It was troubling. And distracting.

Trey got off the phone, demanding a bit more of Darc’s processing capacity. He turned more of his attention toward his partner.

“Captain’s contacting the group home. He’s covering for us, for some unknown reason, probably to cover his own butt. Says he’s going to tell them it was an emergency situation that necessitated taking the girl into protective custody.” Trey turned to Janey. “We’ve got you at least until tomorrow morning when the DSHS opens up.”

The Department of Social and Health Services was not likely to look kindly upon what Darc had done, regardless of its necessity. The lines of information within Darc jangled in their irritation with such unthinking interference.

But for now, they had to start following the lines that would lead them to Mala, starting with finding footage from the hospital, as well as any surrounding ATMs or traffic cameras. The priest and his helper had to leave the hospital somehow.

Darc began moving toward the exit to the apartment, Janey in tow. Trey moved around in front of him, cutting off his pathway toward the next logical step. Darc could have left using the fire escape, but with Janey with him, that form of egress would be less than efficient. Trey held up a hand.

“Darc. We have to figure out what to do with Janey. It’s great that we may be able to avoid jail time here, but it’s still a terrible idea to have a little girl up and running around in the middle of the night. Seriously, Darc. People will stare.”

“That is unacceptable. Her support is vital.”

The glowing streams of intelligence within him sparked and fizzled in frustration. Janey was an important part of this process. Without her to identify the accomplice, their search would be impaired. The longer it took for them to find Mala, the greater the likelihood that she would be harmed.

But Trey remained planted in front of them, apparently unmoved. Darc was about to explain in greater detail the reasons behind taking Janey with them when a voice interrupted them.

“Someone want to explain what the hell’s going on here?”

It was Maggie. Their conversation must have woken her up. And while so much of their relationship remained shrouded in the gray emotional fog that so baffled Darc most of the time, there was one thing of which he was certain.

Maggie would not like what he was planning one little bit.

*

Feigning sleep after finding out that she’d been abducted by an unknown person was proving to be one of the most challenging things Mala had ever done. Upon discovering that she was not in her apartment, but rather in an elaborate reconstruction, Mala had gone back to bed like nothing was wrong.

But she hadn’t gone back to sleep. There would be time for that later. First, she needed to figure out with what—or, rather, whom—she was dealing.

The fact that he had been working alongside Father John meant that there were more than likely some common threads there. Some sort of religious or moral common ground, no matter how warped by their respective psychoses.

But the apartment, that was the key to her captor’s persona. The fact that he or she… most likely he… had gone to such lengths to recreate her apartment. What did it mean? It could be an obsession with her. Mala was not so immodest as to refuse to recognize that she had qualities that might attract a stalker.

This felt texturally different, however. There was a level of detail here that even someone who had developed an obsession with her would more than likely not attempt to recreate.

Whoever had done this wanted control. Control over the situation, control over her environment, control over her. More than likely, the entire space was under observation. Microphones, video cameras, possibly even infrared.

The realization threatened to overwhelm her. Every instinct inside her warned that she needed to shut down, make sure she did nothing. But that was the exact opposite of what was required here. She needed to actively convince her captor that he had succeeded in dominating her, while at the same time getting him to let her go.

And the first step? Letting him know that she knew of her captivity. That she knew… and approved. She opened her eyes and spoke to the ceiling.

“Thank you,” Mala whispered. “Thank you for taking me here. For keeping me safe.”

If she was right, even such a quiet response would be heard and processed by her abductor. She waited, the darkness and silence around her oppressive.

Mala had been waiting for several minutes and was about to drift back into sleep in spite of her situation, when she heard something. It was a voice, quiet and distorted—male in its timbre, although that could have been part of the distortion.

“You are welcome, Dr. Charan.” There was another pause. “I am happy to discover that your intelligence is as high as I had assumed. You have not tested the door, yet you know that this is not your apartment. Impressive.”

Swallowing every rational response, Mala stepped into the crazy with the voice. “Please. Call me Mala. And of course it’s not my apartment. My apartment would not have kept me unharmed.”

“You understand. I was worried you would not… Mala.” The voice managed to caress her name, even through the distortion. Her captor was definitely showing all the signs of a masculine persona, although that did not have to correspond to actual physical gender in the concrete world.

“I do. I do understand. You did this for me. For my own good.”

“Yes. I did. I truly did.” The voice seemed earnest and utterly sincere, which made the distortion, both of the voice and of the rationales employed, that much more bizarre. Mala suppressed a shudder.

“I only wish I could properly thank you… in person.”

“No.” The response from the voice sounded harsh and abrupt. “No! That is not the kind of person that you are. ‘Properly thank you’? Like some slut on a Wednesday night sitcom? And in person?” The voice stopped speaking, but Mala could hear breathing, low and heavy.

“I’m sorry,” Mala pleaded. “That’s not what I meant by that. Not at all. I would never—”

“Do you think I’m stupid?” The volume of the voice had been raised and was now closer to a shout. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

“No, no, I’m not doing anything. I just wanted to thank—”

“Shut up! Shut up!” There was a piercing moment of agonizing feedback from the speakers, then the whole system went silent.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just wanted to thank you.” Mala whispered those words to the empty air, over and over again using every variation she could think of. She had no way of knowing if what she was saying was being heard, but she kept on going, speaking to the darkness around her.

Round one had not gone quite as she had planned.

CHAPTER 2

The only thing worse than a pissed off Maggie was a tired pissed off Maggie.

And as far as Trey could see, there were a lot of reasons for her to be both. There were currently two too many people in the apartment… one of them her ex-husband. Trey wasn’t in bed, where he was supposed to be. And there was a little girl in footy pajamas holding onto Darc’s hand with a death grip.

Didn’t seem like a scenario made for the Disney channel.

Shockingly, once Maggie made her way into the living room and saw the entire crew in front of her, there was no yelling. Instead, Maggie knelt down in front of Janey and asked her if she wanted any cocoa. Janey looked up at Darc, then over to Trey, back to Maggie, then nodded her head.

Trey was about to breathe a huge sigh of relief when Maggie leaned in closer. “Don’t think that this is the end of this, lover boy. You’ve got some serious explaining to do as soon as I find some marshmallows.”

Maggie bustled about the kitchen, heating up some milk over the gas range, and mixing in a little bit of this, a little bit of that. Cocoa powder, sugar, some chocolate chips, a splash of hazelnut Torani syrup, even what looked like some kind of spice. Cinnamon, maybe? Nutmeg?

Trey was now wanting some of that concoction for himself, but judging by the look on Maggie’s face every time she looked at him, he decided it maybe wasn’t the moment. Maggie found a baggie full of miniature marshmallows and threw a handful of them into the steaming mug that she then placed in front of Janey.

Darc showed his impatience by verbalizing at random intervals how much time they had now wasted. By his latest utterance, they were up to five minutes, thirty-seven seconds.

“She’s a little girl, Trey. I get that she’s been through a lot, but that makes what you’re doing worse, not better.” Maggie’s voice was next to a whisper as she stood at Trey’s side, watching the tiny figure on the stool pushed up to the counter blow on her hot beverage.

“Yeah, I know.” Trey winced as Maggie turned a disbelieving eye on him. “Trust me. I do know. It’s just that… she’s formed this weird attachment to Darc. Wants to be around him all the time. And… there’s a woman whose life is in danger. Janey’s the only one who can help.”

“It’s one-thirty-five in the morning, Trey. This can’t wait until tomorrow?” Maggie held up a hand and blew out a sharp breath. “Don’t answer that. Darc’s involved. Of course it can’t wait until tomorrow.”

“Every second she’s out there, the chances of us finding her alive go down. You know, the first—”

“I know,” Maggie interrupted. “The first forty-eight hours are the most important.” She took in a deep breath, held it for a moment, then sighed it out. “Okay. I get it. You guys have to do what you’re going to do.”

“Thanks for understanding, babe.” Trey leaned over to plant a kiss on her cheek. Maggie held out a hand to block him.

“Not so fast, babe. I’m coming with you.” Maggie started moving back toward the bedroom.

“Wait. What? You’re what?” Trey followed behind her, not sure he had heard correctly.

“What are the chances that you two bozos are going to be able to watch out for her like she needs?” Maggie rummaged through the drawer of their bureau, pulling out clothes to change into.

“We could—”

“Save it, Trey. I’ve seen what you think food looks like when you’re on a case. Janey needs more than Cup-o-Noodles and cheese puffs to survive, even if it’s only for a little while.” She pulled on a sweatshirt, whipping her hair out of the back of the neck hole with an ease of practice that Trey had always found strangely sexy. “I’m coming with you, and that’s final.”

And that was that. Trey had heard that tone from Maggie before. There were only two options here. He could tie Maggie up and slip out while she was trying to get free, or he could try to convince Darc that having Maggie with them was a good idea. Only one of those options allowed for Trey to ever be in the same room with his girlfriend again.

Looked like Maggie was joining their motley crew. Now all he had to do was figure out how to tell Darc that his ex was coming along for the ride.

No problem.

*

Darc’s fingers flew across the keyboard of his computer. Of course, his fingers were not actually flying. That was a metaphor. Imagery that had nothing to do with what was happening in the real world.

It was something Trey had spent a good deal of time explaining to him. Dude. Sometimes people say things that don’t exactly match up with how things really work. It’s called being colorful. You should try it sometime.

So he was trying.

He was not good at it.

His fingers were jointed appendages that could move only as fast as the impulses from his brain caused them to move, limited by the dexterity and functionality of the nerve endings and musculature contained within. And right at this particular moment, that functionality was being pushed to its utter limits.

Maggie was in a room the precinct currently used for storage. Trey had found a couple of cots and had set up a bedroom of sorts for Maggie and Janey. Janey hadn’t seemed too keen about the whole thing until Trey had explained to her that it was the only way she’d be able to stay close to Darc. After that, she’d settled down right away, clutching her bear with incomplete fur to her chest.

Trey was on the phone with the hospital, trying to get footage from security. From the look on his face, he was not having much success. That, or he had to take a bowel movement soon. Those two expressions seemed remarkably close to Darc. More of the gray clouds he always had trouble sorting through.

Darc was pursuing other footage. The priest had always been cautious. His partner would more than likely operate under the same basic parameters. The probability that Trey would find anything on the hospital security cameras, Darc placed at 17%. Not impossible, but highly unlikely.

So Darc was putting together a list of all of the businesses surrounding the hospital parking lot exits, as well as any traffic cameras in the vicinity. Each camera turned into a glowing symbol that he placed into the growing pattern of light within his inner vision. It was creating a web that Darc hoped would prove inescapable.

Trey hung up the phone and turned to face Darc. “They’re sending over the footage, but there’s a problem.”

“Several of the cameras have malfunctioned.”

Trey’s face went slack. Surprise, perhaps? “Wow. That’s… hold on. Are you checking up on my work again? I thought we were past that point.” Trey’s eyes had now gone squinty and his brow was furrowed. An indication of growing anger, or a sign of existential angst? Gray, gray, gray. Darc often felt that he was surrounded by nothing but gray.

“Look at the pattern of the cameras. I think you will find that they lead in a direct path from Janey’s hospital room down to the parking structure and out onto the street.”

“Allowing our favorite psychopath a free pass out of the structure without being recorded.” Trey hit his hand against his thigh. “You know, if the guy hadn’t murdered like everyone in sight, I might have to admire him.” Trey’s frown deepened. “But that leaves us with just about nothing.”

“That is not accurate,” Darc responded. “I am locating all cameras in the nearby areas.”

“But sorting through all of that footage will take days. Weeks. We’ve probably got hours.”

Darc did not deign to respond. The answer would be self-evident, as the patterns that currently existed only in Darc’s mind began to appear on the computer screen. Pulling up a schematic of the hospital, Darc marked the cameras that were inoperative, using the information sent over by security.

Trey moved over behind him as Darc used the points of camera vulnerability to map out the route the priest and the abductor must have taken. A path that led from the room to one specific elevator, then down to and out of the parking garage.

They had their exit point. Now to fill in their surroundings. From the glowing symbols in his mind’s eye, Darc began putting up possible points of observation from surrounding businesses. There was even a traffic camera close by which might help, depending on the direction the two had turned as they moved out onto the street. Behind Darc, Trey stirred.

“Oh. I get it. We know where they went, so we know where to look.”

Once more, Darc felt shock at how little those around him could perceive about their surroundings without the comfort of the lines of logic that guided Darc’s own course. It put into stark relief the difficulty Darc himself now faced.

How did he continue trusting his reason-based results if he knew that the gray clouds of emotion could override a valid conclusion? Logic told him Mala was dead. But he knew Mala was alive. That was illogical. And yet he was using logic to find her. It was a paradox.

All he could do was move forward and hope his universe did not implode.

*

Stay away from the locked door. Stay away from the locked door. Stay away from the locked door.

Mala could feel her sanity slipping away from her, one stifled impulse after another. She had to consciously remind herself to keep from lingering near the one exit she knew would take her to the outside world. Keep herself from throwing her body at the door, trying to force it open. Keep herself from screaming at the microphones placed around the mock apartment for her captor to let her out.

But there was a calmer, quieter, colder part of her mind that kept ticking away. Analyzing her abductor, taking all available information and categorizing it, correlating and creating patterns. From what Mala knew of Darc, it was not at all his process, but it was her approximation of it.

And that part of her mind was adamant in its insistence that she make no move that would indicate a desire for her to escape. That was paramount in her interactions with this individual.

One of the pieces of information to come out of this clockwork side of her own persona was that her captor was romantically interested in her. It was the only explanation that fit all of the available information. The time and effort spent on containing her in an environment so precisely recreated went beyond the obvious desire of her abductor to control her. It spoke to an attachment that had built, perhaps over an extended period of time.

When she had spoken of her desire to thank the priest’s assistant in person, she had inadvertently violated some part of that attraction. Perhaps it was one based off of her lack of romantic interaction. It had been years since she had seriously dated anyone. Even casual entanglements had been lacking for months.

The unintentional sexuality of her words had sent her captor into a rage. Mala had ruptured a dearly held image the abductor seemed to hold of her—but hopefully not broken beyond repair. Attraction was organic. Organic breaks could heal.

But not if she appeared anxious to leave her admirer’s fervent embrace. For that is what this recreation of her living space really was. A way to control her, certainly. But more significantly, a manifestation of twisted love.

Time to once more attempt to take control of her situation. The same kind of control a palm tree had over the storm that threatened to uproot it. Yield, submit, let the storm winds bend you double, so that when they blew themselves out with the force of their own fury, you remained. Whole. Root system intact. Ready for the next thing the world decided to throw at you.

There was something that was probably very Zen about all of it, but Mala wasn’t very concerned about that aspect. She just wanted to survive this. Survive, and escape with her own persona still in place, her root system still in the ground.

“I miss you,” Mala breathed out into the microphones that she knew were there, waiting to receive her input. “I hurt. I’m in pain knowing that you thought I wanted… that. To use it to fool you. To escape. Nothing could be further from the truth.” She waited for a long moment, then added, “I’m so sorry.”

There was a long, sustained sigh from above. It was so quiet that Mala wasn’t positive she had heard it at all. It blended into the background noise of her not-apartment. But after another extended pause, the voice returned.

“I have to be so careful, Mala. You have no idea.”

Yes. Let him take control. “Tell me. Please.”

“The world is filled with corruption. Hypocrisy. Deception.” Another long breath, this one more audible. “Sometimes I despair. When I thought you…”

“It’s all right,” Mala encouraged the voice. It was important to keep her captor talking. Building a relationship of trust. “I understand. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“I want to believe you. I truly do.” The timbre of the voice changed, even through the distortion. It was softer somehow, more intimate. What Mala was attempting seemed to be having an effect.

But now was not the time to push. It was the time to establish a pattern of complete submission.

“Don’t worry. It will take time,” Mala assured her abductor. “And we have all the time in the world. I’m not going anywhere.”

“No,” the voice agreed. “No, you are not.”

There was a click of the microphone switching off, and Mala was once more in the dark. According to the clock by the bed it was now 4:17 in the morning. And really, regardless of what time it truly was in the outside world, for now she had to operate on that fact. That it was 4:17 in the morning and that she had another couple of hours of sleep left before she should start her day.

What that day would look like, she had no idea.

CHAPTER 3

The sun peeked over the horizon, its first tendrils of light snaking their way through the ever-present clouds. It was going to be another gloriously overcast Seattle morning. Just the kind of day that called for staying in bed with a cup of hot cocoa and little marshmallows.

Especially the kind of homemade stuff he’d seen Maggie making Janey. His girlfriend had been holding out on him. Oooh. Maybe a candy cane to stir it with. That would be nice. Although the peppermint wouldn’t go with the spices and hazelnut. Probably. Something to think on.

Trey rubbed at his face, forcing himself to refocus on the task at hand. So far, he had gone over the video footage for two of the four traffic cams that surrounded the streets leading away from the one unmonitored exit of the parking lot.

At least this was getting him off of his current ongoing case. He’d been stuck on that one for quite a while and could probably use a break. Before the priest had come along, Trey had been working a low-priority serial killer case, mostly on his own. Low-priority because the victims were prostitutes. Trey’s because, at one time, those had all been his girls. Still felt like they were.

Stretching out his arms to get rid of some of the stiffness, Trey darted a look over at his partner, whose face was less than an inch away from his computer. How in the world he managed to focus his eyes when he was that close was beyond Trey.

“Hey, Darc. You find anything?”

“Yes,” his partner responded, without looking up from the screen.

“What? You found something? Why didn’t you say anything?” Trey bounded up from his chair, almost knocking it over in his rush to get to Darc’s side.

“I said nothing because what I found was irrelevant to our current search.”

“Oh.” Trey walked back to his chair and slumped into it. “You could’ve said that before I almost killed myself.”

“I have little to no control over your ability to keep yourself safe,” Darc intoned.

Oh, that was just… Actually, no, that was true. Trey had just about gotten himself massacred more times than he could count. Still, Darc didn’t have to rub his face in it. Trey harrumphed and went back to looking at his footage. Then he stopped.

“Hold it. What did you actually find?”

“I told you. It is not relevant to our present scenario.”

“Humor me, dude. What was it?” Trey had found over the years that what Darc considered unimportant was often exactly what Trey wanted to know.

“I found the vehicle the priest used to take Janey away from the hospital.”

“Whoa! You found footage of Father John? And you didn’t think that was important?” Chalk another one up to Darc’s Asperger’s. Seriously, the guy operated on a completely different wavelength than anyone else. It was like he was from another planet. Or, better, another dimension.

“It is not important, and I suspected that it might distract you, which it seems to have done.”

Trey took a deep breath. It didn’t work. He took another. Still didn’t.

“Um, Darc. Do you think you could just show me?”

Darc didn’t answer him, but he did open up the section of footage that Trey was asking to see. There, in a silver Ford Escort, was a shot of a face that Trey had thought he would never see again. And, in the seat next to him, a smaller figure. Janey. Seeing the priest now, after the experience they had down in the cathedral underground, made Trey shiver.

Darc started to move back to the footage he had been working on earlier, but Trey put out a hand to stop him. “Hold on. What are they wearing?”

“I am not sure, and nor does that matter.” Darc shifted the mouse again, ready to click out of the video image frozen on Father John’s face.

“Dude. Would you just… stop for a sec? I want you to punch in closer on them.”

The muscle in Darc’s jaw tightened, but he did what Trey asked. It was a minor miracle, and something that wouldn’t have happened four years ago, when they started working together. Progress. Excruciatingly slow progress, but progress nonetheless. The image moved in and the focus sharpened.

“Scrubs.” Trey whistled through his teeth. “That’s it.”

“What is it? I do not understand your fixation on what they are wearing.” Darc was doing his version of irritated, which included a flat tone to his voice and lots of teeth grinding.

“Of course you don’t understand, Darc. Two days ago you were walking around the streets of Seattle after dark covered from head to toe in blood. That’s my whole point.”

“What is your whole point? You are not being clear.”

Wow. Hey, pot, this is the kettle calling. Guess what? You’re black. “Okay, I’m going to ignore the abject hypocrisy of that statement for a moment. What I’m saying is that there was a whole lot of blood in that room. And for them to get out without anyone noticing, they had to put scrubs on over their clothes. Not just Father John, but our accomplice, as well. Scrubs and facemasks. That jibes with Janey’s picture.” Trey pointed at the screen. “See? Father John is in green.”

Darc’s face got that thousand-yard stare that it sometimes did when he was thinking hard. “So we can fast-forward through the footage much faster, looking for that specific clothing on the driver. And possibly the passenger.”

“Totally! It’ll cut down our search time by half.”

“I calculate that it will take off closer to 67 percent.” Darc was already scrolling through footage at a rate of three times what he had been using before.

Trey froze in place. He might have been imagining it, but that sounded awfully close to a compliment. Darc didn’t give compliments.

Maybe it would be a good idea if Trey sat down. Before he fell down.

Besides, he had footage to go through.

*

If it had been her apartment, Mala would have seen the sun peeking through the curtains in her room. Well, seeing that it was Seattle, that wasn’t necessarily true, but there should have been a brightening.

There had been no further communication between her and the voice since much earlier that morning. That conversation had gone much better than the first, but had gotten her nowhere close to getting out.

Although it had given her a number of ideas. Her captor had two things going on. There was the romantic-slash-obsessive thing happening with Mala herself. Then there was the desire for control.

It was likely that her abductor had no conscious idea of this. In his mind, that need to dominate would be thought of as a strong protective streak. He probably thought of himself as a Nice Guy. Maybe more than that—one of the Truly Good.

If it were the first, a more direct approach might work. But the latter required finesse, and Mala worried that it was the latter. There was only one way through that scenario, and it was a path spiked with emotional landmines, all ready to explode in violence at the slightest misstep.

She needed to test her theory to make sure.

“I’m sure they never appreciated you,” Mala murmured.

And then there was the wait. This was the painful part for Mala. Was her captor not responding out of a desire to manipulate her? Or was he not there? Or had he seen through her charade and was about to do something horrific? There was no way of knowing other than to be patient.

In a circumstance like this one, the last thing in the world Mala wanted to do was be patient.

Fortunately, this time it paid off. “Who is it that never appreciated me?”

“Other women. They can’t have thought as much of you as I do.”

This was the telling moment. If he responded to this, he was some version, if totally warped, of the Nice Guy, and easily manipulated. If not… well, she’d figure that out when it came to it.

The voice hesitated for a moment. “I suppose. I’m not sure. I’ve never paid that much attention to most women. They just never proved themselves worth that amount of energy.”

Fantastic.

Well, that was clear enough. One of the Truly Good. This was not going to be easy. Not even a little bit.

With a Nice Guy, all that was required was to get him to see that the only chivalrous option was to let her go. It wasn’t without its difficulties, but it was pretty straightforward.

With one of the Truly Good, the subject did very little second-guessing of himself or herself. There was a solid paradigm that would not shift regardless of how much talking Mala did. The only way through this was to convince her captor that she was not what he needed. How to do that without triggering his immorality radar would be a real challenge.

Because if that happened, she was dead. It wouldn’t even be a hard decision. The barest hint of what he deemed to be innuendo from her and he had flown into a rage. Tip the scales too far in that direction, and there was no hope for her. None at all.

So, how to proceed? What angle to use? How to demonstrate to him that she was not the companion he desired without sullying herself in his mind during the process?

As she pondered, she picked up a piece of toast from the tray in front of her and took a bite. Somehow, in the later hours of what Mala assumed to be the morning, her abductor had managed to slip a tray of food into the apartment. Buttered toast, eggs fried over medium, coffee with a splash of skim milk and… was that stevia? Her perfect breakfast, all there on an ornate tray in front of her.

While eating the food was troubling to her on so many levels, she forced herself to move forward. Not only did she need to be at the top of her game mentally, but showing her appreciation for every detail of her captivity was vital. Plus, the eggs were cooked perfectly. Whoever this guy was, he was a damn fine cook, no doubt about it.

Doubt.

There it was.

It was her own doubts that would prove her passageway to freedom. Her insecurities about her unworthiness for her magnificent protector, not any actual fault that he could vilify her for. That was the way past this Scylla and Charybdis.

And to plant the seed…

“This breakfast is perfect,” she breathed. Now, to let out all the pain and fear and frustration she was feeling. This could not look forced. She thought of Trey. How frantic he must have been when he found she was missing. Darc, who probably showed nothing on the outside, but Mala suspected was profoundly affected internally. Janey, all alone once again. Tears rose up, filled her eyes, spilled over her cheeks. Exactly what was needed right now. Now, just one more touch…

“I don’t deserve this. I… I don’t deserve you.”

And then Mala allowed everything to flood out of her. Sobs wracked her body as her head sank down into the fold of her arms. It was real. All of it. She would say no more for a long time, regardless of what her captor demanded of her. And he would. He would be desperate to know what was going on.

This was her path. This was her way out.

This was her salvation.

*

When all was said and done, sorting through the footage took them less than four hours. Darc sat looking at a screen divided between two different photos. These were the best of what Darc and Trey had been able to find. Once Trey had located the first, it had only been a matter of reviewing the footage immediately surrounding the same time stamp.

One of the angles came from a bank across the street and to the left of the hospital parking exit. The other was from a traffic camera. They had brought Janey in to look at the pictures, and even though both showed the driver’s face covered by the mask, she had nodded her head, her face solemn. Maggie had whisked her off moments later.

The lack of a good picture of the man’s face had been a frustration to his partner, but Darc was more interested in the license plate at the present time. They would, of course, want to track this back to the priest’s accomplice, but right now, all Darc wanted to do was find Mala.

As Darc turned back to his computer, looking for something that would leap out at him in a burst of light to join the pattern forming in his head, Captain Merle opened the door to his office and strode over to Trey’s desk.

“Keane,” the captain rumbled. “There’s been a murder that looks like it belongs to your case… you know, the prostitute killer with the fingernail thing.”

Trey glanced up at the captain and then back down to what he was doing at his computer. He then looked back up at the captain. Darc’s partner seemed unsure of himself, his mouth open as if to speak but with nothing coming out. The captain patted him on the back, an unusually familiar gesture from a man who was not demonstrative.

“I know you’re working on finding the doctor right now, and that takes precedence here. Just wanted to let you know so you could get on it as soon as you get her back.” The captain slapped some additional paperwork on Trey’s desk and nodded to Darc before slipping back into his office.

The implied confidence in the captain’s statement was not something Darc shared. It had been less than twenty-four hours since he had last seen the doctor. Less than twelve since they had discovered what they thought was her severed head in an enormous black pot over a campfire. And yet, in that time, Darc had felt a sense of profound loss, akin to the moment when his mind had overloaded after Mala’s supposed death. But in this case, the shift was in the gray landscape of his soul.

Changes. So many changes. And Darc had no idea whether those changes were for the good or would end up paralyzing him at a crucial moment. So far, the lines of light and the increasing gray had interfered with one another on only a small scale, but would that last? Could it?

From the license plate on the car from the traffic camera, Trey had been able to trace the vehicle back to a less-than-reputable secondhand car lot. It was a black 1998 Chevrolet Impala that had been purchased in cash less than three days previously. The name given to the dealership was obviously false—Thomas Kincade. The self-styled Painter of Light, an artist famous for second-rate paintings sold en masse. Also, deceased.

So, the dealership had been a dead end, but there were other options. Now that they knew what vehicle they were looking for, it would be difficult, if not impossible, for their quarry to evade them forever. Unfortunately, forever mattered little to Darc. The next few hours were much more important.

The idea that Mala could end up dead after Darc had realized she was still alive was anathema to him. Somehow that fear was so much worse than it had been when he had seen that deadly stew in the park. The resurgence of hope, only to have it dashed once more…

What was happening to him?

He was slipping. Before, with a case like this, he would have already found both the victim and the perpetrator. There would have been no extended search. The patterns in his mind would have coalesced instantly, and the problem would no longer exist.

Darc shook his head. Was that true? Even his own assessment of his work was suspect. Was it his own emotional involvement that was creating this sense of his own weakness and errors?

Typically, Darc’s own margin of error was something he accounted for, with a fair amount of precision. But the idea of allowing himself that same sliding scale in this moment seemed irresponsible. He could not afford to make mistakes right now.

This was a problem. Objectively speaking, Darc knew the dangers of not allowing for human error, even his own. By pushing himself to perfection, he could be forcing himself to overlook the very details he was missing.

The entrance of Maggie, with Janey trailing behind, took his attention away from his own failings and their unexpected consequences. His ex-wife had an arm around Janey’s shoulders. It looked… natural. Darc had never seen Maggie with a child before.

“I’m guessing there’s nothing around this place that would serve as breakfast?” Maggie scowled around the office, as if blaming the location itself for its shortcomings.

Trey looked up from his computer. “There’s a vending machine around the corner there. Coffee and donuts and stuff.”

Maggie just looked at him, then looked down at the girl in her embrace, then back up at her now-boyfriend. She said nothing, but Trey somehow managed to understand exactly what she was not saying.

“Yeah. Bad idea. Sorry.”

“Little girl, Trey. Little girl.” She patted Janey on the shoulder and gave her a squeeze. “How about pancakes? Do you want some pancakes? There’s a place pretty close here that makes them with chocolate chip smiley faces.”

Janey looked up into Maggie’s face and grinned at her, nodding with enthusiasm. Maggie nodded at Darc, winked at Trey, then turned on her heel and led the little girl out.

Such a simple thing. Pancakes. And yet it had lit Janey’s face up in a way that Darc had not seen since he had known the young girl.

Simple.

Darc was overcomplicating things. The answer was simple. Right in front of his face. And he had overlooked it out of a desire to be more than human.

He knew what to do now. He only hoped it would be in time to save Mala.

*

It had felt fantastic.

Crying for almost an hour straight? Best therapy ever. Sure, her nose was stuffed up and she had a pounding headache, but emotionally, Mala felt as light as she could remember feeling in a long time. Not bad for being shut in a creepy replica of her own apartment by a psychopath. Actually, sociopath was more likely. Especially with this guy’s Truly Good thing.

She had been right. Her captor had begged her to know what was going on. He had been frantic, almost angry, as he pressed her again and again for details on what she was going through. She had not replied, other than to say that she didn’t deserve him.

After a while, though, something had started to happen. Rather than push for more information, the voice would go silent for long stretches. They were currently in the middle of the longest one yet. According to the clock by the bed, he hadn’t said anything for at least twenty minutes.

That was exactly what she needed. Whatever he might say, the fact that Mala had planted the idea in his head that she might not be worthy of his goodness was working its magic. He was wondering what it could be. But right now he was only wondering.

Mala had given him nothing specific to latch onto. No hint of immorality or lack of dedication to him. No jagged edge for him to cling to with his fingertips. He was scrabbling at the sheer face of a high wall, unable to gain any purchase.

This was a necessary but extremely dangerous part of the game Mala was playing. She was keeping her abductor in a very uncomfortable place, a place where he had no information. A lack of information was a lack of control. This man was all about control.

Dangerous indeed.

If she had gone here immediately with the voice, her life would have ended quite abruptly. Without submitting to him first, there would have been no way to resist him so completely now. But now, her withholding of information seemed a part of her wanting to protect him, be a better partner for him. No control over the immediate scenario? Yes. But no control in a place where he still felt himself to be dominant.

The voice cleared itself into the microphone. Interesting. That hadn’t happened before. He was showing hesitation, some insecurity. Mala was stripping him down to his youngest, most fragile, most vulnerable self.

“Why won’t you tell me why you don’t deserve me?” The voice pleaded with her. The tone was high, almost a whine, even through the distortion.

Time to move forward. “I just don’t want you to think less of me. You’re so wonderful.”

“What have you done? You can tell me.”

“Oh, no,” Mala corrected him gently. “I haven’t done anything. That’s the point.”

The voice fell silent. Her captor was mulling that little nugget over.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m inexperienced. Weak. Unlearned.” Mala shook her head, allowing her eyes to fill up with tears, but not allowing any to spill over. This would take finesse. “Unworthy.”

“But it’s your deeds that would make you unworthy,” he argued. “You haven’t done anything wrong, so you… you are perfect.” Her abductor sounded like was trying to convince himself. Perfect.

“It’s my fear that makes me unworthy.” Mala decided to play out a hunch. If he was one of the Truly Good, there was a strong possibility that it would work. “‘Perfect love casteth out fear because fear hath torment.’” She allowed herself a small, choked off sob. “I have torment.”

“Saint John,” the voice whispered, and Mala breathed a silent sigh of relief. Her captor continued. “What do you fear? Not me?” His tone sharpened.

“No, no,” Mala quickly responded. “Not you at all. Me. My doubts. My insecurities.”

“That’s not important. I can help you through all that. My love will purify you.” His tone was becoming more insistent. Perhaps to push though his own doubts that were creeping in?

“But that will distract you. Take you away from the marvelous work you are doing.” Mala took another breath and plunged in once more. “You are doing a work, aren’t you? Something special.”

“Yessss,” he answered, his extended response hissing on the s of the word. “You know. You understand.”

“We can’t risk you being sidetracked by my weakness. You are too important. What you are doing is too vital.” Mala allowed a tone of pleading to creep into her voice. “Please. Don’t let my frailty keep you from your destiny.”

“But you’re such an important part of what I want to do.” His tone was now thoughtful. He seemed to be trying to work his way through the problem on his own. Which was exactly what Mala wanted. “How can I move forward without you?”

“You don’t have to. I will be with you in spirit. Joined with you in purpose. And soon,” Mala continued, “I will be with you in body as well. But only once I have cleansed myself of my fear.”

“Ah, Mala. I’m not sure. I have so many conflicting thoughts and feelings surging through my being. I must think on this.” The microphone cut off abruptly, the silence in the air heavy.

“Of course, my love,” Mala whispered, not knowing whether or not he could hear her. But it didn’t really matter. The seed had been planted. Now it only remained to be seen whether or not it would produce the fruit Mala desired.

If not, her life could be forfeit.

CHAPTER 4

“Okay,” Darc’s partner had stated when they got into his Land Rover. “Time to get our team back.”

The sun had gone from creating a colorful blanket for the awakening city to hiding sullenly behind a thin layering of clouds. Its ruddy outline shone faint against the wispy moisture caught in the atmosphere. Darc followed the less obscured trails of light-based logic in his mind, pointing out the turns to his partner as Trey navigated the crowded early morning streets in his old Land Rover.

In the end, it had been simple. Rather than track the vehicle through the purchase of the car or a non-existent GPS or some sort of LoJack system, they followed the vehicle itself. The nearest sensation to what Darc had experienced in that moment was what others referred to as embarrassment. Especially since Darc and Trey had already started along the lines that ended up yielding results.

They had managed to trace the movements of the helper’s vehicle to a warehouse in SoDo using a combination of traffic and ATM cameras. It was laborious, but they had tracked down footage at each possible intersection where the Chevy Impala could have travelled. When they had run into an intersection where there was little to no camera coverage, they had to back out to all of the surrounding ones.

One of the major irritations was that the driver had been careful not to be seen. He had his car visor down, a baseball cap pulled low with sunglasses on, and the side windows were tinted far darker than the law allowed. It was not unexpected, but Darc’s inability to find a clean shot of the man’s face meant that tracking him down would be much more difficult later.

But they had a location. They knew where to go. According to the latest recordings, the vehicle was no longer at the warehouse, but the trails of intelligence Darc was following wept blue light. Mala was still there.

At another time, in another set of circumstances, Darc would have waited in order to set a trap for the returning suspect, so as to catch the perpetrator at the same time they saved the victim, especially seeing that they had no photo of the man’s face. That was the course of action logic dictated. In fact, all of the glowing lines of information in Darc’s mind were currently vibrating in what Darc could only describe as irritation with him.

Further evidence of the massive changes that were occurring in Darc. The changes were proving to be a fundamental shift in the way he interacted with the world. They also appeared to be lasting ones, perhaps permanent.

These changes thrust Darc into an area of gray emotion that had previously confused and terrified him. It still did. But the consequences of not venturing into this new territory were too negative for him to take any other action.

The scenery whipped by them, the forms blurring in the periphery of Darc’s vision. That blurring effect mirrored what was happening to him. He no longer trusted implicitly the tracings of reason that had so securely led him in his life up until now.

How that would end up influencing his work remained to be seen. He could not think that it would be a positive turn.

As they neared their destination, Trey pulled off into a side street, coming around the back face of the warehouse. If the accomplice was as intelligent and careful as his predecessor, he would more than likely have employed some form of surveillance around his lair.

Trey stopped the Land Rover and put the vehicle in park. He placed his hand on the car door handle, looked over at Darc, and seemed about to speak. Closing his mouth without a word, Trey opened the door and stepped out onto the pavement.

Joining him, Darc noticed a cloying scent of rotten milk that pervaded the area. One of the nearby buildings must have processed or stored dairy products. The odor latched itself onto Darc’s palate, overwhelming any more subtle nuances in scent or taste that might have existed in this region.

Moving toward the nearest door, Trey unbuttoned the holster to his gun, placing a hand on top of the weapon, apparently in preparation for a quick draw if it were needed. While nothing appeared on Trey’s face to indicate it, Darc’s more intimate knowledge of his partner suggested that Trey was fully engaged in what they were doing, as opposed to his more typical laissez-faire attitude.

Trey’s previous comments regarding their “team” resurfaced in Darc’s mind. It was true that Darc had experienced a strange sense of incompleteness as he and Trey had tracked down the priest’s assistant. While Mala was not a trained law enforcement professional, her insights had proven themselves vital.

And he missed her.

More gray threatened his equilibrium. He had a task at hand for which he needed all of his focus intact. Directing his attention to his partner, Darc nodded toward the door, indicating that Trey should open it up.

Placing his shoulder against the metal door, Trey turned the handle, which yielded to his touch without resistance. Trey shrugged at Darc, his eyebrows lifting in what Darc deemed to be surprise. That made much more sense than the equally indicated sexual advance the eyebrow lift could have indicated.

The door creaked open, the room within a blanket of shadows. Darc moved ahead of his companion, pulling out his penlight, which he shone into the corners of the room. There were no signs of other inhabitants, nor did the space appear to have been used in many months. A layer of dust, previously un-trampled by human feet, stirred with each of his steps.

Was it possible they had come to the wrong place? The illuminated pathways in Darc’s mind lit the way before them, but the trust that he normally placed in that internal process was lacking. Perhaps the killer had entered though another door.

Darc felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see Trey pointing toward a hallway that appeared to be the only egress from the large room. His partner mouthed the words “this way” and began moving toward the exit.

A sudden noise caused Darc to shoot out his hand, bringing Trey to a halt. The sound had come from behind the door set at the end of the hallway. Darc held up a hand for Trey to remain motionless.

There.

More scuffling from behind the door. The handle began to turn. Trey whipped his gun out of its holster and leveled it at the exit as it began to swing open.

What Darc saw there challenged not only his newfound sense of emotional connection, but the logic lines, as well.

“Is that any way to greet a damsel in distress?” The familiar voice mocked them both, its tone playful and exhausted at the same time.

It was Mala.

*

“And then it was only a matter of time before he decided on his own to let me go. I looked around for a bit, when I got outside the apartment set he had built, but there wasn’t anything there that I could see. My guess is that he was communicating with me remotely from quite a ways away.” Mala rested her head against the worn leather of the back seat of the Land Rover. “In the end, it proved to be relatively simple.” The car smelled of man and fast food. The scent was almost overwhelmingly comforting to her.

“Ah, yes. So freaking simple.” Trey scoffed at her.

“Whatever,” Mala teased back, then stiffened up once more. “You’re sure Janey is okay?” A feeling akin to panic resurfaced in Mala’s chest. That feeling would more than likely not leave until she had seen the little girl in person and held her close.

“For the fifteenth time, she’s fine,” Trey chuckled. The detective had a grin on his face that hadn’t diminished from the moment he had recognized her. The obvious warmth there created a reciprocal glow in her.

Darc, on the other hand, had said exactly two words to her. You’re safe. That was it. From that moment on, he had sunk into what Mala could only describe as a sullen pout. That was so far outside her experience with Darc up to this point that she figured she had to be mistaken.

“The girl has suffered no ill effects from your absence,” Darc grumbled.

Nope. Not mistaken.

Against all sense and reason, it was more than evident that Darc was pissed off. And Mala had no clue why. She nestled her head more firmly into the seat, feeling the enveloping softness of the material made soft by years of friction.

Men.

She truly did not understand them at all. Maybe that was why her relationships to date had been mostly short and unfailingly unsatisfactory. With one notable exception.

Mala let out a long sigh, both of relief and frustration. Her life over the past little while had taken her so far beyond her comfort zone that it was impossible to see the boundary from where she now was. And yet, she had never felt more… present.

Trey had given her a brief overview of what had happened since she had been captured, and while Mala was convinced that a good portion of it had been sanitized for her protection, what remained was shocking. The whole underground defiled cathedral defied even her darkest imaginings.

And while Mala was relieved that Janey was safe, she could only imagine what horrors had stayed behind in the little girl’s mind. Children were much more resilient than many adults gave them credit for being, but that kind of trauma would end up shaping Janey for her entire life, even with the best that therapy had to offer.

“Not to interrupt your little siesta there, Mala…” Trey spoke to her reflection in the rearview mirror. “But if you’re up for it, we can swing by the precinct so you can see Janey.” He looked a bit more closely. “Or maybe by your place for a shower and a change of clothes?”

Darc finally spoke up at that. “She needs to be debriefed first.”

“Dude.” Trey shook his head at his partner. “We are so far off the reservation right now, I’m pretty sure we can take a few side trips. I probably could’ve gotten away with not coming back in to work at all. At least for a while.” Trey found Mala’s eyes in the mirror again and grinned at her. “I got PTSD from being attacked from above by a mutilated corpse. Can’t you tell?”

“Hmmm. Sounds serious, Detective. Perhaps you should seek the help of a professional?” Mala winked at him. “And yes, I would love to see Janey. But it’s still early, and that shower sounds magnificent.”

Trey nodded and turned his attention back to the road ahead of them. His hair, messier than usual, bobbed as he hit a pothole in the street.

Mala closed her eyes, thinking of what lay ahead for her. A shower sounded divine, but the thought of seeing Janey again made her eyes tear up and an involuntary sob escape her chest.

And what would happen after that? Mala found that, for once, she had no answer.

*

It had been a long time since Janey had eaten pancakes.

Her mommy used to make them for her, but there hadn’t been lots of time before they moved, and then once they were in the new house, it was just unpacking boxes all of the time. They had eaten a lot of cold cereal. And McGriddles. She loved McGriddles.

But not as much as she loved pancakes.

And this was the best pancake Janey had ever seen. When the waitress came out, it had looked like it was bigger than Janey’s head. It was ginormous, filling up the whole plate. The mouth was made of chocolate chips, the eyes of whipped cream. The nose was a cherry. And there were three different kinds of syrup to choose from.

Tears sprang into her eyes, but Janey pushed them back down. She was sad, ‘cause this was a pancake that her mommy hadn’t made. She would never get pancakes from her mommy again. That was hard. Really, really hard.

But Maggie was here, and she was nice. She had such pretty hair. It was red and curly, and it was like each of her curls had a mind of its own. There was one that kept flopping down into Maggie’s face. She would brush it away, but it would come back. Janey liked it a lot. She wound her own hair around one of her fingers to make it curl, but it wouldn’t stay that way.

Janey looked back down at her pancake. It was way too big for her to eat all at once. She would need to cut it into pieces. Looking at the big circle face of food in front of her, Janey could see the lines where she needed to slide the knife. It made a pattern that made the pancake so much prettier. She began to cut where the lines told her to cut, making letters. Pretty letters.

Like the symbols Darc had shown her. She saw things now that she had never seen before. The way things were put together. The way they wanted to fit.

And her pancake wanted to fit. It wanted to fit inside her belly, but it wanted to fit with something else, too. Something that had been bothering her. Words that the bad man had said. Not the bad man from the nasty church. The other one. The one that took Mala away when they were in the hospital.

My turn.

He had said that as he left. The words made symbols like from her pancake. They swirled together like they were dancing. Like when her mommy and daddy would sometimes dance when they were listening to music. Dance and kiss. Gross.

The letters moved around and bumped into each other and kissed and backed away and kissed again. Then they settled down like they were about to take a nap. And another one showed up right next to them. She knew what the other symbol meant.

And she had to tell Darc.

He would be proud of her. He wouldn’t show it, like mommy or daddy, but she would still feel it. What the symbol meant would make him sad, but Janey telling him would make him proud.

But for right now he wasn’t here, and she was hungry. Maggie smiled and nodded at Janey, her curls bouncing up and down, and then pointed at the pancake.

Janey dug in and started to eat.

*

Trey sat in a chaise lounge in the middle of Mala’s apartment. It was as tasteful and understated as the doctor herself was. The wood accents were all dark mahogany, the colors light green accented with pops of blue here and there. The overall effect was welcoming as well as relaxing.

And Trey was pretty sure this was the first time he had ever sat in a chaise. He kinda liked it. Felt like some sort of Egyptian goddess or something. All he needed was to be naked and eating fruit.

It had been odd, watching Mala enter the space. She looked at everything around her with such intensity, reaching out and touching her surroundings, almost like she was reassuring herself that they were real. And hers.

Trey couldn’t even imagine what it would be like to be held hostage in a place that looked exactly like your home but wasn’t. There was something so creepy about it. The mind that had come up with that little doozy had taken a step or two into some pretty serious crazy-town territory.

Darc paced the floor, doing his best to dig a path in the hardwood. There was something off with his partner. Trey had never seen him act like this before.

The whole ride over here, the bald detective had been acting like a sullen teenager who had just found out his girlfriend was dating the football team. Trey halfway expected Darc to pop in a Smiths CD and start into an 80s film montage of youthful angst.

Whatever it was, Trey was pretty sure he wasn’t digging the new development. Darc at his best was truculent. Darc as a pouty hormonal victim? Wasn’t exactly going in the right direction, as far as Trey was concerned.

The apartment was spacious, but not too large for someone who clearly lived alone. It was small enough that Trey could hear the rush of the water from Mala’s shower. He quickly diverted his attention away before thoughts of the good doctor stark naked surfaced.

Come to think of it, Darc seemed very… attentive… to the same sounds emanating from Mala’s bedroom. No matter where or how he paced, there was always one ear cocked in that direction.

“Dude. Are you thinking of Mala in there taking a shower?” Trey joked. Darc started, came to a complete stop, and glared at his partner.

Hold the phone. Was that what Trey thought it was? Was Darc actually blushing? There was no way that was what was going on, but what else could it be? It’s not like Darc took a lot of B vitamins or something that would cause that kind of reaction.

“Okay, Darc. I gotta ask. What’s going on with you? You’re edgier than a pyromaniac in a fireworks shop.”

Darc opened his mouth, shut it, opened it once more, let out a noise that was suspiciously close to a groan, and sank into a chair. Trey was dumbfounded. They were in uncharted waters here, and Trey didn’t have his compass on him. Darc lifted his head.

“I am not certain. I find that I am… unsettled.” Darc waved his hand toward the bedroom. “And I am also thinking of Mala in the shower.”

Trey stifled a shocked laugh. That wouldn’t help right at the moment. “Okay. Didn’t really think you were gonna answer that one. But okay.” Trey peered into Darc’s face, trying to discern what little he could from his partner’s minimalistic expressions. “I knew you liked her. But you like her like her, don’t you?”

“I am not certain what the repetition of those words is meant to indicate, but yes, I find I have strong feelings for the doctor.”

“Right. Well. Listen, man, there’s no one happier about this than me, but you gotta keep your feelings under some kind of control here if you want anything to happen.” Trey paused for a second, cleared his throat and continued. “Was it like this with Maggie?”

“No. It was not.” Darc paused for a moment, almost like he was trying to figure something out. Another real shocker. Darc usually didn’t have to figure out much at all. And when it was emotional stuff, he didn’t even try. “This is different. I am questioning how I should behave when she is present.” Another pause. “I do not like it.”

Holy cow. Trey knew from experience that Darc never questioned his own behavior. An assumption about a case? Sure. But his own actions? Especially when they related to someone else? This was big news. Really big. Enormous.

Well, no matter how stunning this whole situation was, Trey was determined to be there for his partner. “Right. Gotcha. Totally. And…” Trey took a deep breath, held it, then let it out in stages. “Every guy feels that way when they’re around a chick they like.”

“That is less than helpful.” Darc sounded downright morose.

“Yeah, I know. Sucks, doesn’t it?” Trey thought for a moment, then an idea blossomed. “Hey, I got it! I’ll help you!” He rummaged around in his pockets, finally pulling out his detective pad. It hadn’t seen much use up to this point. Trey wasn’t much of a note-taker. He was more of a fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants kinda guy. To be perfectly honest, the only things that had gone in the pad up to this point were some random doodles.

Trey’s partner looked askance at the booklet. “Your notes on previous cases will be of little assistance.”

“Not previous cases, dude. Present tense female troubles.” Trey whipped open the pad and started scribbling. “I’m gonna put together ‘Trey’s Rules of Dating.’ Once I’m done, I’ll put ‘em on a card and get it laminated just like the other list I gave you.”

Darc reached into the right breast pocket of his jacket and removed the well-worn list of everyday rules for interaction Trey had made for him years ago. “I’ve already memorized the other ones.”

“Yeah, but these are going to be different. Well, there might be some overlap. Not sure yet. And now that I think about it, there may be too many of them to fit on a card.”

Trey finished up the first rule that had popped into his head just as Mala came back into the room, her hair still wet from the shower. “What are you writing down there? You’re not taking notes on the state of my apartment, are you?”

Looking around the room, Trey gave Mala an elaborate shrug. “Why would I? Maybe to give some cleaning tips to Good Housekeeping or something.” He then cleared his throat and put away his pad. “Not that I ever read it. You know. Just…”

Mala laughed, a deep throaty chuckle. It was good to hear that from her, especially after what she must have been through. Her humor didn’t last long, though. Within moments, her face grew solemn once more.

“Janey hasn’t said anything yet, has she?”

“No,” Trey answered. “But she really does seem to be doing okay. She’s smiling more. She even let Maggie take her to get some food this morning.”

“Maggie?” Mala asked. “Your…?” She pointed at Trey.

“Yeah,” Trey answered, then coughed. “My… and Darc’s…”

“Darc’s what?”

“My ex-wife,” Darc responded, stepping in before Trey had a chance to figure out how to tactfully explain. “I believe that is what Trey is attempting to say, although he appears to have lost the use of basic vocabulary words.”

“Ex-wife?” Typically, Mala was pretty low-key and under control, but right now it kinda looked like her eyebrows were racing each other to the top of her forehead. “You were married?”

Darc got the blank look on his face that meant he was trying to process something emotional. “Your tone and inflection seem to indicate surprise? Do you find me aesthetically unpleasing to the point that marriage would be implausible?”

“No. No, Darc, of course not.” Mala’s face seemed to be getting awfully red. “I just… You never…” She paused and took a breath. “I just didn’t know you had been married before. That’s all.”

“That information seemed irrelevant to our endeavor.”

Mala’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times, then she looked over at Trey. “And now you’re…?”

“Dating her?” Trey finished for her. “Yep.”

“And he…?”

“Knows about it? Yeah.” Trey gave her a slightly sour smile. “We did a lot of talking down there in the Underground. That place does things to a man.”

To Mala’s credit, she pulled it together pretty quickly. “I can see that. Well, now that we’ve gotten that little tidbit out of the way, what say we go see Janey?”

Under normal circumstances, Trey would’ve thought that an excellent idea. But with Maggie in full protector mode, Darc acting like a peevish lovesick puppy, and Mala just having found out about Maggie and her relationship with both detectives, this meeting could be quite the interesting soiree.

Oh well. Just another day in the life of Trey.

CHAPTER 5

The drive back to the station was proving to be… uncomfortable… for Mala. She had a lot of information to process and the time was slipping by too fast and not fast enough. In retrospect, wanting to take a shower before meeting up with her young charge had less to do with cleanliness and more to do with stalling. Her affection for Janey had done nothing but grow over the course of the last week, and the thought of being reunited with her filled Mala with joy.

But Janey was a traumatized little girl. And Mala knew well the fallacy of projecting one’s feelings on someone else. While Mala knew how she felt about Janey, there was no way for her to know if Janey felt the same way. Any pressure put on the little girl to reciprocate affection she didn’t feel would further harm her.

Even if Janey’s reaction was positive, the possibility that it was mostly a response from the stressors of losing her parents and going through a horrific kidnapping was high. That kind of attachment, while strong in the moment, would not last.

And Mala found that she wanted it to last. That desire was rising up in her to the point that it threatened the very fabric of her well-established life. Mala had a career that she loved, a routine that was stable enough to provide stability, while still challenging her on intellectual and emotional levels. Her lack of a romantic relationship was something she lamented on occasion, but nothing that caused her overt pain.

In short, her life was wonderful. Or so she had thought.

But in working with Janey, Mala had realized that there was a fundamental need inside her that had to be addressed. A need for which nothing else in her current life would make up. She had yet to work out exactly what she was going to do, but it was a powerful drive that Mala couldn’t deny and wasn’t sure she even wanted to.

“Hey, everything okay back there, Doc?” Trey called over his shoulder. “You’re quieter than a Goth in a country bar.”

Leave it to Trey to get a smile out of her with his random observations. “Sorry. I didn’t realize I was being so glum.”

“Well, glum is a bit harsh.” He grinned at her in the rearview mirror. “Accurate, but harsh.”

Darc gave something resembling a sniff and turned toward the passenger-side door. The same door that Trey had held open for Mala, only to have Darc slip in before she could. Trey had stood there for a second, shrugged his shoulders, and opened up the door to the back seat instead. What in the world was going on with her favorite bald detective?

Choosing to ignore him, Mala turned her attention back to Trey. “Guess I’m just thinking about Janey.”

Trey’s grin faltered. “Yeah. That’s a tough one. I want to keep her close, but…”

“But there’s no way to make the DSHS see it that way?” Mala finished for him. “I understand completely.”

“We’ll figure something out. The captain bought us a little bit of time with her, but that’s not going to last forever.”

The Land Rover pulled into the parking lot of the precinct building. It was not a pretty structure, although it was interesting. Lots of mirrored windows with metal bars protruding out everywhere. Looked like a structure designed by a man to appeal to men. A not-so-subtle nod to the prevalent boys-club mentality that still ruled in most law-enforcement departments.

Just the sort of place to house a reunion between a damaged little girl and a child psychologist hoping to keep that child in her life. Perfect. Couldn’t ask for better.

Mala sighed, identifying her bitter and destructive self-talk masquerading as sarcasm. So easy to blame awkwardness on a building, rather than identify something uncomfortable about herself.

And the truth was tough to face. Especially in this instance.

She was the epitome of the cobbler whose children went shoeless. As good as Mala knew herself to be at her job, she was identifying an area that had gone unnoticed in her own psyche for too long. Children terrified her.

That wasn’t exactly true. Mala loved children. The thought of being with a child for long enough that he or she figured her out and knew how to push her buttons… that terrified her. Seeing a patient one or two times a week for an hour was fine. Day-to-day living? Not so much.

And yet that was exactly what was on Mala’s mind right now. She wanted more than what her job was offering her.

Mala sighed and waited until Trey slid the vehicle into a parking slot before she opened up her door to feel the unusual sunshine caress her cheeks and forehead. At least there was that. The weather was cooperating to make this reunion a little bit warmer.

Straightening her shoulders, Mala walked toward the entrance of the stark building in front of her. What she’d find on the other side of the doors, she had no idea.

*

Maggie was so pretty. When she walked, her hips swung back and forth, making her red hair flip side to side down her back. Janey tried to copy her, but it just made her trip on her own two feet.

But Maggie saw her stumble and reached her hand back. Janey grabbed a hold and steadied herself. She moved over to Maggie’s side and walked next to her.

Janey needed to talk to Darc. She had already drawn him a picture. It was a good one. It had a lizard and an elephant, but just because Janey liked lizards and elephants. What was really important about the drawing was what was inside of the lizard and the elephant. Darc would see. He would know what to do.

There were a lot of things going on that Janey didn’t understand. She got more than everybody thought she did, but there was still some stuff that was kind of confusing.

She understood that she couldn’t go back to her house to live. Her parents were gone, so going back wouldn’t do any good, even though Janey sort of wanted to. It was the only place that was even a little bit familiar.

What she didn’t get was why she had to stay at the stupid home place. It was stupid. And it smelled funny. Like sweaty socks and oatmeal. Gross.

More than anything else, she wanted to be with Darc. That was where she felt safe. Trey was awesome. Maggie was pretty. Mala was kind. Actually, Mala was pretty close. But Darc was home.

It sounded weird to say that, even inside her own head. How could a person be a home? A person didn’t have a bedroom with pink curtains and fluffy pillows and her very own pink Powerpuff Girls toothbrush. But that’s how it felt.

Every time she was with him, though, someone was trying to take her somewhere else. Like they didn’t like Darc or something. Janey couldn’t understand that at all. Well, maybe a little bit. He did look a little scary at first, but that was only until you got to know him. Then it was like he was Superman. Or maybe Batman. Probably Batman.

But Janey wasn’t at the home now, so maybe she wouldn’t have to go back. Maybe. She didn’t want to get her hopes up. Like that time she asked for a pony for Christmas and it didn’t come. Daddy had said it was because they didn’t have room in the backyard, but Janey was pretty sure Santa could’ve figured it out if he’d really wanted to. Maybe she hadn’t been good enough. She had hit Danny in the arm really hard. But he had deserved it. He was always pulling her hair, and that was not nice.

This was one of those times where she just had to be patient. Her mommy had always told her to be patient. Be patient and things will work out. Maybe not exactly how you want, but they’ll work out.

Janey really, really, really hoped that it was true.

*

Trey followed behind Mala, who was doing her best impersonation of the Road Runner. She was walking so fast it was closer to jogging. Trey halfway expected her to lift up her elbows and start swinging her hips like one of those speed walker types he used to see all the time swaying down the street near Pike Place Market. Now that was a fad Trey was happy to have put in his rearview mirror.

Darc, of course, was going his normal speed, which meant he was keeping up with Mala just fine, although he was conspicuously not looking at the doctor as he cruised along. Come to think of it, maybe that wasn’t all that unusual. Trey was dead last, which was not unusual, and huffing and puffing, also not unusual. Seriously. It was time to invest in a stationary bike or something.

Not that Trey blamed Mala for wanting to race to see the little girl. When Trey had first seen Janey standing next to Darc by his bed, his heart had practically jumped out of his chest. You know, before he started thinking about how much trouble they were all going to be in once the group home found out she was missing.

The two in front turned the corner that led to the bullpen and Trey broke into a trot to keep from losing them. As he rounded the corner himself, he had to slam on the brakes fast to keep from running into Mala and Darc, who had stopped out of the blue.

The reason for the abrupt halt made itself known as Trey looked down the hall and saw Janey standing next to Maggie. Man, she was pretty. Maggie, not Janey.

The little girl by his lady’s side was clutching a piece of paper. Mala was bending down on one knee and motioning for Janey to come over. Janey started moving toward her, then veered around and headed straight for Darc.

Ouch.

Mala straightened up as quickly as she could and smoothed down her pants, not meeting anyone’s eye. Janey stopped in front of Darc, her face solemn, and handed the piece of paper to the tall detective. As Darc took the page, Trey could see that there was a drawing of what looked like a gecko and a pachyderm.

Great.

Another picture. Trey had figured out by now that drawings getting passed between these two conspirators was never a good thing.

Once her duty was discharged, Janey turned back around, ran over to Mala and buried her face in Mala’s hip. A look of surprise on the doc’s face was quickly replaced by a look that Trey could only describe as radiant. Her eyes filled with tears as she wrapped her arms around the little form that clung to her with a death grip.

“Oh, Janey. I missed you so much,” Mala whispered down to the top of the girl’s towhead. “So very, very much.”

Janey’s head bobbed up and down against Mala’s pants, leaving a trace of moisture there. Mala might have thought Janey had forgotten about her, but it was clear there was a bond here almost equal to the one she had forged with Darc.

Trey looked up to share the warmth with someone himself, seeking out Maggie. To his surprise, his girlfriend seemed overcome as well, but the look on her face was much different. It was… wistful? Sad? Trey wasn’t sure, but it was not a look he’d seen Maggie make before.

She was watching Janey and Mala embrace, and she looked… jealous.

For the first time, Trey wondered if Maggie had ever wanted kids. With Darc… or maybe…?

His train of thought was interrupted as Darc moved over to his side. He was gripping the drawing Janey had given him, and his knuckles were white. The intensely blank look on his face told Trey all he needed to know. Something was not good.

“We need to talk.”

Yep. Not good. Not good at all.

*

The lines were clear. There was a precision to them that was razor-like, quite distinct from those that normally inhabited Darc’s mind. They were also limned in pink.

Odd.

The symbols that had separated themselves from the drawing were swirling, agitated, urgent in their gyrations, looking for all of his attention. Their message was straightforward and somehow warped all at once. It was disturbing.

Trey had followed without comment as Darc moved away from the reunion between Janey and Mala. This was a departure from his partner’s typical behavior, which seemed to indicate that Trey had recognized the severity of the situation. Perhaps this was a sign of a growing sensitivity in the frivolous detective.

A comment that, had Darc voiced it, would have evoked from his companion a comparison between two cooking containers of the same color. It was nonsensical, as much of what Trey uttered seemed to be, but his partner seemed to put great stock in the statement, so perhaps there was unseen wisdom held within it.

Another oddity was Darc’s own reaction to watching the doctor with the small child. This reuniting was something that would not normally affect him at all, and yet he found himself bothered that he was not there to witness it, even as he recognized the necessity in leaving. Why on Earth would he desire to see them together, especially when the resultant conversation was guaranteed to be nonexistent?

More gray. Again, disturbing.

“Okay, dude. Spill it. What’s going on?” Trey had stopped just beyond the entrance to the bullpen. His arms were crossed over his chest. Seeing as how he had no reason to cover his breasts in a sexually defensive posture, Darc assumed Trey was showing resolve. In this case, a determination to speak with Darc. Which was exactly what Darc desired, so the confrontational stance seemed out of place. His partner could be so odd at times.

“The man who abducted Mala.” Darc struggled to articulate what the symbols and lines were communicating. Straightforward, but warped. “He seeks… He is beginning… He…” Darc fell silent, unable to formulate words.

Trey’s features softened and his arms fell to his sides. “Darc. Man, are you okay?” He moved over to Darc’s side and guided him toward a chair. Sitting would hardly allow for greater cognitive processing, but Darc saw no reason to argue the point right at the moment.

“I am not unwell.” Darc settled into the chair, seeking for a settling of the lines within him simultaneously. “Give me a moment.” The more the patterns danced and spun and hissed, the less he could find cohesive patterns that would allow for cogent speech. After taking a deep breath, Darc closed his eyes, reaching out with his mind to coax and soothe. The lines shivered under his mental caress, backing into an uneasy quiescence.

“This about the picture Janey passed you back there?” Trey probed, his forehead creased into sharp lines. Seven lines, to be precise, although one of those lines joined another midway through its progression, so a more accurate count might be six. Six and a half? Darc was uncertain. The uncertainty troubled him. Gray clouds threatened his stability.

When Darc remained silent, Trey sighed and reached out a hand, resting it on Darc’s shoulder. The weight there, although something he would normally consider unpleasant, created an easing of the tension Darc could feel jangling through his body. The additional release of pressure allowed for the shining patterns within his mind to finally congeal.

Fascinating.

Darc peered into his partner’s eyes, reading the concern there. Then the gray obscured it once more. But for an instant, the expression on Trey’s face had been as plain to Darc as the logical patterns within.

“Yes. It was Janey’s drawing. She saw or heard something in that hospital room.”

“Yeah,” Trey muttered. “She saw a security guard getting offed right in front of her eyes. Seriously, if I could go back and kill that priest twice—”

“No,” Darc cut him off. “She did see the killing, but that was not what the sketch conveyed. This was about the man who took Mala.”

Trey’s mouth formed an “o” and his eyes dilated. Since there was no evidence of breakfast meats nearby, Darc arrived at the conclusion that his partner was surprised by the new information Darc had supplied. Evidently, his new insights regarding his partner’s emotional states were limited and sporadic.

“So… what’d Rango and Dumbo say?”

Rather than educating his partner about the manner in which Janey and he communicated, Darc focused on the connotative meaning of Trey’s words. “Mala’s captor is a killer. Or will be soon, if he has not started as yet.” The lines were clear on that part, at least.

“Whoa.” Trey rubbed his hands over his face. “That sucks.” There was a pause, as Trey’s expression changed into something else indecipherable. Anger? Frustration? “How do these serial killers manage to find each other? Are they going on Craigslist? Somebody make a Facebook page?”

“Statistically speaking, similar interests tend to gather individuals together in close physical or even virtual proximity. Your facetious comments regarding Facebook and Craigslist are not far off the mark. It is not unusual for serial killers to know one another, especially when they operate in the same city.”

“That’s fantastic.” Trey slapped his thigh. “Now they’re getting together to brainstorm and stuff. Might as well start a club. The Happy Hackers. ‘No entrance without an evisceration.’”

“The fact that Janey saw the killer and gleaned information from the encounter is significant,” Darc continued, unsure of what to make of Trey’s last outburst. “Both because her life is in potential danger and the additional intelligence to which we are privy.”

“Okay, but where does that leave us?” Trey asked. “Unless there was more in that picture of yours.”

There was something else there, but Darc could not make sense of it. He wasn’t completely sure that Janey herself understood its significance. Probably something she had heard but not understood fully. Darc shook his head, knowing the complexity of the not-quite-information would just frustrate his partner at this point.

Trey huffed. “Well, in that case, until the C.S.I. unit comes back with their findings from the kidnapping site, I’m going to go work on my fingernail eater. Captain told me there was another killing that I needed to get on as soon as we found Mala. Something weird about this one, apparently.”

“Weird?”

“Yeah, something about it not quite matching the guy’s M.O. Maybe an escalation. If it’s getting nasty enough, I might want to bring you in on it?” Trey made the sentence into a question, an indicator that could mean his partner was unsure of what Darc’s response might be.

Darc knew that Trey had an emotional attachment to cases involving prostitutes. Before his recent changes, he had not understood even a small part of that attachment. Now it was beginning to make more sense to him. He nodded, seeing his partner’s eyes widen in response. Surprise or excitement.

It was always so hard to tell.

CHAPTER 6

No response.

There had been no response whatsoever to the actions taken by the servant of the Lord.

Disappointment writhed like a coil of superheated metal, searing the gut with the bitter dregs of shame and despair. This was not what was supposed to happen. The unrighteous were to suffer, not the holy.

Perhaps this was a necessary part of the process. A cleansing of the inner vessel. The coal that must be placed upon his lips so as to make pure his utterance.

If that were the case, this one would not complain. The servant of the Lord would not turn their face from that of the Most High. The sacrifice would be as that of Job, suffering all without murmur. The very life of this servant would be an affront to that brightest of the angels who had fallen.

Still…

A life was gone. True, the life had been twisted, corrupt, a pox on the face of Seattle. That was part of why she had been selected. Only the wicked would burn.

She had been important. A socialite. Not one to be overlooked by the sycophants currently in power. Those whose souls had already been given fully to Mammon. Her death should have created an immediate reaction.

And that reaction was something the servant of the Lord had been counting on. It was a necessary part of the plans. People must be afraid. They must fear for their lives. Fear for their sins.

Fear God.

And fear God’s servant here on Earth.

Anger at the apathy of a city that had given itself to the Father of Lies coursed through veins throbbing with desire to serve the Most High. It pulsed in the hands, throbbed in the throat, pounded in the temple. And with each beat, the servant heard the voice of righteous wrath intone, “The wicked shall be turned into hell, and all the nations that forget God.”

It was time to escalate and accelerate the plans. If a death could not penetrate the insensate faculties of the city’s “elite,” then more deaths would be forthcoming. The servant of the Lord would push harder. The Lord had called, and the servant would answer. The place was assured. The number amongst the 144,000 was assigned.

But only if the servant kept from shrinking now.

The resolve grew, welling up from deep within. There would be no failure. There would be no shirking of duty. The words of life sounded in the mind.

And in the greatness of thine excellency thou hast overthrown them that rose up against thee: thou sentest forth thy wrath, which consumed them as stubble.

The servant was the instrument of the Lord’s wrath.

It was time for Seattle to reap the bitter harvest.

*

As Trey read over the file for the hundredth time, he massaged the bridge of his nose in between his forefinger and thumb, trying to get his eyes to focus. There was nothing new here, but he kept hoping that some detail he had overlooked previously would jump out at him and scream, “This is it! This is the key to the case!”

He blew air out between his lips, making a raspberry noise. That kind of detective work was not really his thing. Deductive leaps were Darc’s purview. Trey did more of the work-your-butt-off-only-to-see-no-results kind of criminal investigating.

This case was one he’d been working, off-and–on, for the last year or so. The defining characteristic of the killer was that he removed the fingernails of his victims after he killed them. Some kind of bizarre trophy or something, Trey figured.

But other than that oddity, the bodies were always treated with an unusual level of respect. No sexual assault, either pre-or postmortem, was found in any of the cases, even though semen had been present at several sites. No matches to the DNA, of course.

The victims were always clothed and carefully posed. Only the missing fingernails pointed to some kind of messed up psychology. Well, that, and the fact that they had all been murdered.

When most of what you looked at was homicide, it was hard to remember that just the fact that a life had been ended was significant. There were days that Trey longed for the low-level dregs of humanity he’d had to deal with in Vice. At least there, the murders had made some kind of logical sense.

Very few dealers, whether they worked in sex or drugs, killed just because. It was to protect or to expand their territory, to send a message to competitors, or to keep from getting caught. Not because they got off on it. Usually.

Trey sighed and rattled the papers in front of him. Maybe if they made enough noise, he’d be forced to focus on them. Problem was, this new victim didn’t fit the pattern. Sure, the fingernails were gone, but the rest? Not so much.

First off, Trey was pretty sure this wasn’t one of his girls. She’d been found close to Pike Place Market, and there were prostitutes in that area, of course. But there were also a ton of trendy nightclubs and bars around there, as well. And this victim’s clothes were a bit too pricey for your run-of-the-mill streetwalker.

Could be a high-end escort, but Trey knew that group too, and something about this woman felt off. It could be tough to tell the difference between fashionista and call-girl, but this felt like more of the former and less of the latter. Trey wasn’t exactly sure how he could tell. Maybe it was that escorts looked a little less slutty.

But the main thing was the facial mutilations. That was new. That seemed to indicate a level of rage that hadn’t been seen in any of the other cases. The body was posed just like the others, and the fingernails were gone, but the hacking up of the face just didn’t fit in with any of the other details.

It just didn’t feel like his guy.

Trey’s phone rang, cutting off his thought process with its shrill demand and flashing red light. He scooped up the receiver, holding it between his cheek and shoulder with the ease of years of practice.

“Detective Keane.”

“Oh, hey. Detective. Glad I caught you in.” The voice on the other end of the line was familiar, but Trey couldn’t quite place it. The caller ID showed the office of the D.A.

Since he was pretty sure the District Attorney wouldn’t be deigning to give him a buzz, it must be the new A.D.A., Bryce Van Owen. Now that Trey had a name to attach to the voice, a face popped into his head from when the Assistant D.A. had come by the precinct a few months ago to glad-hand everyone. Blonde, blue-eyed, with a vaguely non-descript handsomeness about him.

“Mr. Van Owen. What can I do for you?”

“Please, call me Bryce. I can’t stand formalities, especially from guys working on the same side.” The A.D.A.’s tone was casual and friendly, with a warmth that made it feel like Trey was the most important guy in the world.

“Yeah, okay. Bryce. Gotcha. And you can call me Trey.” There was a pause on the other end that went on long enough that Trey was starting to feel a tad uncomfortable. Finally, Bryce cleared his throat and coughed.

“Sorry, Trey. This is an awkward call for me. Office politics and BS like that. This is coming from the D.A.” Bryce really did sound like he was embarrassed. The D.A. was a prick of a guy who spent more time worrying about how his hair and makeup was going to look on camera than about whether or not justice was served. Trey’s initial impression of Bryce as just another stuffed shirt looking to move his way up was starting to take a serious hit.

“Hey, Bryce, don’t stress about it. We all have to deal with that kinda stuff. I just suck at it more than most.” Trey muttered the last part almost under his breath, but it got a chuckle out of the A.D.A. He was liking Bryce more and more by the minute.

“Look, Trey, you’re the guy that’s been working the missing fingernail case, right?”

“You mean the case that no one will touch with a ten-foot pole? Yep, it’s the kind of case that has my name written all over it.”

Bryce gave him another chuckle for that one, although this time it felt a little forced. “I’ve read through your file, Trey. You’ve got a good record.”

“If you’ve read through my file, you’ll know that most of that comes from my brilliant, if socially backward, partner.”

“Sure, sure, Darc’s had his share of collars, but that’s not what I’m talking about. You had one of the best records in Vice before you transferred over. You’re one of the good ones, Trey.”

Trey looked down at the file still clutched in his fingers. “What’s with the sudden interest, Bryce? I’ve been working this case for nearly a year now without anyone saying ‘boo.’ Can’t even get enough press on this sucker to give the killer a decent nickname. That’s ten deaths. Almost one a month.”

Another clearing of the throat before Bryce answered. “This one was in an area where people take notice. And it was more brutal than the others.”

“So because there were tourists around, and the vic got her face hacked up, this one gets the attention of our beloved D.A.?”

“I don’t like it either, but there it is.” Bryce paused for a moment before continuing. “Anything interesting pop up with this one?”

“No, nothing. I’m pretty frustrated with it,” Trey began, but then recalled his earlier train of thought. “Although I’m not positive this one is the same guy.”

“Oh, really? What makes you say that?” Trey could feel Bryce’s attention laser in as the A.D.A pressed for more details. The poor guy must really be getting pressure from his boss.

“Just a sense of it. The escalation seems out of character, considering the rest of the guy’s M.O. I’m not sure the woman was a pro. Gut level stuff. Nothing concrete.”

“Well, that’s something. A guy like you gets a ‘feeling,’ and I for one start paying attention. Let me know if you need any additional help, and I’ll try to get it for you. And keep me up to date on it, okay?” Bryce asked. To Trey’s surprise, he realized the guy sounded totally sincere about the offer to back him up.

“Yeah. Will do, Bryce. Thanks.” He set the receiver back in its cradle.

This was the first time that Trey could recall where an A.D.A. was looking to be helpful. Usually, they were just busy covering their asses and sucking up to the rich and powerful. This guy seemed like the real deal.

Trey slapped the file in his hands down on the desk in front of him. He needed a different perspective on this. He needed the big guns.

He needed Darc.

*

The lines snaked and swirled and snarled, then snagged on themselves and ended in darkness. No light. No new paths. There were no viable routes left for Darc to take.

Darc was inside the mock apartment that had been built by the unsub. There had been no logical reason for him to come here. Taking a hard look at his own motivations, Darc realized he had done so out of a vague hope that he might see something the C.S.I. unit had not. While that might have been a realistic assessment of some of the individuals that worked for the department, the captain had sent out the best of the best to process this particular scene.

It was almost as if the person he was attempting to find did not exist. Considering what had occurred to date, that was not a viable possibility, and nor was the idea that Mala’s abductor had somehow suffered some kind of accident. That would leave loose ends that Darc’s abilities would easily detect and follow.

Instead, he was confronted with dead end after dead end. When the C.S.I. unit had reported back in from the crime scene, Darc was unsurprised to find that they had found nothing. No prints, no tracks, no video evidence. Nothing that could be linked back to the man who had drugged and taken Dr. Charan.

Indeed, Darc would have been shocked if they had uncovered anything usable. He had calculated the probability of the man leaving trace evidence, using as a reference his caution in taking Mala from the hospital and the precision with which he recreated her apartment. He had placed the odds at less than four percent.

But to come to a halt in every other vein of inquiry was beyond precision. It indicated an intellect that was on a par with that of Darc himself. Even the priest had not achieved that level of precision in his endeavors.

And the level of destruction Father John had managed had been devastating. Darc found himself experiencing something distinctly unpleasant that was a new sensation. It included a clenching of the stomach muscles, both the exterior abdominal muscles and the inner workings of the digestive tract. There was also a heightened cardiovascular response that included an elevated heart rate and light sweating along his brow.

Summing up the details of his response left Darc with only one acceptable conclusion. A viral infection that affected the stomach had briefly been considered and rejected due to the absence of fever.

Darc was afraid.

A noise behind him caused Darc to spin on his heel to confront the new stimuli. The door to the “apartment” swung wide as he turned to reveal Trey. His partner nodded as he caught sight of Darc.

“I thought you might be here.” Trey pointed at Darc’s pocket. “You weren’t answering your phone.”

Seeing as how Darc often neglected to answer his cell phone, he did not feel the need to respond to Trey’s statement. Instead, he looked at his partner, waiting for the inevitable explanation that would follow.

“Yeah,” Trey said, as if he were responding to something Darc had said. “Why am I here? Well… I need your help.” Trey waved his hands. “I know, I know, you’re working on finding Mala’s kidnapper, but I’m really stuck here and the D.A. is—”

“All right,” Darc answered, cutting Trey off.

“Wait. What?”

“I said, ‘all right’.”

“Okay, yes, but… really?” Trey’s face was devoid of any discernible expression. That generally denoted extreme surprise. “Just like that? I was sure you’d throw a fit. Or… you know… just not help.”

There were gray mists covering this entire exchange. Something was off in their interaction. Something that Darc needed to understand before he went any farther. Trey knew Darc well, and was rarely surprised by his behavior. The surprise was an anomaly.

Trey’s unusual response caused Darc to reexamine his own motives. It was true that when Darc was focused on a task, he rarely allowed for outside distractions. What was causing his change in attitude in this instance?

Had the urgency of the case changed any? No, it had not. Janey and Mala were still at risk, due to their being the only individuals who were known to have had contact with the abductor. And the symbols from Janey had indicated an escalation in his plans, which seemed to now include murder.

If the necessity of the search had done nothing but escalate, what could account for Darc’s readiness to abandon the case? The gray fog of emotion covered over his attempts to follow the clear, lighted paths that logic would take.

Was it possible that he was acquiescing to Trey’s request in order to avoid his current failure? That seemed uncharacteristic. But so did his newfound sense of fear.

No.

This was a simple matter of prioritization and compartmentalization. Darc did not have the leads that he needed at the moment to continue to pursue this case. Trey needed help. It was exigency, not fear, that was guiding his actions. Having a better understanding of his own motivations, Darc answered with assurance.

“I can go no further at the moment, so I have time to assist you,” Darc responded to his partner, whose eyebrows went up his forehead in response. More surprise? “It was a simple assessment of available resources.”

“Yeah. Okay, dude.” Trey turned to head back out of the apartment, then muttered over his shoulder. “Maybe you could just keep that in mind next time I come asking.”

Darc began to follow Trey out, leaving behind the only remaining evidence of Mala’s abductor that he knew of. It was fine. It was not a problem. He would return, and when he did, he would find the man responsible.

But for some unknown reason, Darc still felt uneasy.

It was not a good feeling.

CHAPTER 7

Bureaucratic mazes made Mala’s head hurt. She had spent several hours now at the offices of the DSHS, trying to make sure that her foster care license was up to date. It was not out of the question for someone in her position to hold that license, although it was unlikely for it to see much use.

But not only was Mala wanting to become Janey’s foster care parent, she was looking to go much further down that path. She had already spoken to her superior about her desire to take an extended leave of absence, and to Captain Merle about the possibility of some part-time consulting work with the precinct.

Now all she had to do was make sure that she was in a position to take responsibility for little Janey when that became a necessity. Technically, the girl was still in protective custody. In real world terms, that meant that she was back at the station house with Maggie while Mala tried to sort everything out.

Part of the problem in dealing with government agencies, Mala had decided, was the redundancy involved. In cases of legal guardianship, no one wanted to be the one to make a bad decision. And since there were multiple people who could take the rubber stamp to Mala’s documents, whomever she was speaking to at the moment was more than happy to shuffle her case off to someone else. Mala had now made three complete revolutions of the DSHS department without ever getting to a single person willing to accept responsibility for a decision.

In the meantime, Darc and Trey were off trying to track down Mala’s abductor before he could start on the killing spree Darc had decided was on its way. That was more than fine. Mala knew that Janey wouldn’t be completely safe until her captor was behind steel bars. She also knew that those two detectives could use her help.

There was a reason Merle had been more than happy to take her on as a part-time consultant for the department. She had proven herself to be a canny profiler. And while Darc could deduce the hell out of any situation he found himself in, and Trey could charm the pants off of the people they came into contact with, neither could truly spot a would-be killer. It was a serious blind spot in their otherwise picture-perfect partnership.

But for now, she was trapped in mediocre-minded hell. Perhaps it was time to put some of her vaunted skills as a psychologist to use here. Mala regarded the woman behind the desk in front of her, the latest human obstacle in her own personal game of parenting merry-go-round, with a dispassionate eye.

The woman was thin to the point of being gaunt, with the almost jaundiced look of someone who rarely got out from under the florescent lighting that illuminated the entire building here. Her hair was limp and somewhat stringy, there was no wedding ring on her finger, and the only picture on her desk was of a pygmy hedgehog.

This was also the woman who had just told Mala, in a condescending tone, that there was a problem with her paperwork that would necessitate Mala retaking the entire 27 hour P.R.I.D.E. parenting course over again. A course, that was a pale and anemic version of the training that Mala had already received as a child psychologist.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt,” Mala said to the woman, who had left her conversation with Mala to return to her game of Minesweeper, “but I couldn’t help noticing the picture of your adorable hedgehog.”

After glowering at Mala for daring to speak to her again, the woman’s face brightened a bit at the mention of the hedgehog. “Yeah. He’s pretty great. I’ve had him for almost three years now.”

“Wow. He’s a handsome one. African Pygmy, right?” The worker nodded her head. Mala chuckled to herself. “If I had one of those guys, I’d carry him around in my shirt pocket, forget he was there and end up taking him to work.

“I’ve done that more than once,” she responded with a crooked smile.

Mala smiled back. “What’s his name?”

“Oscar,” the woman responded, ducking her head. It was clear to Mala that the woman had some issues with shyness, something that would account for her abruptness when dealing with the public.

“That’s a perfect name for him.”

“I thought so. My ex-boyfriend didn’t. He hated the little guy.” She sniffed, looking with fondness at the photo of her pet.

“Probably part of the reason he’s now your ex, right? I think the way people treat animals is a big indicator of what they’re really like.”

The woman looked up at Mala with big eyes. “Totally. That’s exactly what I said to him when we broke up.”

“Well, you’re a perceptive woman.”

She muttered to herself, “He didn’t seem to think so.”

While they’d been talking about the woman’s pet, Mala had been scanning the desk to see if there was a name plaque or some other indicator of the social worker’s name. Nothing. That was another part of the problem. When a person felt anonymous, there was little to no reason to have any sense of accountability. Time to change that.

Mala sighed. “One way or the other, it’s nice to see someone so willing to commit to that kind of responsibility.” She shook her head suddenly, as if she were only now realizing she’d committed some kind of social faux pas. “I’m so sorry. My name’s Mala.” She extended her hand to the woman behind the desk.

There was no hesitation this time. The woman grabbed her hand and shook it warmly. “I’m Brenda. Nice to meet you.”

“You too, Brenda. And listen, I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?” Brenda seemed baffled by Mala’s statement.

“For earlier. I’m sure I must have come across as impatient and frustrated, and my guess is that I took it out on you. Totally not fair of me.”

Brenda got a look on her face that Mala could only interpret as chagrined. “It’s okay. I get it. At a guess, you’ve probably already talked to five people so far.”

“Seven, actually.” Mala grinned and waved off Brenda’s half-started apology. “I know that what I’m asking is outside of the norm.”

“Let me look at your file again. What did you say your full name was?” Brenda pulled up the departmental software and looked up at Mala, her expression expectant.

“Dr. Mala Charan.” There were moments for modesty. Mala decided this was not one of them.

“Doctor?” Brenda’s eyebrows crawled up her forehead. “What kind of doctor?”

“I’m a child psychologist.”

Brenda made a silent “O” with her mouth until a beep from the computer drew her attention back down to the screen that had pulled up all the information in Mala’s file. “It looks like your P.R.I.D.E. classes were marked as being incomplete.”

“Really? I was there for all of them…” Mala thought back on the classes that at the time had felt unending. “Wait. There was one time where I got called in on an emergency and had to leave early. But it was less than an hour from ending.”

“Hmm,” Brenda muttered, looking at the file. “Let me see who your instructor was.” She leaned in toward the screen. “It was Richard. Well. That explains a lot.”

“Oh?”

“He’s an ass. Probably felt threatened by an intelligent woman like you and got pissy that you were called away on something important.” She glanced up at Mala, then back down at the screen. “You know what? I shouldn’t do this, but…” She made a few clicks with her mouse and then grinned. “Done.”

“Done?” Mala asked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that you’re all taken care of. Official. Give it a day to update in our system, but as of then, you’ll be good to go.” Brenda smiled up at her. Mala was amazed at the change. This was not the woman that had completely blown her off just a few minutes ago. And all that it had taken was a little bit of kindness on Mala’s part.

“Thank you, Brenda. You have no idea how important this is to me.”

“No problem. Honestly, when they found out you were a child psychologist, they should have just let you skip most of the classes. You just get a few idiots that have to count every single bean, you know?”

Mala nodded, having decided that pointing out that Brenda herself had been one of those bean counters until a few moments ago wasn’t such a good idea. Better to get out while the going was good.

“Take good care of Oscar.” Mala nodded at Brenda, then turned back. “There’s a little girl that I’m trying to take in as a foster child. I’m pretty sure she’d love to meet Oscar, if you could ever arrange to “forget” him in your pocket.”

“I think we might be able to figure something out.” Brenda winked at her, and Mala thought as she walked out the door that she had done more than just having to redo 27 hours of parenting classes.

She may have also made a friend.

*

“Pimps.”

The word, uttered by Darc’s partner, interrupted the flow of the paths inside him momentarily, jolting him out of his process. He was sitting with all of the previous case files from the fingernail killer open in front of him, sifting through the information provided within each folder, each box.

“You are referring to the prostitutes’ procurers.”

“Yeah. Well, I guess so. Except I think people stopped calling them ‘procurers’ back in the 1800s.” Trey flipped one of the chairs around and sat backwards in it, looking past Darc’s shoulder at one of the files. “But maybe there’s a link there.”

“Possible, but unlikely. Some of these women seem to be on their last rung. Making sure they were protected by having a procurer might not be the highest thing on their list of priorities.”

Trey shook his head. “Pimp, dude. Just call them pimps. Seriously, no one will understand you.”

The phone on Trey’s desk rang at that point, cutting Darc off just as he was about to begin a lecture on vocabulary. It was unfortunate. It was an excellent lecture that Darc had been preparing in his mind for quite some time.

“Detective Keane,” Trey answered, then paused for the response. “Right. We’ll be over there in a sec… Yeah, we. Darc’s helping out on it.” Trey hung up and turned to face Darc. “Captain wants us in his office ASAP. Sounds pissed.”

As they moved through the hallway leading to Captain Merle’s office, Darc pondered the meaning of the word “pissed.” It linked with the word “pimp.” His preempted speech on the value of vocabulary was still threading its paths of logic through his mind, and some of the tendrils attached themselves to those two words.

Trey had a penchant for colloquial speech. He called it “colorful.” Darc had always eschewed language that didn’t have its basis in the Oxford English Dictionary, or at least Webster’s, but the very arguments he had been formulating to convince Trey to expand his mind were now working against him.

Not learning everyday vulgarisms was hampering his ability to be able to converse. Darc needed to be able to converse at times to better do his job. Ergo, Darc needed to learn how to speak “street” in order to better function as a detective. It was a troubling syllogism, but one that was completely accurate, according to the glowing threads of reason.

Unsettling. He would need to think more on this.

But fortunately, they had arrived at the captain’s office. Trey rapped twice on the door, and after the booming voice of their captain barked at them to enter, they did so, moving to stand in front of Captain Merle’s desk.

Seated to the side of the desk was a man that Darc had only seen once, and then only at a distance. It had been at a law enforcement fundraising party last year that Darc had been coerced into attending, although he had not understood why his presence had been requested. He knew himself to be less than competent at social functions. Perhaps the higher-ups in the precinct had not understood the possible negative repercussions of having Darc attend. He certainly had not been asked back since.

But this blonde, blue-eyed man with the chiseled jawline and high cheekbones had been present. He was one of the new senior deputy attorneys in the Most Dangerous Offender Project for the prosecuting attorney in King County, and his name was Bryce Van Owen. Not unusual, perhaps, that he was here in the captain’s office. Definitely unusual that he would be in the captain’s office during a routine reporting on a low-profile case. Something had changed, and not for the better.

“Darc. Keane. Sit.” Their captain was, as usual, terse. “I wanted you two to meet Bryce Van Owen here. He’s come at the request of the prosecuting attorney himself to check up on this case.”

Trey appeared to choke on his own saliva. “What... He… Um, sorry.” He cleared his throat and began again. “Why’s he down here for this case? I thought it was pretty low priority. Since it’s just a bunch of hookers, you know. No biggie, right?”

The Deputy Attorney grimaced at that. “I suppose that comment’s deserved. Look, I get the honor of serving the Prosecuting Attorney’s whim, and sometimes that whim’s less about justice and more about public perception. Which is actually kind of important if we’re going to do our jobs.”

Trey brushed aside his comment with a gesture. “No, no. I get it. I know how things work, even when they suck. I’m just surprised that he’s focusing on this case.”

“Keane,” the captain growled, a warning tone creeping into his bass voice. “After making so little progress, try not to embarrass the precinct any further by—”

“Captain, it’s okay.” The attorney held up a hand. “I’m not here to bust anyone’s chops.” He turned to face Trey. “My guess is you’ve been working on this without much support, right?”

“By myself, actually. Well, until just about an hour ago, when I called in Darc to help.” Trey seemed to have been placed off balance by the Deputy’s attitude. “But I still don’t get it. Did the Prosecuting Attorney just have a change of heart here? I didn’t think going after serial killers that targeted hookers played out well in the press.”

“Well, this one was closer to Pike Place Market than any of the others. With all the tourist traffic and the mutilations to make it more frightening… Well, it was just a matter of time.” The attorney pursed his lips and continued. “Plus, a local affiliate’s news program picked it up, and it’s caused a bit of a splash. This isn’t just a back-alley slasher with a nail fetish anymore.”

“You seem more than current on the specifics of the case,” Darc asserted.

“I should be. I was the deputy attorney that got called out on this last one. Saw it up close and personal.” Bryce Van Owen indicated to Trey. “I understand you were out working a kidnapping at the time. Everything turn out okay?”

“We got her back, so I guess so. But we haven’t tracked down the kidnapper, so maybe not as okay as we’d like, Mr. Van Owen.”

“Please. Call me Bryce. We’re going to be working together on this one, and I can’t stand formalities. We’re all supposed to be working on the same side.”

“Look,” Captain Merle grumbled from his seat behind the desk. “The reason we brought you in here, beyond meeting Bryce here, was to make sure you understand that you need to make progress on this case. Like, now.”

“Not to contradict you, Captain,” Bryce interjected, his tone soft, “but I want to make sure we get a conviction. Fast progress is great, but not if it compromises the detail work that leads our perp to prison.”

Darc approved of this kind of thinking. Too often, those from the prosecuting attorney’s office were so focused on showing demonstrable movement on a case that they sacrificed the integrity of the evidence. An attorney that understood detail work was unusual, and as far as Darc was concerned, vital to the success of the precinct.

The captain, not used to being contradicted, harrumphed a bit before responding. “Sure. Okay. But let’s still try to get some traction here. With precision, of course.”

The meeting was clearly concluded, but Darc wanted to find a way to show the attorney that his support was valued. According to Trey, that was an important part of interpersonal communication. Perhaps now was a good time to use a colloquialism. Darc searched for the perfect one for this scenario.

“Thank you, Bryce. Meeting you was… bitchin’.” Darc stuck out his hand to shake that of the attorney. Trey made a sound somewhere in between a laugh and a sneeze. Captain Merle seemed to be choking on something, as his face was turning an unnatural shade of purple. After a brief pause, Bryce grabbed Darc’s outstretched hand.

“Nice to meet you, too. Darc, right?”

Darc nodded before turning on his heel and marching back out of the office, Trey at his back. Once the door shut behind them, Trey burst into laughter.

“Bitchin’? Did you really just say that? And to the Deputy Attorney?”

“Was that not appropriate?” Darc asked, unsure of where he had gone wrong.

“I thought it was awesome. Merle looked like he’d swallowed his own tongue.”

Moving back toward their desks and the case that was awaiting their attention, Darc shook his head. There were intricacies to using this kind of language that seemed beyond him.

Perhaps Trey could include it in his list of dating rules.

CHAPTER 8

As Trey sauntered back to his desk in the wake of his partner, trying his best not to look like he was a puppy following after its master, he noticed a woman hovering near his workspace. While women were not uncommon in the precinct, since he’d been dating Maggie, they rarely spent much time close to his desk, and they never hovered. What was going on here?

The moment Trey entered her field of vision, she oriented toward him. There was no flirtation here, no pretense at attraction. There was only what looked to be a digital recorder clutched in a hand that was slightly extended. A reporter.

The woman was one that Trey recognized. Charity King, one of Channel 13’s reporters for their evening news program. Channel 13 was Seattle’s local FOX affiliate. Trey watched FOX News, not because he agreed with everything they were saying, but because it was the only one that didn’t make him feel stupid. In fact, he was pretty sure he could take a couple of those guys on in a debate.

Not Charity, though. She was sharp, and not just smarts-wise. Everything about her was razor-like. Her face was all angles. Her body was lean and mean. Even her hair looked like it was honed enough to cut, all dark shine and clean lines. The woman screamed professional cutthroat with every move she made.

“Detective Keane?” the reporter asked, stepping forward with a smile to shake his hand. Even her teeth looked ready to cut, the flat edges of each tooth so precise they didn’t seem natural. “I’m Charity King, from FOX News.”

“Yeah, I know,” Trey blurted, before he could stop himself. “I mean… right. I’ve seen a couple of your reports. Nice to meet you.” Not that I obsessively listen to every word that falls from your mouth. Probably best if she didn’t know that part. In fact, he probably had her recorded on his DVR right at this very moment. He’d been kind of busy the last couple of days and had some catching up to do on his TV watching.

“Anyway, sorry to barge in on you without an appointment. I was doing an interview nearby, and wanted to chat with you about the Nail Biter Case.”

“Nail Biter?” Trey was taken off-guard. “I didn’t know it was being called that. Actually, I didn’t know until two minutes ago that anyone was calling it anything.”

“Well, honestly, that name was my idea. And no one else is covering it. Just me at this point.” Her face hardened, the sharp angles of her face intensifying. “I seem to be the only one who cares about women getting slaughtered here in the city.”

Trey scrunched up his face. “You may be one of the few that thinks of prostitutes as living, breathing human beings.” Charity snapped her head up at that statement, peering into Trey’s face as if trying to determine whether or not he thought that way himself. Whatever she saw there must have satisfied her, as her expression softened.

“For all the moralizing that happens on my program, there’s a hefty streak of misogynistic thinking that runs through the staff.”

“Misogynist? Gesundheit,” Trey whispered as he leaned in, a grin on his face. Charity’s face went blank, and Trey was sure that he’d offended her, until an answering smile grew. Unlike the one she’d approached him with that was all teeth and aggression, this one reached her eyes, turning her hard, professional demeanor into something quite different. This was a person Trey could actually talk to. Well, you know, if she wasn’t a reporter.

“Don’t play the fool with me, Detective. I’ve been watching over the years. You’ve taken more than your fair share of cases that involve women who work the streets. And didn’t you use to work in Vice?” Her tone was conspiratorial, and she leaned in toward him, mimicking his movement a moment earlier.

Wow. She’d done her homework. It was flattering. It also threw him for a bit of a loop. “You got me. I’m a sucker for the red light girls, what can I say?” Trey stopped, then stammered a bit. “Wait. That’s… I didn’t mean…”

“Relax, Detective, I know what you mean. At least, I hope I do.” Her gaze narrowed in, and her features took on a predatory cast once more. “But I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about the case. Off the record, of course.” She made a production out of powering down her recorder and placing it in her purse.

“Hey, I’d love to, but you know the rules.” He shrugged. “Active case, no talkie-talkie. Sorry.”

“Yeah. It was just wishful thinking.” She made a slight pout with her mouth, but her features didn’t soften. “But listen. If you need to get any information to the public about the case, maybe we can scratch each other’s backs.” She held out a business card that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

Trey took it with caution, as he would handle a spider that might or might not be poisonous. “I’ll do that. Thanks for stopping in.”

Charity King waved a hand as she walked out, her heels clacking against the tiles of the floor. Man, even the way she walked was whetted down like a well-sharpened knife. There was no shake with those fries.

Darc’s voice cut into his observations, bringing him back to the task at hand. “Now that the reporter has exited, I want to show you something I found.”

Trey trotted over to his partner’s desk and looked over his shoulder at the crime photo of the last victim, the one with the mutilated face. He had seen the picture so many times he’d practically memorized it, but it never got any prettier. Trey had developed a certain tolerance bordering on respect for the killer Charity King was calling the Nail Biter. This picture had changed all that.

“Okay, dude. Whatcha got? Did you find a picture of an ocelot in there somewhere?”

“No,” Darc answered, his tone flat. Someday, Trey was going to teach his partner how to recognize a joke. “I found a Babylonian symbol.”

Trey did a double take. “You say what now? Baby-what?”

“Babylonian. From Babylon. An Akkadian city-state of ancient Mesopotamia in modern-day Iraq.”

“I know what Babylon is.” Trey huffed in exasperation. “Well, actually, no. I didn’t know any of that stuff you just said. But I’ve heard of Babylon. In Catholic school. It was supposed to be this really wicked place or something.”

“In reality, it was a dominant cultural center that contained one of the Seven Wonders of the World at one point in history.”

“Whatever. But they didn’t believe in God or anything. I think that’s what the nuns were getting at.”

“The ancient Babylonians were polytheistic,” Darc continued, as if Trey had any idea what polytheistic meant. But apparently his partner caught his own mistake, as he clarified with his next statement. “Their worship included multiple deities, including one named Ishtar, the goddess of love and sex.”

“Right. I can see why the nuns might’ve had a problem with that. If anyone so much as thought the word ‘sex’ in their vicinity, the rulers would fly fast. Oh, and they were pretty sure the words ‘love’ and ‘fear’ were synonyms.” Ah, memories. And Trey’s mom wondered why he didn’t go to Mass.

Darc held up a magnifying glass to the victim’s forehead in the photograph. What had appeared to Trey to be just a part of the rest of the mutilations of the face was, at a closer view, a symbol slightly separated from the other cuts. It looked like an upper case Y, with the two upper arms of the letter connected with a horizontal line.

“That,” Darc said, pointing at the letter, “represents the number one in the Babylonian system.”

“I’ll have to check, but I’m pretty sure none of the other victims had anything like this on them.” Trey was sure he’d remember if there were any weird cuts or slashes on the other bodies.

“They do not. I have already examined both the photographs and the examiner’s reports. The only reason this symbol was not noticed was that it was thought to be part of the random slashes already present on the face.” Darc paused, looking like he was doing that processing thing he always did when he was working a case. “I may need to get the M.E. to examine the body again. The mutilations were done pre-mortem. I want to know if the symbol was, as well.”

“I’ll call him,” Trey offered. He moved to the phone, but before he could pick up the receiver, it started ringing. Trey scooped it off the cradle and answered. “Detective Keane.”

“Keane. It’s Halliwell over in Missing Persons. Just wanted to let you know that we had a report called in earlier today. Matches your vic. I sent you an email with the deets.”

“Halliwell, you rock, man,” Trey thanked him. “I’ll take a look and call you back if I have any questions.”

Darc looked at Trey as he slapped the phone back down and rubbed his hands together. “What did Halliwell say?” Darc asked, with more curiosity than he normally exhibited. What was going on with his partner? Trey shook his head, putting it aside for another time. He pulled up the email to confirm his suspicions.

“This case just got a lot more complicated.”

“For what reason?”

“Because,” Trey replied with a half-smile-half-grimace, pointing at the email on the screen, “this time, our vic isn’t a prostitute.”

*

The way Mala was talking to her made Janey nervous. Not nervous bad, but first-day-of-school nervous. Like fieldtrip-to-the-zoo nervous. The good kind.

She was saying things like foster care and adoption and home. Words that didn’t mean the same thing to Janey that they seemed to mean to Mala. Janey had heard words like that when the people from the home had taken her away from Darc.

But this was Mala. She was so nice, and she was smiling and even crying a little bit. Not crying like when Janey missed her parents. More like when she watched E.T. and she thought the alien was dead but then found out he was alive. Like that.

And she was so pretty. Not pretty like Maggie. Maggie’s skin was pale, even paler than Janey’s. And her hair was almost like watching a fire in the fireplace. Warm and cozy but crazy and beautiful, too.

But Mala was dark. Dark eyes, dark hair, dark skin. She was like the magic guy from The Little Princess, the one that made breakfast appear. Like magic. But also soft and comfortable, like Popeye.

And even though Darc used to make Mala cranky, it didn’t seem like that was happening any more. She liked Darc now. At least that’s how it seemed. So maybe if she went with Mala, she could still see Darc. That would make her happy.

So when Mala asked her if Janey would like to come back and live with her, at least for a little while, Janey had nodded her head, yes. And Mala had cried even harder. Good crying. And she gave Janey a hug. That had felt nice.

Mala even rubbed Popeye on his head. She liked her bear. That was important. Popeye hadn’t even gotten mad, and he usually hated it when people touched him. Except Janey. Of course he didn’t hate it when Janey touched him. He loved to get cuddles from her. He was such a silly bear.

But if Popeye thought it was a good idea, then it must be right. No one could fool Popeye. He might be a silly bear, but he was a super smart bear, too. The only thing he was worried about now was whether or not the covers in their new bed were going to be soft. He’d hated the scratchy sheets at the home. He said they smelled like plastic. He hated plastic.

The only bad part was when Janey looked at Maggie. Her eyes were sad, even though she was smiling. She reached over and ruffled Janey’s hair, like Trey did all the time. She was trying to look happy, but she wasn’t.

So Janey did the only thing she knew how to do. She leaned over, gave Maggie a big hug and kissed her on the cheek, real soft like her mommy used to do to her when she’d get tucked in at night. Maggie cried a little bit when she did that, but Janey was pretty sure it was good crying.

She hoped so, because when she reached up to her own face, Janey could feel tears there, too. But she was pretty sure she was happy.

In fact, she was more than pretty sure. She was almost positive.

*

Dental records had confirmed that their victim was, indeed, the missing socialite that had been reported missing. Porsche Diamante, only daughter of Italian fashion designer Alessandro Diamante, who had immigrated to the U.S. in the late 70s. Darc had made no immediate connection to this information, but his partner had.

“Dude, he’s the guy that was almost single-handedly responsible for the geometric shapes on shirts during the 80s.”

“That means nothing to me,” Darc informed his overactive partner, who even now was dancing from one foot to the other, as if he could not contain the amount of energy he had contained within his body.

“Well, it should. The guy’s mega-rich. And his daughter’s his only heir. The girl buys cars like you buy socks.” Trey paused and glanced down at where Darc’s socks should be, covered up by his slacks. “Okay, like I would buy socks. Are you even wearing them today?”

“Yes.”

“Just checking. You stop wearing socks, and car rides with you start getting really stinky. I’m not going through that again.” Trey paced back and forth, his hands moving as fast as his mouth was. “So anyway, she’s constantly getting into trouble, she posed nude for Playboy a couple of years ago, she’s probably bought half the available cocaine in King County. You know… your typical rich socialite heiress.”

“The pertinent question that you are not asking is what would cause the killer to target her?” The lines of logic were snarled and doubled back on themselves. Nothing was making sense.

“That’s just the thing,” Trey answered. “I wouldn’t have thought that he would. Of course, I also would’ve thought he’d never mutilate a body, but…”

“But clearly he has,” Darc finished for him. “This could indicate a dramatic escalation in his pattern, or we could be looking at another killer.”

“Two killers that remove fingernails? That doesn’t seem right.”

“I calculate the probability at less than six percent,” Darc confirmed. “Statistically possible, but highly unlikely.”

“So at least for now we gotta treat ‘em like they’re all the same guy. Okay. I’m telling you, there’s something about this whole mutilation thing that seems so familiar.” Trey rubbed his temples with the index and middle fingers of both hands. He then shook his head. “Nope. I got nothing. So, where are we on linking them?”

“With the semen found at several of the crime scenes, I pulled up the sex offender registry and correlated it with the geography of the killings. The fingernail pulling seems to be more sexual than violent in nature, and sexual compulsions can exhibit themselves in multiple outlets.”

“Like a Peeping Tom that also likes to expose himself?” Trey asked.

“Exactly. I came up with a list of ten suspects within the boundaries I defined, but cannot easily eliminate any others without additional input.”

“Perhaps I can help,” a new voice chimed in.

It was Mala.

*

The look of pleased surprise on Trey’s face was gratifying to Mala. Darc, on the other hand, instead of his usual blank expression, looked as if he had sucked on a particularly sour lemon.

“Hey, Mala!” Trey gushed. “What’re you doing here?”

“I’m on the case,” Mala replied, grinning at his enthusiasm. “I’m working for the department part-time as a consultant. And since everyone found out that it was Porsche Diamante that had gotten killed, the captain’s phone has been ringing off the hook. He wanted to give you guys all the help you could handle.”

“I’m not sure we could ever ‘handle’ you, but I’m glad you’re working the case with us.” Trey glanced over at his partner. “This is great, don’t you think, Darc?”

“I am not certain how her skill set will improve our chances at apprehending our suspect,” Darc muttered. “However, I am not opposed to her presence on the team.”

“Oh, well that’s good,” Trey muttered, making a face at Mala, as if to say, what’s his deal? “Glad to hear you’re not actively opposed to it. I mean it’s not like she helped us take down the priest or anything, right?”

Darc paused, looking intently at Trey. “That was sarcasm, correct?”

“Ya think?” Trey sniped back, and then added, “That was sarcasm, too, in case you missed it.”

“Okay, guys, okay.” Mala stepped in, trying to alleviate some of the tension in the room. “I just want to help. If I can’t, I promise I won’t get in the way.” She delivered this last sentence to Darc.

He was the last person she would have expected to behave in this fashion, particularly after their successful interaction on the last case. Perhaps he was still upset about how she had kept him from seeing Janey after the slaughterhouse incident. That, in retrospect, had been an error on her part. Something to talk through with him at another time, perhaps.

“Hey, this is really my case,” Trey added, “so if he doesn’t like it, he can go zone out in another room while we’re working on stuff.” He rapped Darc on the arm. “Sorry, dude, but I think we could use anything she’s willing to offer. And stop being so surly.”

“I am not being surly,” Darc responded. “I am simply stating—”

“Yeah, yeah. Insufficient, blah, blah. Unnecessary, yada, yada. You’re like a broken record sometimes, Darc.” Trey pulled up a chair and thumped it, indicating that Mala should take a seat. “Belly up to the bar there, Doc. Take a look.”

Mala perused the materials they had gathered. It was a thorough job, so far. Looking over the list of suspects Darc had assembled, Mala saw something that presented itself almost immediately.

“Here,” Mala said, pointing at one of the suspects on the list. “Jeremy Krauss.”

“What is it about him?” Trey asked.

“Well, first I have to explain a little bit about the whole fingernail thing.”

Trey nodded. “Yeah, that’s a little freaky.”

“It’s actually not all that uncommon. It is a subset of the fetish referred to as partualism, where the subject is aroused by specific body parts. And fetishes usually start in childhood.”

“So the fingernails are taken as a trophy,” Darc interjected, his tone reluctant. At least he was trying to engage. Unfortunately, Mala needed to disabuse him of his current notion of what was probable in this case.

“That’s a possibility, but it’s much more likely that he disposed of the nails somehow. Out of a sense of shame, potentially.”

Darc retreated back into his mute state at that, but Trey seemed even more curious. “So, he’s taking the nails because he feels bad?”

“The coroner’s report shows that the nails were taken post-mortem. There was no desire to hurt the victim by taking them, as far as we can tell, right?”

Trey shook his head. “Sure, but that doesn’t match at all with the last one.”

That brought Mala up short. “No, it doesn’t, does it? To be honest, I don’t get that part at all. Maybe it was an anomaly? Something the victim did made him angry? Not sure. It doesn’t seem to make a lot of sense.”

“You know what? Doesn’t matter. Let’s focus on the guy you picked out. Mr. What’s-His-Bucket.” Trey looked at the list. “Krauss. What’s his deal?”

“He was picked up for voyeurism and had a run-in for trying to pick up a prostitute a few times.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t make him any different from most of these other guys.” Trey’s face was a study in confusion as he scanned down the suspects, picking out their sexual crimes and misdemeanors.

“No, not at first glance, but if you look deeper into his file, you’ll see that he never tried to have sex with any of them. He just wanted them to drink glasses of water while he… you know.”

“Uh… okay.” It was clear that he had no idea where Mala was going with this. She decided to put him out of his misery.

“Watching them drink gave him the perfect way to see their fingernails without asking them to see their fingernails. Remember the shame part?”

Darc was still not saying anything at this point, but he was obviously listening. And as he listened, he seemed to be agreeing with her assessment. She thought. It was always so tough to tell with the bald detective.

“So,” Trey mused. “The guy’s embarrassed. I guess I would be too if I got off on fingernails.

“No,” Mala corrected. “Not embarrassed. Ashamed. They’re two completely different things.”

“Explain,” Darc spoke, his tone flat. Well, that was about par for course, from what she knew of the tall detective. He wasn’t much for small talk.

“Many times, these fetishes begin with the mother. For Mr. Krauss, my guess would be that he watched his mother having sex with multiple partners. She could have been a prostitute herself, or perhaps had a strong sex addiction. That kind of exposure at a young age could create not only a sexual obsession, but one around which there would be a preponderance of shameful feelings.

“Urg. That’s not creepy at all,” Trey muttered, then shook his head. “Well, all right then.” He clapped his hands together. “Let’s go pick the guy up and see what he has to say for himself.”

Mala was not at all positive that this was going to be the guy they were looking for, but she knew he was the most likely on their list. And one way or another, she wanted to help these two track down a killer who was preying on women. That was the only reason, right? There wasn’t any other ulterior motive going on inside of her, was there? Something prompted by the presence—and disapproval of—a certain tall, handsome savant?

No, that couldn’t be it.

But as they all gathered their things to leave, heading for the last known residence of Jeremy Krauss, she found herself really hoping that she was right. Probably not the best way to do detective work.

But then again, she wasn’t really a detective, was she?

CHAPTER 9

Darc was not pleased with the current scenario. There was no logical reason for him to feel this way. In fact, the ribbons of light within him seemed… not pleased, of course. That would not be logical, and seeing as how the bands were made up of pure logic, that kind of emotion would be antithetical to their very existence. They did seem oddly bright and submissive, however.

Mala proved herself valuable, over and over again. His insistence that she was not needed on the case had no basis in any kind of factual framework. It was, in fact, patently false. Darc did not typically utter falsehoods. Therefore, he was acting atypically. It was another uncomfortable syllogism.

She sat in the backseat, having refused to ride in the front passenger seat he had offered to her. Why had he done that? He always took the front passenger seat when Trey was driving, which was so close to always that it made little statistical difference. He had never made accommodation for anyone previously. So what had made him do so now?

And why had she refused?

The tendrils of gray were reaching out for him, doing their best to overwhelm his sense of self. Though, strangely, they did not seem to have any impact whatsoever on the strands of logic laid out like a network in his mind. The information continued to flow into and out of his system in a steady stream of patterns and rhythms. New symbols arose as connections were made and then tossed aside as irrelevant or stored for future use.

Darc tried to catch a glimpse of Mala in the rear view mirror, but the angle was such that he could not see her. Turning around to face her made sense, but for some unknown reason, Darc did not want to let Mala know that he was observing her.

Instead, he pulled up her face in his memory. Eidetic memory was fairly precise, and her features seemed etched with even greater clarity than he normally experienced when remembering individuals.

The features were highly symmetrical, pleasing in their aesthetic. Dusky skin, with an even, smooth tone, slightly darker around the eyes, which lent her eyes a smoky look that, according to makeup commercials, seemed to be in vogue currently.

Her lips were full without looking like she was puckering them up. That was a look that also seemed to be in fashion currently. Trey called them “duck faces.” Darc thought they looked like someone had struck them with a large mallet.

But what was the most troubling of all were the bodily reactions he experienced during his observations. His breathing became more shallow and rapid. His heart rate increased perceptibly. There was even a light sheen of sweat across his forehead.

Unacceptable.

Replacing Mala’s features with the map of logic paths regarding the case, Darc attempted to refocus on what they were doing now. But Mala’s face continued to insert itself into his thoughts, keeping him from weaving the threads into a cohesive pattern.

He sighed, pushing all thought from his head as rain began to splatter against the windscreen in front of his face. Trey must have heard the sound, as he turned his head to look at Darc, one eyebrow raised. He took one look at the look on Darc’s face and chuckled, slapping Darc’s leg.

“Don’t worry, buddy. We’ll figure it out,” Trey whispered to him.

“What was that?” Mala called up from the back seat.

“Um, nothing. Just saying we’ll check it out. You know. The guy. Krauss.”

“Oh. Right.” Mala sat back in her seat.

“C’mon, Darc. Get your head back in the game, man. We need your smarts when we go in there.” Trey kept his tone low enough not to spark Mala’s interest, as she didn’t ask what they were talking about.

Trey was correct in his assessment. Going in intellectually handicapped would hamper their ability to successfully bring in the suspect. He would need to stop thinking about Mala.

The only problem was he had no idea how to do so.

*

Trey checked in with the uniformed cops that had been sent ahead of them to the apartment of Jeremy Krauss. The suspect was not at home, which sucked as far as apprehending the guy went, but at least they’d get a crack at his place. The manager of the apartment complex had been called and was on her way out to meet them as they pulled up into the parking lot.

The complex possessed all of the charm of a structure built in the early 80s. Faux wood siding painted a slightly magenta color that had now faded to almost a dull pink covered the structure, which had a boxy shape that had probably been intended to look ultramodern when it first opened its doors.

As the manager lurched out to meet them, Trey had to wonder if it was an unwritten rule that if you managed apartments, you had to give up on all things relating to personal hygiene. The woman had straggly hair that was somewhere in between blonde and brunette, with the end result being easily described by pointing at the water left over from washing a sink full of dishes. Her clothes were rumpled, like she’d just gotten out of bed, even though it was two o’clock in the afternoon.

Trey thought about it for a second, realizing that if he didn’t have to go in to work, he’d probably never get out of bed, either. He might not brush his teeth, either. Trey decided that it could be prudent to keep out of the woman’s breathing radius. You know, just to be on the safe side.

“So, what did he do?” The manager’s teeth were crooked, and it looked like at least two of them were rotten. Trey mentally patted himself on the back for a good call.

“Possibly nothing, ma’am,” Trey answered. “We’re just checking his apartment as part of an ongoing case. Can’t really talk much about it.” He handed her a copy of the search warrant that she made a pretense of scanning as they entered the stairwell leading up to the second story. “Do you know Mr. Krauss?”

“Well, I don’t know him know him, if you get what I’m saying.” She smiled, playing the coquette, and made an attempt to twirl her hair, but got her finger caught in a snarl. Trey turned his sudden laugh into a cough.

“But it sounds like you had some interaction with him, at least,” Trey said, once he’d gotten control of himself. “Sorry. Getting over a head cold.”

“Oh, yeah. Stuff’s been going around. I was shitting my guts out day before yesterday.” Trey shifted himself a slight step away as the woman continued. “Jeremy’s a bit of a lone wolf kind of guy, you know? Comes and goes as he pleases. Never stays in one spot too long.” Her look got wistful.

“Did you two date?” Mala interjected, as she moved alongside the woman.

The manager’s face screwed itself into a self-depreciating grimace. “Naw. I thought we might, at first, but… You know. Lone wolf. Can’t get tied down.”

They arrived at the door to Jeremy Krauss’s apartment, and the woman pulled out a wad of keys and started going through them, trying to find the right one for the door. After some fumbling around, she finally managed to get it unlocked and moved to the side as Trey, Darc and Mala entered the space.

The apartment appeared to be a typical bachelor pad. Dark colors, fairly simple layout, nothing fancy. It was messy, but not trashed to the point that the suspect would need to be embarrassed to bring someone home with him. A flat-screen TV was flush with the far wall, the most expensive piece of furniture in an otherwise Ikea wonderland.

“Nothing here that indicates the kind of psychosis that would drive someone to mutilations,” Mala murmured as she scanned the room.

The manager of the complex, who had crept in behind them, gawking around the room with a sense of invading the privacy of a celebrity’s home, gasped at that. “Jeremy’s hurt somebody?”

“No, no,” Trey reassured her, giving Mala a look. “Like I said, we’re just checking on some stuff. We don’t know anything yet. Could you please wait outside while we search? We’ll call for you if we need anything.”

The manager sniffed at that, looking decidedly disappointed. But she turned and left the living room, after one more longing look around the place. Definitely a case of love unrequited with that one. They’d want to keep an eye on her.

They moved from the living room into the kitchen, which showed more use than was typical for a single guy. From the dishes in the sink, Jeremy looked to have made himself a nice white truffle risotto the evening before. Trey found that his level of respect for the suspect was rising, in spite of himself.

The suspect’s bedroom was, again, much neater than Trey would’ve imagined. The color palette was masculine, but showed an eye for placement, shape and line that would’ve done a design star proud. The artwork above the bed looked to be original, and maybe even done by the suspect himself.

Dude. Nice.

But so far, nothing that really screamed serial killer. In Trey’s experience, they tended toward either extreme. Crazy-organized or hoarder-messy, there didn’t seem to be a lot of in-between kind of behavior from most of the real nut jobs.

And then they came to the second bedroom, which was locked from the inside. It was one of the door locks common in apartment buildings, one that could be popped open with a straightened coat hanger or ice pick. Not finding either handy, Trey slipped the ink cartridge out of his pen and rammed it into the handle until he heard a sharp click.

The door swung wide, revealing all of the crazy that any of them could ever hope for. Pictures of fingernails, all of them well-manicured, most in shades of either dark red or black, covered every blank space on the walls. It was 360 of insanity.

There was no overt pornography included. No naked women, no disembodied shots of genitalia, nothing overtly sexual about any of it. Just fingernails. Lots and lots and lots of them.

“Yeah,” Trey breathed. “I think we may have found our guy.”

There was a sound behind him. Apparently, the manager had snuck back in and caught a glimpse of the room of crazy. It seemed to have been a bit too much for her.

She had passed out in the hallway.

*

A tiny nudge, and the work was progressing once more.

The Lord giveth…

It hadn’t taken much. While those in the higher positions of power were corrupt both morally and intellectually, the two soldiers with boots on the ground were much purer of intent. And infinitely sharper.

Perhaps too sharp.

The short one was dull enough, though he had an empathetic streak that might prove problematic. But now that the shaven inspector was involved, the Lord would have to guide His servant’s actions carefully to avoid the successful interference of the forces of the Master of Darkness.

For no matter how likable these detectives might be, how seemingly upright, they submitted to the power that refused to bow the knee to the Lord of Lords and the King of Kings. The one was living in sin, and the other worshipped his own intellect.

Neither of those false idols would deliver them from the wrath of righteous indignation. They would not prevail against the chosen of the Savior. The Lord would help His servant to pass through the hands of the unrighteous and uncircumcised of heart.

Shall the prey be taken from the mighty, or the lawful captive delivered? But thus saith the Lord, Even the captives of the mighty shall be taken away, and the prey of the terrible shall be delivered: for I will contend with him that contendeth with thee…

The words soothed, smoothing away the tension in the forehead, in the set of the shoulders. The burden was heavy, but it would be lightened, if only the Lord’s servant could prove worthy. And worthiness was the only true goal to which could be aspired.

Now was the time. The plan was set. The players were in motion.

Was there pain? Certainly. But nothing of worth was ever done without discomfort. A stiffening of resolve was part of the process. And the process was never easy. Straight is the path that leads to everlasting salvation. Just as Samuel hacked Agag to pieces before the Lord, God required difficult things of those that He chose to do His greatest works.

And this servant would not be found wanting.

Ever.

It was an oath taken that was bound down to the very core of cores. Nothing would keep those waiting on the will of the Lord from doing their duty before Him.

A trembling coursing through the veins sang of redemption. Of forgiveness for past sins. A forgetting of the wrongs that laid heavily on these unworthy shoulders.

Salvation waited.

*

Jeremy Krauss huddled in his chair in the interrogation room, apparently doing what he could to remain inconspicuous. Unfortunately for him, that time had passed the moment Mala and the two detectives entered that room.

In addition to the photo decoupage on the walls, they had uncovered twenty bottles of nail polish in varying shades of red and black, as well as more nail files than they could shake a stick at. Mala had to admit, there was something fascinating about seeing a fetish play itself out to a deadly extreme almost right in front of her eyes.

And now she found it hard to look away from the figure that sat on the other side of the one-way mirror. He was good-looking, in a vague sort of way, his features pleasant, if a little vacant. His hair was dark and well groomed, a three-day scruff adorning his cheeks. Fashion-wise, he seemed to gravitate to neutrals, with a dark black shirt and a grayed-out pair of jeans.

Basically, he seemed like a normal guy you might run into at a bar on a Friday night. The kind of guy that, if he listened well and acted respectfully, might get taken home for some extracurricular activities.

Not exactly the type of person she would suspect of being a serial killer with a fetish for fingernails.

Trey and Darc entered the room, Trey slapping a thick file down on the table between them and the cowering suspect. He pointed to the folder, making a tsk, tsk sound with his lips and tongue.

“There’s a whole lotta nasty in there, Jeremy.”

“Hey,” the suspect whined. “I don’t have any idea what this is all about.”

“Oh, you don’t?” Trey snickered. “I suppose you figure most normal guys have a wall of weirdness hiding behind a locked door in their apartment?”

Jeremy’s head slumped down. “Okay. I admit it. I’m a freak. But that doesn’t mean—”

“Freak is mild for what I saw in there, dude.” Trey paused for a moment. “And, man, I gotta ask… Fingernails? I don’t get it.”

The suspect took a deep breath, then let it out in a huge sigh. “I can’t explain it. I’ve always been… interested… in really nice nails.”

“Wouldn’t have anything to do with mommy, now would it?” Trey asked, his tone innocent.

Jeremy’s head snapped back up. “What are you talking about?” His eyes hardened. “You know what? Forget it. I haven’t done anything illegal.”

“Weeellll,” Trey stretched the word out. “We’ll see what the guys down in forensics have to say about that. All it takes is matching up the DNA on the hairs we gathered from your bathroom to the semen found at the crime scenes, and… well, you’re pretty much screwed.”

The blood drained out of the suspect’s face, his shoulders slouching forward even further, if that were possible. All of the defiance that had appeared when Trey spoke of the man’s mother seemed to dissipate, leaving the expression of a scared little boy who had been caught doing something truly terrible.

“I… I…” Tears welled up in Jeremy’s eyes, his face scrunched up in a rictus of guilt. “You… I can’t…”

“Listen, man.” Trey’s tone softened, and he leaned in toward the suspect. “You’ve got some major stuff going on in there.” He pointed at Jeremy’s head. “Probably enough to get some consideration as a mental case. You know? But we can’t help you out if you won’t work with us here.”

Darc inclined his head in a solemn nod. “The evidence against you is significant. I place the probability of your conviction for these crimes at 93 percent.”

The combination of Trey’s empathy and Darc’s dispassionate intellect proved to be a near-irresistible one-two punch. Jeremy laid his head on the table in front of him, a sob shaking his body.

Trey reached out and patted him on the shoulder. “I want to help you. I’ve been tracking your case for over a year now, and as serial killers go, you’re not the worst I’ve seen.” Trey glanced up at his partner, a significant look passing between them. “Trust me.”

The suspect’s shoulders shook with the force of his crying. Mala had seen that response too many times in therapy not to recognize what was happening. The walls of self-deception were low right now. Trey was close to getting to this man’s core. She could only assume that would mean a confession was near.

Making his voice even more gentle, Trey coaxed the man in front of him. “There’s only a couple of things I don’t get, man. This last one. Her face was torn to shreds. You’ve never done that before.”

Jeremy’s head popped back up with the force of a jack-in-the-box that had been wound too tight. His eyes were rimmed in red, streaks of tears covering his cheeks. “That wasn’t me. I didn’t… I would never…”

“Hey, c’mon. You can’t expect us to believe there’re two guys out there taking people’s fingernails.” Trey was striking the perfect balance, his tone soft but disbelieving.

“No, yeah, that’s not…” The suspect shook his head, wiping at his eyes. “I didn’t do anything to her. I just found her already like that. She was lying there, you know, like that…” He glanced at the crime scene photos, then looked away and shuddered. “But her fingernails were still there… and they were perfect… so…”

“So you took them?” Trey finished for him. “And then you hid them?”

“No, I…” Jeremy’s expression seemed confused. “I thought you knew?”

“Knew what?”

“What I did with the nails.”

“Um, nope. Enlighten me, dude.” Trey made a come-here motion with his hands.

The suspect looked back and forth from Trey to Darc, looking for something that he didn’t seem to be finding. He shook his head.

“I can’t. I can’t. It’s too… I can’t.”

Mala felt a chill run up her spine and realized what it meant. A man who had ended the life of dozens of women couldn’t bring himself to say what he was doing with their fingernails.

What on earth was that bad?

CHAPTER 10

Trey had been in law enforcement for a long time now. He’d learned a fair amount in that period. Okay, sure, there were days, especially when Darc did something all savant-y, that he felt like what he knew could fit inside a very small and not very well-cleaned coffee mug—the same coffee mug where most of Trey’s intelligence seemed to come from on some early mornings.

But on this particular day, facing this particular suspect, that coffee-mug-measure of intelligence seemed to be shrinking down to the size of one of those espresso shot thingies they served at snooty coffee shops around here. Trey decided it was time to take control of the situation before it shrank to thimble-sized proportions. He shifted in his seat, trying to ignore the powerful scent of cleanser covering over something much more foul that lingered in the room. Someone must have thrown up in here earlier.

“Okay, dude. You don’t hide the fingernails. You don’t bury them, right? You don’t collect them, as far as we could tell.” Trey tried to peer past the shame in Jeremy’s eyes, but the veil was too thick. “Enlighten me. What do you do with them?”

“I do collect them,” the suspect replied, his eyes shifting from side to side as he spoke. He then rubbed his hands over his face and mumbled something unintelligible.

“What was that?” Trey probed.

“I said that I do collect them… sort of.”

That was a puzzler. “How do you sort of collect fingernails? I’m pretty sure collection is either a do or a do-not kind of situation.” Trey turned to Darc for confirmation. His partner graced him with a sober nod of the head. Okay, so he wasn’t crazy. Or at least not more crazy than the guy on the other side of the table.

The crazy guy on the other side of the table who seemed to be sinking into a puddle of self-loathing. Jeremy Krauss’s face was screwed up in a grotesque parody of his normally fairly attractive features. The guy was a mess. Good for questioning, not so great for Trey’s sense of empathy. Again, the suspect mumbled into his hands. At least this time it was somewhat intelligible.

“You don’t understand.”

“Hey, you’re right. You are totally right. I don’t understand.” Trey leaned in closer to Jeremy, his voice soft. “But I want to. Help me out here. What did you do with the fingernails?”

“I guess it doesn’t make any difference any more. And I’m kind of glad you guys caught me. I don’t… I don’t like being… you know… like this.” He flopped his hands in his own general direction, his motion listless. He took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. “I eat them.”

“You…?” Trey felt his jaw unhinging a bit, took a moment to shut his mouth, and then continued. “You eat them?” Hmm. That may have sounded accusatory. Perhaps he should dial it back a bit. “I mean, you eat them?” Better. Maybe. Just a bit. But Trey felt the need to clarify, just in case. “The fingernails, you mean?”

Jeremy nodded. “Yeah. I take them, clean them and then eat them.”

“You clean them first?”

“Well, yeah. If I didn’t… well… that would be pretty gross.”

Trey nodded sagely. “Right. That would be gross, wouldn’t it? Would you excuse me for a moment? I just have to…” He gestured vaguely out the door, stood and made his escape. Trey could tell that he was out of his depth here.

He darted around from the interrogation room to the observation room right next door, where Mala was waiting, a thoughtful expression on her face. That was promising, right? Definitely seemed promising.

“You heard that, right, Doc?”

Mala nodded, her mouth pursed in a pensive way. She seemed to have a lot of those “thinking” kinds of faces. Maybe Trey should cultivate one or two, so people didn’t just assume he had no clue what was going on. That was generally true, but it would be nice if everyone didn’t always think it. The doctor turned to face the one-way mirror, observing the suspect on the other side of the glass.

“Fascinating. This has to be from early childhood trauma. You said his mother was picked up for prostitution a few times? He may have seen it. Watched her getting ready. That would explain the combination of arousal and extreme guilt.”

“Yeah, but eating the nails?” Trey scrunched up his nose in disgust. “That’s just all kinds of crazy.”

“It actually makes a certain amount of sense,” Mala corrected him. “With as much shame as he seems to be exhibiting, he would want to get rid of the evidence of his actions. But he also could be attached to those same trophies, so the logical conclusion…”

“Would be to eat them?” Trey yelped. He glanced over at the interrogation room to make sure they hadn’t heard his outburst. Jeremy’s head was on the table and Darc was… well, Darc had his normal vacant look on his face, so it appeared that the soundproofing around the room was working.

“There’ve been stranger cases. Including the one we just worked together, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yeah, okay. Father John was a nut job to end all nut jobs. But still… he didn’t eat any of his victims.” He felt a shudder take over his upper torso and shook out his arms to get rid of the resultant goose bumps. “Whatever. Doesn’t matter to the case, I guess. Any tips on how to continue?”

“Be as parental as possible. Treat him like a misbehaving child. The more he feels like he’s being punished, the more likely he is to be pliant.”

“Parental. Got it.” Trey moved to the door, then stopped. “Oh… Mala?” She turned away from the window to look at Trey. “It’s great to have you back.”

The last sight Trey could see as he walked out of the observation room was a smile creeping over Mala’s face. The team was back together, and Trey, for one, couldn’t be happier about it. Now if he could just get Darc to stop acting like a love-struck teenager every time he was around her…

Slipping back into his seat, Trey gazed across the table at the fingernail-eater. Jeremy had lifted his head back up, and was sitting slack-jawed, his expression vacant. Trey could see the tips of his bottom teeth. Were they extra pointy? No. It was just Trey’s imagination playing tricks on him.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” the suspect asked, his mouth turning down into a frown.

“What? No. No, of course not.” Trey held out for all of three seconds before breaking down and continuing. “Okay. Yes. Yes, I was. How could you eat them, man? I don’t get it. Did they taste bad?”

Jeremy’s demeanor turned wry. “No clue. I swallow them whole. No taste unless I don’t clean them properly. Only made that mistake once.” He rolled his eyes at Trey, for all the world like a buddy of his from high school that had once gotten them both busted for smoking in the boy’s room at the Catholic school they’d attended. The nuns did not take kindly to tobacco consumption.

“Whole. Of course.” Trey glanced down at the file in front of him, then over at Darc, who was still zoned out, as far as Trey could tell. He then took his gaze back to Jeremy. “I gotta say, man, you’re not at all what I expected.”

“Yeah. I get that a lot.”

“Really? How many people have you talked to about… well, this?”

“You’d be surprised,” the suspect sighed.

Trey remembered Darc talking about how serial killers sometimes knew each other. “You mean like other killers and stuff?”

“Oh yeah. We run into each other all the time. And some of them like to talk. A lot. Like, never shut up kind of talking.” Jeremy paused for a moment. “In retrospect, that may have not been a good idea. I don’t keep secrets well. I start off fine, but once I get to know someone…”

“You can’t stop talking?” Trey probed, a grin on his face.

Jeremy laughed, a deep one that shook his shoulders. “Wow. I guess I am that guy, aren’t I? And I thought they were so annoying.”

“Look, not to get too obnoxious or anything, but we could use some help on some of the cases we’re working on.”

The suspect leaned back in his chair and scratched his belly, lifting up his shirt a bit in the process, exposing the white undershirt below. “Sure. You seem like a good guy. I’ll help you out.” He lifted a finger. “But I’m telling you now, I don’t know all that much. And what I know probably won’t help you.”

“Let’s start with the body you pulled the fingernails off of.”

“Yeah, that’s a puzzler. Doesn’t match up with anybody I know. Or even know of. But I was talking to this one guy… he does homeless men down close to the water… and he was saying there was someone new on the scene.”

“Someone new?” This whole thing was so bizarre to Trey. It was like some weird online dating service or something.

“Right. Sometimes one will move in, or… you know… start up. It can take some time for them to come on the radar, but if they’re really weird, sometimes we notice pretty fast.”

Trey nodded. Made sense, in a bizarre kind of way. He was about to ask another question when a sound interrupted him. It was coming from Darc’s direction. Wow. That was strange. It sounded like…

“Hey, man. I think your partner fell asleep,” Jeremy said, pointing at Darc. And sure enough, Darc’s head had slumped forward and his eyes were closed. Trey had thought the great savant was processing stuff, but instead he was just taking a catnap. He was taking this hormonal teenager thing to an awkward extreme. Trey shook it off.

“Whatever. He had a late night. Anyway…” Trey collected his thoughts, trying to get back on track. “So, this new killer. He was weird?”

“Well, my friend seemed pretty freaked out by him. Wouldn’t talk much about it. My guess is he was religious or something. They’re the worst.”

“Hold on. Religious ones are bad? How do you mean?”

“Well, they’re even crazier than the rest of us,” Jeremy responded. “And then there’s the whole judgmental thing, you know? I mean, hello. You’re killing people. Get off your high horse. Know what I mean?”

“Like Father John?”

Jeremy shook his head. “Naw. None of us saw that one coming. He didn’t really mix with our crowd much. Except for Henry over at the slaughterhouse, and no one liked him. He was one messed up dude.”

Trey felt like his world was expanding in all kinds of uncomfortable ways. This serial killers social scene was right out of his darkest nightmares. But here Jeremy was, and he seemed willing to help, so… Plus, Trey couldn’t help it. He kind of liked the guy.

Clearing his throat, Trey asked, “Is there anything useful you could tell me about this new one? He could be the killer that took down this woman.”

“Only that my friend said he got the feeling this one was going to be here for a while. You know. Settling in for a long spree.” Jeremy shrugged away his lack of information, his body language apologetic.

“Well, that’s more than what we had, anyway. Thanks. I’ll make sure the Deputy Attorney knows that you were cooperative.”

“I appreciate it. But you know, I did kill a lot of women.”

“Yeah. You did.” Trey pushed himself up to his feet, reaching over a fist to slug Darc in the arm to wake him up. He snorted and glanced around the room, then stood up himself. Before exiting, Trey turned back to Jeremy. “You know, if it weren’t for the fact that you kill people, I could totally see us going out for a beer.”

Jeremy nodded. “Being a serial killer sucks.”

Trey could only imagine.

*

The moment after taking the life of a sinner was both sublime and horrific. This one had been gratifying and troubling all at once. The pig of a man had squeaked at the last, pouring out confession after confession, the words spewing up from the black ooze that doubled as his soul. The crimes, some trivial, some far-reaching, had tainted the soul of the servant of the Lord just in the hearing of them.

The man’s blood had been thick and sticky. It had taken a long time to wash off the stains.

But the deed was accomplished. The first act had created little effect, at least at first. But these acts of God’s justice would gain notoriety. The progression would be exponential; it would grow to fill the world. Just like the Lord’s judgment.

Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.

But sometimes He needed His servants to give things a little nudge.

The first act had been obscured within another case, languishing in the world of high-profile cases because it had been thought only one more in a string of slayings. And no one remarked on the death of a prostitute.

But now, the identity had been revealed. A socialite. An attention seeker. A glittering example of the harlot who bestrides the many waters.

And now the chickens were clucking, scurrying around, crying that the fox was in the henhouse. One of their own had been taken. As long as they thought the victim was on the fringes, everything was fine. But now…?

Soon they would discover the next, a particularly hideous man who had met nothing but an appropriate end to the misery he had called his life. Oh, how the chickens would squawk now.

They would call on their best and brightest to fix things. It was what the servant of the Lord was counting on. All part of the plan.

But now, to wait. Not too long. If the incompetents on Seattle’s police force didn’t find the scene within twenty-four hours, the servant would find a way to bring it to the attention of the public.

This would not go away. There would be no happy resolution to the plan that was being set in motion. At least not for the wicked.

For the servant of the Lord there would be trials and tribulations. But that would be followed by the joy of the righteous who dwell in the bosom of Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end.

It was a rest for which the servant yearned both day and night. Peace would come. It was promised.

Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you not as the world giveth, give I unto you.

The peace of the righteous.

It was coming.

*

The patterns flowed, waxing and waning in Darc’s mind, the glowing threads weaving a web of intricate forms and shapes, creating negative space that throbbed with meaningless meaning. One frustrating aspect of image-based reasoning and deduction was that when there was no discernible structure, the streams of logic would continue to strive toward conclusions that created only more chaos within.

That chaos wrapped itself around the gray clouds of non-logic that formed every time Mala was anywhere in the near vicinity. That had been fine while she was spending time getting things ready to become Janey’s foster parent. But now that she was actively helping them on the case, at the captain’s behest no less, the mists never seemed to leave for long.

And the situation was quickly degenerating. Even right in this moment, with Mala off doing another errand imposed by the DSHS, the gray clouds threatened. That did not make rational sense. She was no longer here, yet the effects of her presence remained.

Were even the thoughts of her mentally toxic? She was quickly becoming anathema to Darc and his reasoning process, and yet when she was not present he found himself wanting her to show up. It was an emotional paradox the likes of which he had never experienced, not even during the worst of the dissolution of his relationship with Maggie.

Meanwhile, the threads of color intertwined with the formless fog, creating a lightshow of epic proportions, the colors reflecting and refracting off of the emotional droplets of moisture. The images they created were stunning and disturbing. Darc felt as if his entire equilibrium had been placed in a container, shaken, and placed back down, but with a different orientation. What was once up was now down. What was once left was now right.

Only his focus on the case at hand allowed for any semblance of order to prevail. Working on the task caused the lines of logic to align, disentangling themselves from the emotional haze. But the equilibrium felt tentative at best, an uneasy truce between the forces of order and entropy within him.

As Darc walked down the hall to the bullpen, he passed in front of Captain Merle’s office. The door was ajar, and Merle’s bass voice echoed out past the door and into the hallway around him, creating a tunnel effect with the sound.

“Darc. Come in here for a moment.”

Entering the office, Darc took a second to allow for his eyes to adjust to the darker lighting. The captain rarely had more than just a small desk lamp lit, seeming to prefer relative darkness to a brightly illuminated working space. Perhaps he had some form of early-onset macular degeneration that he was seeking to minimize.

“Pull the door shut, would you, Darc?” The captain waved him toward an empty chair facing the desk. After making sure the door to the office was indeed closed, Darc took a seat in front of his superior officer.

“I’ve been keeping tabs on your work on this case,” the captain shared, nodding his head as if in approval. “That was short work with Jeremy Krauss.”

“The majority of our success with Krauss was due to my partner.”

The captain clucked his tongue. “Never take credit when it’s not yours to take, eh? Laudable. Shortsighted, maybe, but laudable.”

“I had fallen asleep during the interrogation, so could not be of any help to Detective Keane.”

Sighing deeply, Captain Merle took a moment to massage the bridge of his nose. “You know, Darc, there is such a thing as too much honesty.”

“I do not see why that would be the case. My partner was discussing things in which I had no interest. I was physically and mentally drained. It seemed prudent to take the time to recharge.” Darc never understood the importance of what Trey called “putting a good face on things.” Situations did not have faces. They had facts.

The captain shook off the statement, waving his hand at Darc, presumably to ask him to refrain from speaking. Seeing as how that was exactly the type of nonverbal communication Darc was attempting to learn, he chose to follow the unspoken request.

Leaning in across his desk, Merle spoke again. “Whatever. I want you two to know you’re doing a good job.”

“But we are not doing a good job, sir,” Darc corrected. “We have yet to apprehend the killer of Porsche Diamante.”

Merle coughed into his hand. “That’s precisely why you’re here. Look…” The captain grabbed for a mug and took a long pull from the liquid within. “Things are complicated right now, with the press and the Prosecuting Attorney and the public. I need you and Keane to help things out. Help me out.”

“We are attempting to do so.” Darc was unsure of what the captain was saying. There seemed to be an underlying message that Merle was attempting to convey, but it did not match the language that sallied forth from his mouth. This may be what Trey referred to as “subtext.” If so, this would make for a fascinating test case.

“Yes. Yes. I can see that.” Merle rubbed at his forehead, his eyes darting around the room as if he were searching for something. “I would’ve had this conversation with Keane, but you are the one I’m worried will…” The captain broke off, clearing his throat. “Okay, here it is. I need you to pretend that Krauss is the one who killed Diamante.”

“But he did not.”

“I understand that,” the captain growled. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I know. But allowing the public, and perhaps even the Prosecuting Attorney’s office, to believe that Krauss is our man would be helpful at the moment.”

The glowing paths snarled and snagged on one another. This did not make sense. “That is an untruth.”

“No,” Merle corrected. “No, it’s not. It is a diversionary tactic. A strategy by which you and Keane gain time to pursue the real killer in relative peace. If everyone believes the killer has been apprehended, the heat comes off of you two.”

The threads within settled. Tactics. Strategies. These were understood. They made logical sense. In fact, the chains of light pointed to another benefit that Captain Merle seemed to be overlooking. Darc took the opportunity to point it out.

“It will provide the added benefit that it will also remove pressure from you, Captain.”

The captain’s face seemed to pucker, as if he had consumed something sour or extremely bitter. Darc conjectured that the coffee in Merle’s mug had not been adequately sweetened. That would account for the displeasure that the captain’s expression seemed to indicate.

“Yes, Darc. It will take the pressure off of everyone in the department.” The captain grunted. “So, will you do it? Make sure no one knows of the second killer?”

“Of course, Captain. It is a logical command to make, given the circumstances.”

The captain’s shoulders seemed to relax at Darc’s statement. “Good. That’s good.” He waved toward the door. “You can go now.”

Darc stood and moved toward the exit, attempting to understand what that conversation had accomplished. Strategy was imparted, but that could easily have been accomplished in an email. The interview format was inefficient and allowed for no follow-up. It was a mystery to Darc, wrapped in gray shrouds. Perhaps the captain was suffering from nervous exhaustion. He would bring it up with Trey when next they spoke.

It would not do to have a captain unable to effectively lead the precinct.

CHAPTER 11

Trey had a headache. It was one of the dull, aching ones that started off right behind his eye and slowly progressed until it encompassed his entire head. As far as Trey could tell from the feel of things, there was a hot metal band slowly constricting itself around his cranium.

Nothing was panning out. Their perp on the fingernail case had ended up being a Chatty Cathy, but nothing Jeremy Krauss had told them so far had led to anything concrete. Krauss might as well have been completely unhelpful for all the good he was doing them.

That wasn’t completely fair. The guy had coughed up everything he had. There had been a couple of times that Trey had halfway expected Jeremy to regurgitate the fingernails he’d eaten, just to be helpful. For a serial killer, he really was turning out to be a standup guy.

But Trey was still stuck with a case for which he had no suspects. And while some of the pressure was off thanks to the captain’s little diversionary ploy, Trey suspected that cover wouldn’t hold up for too much longer. There were too many people sniffing around it, especially now that everyone knew the “unidentified prostitute” was actually a rich and beautiful heiress. That reporter Charity alone had left no less than five messages on Trey’s work voicemail.

And Darc hadn’t been much help this time around, either. Normally, Trey was playing second fiddle to the prodigious steel trap that was his partner’s deductive reasoning. Now that he was having to deal without it, Trey felt like he was constantly playing catch-up.

This was not what he had signed on for. Back when he was working Vice and Merle had twisted his arm into coming over to Major Crimes, the arrangement was that Trey look after Darc while Darc caught the bad guys. No one had told Trey that he would have to shoulder responsibility like this largely on his own.

He looked over at his partner, who was gazing into his computer monitor, his eyes glassy. Under normal circumstances, Trey would’ve thought that he was processing information in that freakish way he had. But now? Now, Trey was pretty sure that Darc was just mooning after Mala.

“Dude.” Trey snapped his fingers in front of Darc’s face. His partner’s eyes refocused on Trey, the faraway look retreating. Too little, too late. Trey was pissed off. “What the hell’s going on with you, Darc? You’re like a zombie. We’ve got a murder on our hands, with no suspects in sight, and according to Jeremy, it sounds like it’s someone about to go on a rampage. And you’re… what? You’re picking out a house for you and Mala to live in?”

“Dr. Charan has no interest in cohabitating with me,” Darc replied, his tone morose. That was another thing. Morose? Really? Since when was Darc’s tone anything but an EKG flat line? He normally had less inflection than Ben Stein in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.

“Seriously, Darc, I am going to strangle you.” Trey held up his hand before Darc could say anything. “No, not actually strangle you, although the idea is tempting. But you have got to get your head out of your ass. I’m drowning here.” He took a breath and held it for a moment, trying to calm down. “Look, I get that this is new territory for you. I even think it’s kind of cool. But we’ve got to make sure our priority is this case.”

“Perhaps if you could get me that list you promised?” Darc prompted.

“Are you hearing yourself? This is insane. I am going insane.” Trey sat down at his desk, reached into the first drawer on the right and pulled out a handful of cards. “Fine. They’re not done yet, and I was going to get them laminated, but here.” He thrust the notes at Darc, who snatched them up and immediately started scanning them.

This situation was so much worse than Trey had thought.

The phone ringing on his desk kept him from continuing with a conversation that seemed doomed from the start. He scooped up the receiver and held it to his ear with his shoulder. “Keane.”

The voice on the other end was a familiar rasp. “Trey, buddy.” It was Bill Harris.

“Hey, ya big lug,” Trey answered. “Whatcha got?”

“Well, it may be nothing, but you know how word gets around on the streets. There’s a… well, a working professional I know who was called in for a job. You pickin’ up what I’m puttin’ down?”

“Yeah, I think I still remember the lingo from my days in Vice,” Trey chuckled.

“Anyways, she ran out as soon as she’d gone in. Called me just a second ago. The john she’d gone to see was a bloody corpse. It was weird enough I thought it might be related to your case.”

“You were right to call. Got an address?” Trey pulled out a pen and jotted down the location the crusty P.I. listed for him.

“I’ll meet you there. You know, just to make sure there’s someone there who knows what he’s doing,” Bill joked.

“Sounds like a plan. Pick up a pastrami on rye for me,” Trey answered, then slammed the receiver down. He then turned to Darc. “C’mon, man. We got a hot crime scene. We’ll check in with the captain on the way out and call in Mala and the C.S.I. unit on the way.”

As Darc pushed himself up to standing, Trey kept thinking one thing over and over. The thought was as persistent as it was terrifying.

What if Darc never got it back together, and Trey had to figure everything out?

It was just way too much for him to even consider.

*

As Darc followed after Trey, he watched his partner move with an urgency and assurance that Darc had never seen in Trey before. It appeared as though Trey were trailing a nimbus of glowing purpose similar to Darc’s threads of logic.

Even as he recognized the change in his partner, he discovered the genesis of that transformation. Trey filled the void left by Darc’s immobilization. It was not a pleasant realization, and nor did Darc have any idea what to do to rectify the situation.

Moving toward the entrance to the precinct building, Darc spotted a familiar face approaching. It was the chiseled features and Aryan genetic heritage belonging to the Deputy Attorney, Bryce Van Owen. The attorney moved to intercept Trey.

“Detective Keane, do you have a second?”

Trey, normally more than happy to put off a trip to a crime scene by having a conversation or two on his way out of the building, kept walking without slowing, giving the attorney a brief shake of the head as he passed him by. “Sorry, man. Got a possible crime scene waiting.”

“Uh, okay.” Clearly, Bryce Van Owen was not used to being put off in that way. “But it was the latest case I was wanting to talk to you about. I’m not sure you have the right guy in custody.”

“Tell me about it,” Trey muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Darc to hear. But Van Owen, who had fallen behind, was out of earshot. Darc’s partner then raised his voice to reach the trailing attorney. “We can discuss it once Darc and I get back. Sound good?” He didn’t wait for a reply, pushing out of the double doors that led to the parking lot.

“Wow. I didn’t think your partner was so… focused,” Van Owen confessed to Darc. “Let him know I’ll be waiting for a call once you two get back.” The attorney spun on his heel and headed back down the hallway, either to talk to the captain or to check in on other cases, Darc deduced.

As Darc pushed his way out of the double doors, he almost collided with Trey, who seemed to be in the middle of a heated discussion with a tall, professional-looking brunette. They were almost the same height as one another, but the way the woman held herself, she appeared to loom over Darc’s partner. Fascinating. Darc decided that at some future point he would need to make a study of that phenomenon.

“Look, Ms. King—” Trey asserted.

“You can call me Charity, Detective. Please.” She flashed a smile that reminded Darc of certain breeds of shark.

“Ms. King,” Trey continued. “I don’t care what you’ve heard through the grapevine. There’s nothing going on with the fingernail—”

“Nail Biter,” the woman corrected him.

“Whatever. There’s nothing to talk about.” Trey moved as if to pass her by, but the brunette countered, keeping him immobile.

“That’s not what my sources say. They say there’s a cover-up happening in the department right now. That there were actually two killers.”

Trey laughed, sounding for all the world as if what he had heard were the most ridiculous thing spoken by human lips. His facility with deception was impressive, Darc decided. Perhaps he could get his partner to write up a third set of rules regarding that topic, as well.

“Your sources think that there are two crazies out there pulling fingernails off of corpses? Maybe you need to dig up some better informants, Ms. King.” Trey moved around the woman, successfully outmaneuvering her this time.

“Well, you can’t stop me from following you, wherever you’re going,” the woman called out to Trey’s back. She sounded far less confident than she had a moment ago.

As the two detectives moved away from the brunette, who appeared to be running as fast as she could in high heels to get into a nearby new van, Trey turned to Darc. He shook his head in obvious disbelief.

“Dude. I never realized how hard it was to be out in front. No wonder you always just shoved your way past everybody.”

“That was a reporter.” Darc made sure his tone conveyed that this was not a question, but an observation.

“Yeah. She’s been sniffing around the Krauss case lately. Even came up with a media name for him. “Nail Biter.” Not bad, if you like that kind of on-the-nose stuff.” Trey sniffed.

“Having her follow us to the crime scene could be uncomfortable, particularly if it relates to the Diamante murder,” Darc cautioned. The threads of logic were unclear, but the majority pointed to a causal link.

“We’ll sic Mala on her,” Trey replied. “If there’s anyone that can stand up to that barracuda back there, it’s her.”

The tenuous strands of reason dissipated at the mention of the doctor. Darc felt the creeping tendrils of gray wind their way through his mind, stifling thought, chilling reason, crippling inspiration. This pattern could not be allowed to continue.

But as the chill fingers of his self-doubt penetrated farther into the recesses of his psyche, Darc realized that he might not have any choice in the matter.

*

There were times that Mala longed for the luxury of screaming at the top of her lungs, regardless of which ears might hear.

This was one of those times.

After finally being walked through the labyrinthine foster parent process by her hedgehog-loving new best friend, Mala had thought the nightmare over. But, apparently, it had only just begun. With a surprise inspection of her apartment. It seemed that Mala had been living in a veritable death trap for years without even suspecting it.

Her hot water was too hot and needed to be turned down—to a level that Mala was fairly certain was not hot. Her medications needed to be under lock and key. Her cleaning supplies needed to be under lock and key. Her personal life? Well, that didn’t need to be under lock and key, because it would no longer exist.

She wanted to be grateful for the process. It was one that weeded out the undesirable foster parents only in it for the cash payout. But having to place child locks on every single cabinet in the house? This was a girl who had been strapped up to a bomb set to destroy the entire downtown area of Seattle. Mala was pretty sure Janey wasn’t going to accidentally overdose on Ibuprofen.

Thinking about all Janey had been through made this whole process both more urgent and frustrating in the same breath. Mala wanted to get her home to start the process of healing the poor girl’s battered psyche, but that couldn’t happen until all the hoops were leapt through. After being chased down by exotic venomous snakes and shoved into the chest cavity of a murder victim, the girl was not going to be traumatized by a few unpadded corners on a coffee table.

The “deadly” problems now having been identified, Mala had a lot of work to do to make her home ready for Janey. Work that she had little time for, especially since the case was heating up with new crime scenes. New crime scenes that had come about after their prime suspect had been taken into custody. Not good.

At least this crime scene was in a nice area. Up to this point, most of Mala’s experiences with cases had taken her to some pretty seedy areas. This was one of the more upscale neighborhoods. Beat-up Toyota Camrys from the late 90s had given way to brand new Audis and BMWs. And the streets were kept clean.

As Mala approached the door of the upscale apartment complex, she noted a FOX news van parked out front. An attractive but severe-looking woman was leaning against the vehicle, attempting—and failing—to adopt a casual pose.

From the door or the complex, a uniformed police officer trotted over to meet her. “Dr. Charan?” he asked.

“Yes. I am Dr. Charan.”

“I’m Officer Garren. I was told to keep you down here in the lobby until Detective Keane comes to meet you.”

Mala felt her back stiffen at the implied insult until she stopped and realized that it was Trey who had requested it. She knew Trey. Trey valued her as a strong woman. Not that he would probably put it that way. It would probably be closer to ‘She is one tough chick.’ But the end result was the same. There was respect there.

So there must be a good reason for why he wanted her to wait down here. Mala might or might not agree with him, when it came right down to it, but she was pretty certain that whatever was up there was bad. The last time Trey had told her not to look at something and she hadn’t paid attention, she had regretted it. You couldn’t un-see things like that. Not without a lot of head trauma.

So, she sat outside in the floor-to-ceiling mirrored lobby with mahogany accents, trying not to fume. At this point, she wasn’t sure whether she was fuming at Trey for trying to protect her or at herself for being a wimp.

Mala didn’t have too long to wait. Trey bounded out of the elevator and ran up to her, bouncing around like an excited puppy.

“The elevator has a glass floor. Totally freaky. You gotta try this.” He grabbed her hand and started back toward the door, which was just about to close. “Wait a minute. I wanted you to wait here.” He stopped, totally deflated. “And you probably should.”

Chuckling at his erratic mood swings, Mala asked, “Okay, spill it. What’s so bad up there?”

Trey thought for a minute. “Well, it’s not as bad as Father John, but you didn’t see a lot of that stuff. This is more… how should I put it? It’s intimate. It’s in-your-face murder. I thought it might affect you more.” He shuddered, his face turning white, then green. “It was more than enough for me. Darc’s still up there, flying his freak flag.”

“Do you think I can handle it?”

“Please,” Trey scoffed. “You can handle a lot more than I can. I just wanted to spare you the sight if you didn’t want to see it.”

Mala thought about it for a moment. While it was true that she didn’t really care for the nightmares that sometimes came after seeing this kind of brutality, if she was going to be any help to this case whatsoever, she had to know what was going on. She could wait for the crime scene photos, but they would lack the immediacy of seeing the site itself.

Time to face her demons. She squared her shoulders, turned to Trey and said, “Time to see that glass floor.”

Trey nodded and led her over to the elevator. The floor was, indeed, glass. That was weird, and more than a little disconcerting. Mala decided that maybe she wouldn’t continue to look down while the elevator was still in motion. There was a scent of something floral in the enclosed space. Lavender? Jasmine? She couldn’t place it, but it was pleasant, and it managed to offset the vertigo caused by the transparent floor.

As they rode up together, Trey filled her in on the details of the murder. “Okay, Doc, I’m gonna be honest with you, this one’s gross. Oh, hey, you don’t have an issue with bees, do you?”

“Bees? What—?”

“You’ll see when you get up there. Just wanted to make sure you weren’t allergic or anything. Anyway, according to the M.E., it looks like the victim was forcefed and then beaten in the abdomen, which made his stomach blow up.” Trey shrugged. “Not the technical term Dr. Hutchinson used, but whatever. Guy’s a stuck-up prick.”

The elevator dinged their floor, and Trey put out one hand to hold the door open, the other to keep Mala from leaving. He faced her, peering into her face, and said, “There’s another part you need to know about. It’s pretty gross.” He paused, looking for all the world like he was gearing up for something. “The killer cut out the victim’s tongue.”

Mala shuddered, but then thought about it for a moment. That, while extreme, didn’t seem to be enough to make Trey keep her away.

“Is there something else you’re not telling me about this?”

Trey ducked his head. “It’s what the killer made the victim do with the tongue once it was cut out.”

Mala waited for a moment, expecting more information to be forthcoming. When Trey remained silent, she probed further.

“So what did the killer do with the tongue?”

Trey’s face went white, and Mala could see his Adam’s apple bob up and down in his throat as he swallowed. Whatever it was, it was not pleasant.

“The killer forced the guy to eat it.”

All of the sudden, Mala found that she wasn’t so sure this was the job for her.

CHAPTER 12

The symbol detached itself from the victim’s forehead, revolving in space, trailing gleaming spirals of color that left an indelible path carved into Darc’s mind. The symbol appeared to be two capital Ys attached to one another, once more with the upper arms connected by a horizontal bar. It was the Babylonian symbol for two.

The second murder.

Darc knew that Mala was on her way upstairs. The uniformed officer had scuttled in a few minutes ago, whispering to Trey that the doctor was here. After years of working with Darc, Trey must understand that Darc could perceive those suspirations, regardless of how miniscule they might be.

The fact that Trey had wished to spare Mala from the shock of the crime scene was baffling to Darc. Mala was to be an integral part of this investigation, regardless of the havoc it would cause to Darc’s equilibrium. If he could deal with the inconvenience of emotion, she could handle some exsanguination.

Plus, there might be elements of the crime that Mala, as a psychologist, could see that would remain hidden to Trey or Darc. He was honest enough in his assessments that he knew himself to be hampered as far as his emotions and empathy were concerned.

Finding the connective through-lines of the killer’s psyche would be like wandering through a dense inner fog for Darc, whereas Mala could trace those ties as easily as Darc found logical paths. Glowing trails of colored lights…

The pattern of the blood spatter from the victim lifted itself up off the ground and gyrated several times, glowing brighter with each revolution, then settled into its proper place, spitting out another image, a cipher that spoke of the force of impact required to create the spray. Pounds per square inch. Facts.

The bees buzzing around the face of the victim traced another radiant motif that worked in counterpoint to the first, the bright lines merging and repelling one another in an endless dance of logic. The insects left traces of the golden viscous fluid that surrounded the mouth of the corpse, the design melding and mixing with the deeper-hued red of oxygenated hemoglobin. Honey and blood.

“Okay, so the honey… that’s weird,” rasped a voice behind Darc. As Darc and Trey had arrived at the scene, they had encountered Bill Harris, a private investigator who seemed to have some long-standing relationship with Darc’s partner. Trey had seemed initially surprised to find Bill there ahead of them, but had quickly included the man in almost every detail of their investigation.

Bill began circling the body as he consumed a pungent-smelling sandwich. Darc found this troubling on many levels, not the least of which was because the man seemed to think that Darc was obligated to converse with him until Trey arrived.

In addition, the chatter of this ungainly man disrupted the flow of the symbols and patterns within Darc’s mind. The unattractive investigator shook his head as he leaned in to better observe the body.

Darc segregated out the random interference that the man’s presence caused. As the noise of non-essential information was filtered out, the ciphers clarified, spinning and sliding into spaces where they would either land or continue in their purposeful movement.

The soothing balm of the symbols was ruptured by the entrance of Trey, followed by Mala. Gray tentacles wormed their way in between the glowing letters, forcing apart the lines of logic.

“Okay, Mala’s here. The party can start.” Trey glanced down at the corpse surrounded by a pool of blood and honey and winced. “All right. That might have been a poor choice of words. I can see that.” He looked up and caught sight of the P.I. “Hey, Bill. See anything useful?”

“Naw. Probably nothing you haven’t already spotted. Just that the guy’s got more of a gut than me.” Bill scratched at his belly, taking another bite of his sandwich.

Trey glanced at him. “Wait a minute. Is that my pastrami on rye?”

Bill shrugged. “I got hungry. Sue me.”

Mala came farther into the room and nodded at Darc, paused for a moment as she observed the private investigator, and then reoriented to the room, her gaze drifting down to the body. The only indication that she was having a reaction was the stiffening of the muscles along her jaw.

“Do we know who he is and what he did for a living?” she asked, glancing around the room.

Trey answered. “His name is Robert Clayton. He was a sales team manager at the Philip Morris sales office over in Bellevue.”

The M.E., Dr. Hutchinson, approached the loose grouping made up of Trey, Darc and Mala. “Dr. Charan, I presume?” His tone was cool, professional.

Mala matched him tone for tone, but did it with a warm smile that seemed to defrost the cold exterior of the coroner. “You presume correctly, Doctor. You’re the M.E.?”

“I am. It’s nice to have another university-trained intellect on the case.” The doctor flicked his eyes from Darc to Trey and then back to Mala. “I told Detective Keane that you would want to see the crime scene.”

“Yes. He was just being chivalrous. He does that sometimes.” The smile Mala directed at the M.E. was all teeth. As far as Darc could tell from her expressions, Mala was either interested in the man or wanted to eat him. The latter seemed unlikely. The former cast a gray shadow over Darc so dense it seemed possible he could suffocate.

“Well, as you can tell,” the M.E. said, returning his attention to the body, “the distended stomach is a direct result of force feeding. The victim seems to have been only moderately overweight. We will take the contents of his stomach back to the lab to ascertain what, exactly, he was fed. Although we do know at least one thing that was on the menu.”

“The tongue?” Mala inquired.

“Indeed. It was cut out of his mouth and then fed to him in one large chunk. I thought at first it might be the cause of death, but it appears that it was not asphyxiation. It’s possible his stomach ruptured, as there was obvious blunt force trauma to the abdomen and upper torso, enough to cause the blood spatter found close to the body. Again, we’ll know once we get him back to the lab.”

“Well, I appreciate you waiting for me to see the body.”

“Anything for a professional such as yourself,” the M.E. gushed. Fascinating. Darc had never seen this behavior from the doctor before. For some unknown reason, that fact caused the gray clouds to threaten Darc’s internal equilibrium once more.

The coroner turned to the rest of the C.S.I. team, giving them their assignments for the cleanup and removal of the body. He then nodded to Mala, followed by a much briefer acknowledgment of Darc. Trey received no eye contact whatsoever, and Bill might as well have not existed.

“Seriously?” Trey barked as the doctor left. “Am I the only person here who thinks that guy is a total ass?”

“Oh, no,” Mala agreed. “You couldn’t be more right. He’s an ass of the highest order.” Hearing Mala discuss her negative feelings toward the M.E. caused a sensation of warmth to arise in Darc, starting with the chest cavity and radiating outward. This was strange. Mala continued, “He did give us some good information to go off of, however.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Trey groused. He looked down at the body being taken care of by the C.S.I. unit. His forehead scrunched up in what Darc took to be thought. “There’s something about this…” He trailed off.

“Yes?” Mala probed. “What is it? Sometimes feelings or impressions can be very helpful. Our intuition often leaps ahead of our reasoning abilities.” She looked sideways at Darc. “Well, for most of us, anyway.”

“I dunno,” Trey answered. “It’s just… Both of these murders remind me of something. They seem so familiar.”

Bill, who had now finished his sandwich, interjected, “Yeah. There is something freaky about them. Like they’re straight out of a movie or something.”

“That’s it! That’s exactly it!” Trey snapped his fingers and pointed down at the corpse. “It’s just like that film with Morgan Freeman and Brad Pitt.”

Darc felt the strands of logic snap together at that statement. “The film you tried to make me watch during your aborted attempt to instruct me in popular culture. The two detectives investigating a string of deaths related to the seven deadly sins.” The glowing strands of logic retreated, settling back into quiescence. One lone thread continued to vibrate. Something was not perfect here.

“Yes! That’s the one!” Trey yelled. Then he stopped, his face wrinkling up in some undecipherable expression. “Hold on. You actually watched that? I thought you were reading some case file or something.”

“I was,” Darc responded, nonplussed. “But reading does not preclude me from hearing the dialogue. I am quite familiar with the entire plot of the film.”

“Dude. Sometimes…” Trey breathed. “Okay, whatever. That’s exactly what was bugging me about these two cases.”

Mala nodded. “I see it now. The first was similar to the killing that matched up with the sin of pride.”

“You’ve seen it?” Trey asked, his voice cracking in what sounded like surprise. Or puberty. Considering the fact that Trey was a grown man, surprise seemed a better fit.

Ducking her head for some odd reason, Mala’s mouth twitched upward slightly. Perhaps these were the first signs of Parkinson’s?

“I’m a fan of Brad Pitt.”

Trey moved the facial muscles surrounding his eyes, causing his eyebrows to move up and down independently. “I see. Confessions of a psychologist. Juicy stuff.” He straightened his shoulders. “All right. Moving on. The second one looks an awful lot like gluttony, don’t cha think?”

Mala pursed her lips, looking down at where the corpse had lain. “Yes, it does. Sort of. This guy wasn’t morbidly obese.”

“I dunno,” Bill stated, slapping his abdomen. “He’s bigger’n me, and the last time I went in for a checkup, my doc said I was borderline. Guy doesn’t understand the beauty of a good handmade milkshake.”

“That may be true enough,” Mala said. “Still, there’s the whole bees and honey thing.”

“Yeah,” Trey put in. “Not perfect, but then again, the killer probably didn’t want people thinking he was just a Hollywood copycat. No real creativity in that.” Both Darc and Mala stared at him after that comment, and Trey held up his hands. “That seems to be a pretty big deal to serial killers. At least according to Jeremy.”

“He has a point,” Mala stated. “Most serial killers that don’t want attention are far more careful than this one. He’s looking for acclaim. Recognition of some sort.”

“Right. Well. Once we get the M.E.’s report back, we should know more. We’ll see what our killer shoved down our vic’s throat, at least. You know, other than the honey. That could be important.” Trey turned to head back toward the elevator.

Leaving Mala and Darc essentially alone for the first time since she’d escaped. Dark gray filled Darc’s consciousness. His throat muscles seemed to contract in an unusual fashion, making his breathing difficult. Additionally, his heart began to beat at a rate far exceeding his resting rate. Was he ill?

No, he determined. He was not ill. Darc was having a reaction to being close to Mala. The scent of her hair, a combination of strawberries and something more earthy, wafted toward Darc, increasing the gray fugue in his mind.

He wanted to say something, anything, but could think of nothing. So he remained silent until Mala, with one more curious look into Darc’s face, turned and followed Trey out to the elevator.

Darc should follow. It would make sense to follow. He needed to continue working the case. In order to do so, he needed to leave the building, get in a car, and head back to the precinct building. And yet…

His feet rooted to the floor, Darc remained. He heard the distant bell signaling the arrival of the elevator. Still he stayed immobile. Long moments after he was certain the elevator had left, Darc stood as if mounted on a taxonomist’s stand. Dead. Filled with cotton or polyurethane batting or some other stuffing agent.

And all because he had no desire to share an elevator with the one woman Darc wanted to spend all his time with. Even the time during which he was engaged in other endeavors, regardless of the fact that he would be unable to interact with her in a satisfactory manner. Logic had no bearing here.

As he finally managed to lift his feet from off the floor, Darc could think only of how much he did not find any of this pleasant.

*

Things were kinda almost normal again.

Janey hated it.

She was going to school, which was weird, because it was a new place where she didn’t know anybody. And people were trying to get her to talk. She didn’t want to talk. The only person she talked to was Popeye, and that was just because if she didn’t, he would get all snippy with her. He was such a bad bear.

And she was going to live with Mala. It was only a few days away, but Janey couldn’t wait. They had put her back in the home. Mala had said it was for the best. Something like it was easier to adopt from there instead of from detective custody. Was that what she had said? Janey couldn’t remember.

But the home smelled. And even though the boss lady smiled at her, it seemed like she was saying something else with her eyes. Something about how Janey wasn’t a good girl because she’d left and stuff.

But at least Mala came to visit her every day. That was nice. It was Janey’s favorite part of the day. Sometimes when Mala left, Janey would draw pictures of her and pretend the picture was still talking to her. She had such a pretty voice. Janey would pretend that Mala was snuggling with her and reading her bedtime stories like Mommy used to do.

Maybe she could even get Mala to make up stories like her daddy did. Was that just a daddy thing? Janey didn’t know. But those were her favorite stories, because they were always about her. Not Janey. Her old name. But still her.

But when Mala would leave to go home and the lights would turn off and Janey was all by herself, sometimes she would get scared. The shadows would stretch out toward her and there was something beeping where she couldn’t see it and she couldn’t run or scream or anything and tears would fall down her face and Popeye would get mad and say stop crying, stop crying, why are you crying?

Sometimes she hated her bear.

Just a few days. Then she would be with Mala. Just a few days. That wasn’t too long, right?

Janey lay in the dark and listened to her pillow throb.

*

Trey bounded out of the Land Rover without waiting for Darc to mosey out, saw who was waiting for him in front of the precinct building, and almost hurled himself back in. It was Charity King. How the hell had she managed to make it back here before him? Trey could’ve sworn she’d been parked out in front of the apartment complex when he left.

The woman was assertive, he had to give her that. And, apparently, she had a GPS that knew all of the shortcuts. Trey had to figure out how to get that hookup. Charity maneuvered herself to make sure she crossed Trey’s path as he sped toward the front entrance of the building.

“So, Detective, what did we find at the apartment complex?” the reporter asked.

“Uh, ‘we’? What, have you got a frog in your pocket?” Trey countered, swerving to get around her. At the last second, Charity darted in front of him again, blocking his route. Man, she was good at that. She was like some kind of ninja reporter. He could continue and bowl her over, or he could stop. Since he was sure there was a camera trained on them somewhere, Trey went for the second option and stayed planted.

“There’s another murder,” Ms. King crowed.

“Are you asking, or telling?”

“Come on, Detective. I saw the M.E. arrive with the C.S.I. unit.”

Trey nodded. “Yes. You are very smart. And observant.” At that point, Darc finally caught up to him. It was like someone had taken his speedy partner and replaced him with a defective model. At least now maybe they could tag team the reporter.

“So…?” Charity prompted.

“So… we’re in the middle of an investigation,” Trey answered. “No comment.”

Ms. King frowned, her forehead wrinkling up in a way that still managed to be attractive, and her eye line flickered over to the far side of the street. So Trey had been right. She had a camera over there recording this. And Trey had already said too much.

He used her momentary distraction to slip past her. Trey turned around, walking backward to see her reaction. When it dawned on her that she had lost the subject of her sting operation, she swore, a very unfeminine curse word, and turned her attention to Darc.

There was a moment when Trey was sure she was going to attempt to ply her wares on the tall detective. But something in his eyes must have stopped her, as she made no move to keep him from following after Trey.

Perhaps the reporter was even smarter than she looked.

*

Ah, the writhing of the wicked. If it did not pain the servant of the Lord so much to see the city immersed in so much corruption, it would almost make the servant laugh.

But the Lord’s work must continue. It was ironic, truly, that those who chose to follow Beelzebub would call this mission criminal. Could they not see that each and every so-called victim was an abomination before the Lord?

Of course they could not. The sins and atrocities of this mortal coil had blinded them all. It was a miracle that they could navigate their way through the city without colliding into one another more often than they did.

The Emerald City? Green and verdant? It was a lie told by a madman to an insane asylum, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

Sometimes, during a break or lull in activity, the servant of the Lord would take a walk through the streets of this cesspool, counting the unhappy faces that passed by. When the faces reached fifty, the break was done.

The breaks were always very short.

No one was happy. Even when they appeared happy, laughing, smiling—all one had to do was wait. Follow for a few minutes, and the smiles would fade into frowns, the laughter would evaporate like dew on grass in the midmorning sun, the pleasantries would turn to vile excoriations.

At those times, the servant of the Lord felt the spirit quail within, retreating from the acid of the sin and degradation of the human spirit. The atrocities committed by man on men. The erosion of the offspring of Adam and Eve.

The servant was so tired. So very, very tired.

But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.

Sometimes all it took was a single passage from the scriptures to lighten the burden that rested so heavy on the shoulders of those that would serve God.

The servant went forth in the strength of the Lord, ready to accomplish all.

CHAPTER 13

Mala jogged from her car to the DSHS offices. This was beginning to feel like a second home to her. A second, completely dysfunctional and thoroughly depressing home in which she was stuck in an upside-down mortgage.

She had been maybe thirty seconds behind the two detectives, ready to take what they had discovered from the crime scene and begin processing it all. Working out the clues. Taking random pieces of information and forming them into a mosaic of actionable plans that could take down this killer before more people died.

Instead, she had hopped into her deep-blue Prius and found the cell phone that she had neglected to take in with her. Sure enough, there were a missed call and a voicemail waiting for her—a call from her friendly neighborhood social worker.

As she stepped past the double doors, she caught a whiff of the inside of the building. It was a combination of cheap disinfectant cleanser, old paper, and the tears of small children.

All right. Perhaps that last one was unfair. Mala knew that the department served an honorable purpose, and that the people working within had all, at one point, probably wanted to help make things better. Unfortunately, the system as it was set up managed to suck the life out of not only the families the department served, but most of the people who did the actual serving. It was not a profession that treated its workers well.

Case in point—her new social worker.

Getting moved to a new worker was not such an unusual thing. Mala’s case had been cleared and passed along to another part of the inner workings of the DSHS. And now that the case was in less than friendly hands, once more she found herself embroiled in a mess of epic proportions.

The new social worker to whom her case had been reassigned was a woman named Joan Bladworth, who looked exactly like her name sounded. And it seemed that the community of social workers was quite small. Richard, the teacher of the P.R.I.D.E. classes who had counted Mala absent when she had been called out on an emergency, was Joan’s best friend. No matter what Mala did to reach out to the woman, her efforts were batted aside and crushed underfoot.

The woman lurked behind her desk, the sides of her stomach flowing over the armrests on either side of her ergonomically designed office chair. As Mala approached, Joan looked up, a demonic gleam darting out past her defenses before she replaced it with a placid smile.

“Ah, Dr. Charan. Thank you for coming in on such short notice.”

“Certainly, Ms. Bladworth. What is it that you need?”

The social worker shifted in her seat, the chair complaining underneath her. “Well, there are a couple of things I thought we should talk through.”

“And you didn’t feel that these are things we could have discussed over the phone?” Mala responded, doing what she could to keep her tone light.

Ms. Bladworth did not deign to give Mala’s question a direct response. “We have some concerns about your support system.”

“My support system? I don’t follow.”

“Yes, well, neither do we, to be candid. You’re single, not dating, have no family to speak of, no church group. You don’t even have a hobby that would allow for some normal friendships to develop.”

Mala felt her blood begin to boil. Keeping her temper might end up being a serious problem here. Normal? Who did this woman think she was? No, Mala didn’t have any hobbies. She was a doctor. Doctors didn’t have much downtime for screwing around, with friends or without.

“Well, Ms. Bladworth, I can certainly understand your concerns. However, as a licensed child psychologist”—Mala did what she could to keep from overemphasizing those words—“my leisure time is minimal, and most of my associations are made with people at work.”

“Raising a child can be difficult, and a strong support system can mean the difference between a successful placement and a situation where the child is further traumatized. Which brings me to the more significant issue.” The social worker pulled her lips together in a prim line. “As you know, we are tasked with making sure that the children we assign out to homes are in places where they will be safe and secure.”

Mala nodded. “Of course.”

“Well,” the officious worker pouted, “it’s come to our attention that Caitlyn was exposed to a series of horrific events surrounding a murder case.”

It took Mala a moment to register that the woman was talking about Janey. The name she had gone by before sounded almost foreign to Mala’s ears. It didn’t seem to fit her at all. Mala make a mental note to ask her which she preferred when Mala saw her next. She shook her head at the social worker.

“That’s hardly a secret, Ms. Bladworth. It’s the reason she’s without any family. Her parents were mur—”

“Yes, yes, I know that,” Joan spoke over the last of Mala’s sentence, her volume rising. “What was shocking was the amount of violence she was exposed to after that. Under your guardianship.”

Mala swallowed against a throat gone suddenly tight and dry. This was bad. Even a social worker who liked Mala might balk at giving custody to someone who might put a little girl in danger’s path. But for the person slouching in front of Mala, it would take nothing more than a flick of the finger on her computer mouse to scuttle Mala’s plans.

Ms. Bladworth waited a long moment, seeming to wait for some response from Mala. When none was forthcoming, she cleared her throat with a wet, chesty sound.

“Now perhaps you can understand why I wanted to talk to you in person.” Her tone was a stab of condescension wrapped in honey sweetness.

Feeling like she was attempting to swim to the surface of the sticky substance, Mala nodded her head. “Yes. I can.”

“This is a serious problem, Dr. Charan. I’m sure you can appreciate that.” The woman seemed to be attempting to keep a smug smile from creeping onto her face. She was not succeeding.

A chill wash of dark feelings surged out from the center of Mala’s gut. The sensation threatened to overwhelm her, even as she pushed to try to push the feelings back down. It was not a feeling Mala would have expected to feel in the offices of DSHS, talking to a bloated lump of a human being who could barely manage to get out of her own chair without a shoehorn.

It was fear.

Mala was terrified she was going to lose Janey.

Putting words to her fear helped to put things into perspective. All was not lost. Not yet. And until Mala gave up, the fight was not over. And on this count, Mala knew that giving up was not in her makeup. She had more than a few tools at her disposal and was prepared to utilize every single one of them.

“Ms. Bladworth, I can certainly appreciate your concerns. And, possibly, the concerns of your co-worker Richard.” At Richard’s name, Joan gave a start, her eyes darting around the office as if to determine if anyone else could hear. It was a telling slip. From what Mala could tell from the woman’s body language, it was clear that she didn’t want anyone to know about the possible connection between Richard and Mala’s current troubles. She continued without giving any indication that she had caught the look.

“What you don’t have access to in those files of yours are the signed affidavits of Detectives Keane and Darcmel, as well as that of Captain Merle. Oh, and that of the mayor. Affidavits that speak to the heroism of a little girl who saved the entire city.”

Ms. Bladworth scoffed, then choked on the sound as she saw the look on Mala’s face. “You can’t be serious. The whole city?”

Mala nodded. “It’s very easy to judge from that chair, but you weren’t there. What you see as endangerment was empowering to that little girl. She was afraid, yes, but she chose to help. She chose. And I’m not going to let you second-guess her. Or me, for that matter. Are you a licensed child psychologist?”

The woman’s face blanched. “You know that I’m not.” She shuffled through the papers in the file that was open on her desk. “And I have certainly never seen anything like those affidavits you mentioned in her file.”

“That’s because they aren’t there,” Mala responded.

“Well, then—”

“They aren’t there yet,” Mala continued over Joan, “because I haven’t asked that they be written.” The social worker opened her mouth to protest, but once again, Mala cut her off. “But let me assure you, when they write them, and they will, those gentlemen I mentioned will also be told of a social worker who was doing all she could to work against the best interests of that very child.” And just to put an additional nail in the coffin, Mala continued. “And those names I mentioned are just what I can round up in the next fifteen minutes. Give me a day, and your desk will be flooded with statements.”

Ms. Bladworth’s eyes narrowed, becoming mere slits through which her pupils glittered, tiny black coals entombed in wrinkled pink flesh. “Are you trying to scare me?”

“No,” Mala answered. “I’m appealing to your sense of enlightened self-interest. Not only is this what’s best for Caitlyn, it’s what’s best for you.”

“Well, I’m concerned with what’s best for Caitlyn,” Joan fired back.

“Yes, let’s talk about that, shall we?” Mala had been hoping the conversation would cycle back around to this. Did this woman really believe that Mala hadn’t been keeping tabs on Janey? “How many homes has it been now?”

The social worker’s face went slack. “Excuse me?”

“Caitlyn. How many different homes has she been shuttled off to at this point?” Mala watched Ms. Bladworth’s face for a sign. “Four? Five? Oh really, more than that? Six? Seven?” At seven, the woman’s eyes narrowed. “Seven homes in two days. That has to be some kind of record. And let me guess… she’s scaring the other kids? Drawing disturbing pictures on the walls in crayon? None of the heads of the group homes can handle her? She’s being sedated?” The last was just an educated guess, but Mala knew the way things worked. The furrowing of the social worker’s brow was all the confirmation Mala needed.

“There are the interests of the other children to take into—”

“I’m going to stop you right there. I’m well aware that the other children’s well-being must be given precedence. But if you’re not wanting to be judged out of context, I suggest you offer me the same professional consideration.” Mala paused for a breath. “Now, I expect to be in full custody of Ja—Caitlyn Walker—within two hours. If that has not happened, a storm will rain down on your head the likes of which you have never seen before.”

Without waiting for a response, and hoping the social worker had missed the slip up with the names, Mala turned on her heel and walked back toward the entrance. She could check in on the status of her application tomorrow with another worker. While the two-hour time limit had been dramatic in the moment of their confrontation, Mala knew the reality of the system. If things hadn’t changed by the next day, she would hope that her mouth hadn’t tried to write a check that her relationship with Seattle’s police department and the mayor couldn’t cash.

But as she strode toward the double doors she had come in through just minutes ago, the detectives, the captain and the mayor were not on her mind. Her body began trembling, her breath came in huge gasps, and Mala had to struggle to keep from bursting into tears. Even more disturbing than the physical reaction was the thread of doubt, of fear, that Mala couldn’t shake. Joan Bladworth was an unpleasant woman with a vendetta against Mala, sure.

But what if she was also right?

*

The threads of logic wound themselves about the precinct hallways, stretching out to their limits, then retracting, ever moving, never content. The space here was familiar, theirs, in a way that even Darc’s apartment was not.

As he made his way past other faces, some familiar, many not, Darc paused for a moment as one glowing stream caressed the head and shoulders of a specific individual. Someone involved in the case. Blond hair, blue eyes, chiseled jawline. Van Owen, the Deputy Attorney. He was engrossed in a file he had open in his hand while he walked.

The lawyer looked different than the last time Darc had encountered him in Captain Merle’s office. The change was processed in the same moment in which Darc recognized there was a change. Van Owen’s hair was messy, looking as if he had just run his hand through it. The top button of his crisp pale blue dress shirt was undone, his tie pulled down and off to one side.

The differences registered, but the reason for them remained a gray mystery to Darc. In the same way that facial expressions continued to puzzle him, this new appearance of the Deputy Attorney baffled Darc’s attempts to decipher it.

Van Owen’s head popped up as he came close to colliding with young woman in a white blouse and a charcoal skirt. The woman blushed as Van Owen turned his ice-blue eyes on her. Curious. That seemed an unusual response for unsustained eye contact. Perhaps she had committed some sort of social faux pas that Darc had not caught. That seemed unlikely, but Darc could think of no better explanation. Especially as social interaction was not his area of expertise.

His gaze now drawn up from the file he was carrying, Van Owen caught sight of Darc. The lawyer’s face brightened in a smile and he hurried forward, his unoccupied hand extended. Darc accepted the handshake.

“Detective Darcmel! I was looking for you.” He glanced around the hallway. “Is Keane around? I wanted to talk to both of you, actually.”

“Trey went on ahead of me. I calculate it at an 87 percent possibility that he is at his desk.”

Van Owen’s lips quirked up in a pursed smile. Trey called that type of smile a smirk. At one point in their professional relationship, Trey had drawn an array of different smiles and labeled them all, including their likely meanings. This one indicated some sense of irony or humor. Or sexual intention. Darc concluded that Van Owen was a homosexual. The margin of error was significant, but there seemed to be no discernable irony in this situation, and it certainly was not humorous.

“I see,” the lawyer replied. “And what about the remaining 13 percent?”

“Four percent that he could be in the bathroom. Eight percent that he is at the vending machines.”

“Your math is off. You’re missing a percent.” The smirk grew. Darc wondered if he should inform the attorney that Darc was heterosexual, and therefore uninterested.

“My math is precise. The one percent is for the margin of error.”

“Wow,” Van Owen breathed. “That’s a pretty narrow margin.”

“Actually, I rounded up for ease of conversation.” Darc turned to maneuver around the Deputy Attorney. There was evidence from the crime scene he wished to examine as soon as possible, and this conversation had extended further than desired.

“Hey, Detective,” Van Owen urged, putting up a hand to stop Darc’s sideways motion. “I have to go drop off this file with the captain real quick, but why don’t you grab Keane and meet me for a drink. You guys are almost off, right?”

Darc glanced at his watch. It was not a habitual motion. Darc rarely concerned himself with what time it was. When Trey started complaining that he lived here at the precinct, that usually meant it was time to go home. The watch display winked back at him. Six forty-five. It may be time for most to have completed their daily tasks, but there was far too much for Darc to accomplish.

“I do not consume alcoholic beverages.” Darc was unsure of the protocol, but not drinking seemed a good excuse not to go to a bar.

“That’s fine. We’ll get you a Shirley Temple or something. A Red Bull. Whatever.” Van Owen waved the concern aside. “Listen, if you’re worried about knocking off ‘early,’ I’ll tell whoever wants to know that you’re still working. ‘Cause we will be. Sort of.” The smile had progressed from the pursed-lip variety to the showing-teeth kind. Anticipation or excitement, according to the chart. Darc pondered the wisdom in rebuffing the attorney’s apparent advances now. Perhaps he should discuss the matter with Trey before doing so. That seemed prudent.

“You wish to discuss something work-related? At a bar?” Darc had heard other detectives and officers refer to similar events, but Darc himself had never experienced one. It seemed time to bring Trey in on the decision-making process. “I will discuss it with my partner. Where did you wish to go?”

“The Owl N’ Thistle. Down on Post Avenue. I’ll meet you guys there in like fifteen minutes.” Van Owen waved for Darc to go as he turned to head back down the hallway before Darc could interject that he was uncertain that either he or his partner would be attending. At a loss, Darc contemplated running after the blond-headed lawyer, but then decided that this was best left in Trey’s hands.

Darc understood so little about what had just happened. All he could really do now was just report the events as they had occurred. Darc found it unsettling.

*

The pub had a sign out front with a huge yellow owl perched on what Trey guessed was a branch of thistle. Branch? Did thistles have branches? Or were they stems? Darc probably knew, but Trey figured it wasn’t important enough to suffer the humiliation that inevitably followed on the heels of any question he ever asked of the bald detective. Probably best to leave the embarrassments to the case at hand. Trey was sure there wouldn’t be any lack of those.

There never were.

The place looked like your typical Irish pub. It was dark, loud, crowded, and filled with serious drinkers. You know, the kinds of drinkers that only make eye contact with you when you bump into them and almost spill their drink. “Almost” because serious drinkers never spill their drink, no matter what happens.

The walls were exposed brick and plaster. The booths were backed with plush red leather. All of the tables looked like they had come with the original building that was opened back in the 1930s, battered and beaten into comfortable submission by each and every patron thereafter. The décor was tacky-kitsch, made up of old Guinness ads, pictures of dogs, and what looked like tintype family photos of grim Irish potato farmers. There was an antique turquoise bicycle hanging from the ceiling.

It was an awesome bar.

To be honest, Trey was surprised he had never made it out here before. He’d heard people talk about it. He’d even made plans to meet with some of the guys here once or twice, but they’d never panned out. And now he was going to down his first Guinness at this Seattle landmark in the presence of the Deputy Attorney.

Didn’t sound like the best idea, but as long as it included the Guinness, Trey figured he’d make do. No use crying into his beer over the whole thing. So to speak.

Trey’s prospects brightened when he saw the now almost unrecognizable attorney wave them toward a table at the back. Unrecognizable because Van Owen had removed his tie, rolled up his sleeves, and looked like he had already pounded back at least a beer or two before Trey and Darc had gotten there.

“Detectives! Over here!” The Deputy Attorney’s voice was too loud even for the noisy bar. Trey mentally re-tabulated Van Owen’s beer total and came up closer to three or four. Maybe this “meeting” wasn’t going to be so bad.

“Hey, gents,” the bright-eyed attorney gushed. “Glad you could make it. Lemme order you both a beer.” He waved toward the bar, then stopped and snapped his fingers. “Oh, right. Detective Darcmel. You don’t drink.”

“Just Darc,” Trey corrected him. “Nobody calls him Darcmel. And call me Trey. You know, unless our bosses are around.”

“Right. And you can call me Bryce, whether our bosses are around or not.” He looked at Trey’s partner, assessing. “Darc. I dig that. It’s cool. Like the Dark Knight or something. Which is just about the way people describe you, by the way.” Darc had no visible reaction to that, which was not surprising. But Trey knew Darc had heard it. He heard everything. His tall partner just had no way of processing what it meant, so it appeared to go unnoticed.

“Yeah,” Trey answered for his silent companion, cutting through the awkward silence that had fallen on the little bubble around their table. “He’s definitely on the darker side of the graphic novel spectrum. No one’s going to accuse him of wearing brightly colored tights.”

“It’s an ugly world. I’m not sure the good guys should always be wearing primary colors.” Van Owen’s face pulled into a grimace that brightened the second he looked down at his dark brown beer with the foamy head. “But there’s no point in being all melancholy when there’s beer to be drunk. Drank? Drunken? Man, I can never get that one right. Ms. Jenkins would be ashamed.”

“Ms. Jenkins?” Trey prompted.

“My high school English teacher. Everyone thought she was an uptight bitch, and I’m pretty sure she was a lesbian. But she was the best damn teacher I ever had in my life.” Bryce turned back to the bar. “Screw it. You may not drink, Darc, but Trey and me are gonna make up for it.” He raised three fingers after catching the eye of the shapely redhead behind the counter. Refocusing on Trey, he shrugged. “Sorry, man. You don’t have a choice.”

“You’re forcing me to drink Guinness? Bastard,” Trey replied with a grin. This evening was turning out to be so much better than he’d expected. Maybe he should text Maggie, let her know he was going to be late. Trey watched while Van Owen took a long pull from his beer. On second thought, maybe he should call. He pulled out his phone, gesturing with it toward the exit. Bryce gave a knowing nod.

“Checking in with the lady? Good call. I’ll watch your beer until you get back.” The lawyer smirked. “But don’t take too long. Once I’m done with the other two, I’m going after yours.”

Somehow, Trey knew Bryce wasn’t joking.

CHAPTER 14

The way the layers of light in Darc’s mind intersected with the dark atmosphere of the bar was oddly soothing. A cramped, noisy space filled with too many people was not an environment that was conducive to Darc’s comfort on a typical basis. But something about this evening… the unexpectedness of the event, the combination of companions, even the dank pub itself, created an unusual sensation within Darc.

He could not be certain, but he might be having what Trey always called fun.

How strange.

Van Owen was well into his next beer, taking large swallows of the dark substance, then wiping off the ivory colored foam from his upper lip. “You sure you don’t want any? This stuff is good for your soul.” Bryce held up his glass mug, raising his eyebrows at Darc. More flirting? Darc was uncertain, and Trey was not present.

“No.”

“No, it’s not good for your soul? Or no, you don’t want any?” The lawyer laughed. “I’m just kidding. Don’t let me corrupt you.”

“It would not corrupt me,” Darc corrected the Deputy Attorney. “Guinness, while a corrosive agent, is considered by many health specialists to be as effective as aspirin at preventing heart clots.”

“Wow,” Bryce replied. “That’s good to know.” He turned to the bar at large. “Hey, everybody! I’m preventing heart clots!” Several bar patrons cheered and whistled as Van Owen downed another large swallow. He returned his attention to Darc, his eyes taking a moment to focus. “I gotta tell you, Darc, I had heard you were smart, but seeing it in action is a whole ‘nother thing. The way you’ve handled this case so far? Genius.”

Darc shook his head. “The vast majority of this case has been handled by Trey. I have offered only minor support.”

“Really? Everyone I talk to says you’re the brains of this operation.” He waved his hand back and forth in front of his face. “Don’t get me wrong. Everyone loves Trey. But you’re the guy. You know. The one who gets the job done.”

“That is accurate under normal circumstances. But not on this case.” Darc looked down at his hands, realizing that he did not know what to do with them. That had never been an issue before. When he had no need to use his hands, they rested at his sides. But now they felt awkward, like foreign bodies somehow attached to the ends of his arms.

Van Owen’s face grew less animated. An indication of the attorney growing serious? “So what makes this case different?”

“I do not know.”

“Huh,” Bryce muttered. “That can’t be easy for a guy like you to admit.”

“It is neither easy nor difficult. It simply is.” Even as Darc said the words, a part of him rebelled, the logic spirals within him twisting in their discontent. They were never wrong, the patterns clamored. Darc was uncertain what was happening inside of himself. This inner turmoil was disconcerting.

“Whatever,” the attorney said, pulling from his beer once more. “Sounds like girl trouble to me.”

“Explain.”

Bryce finished up his beer and grabbed another from off the table. “Sure. Okay. Whenever I’m off my game and I can’t figure why, it’s always a girl.” He reached over and punched Darc in the arm. It hurt. “There someone you’ve got on the brain?”

“Yes.”

“See? Girl trouble. Knew it.” Van Owen pounded the table with his fist.

“Is there a solution to this problem?” Darc interrogated. If the lawyer were correct in his assessment, perhaps he had a cure for this mental disorder.

“Uh, yeah. It’s right in front of you.” The Deputy Attorney pointed at the remaining mug of dark stout. “Nothing like a night of drinking to get your mind off the one you can’t have. Get a little tipsy, sing a few songs, throw a few punches… It’ll get her out of your system. Guaranteed.”

That did not sound logical. The twisted threads of light within wound themselves tighter, rejecting the proposal. However, this was a scenario that seemed to fall within the gray spectrum of emotional non-logic. In those areas, the glowing paths failed, leading into tangled, barbed roads that ended in sorrow. Maggie leaving. Trey’s increasing frustration with him. Mala rejecting his offers of social interaction.

A quick calculation of the risk to the brain from moderate drinking of mild alcoholic beverages yielded results that landed in favor of the experiment. Contrary to popular conception, alcohol consumption did not result in the destruction of brain cells. Indeed, most contemporary research asserted that, in small amounts, adult beverages could actually increase cognitive ability, including memory.

The largest risks to him this evening would be overconsumption, with its attendant behavior modification due to a lowering of social inhibitions. There was also the possible acetaldehyde intoxication, hypoglycemia, dehydration, or glutamine rebound, all of which were commonly referred to as a hangover. The effects were temporary, and therefore negligible. At least the dehydration could be mitigated. Darc reached for a tall glass of water and drank the contents, pausing only for a brief moment to take in air.

“Okaaaaay,” Van Owen said, watching as Darc set down the empty glass. “That wasn’t exactly what I meant, but whatever floats…”

Without pause, Darc retrieved the final mug of Guinness from its position next to Bryce. Bringing it up to his lips, he inadvertently inhaled the aroma of the foamy head, a potent yeast scent invading his nostrils. The first swallow was almost his last, as the taste had the bitterness of things burnt melded with a distinct tang of things dead.

The lines of logic swirled around the cascading bubbles from the stout, identifying and quantifying. The burnt flavor from the portion of the barley that was roasted. The tartness from the souring of the fermentation process. But in addition to the disappointing aspects of the powerful drink, the gleaming strands detected some other, more subtle notes. The sweetness of caramel. The earthiness of coffee.

By the time Darc had finished his first swallow, he was ready for his next. Bryce raised his eyebrows. That was either surprise, or the lawyer’s motives for having Darc drink alcoholic beverages involved a seduction. That could prove awkward. But, from the next words out of Van Owen’s mouth, Darc assumed the former.

“First time drinker, right?” Bryce asked. At Darc’s curt nod, the Deputy Attorney whistled in apparent admiration. “I spat out my first taste of Guinness.”

“I almost did,” Darc conceded. “But the second mouthful was much more pleasant.”

Bryce pursed his lips. “I may have just created a monster.”

Darc was not positive what that meant, but decided it was time to take another swallow of his beverage. If he was to ascertain the efficacy of drinking for taking his mind off of Mala, he would need to drink faster.

Because, as of that moment, it was not working.

*

The phone call with Maggie had taken longer than Trey had intended. What he had thought would be a quick check-in had turned into a much more involved conversation which included graphic descriptions of what Maggie would do with him and to him if Trey managed to come home sober. It had all ended in Trey pledging on his grandmother’s grave not to let a drop of alcohol cross his lips.

Who would’ve guessed that all it would take was the promise of wild monkey sex to turn Trey into a teetotaler? Trey couldn’t decide if he was pissed off that he was so easily manipulated, or just excited to ditch Darc and Van Owen and see how many speeding tickets he could accrue on the drive home.

As he ducked back into the seedy dive, Trey paused for a second to let his eyes adjust. Once they had, he immediately regretted it. What he was seeing could not—repeat, could not—be possible.

There at the table was Van Owen, looking a bit more flushed than the last time Trey had seen him. No big shocker there. The guy had been putting it away even before Trey and Darc had arrived at the pub.

No, the shocker was the other figure at the table. It looked like Darc. Sort of. Same bald head, same stubbled face, same hulking tallness. But where Darc typically walked around like he had some kind of ramrod shoved up his rear end, this unidentified man was slouching. And holding a half-drunk mug of beer.

Darc didn’t drink. Therefore, this couldn’t be Darc.

And, glancing down at the table, Trey could see that this slouching impostor was flanked on either side by an additional four empty mugs. So, not just half a beer, but closer to four-and-a-half.

If Darc were to lose all sense of who he was and start drinking, Trey couldn’t imagine he’d make it much past the first sip before the taste of the alcohol and the idiocy of what he was doing took over. People drank to lose a little control.

Darc hated to lose control. Therefore, this couldn’t be Darc.

Plus, drinking caused brain damage or something, didn’t it? Darc would never risk even the thought of losing one of his precious bits of gray matter. One time, he had shoved an old man out of the way to get the last hardhat at a construction site they’d gone to for a case. Rationale? His brain needed more protection.

Darc would never risk his cognitive powers. Therefore, this was not Darc.

The tall figure turned around in a sloppy circle, caught sight of Trey, and waved. Waved. This was so clearly not Darc. And then the figure called out to him.

“Trey! It is I!”

It was Darc’s voice, although a much more relaxed and slurred version than what Trey was used to. And no one but Darc would ever say It is I. What the hell was going on here? Taking a mental breath, Trey applied Sherlock Holmes’s axiom—often repeated to him by Darc—to the situation. “When you have eliminated the impossible, what remains, however implausible, is the truth.” The first time Darc had said it, he’d had to explain to Trey what implausible meant. Twice.

It looked like Darc, it sounded like Darc, it clearly knew Trey. It must be Darc.

Son of a…

Trey stalked toward the table, murder on his mind. His first words were addressed to Bryce, even though Darc had reached out to give him a hug. Wait. What? Darc had just tried to hug him.

This was so not okay.

“Did you get my partner drunk? What the hell’s wrong with you? I was gone for like five minutes, tops.”

Bryce shrugged his shoulders. “It wasn’t me, man. We were talking about his girl troubles, and then he just up and started chugging beer. He downed four beers in three minutes flat. I had to physically restrain him when he started on his fifth.”

“Wait a minute. He was talking about women with you?” Trey stared hard at his partner. There was something seriously amiss here if Darc was willingly sharing information about his personal life. “I’m not sure you have any idea how messed up this whole situation is.”

“Probably not,” Van Owen agreed. “But I’ve heard enough stories around the office to get that this is outside the norm.”

“Outside…?! Out…” Trey took a deep breath and let it out on a ten count. “Dude. ‘Outside the norm’ is snow in July. It’s sixty-year-old women getting pregnant. It’s aliens coming down and deciding to take over Disneyland. It is not—I repeat—it. Is. Not. My. Partner. Getting. Drunk.”

Darc moved over to Trey’s side, attempted to place a hand on Trey’s shoulder, and missed the first two times. Once he had his hand placed as he seemed to wish, Darc turned Trey to face him and looked him straight in the… eyebrow. His partner seemed to be having some trouble focusing.

“Trey, this occurrence is not his responsibility. I am conducting an experiment.”

In all the possible scenarios that Trey had played out in his head having to do with Darc—and there had been some real doozies—Trey had never once thought this would be one of them. “An experiment? Are you kidding me? Darc, even I know you’re not supposed to experiment on yourself.”

That seemed to give Darc pause. He stopped speaking for a moment and appeared to be thinking something through. “You are correct. I had not taken that into consideration. That was unscientific.” His face fell, but then brightened once more. “But it has been successful. The point of the exercise was to distract me from thoughts of Mala. And it has worked.” His face crumpled in on itself again. “Up until this moment.”

Darc’s shoulders hunched over as he slumped into a chair next to the table, and he brought the mug back up to take another long pull of his beer. As he did so, his form shook a couple of times. Was Darc crying? Into his beer? This was like some hideous perversion of a country song.

“Okay. That’s it. I’m taking him home.” Trey dug around for his wallet to pay the tab. There was no way he was letting Darc stay here and get completely blotto. Trey took another glance at his partner, who was now humming to himself, and reassessed. That ship may have already sailed.

“Hey, come on.” Van Owen waved away Trey’s attempt to put money down on the table. “I’ll pick this up. I feel really bad about the whole thing.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I just wanted to get a chance to talk to you guys about the case. You know… away from the office. It gets a little tight in there sometimes.”

Trey felt the knot of anger that had formed in his stomach start to soften. A little bit. Bryce wasn’t a bad guy. If anything, this whole going-out-to-a-bar-together thing would normally have made Trey like him a whole lot more. And it’s not like anyone could make Darc do something. Or keep him from doing it once he’d made up his mind, for that matter.

“I get it,” Trey answered, doing his best to calm down. “I guess it’s—”

“Hold on a sec,” Bryce interrupted him. He was staring off in the direction of the bar. “I think that’s one of my cousins over there. Hey, Sean!” The blond attorney waved his hand in the air to get the attention of a guy with curly red hair.

What happened next was not quite clear to Trey. It looked like Van Owen’s cousin stumbled and bumped into one of the serious drinkers at the bar. But however it occurred, one thing was clear after the incident—the drinker’s beer was now dripping down his very broad chest and expansive belly.

There was a moment, a very long and silent moment, when nothing happened. The entire bar seemed to take a collective breath, waiting to find out exactly what response was coming next. It was an eternal instant, in which all things were possible. Like that stupid cat with the funny name that Darc had once tried to explain to him… neither dead nor alive until the box was opened up.

And then the bar exploded.

The large man at the bar swung his now-empty glass mug at Sean’s face, and he managed to turn to the side, taking most of the impact on his shoulder. The force of the blow knocked him into another patron, who shoved back harder than necessary. Within milliseconds, everyone close by was throwing punches.

“Ah, great,” Bryce muttered, then sighed. “I should go help him out.”

“Hold on,” Trey cut in. “You can’t get into a bar fight. You’re a deputy attorney.”

“Yeah, but if I don’t step in and my mom finds out about it, I’m toast.”

Trey snorted. “You that much of a momma’s boy?”

“What? She’s right. My cousin’s a hemophiliac. One well-landed punch and he’s got a nasty subdermal hematoma.”

There was a sharp crack that dragged both Trey and Bryce’s eyes back to the bar. The big guy who had started the fight had picked up a beer bottle and smashed it against the corner of the countertop. He was now waving the sharp jagged end in Sean’s face.

Bryce groaned. “Well, now I have to go help out.” He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. I’m more scared of my mom than I am of the Prosecuting Attorney, any day.” With that, he charged into the fray, his fists flying.

Great. The deputy attorney assigned to their case was now in the middle of a full-fledged bar brawl. And as if that weren’t enough, when Trey turned back to grab Darc and pull his partner out of the pub, Darc wasn’t there. Darting his eyes around the bar, Trey finally located Darc by his gleaming bald head. The gleaming bald head that he was currently using to bash in the nose of a dude who was even bigger than the guy who had started the whole thing.

The night had officially crossed from totally weird into bizarro-alternate-reality territory. So, Trey did what he always did when he was out drinking and a fight broke out. He ordered a beer, crossed to the darkest corner, and watched. His face might not be pretty, but he wasn’t about to go making it worse.

*

The threads were hazy, soft around the edges, and feathered in a way that made their glowing surfaces beautiful, but hard to define. So as Darc surged into the fight, he knew he would need to make adjustments for both the delay in his reflexive conditioning and the lack of precision in his calculations. He stumbled against the leg of a bar stool, the paths of light lazily calculating the change in Darc’s perception and reflexes.

Fighting multiple opponents required an altering of standard psychological, as well as physical, tactics. Darc scanned the crowd of fighters, doing what he could to keep his gaze level and his eyes focused. He sought the alpha.

Often, it would be the first person to engage, but in this case, it was a much larger and more aggressive individual who had joined in after the conflict had begun. This individual had tipped his head back toward the ceiling and was howling like a coyote after having broken the nose of another bar patron.

Darc rushed the alpha from the side, keeping out of the man’s peripheral vision as long as possible. This first engagement would serve two purposes. One, if Darc were successful, defeating the leader would dishearten the other participants, giving Darc a psychological advantage. Two, it would give the streams of logic running in his head an appropriate coefficient of the delay caused by the consumption of the alcohol. That would allow for the remainder of the fight to continue with a more controlled level of defensive wounds.

Wobbling to the front of the berserker, Darc reached up to grasp the man’s massive shoulders, pulling the fighter’s torso toward him as he thrust his head at the alpha’s nasal bone. This was a move calculated to break the leader’s nose. A broken nose would be highly visible due to the blood. It would also cause the man’s eyes to tear up, making Darc a more difficult target for retaliation.

Unfortunately, Darc misjudged the angle of the attack, hitting the man’s frontal bone instead of the much more vulnerable nasal bone. The result was an approximation of an irresistible force hitting an immoveable object. Both men reeled back, clutching at their heads. The large alpha grunted, shook his head, and focused on Darc. Instead of incapacitating his opponent, Darc had only managed to enrage him.

Perhaps this had not been such a well-thought-out experiment.

And why exactly was he engaging in the fight? Darc assessed the possibility that the alcohol consumption could have influenced every decision he’d made since he began drinking. That assessment was cut short by a fist flying directly at Darc’s right eye.

He attempted to dodge the blow, but moments later was pushing himself off the floor, random splashes of light interfering with the hazy ribbons of logic. Darc’s head throbbed from the impact.

The pain was considerable, even muted by the ethanol in his system.

But the coefficient was now clear. The logic pathways had tracked the delay and the shift in Darc’s ability to take in stimuli. He could now engage with purpose, knowing the strands of gleaming information would support him fully.

The large man and someone else who appeared to be his friend began to charge Darc. Stepping to the side, Darc made sure the large man’s body created an obstacle that would keep his friend from joining in at the same time. Maneuvering to keep his opponents in a straight line kept dangerous triangles from forming, where the angles of attack and defense began to approach the infinite.

Darc allowed the bull-faced alpha to complete his approach, using the coefficient to judge when he should duck. The roundhouse punch that had been aimed at Darc’s temple swung harmlessly over his head, the momentum from the swing putting his opponent off-balance. Darc used the slight stumble to his advantage, jabbing the man in the outer thigh just above the knee, aiming for the nerve there.

The blow must have connected, as the large assailant dropped to his knees. Darc took the time to place another hit squarely to the solar plexus. The man was on the floor and gasping within seconds.

Darc moved through the dark space in front of the bar, weaving through the struggling individuals there, taking out any that appeared to threaten either the Deputy Attorney or his cousin. It was strange, but there was a feeling of immense satisfaction in using his various limbs as weapons to disable his opponents. It was a feeling of being completely in his body, experiencing every moment, every sensation.

The lines of logic only seemed to heighten it all, instead of pulling him out as they usually did. The softness of the pathways served as an informative background instead of another, harder, more precise universe imposed on the real one.

Dancing his way through the interwoven streets of glowing light, Darc continued to protect his newfound friend until the police arrived.

CHAPTER 15

Trying to catch up to Trey and Darc was like bailing water out of a canoe with a sieve, and Mala was getting tired. It had taken five calls and three texts to Trey to finally get a response from him, and when the response came, it was cryptic. Come to the Owl N’ Thistle. Now. I need you.

If it had been from anyone other than Trey, Mala would’ve thought it was a booty call. But if Trey was being cryptic, there must be something pretty desperately wrong. Trey was the kind of guy that couldn’t help but use five words when one would do. So Mala found herself speeding along toward downtown Seattle, hoping that there were no patrol cars around to stop her. Or that if there were, they’d recognize her and let her go with a warning. Right now, with everything that was going on with the DSHS, it was not the moment to start getting speeding tickets.

In fact, if it hadn’t been for the fact that she really needed to get Trey and Darc to write up some statements about Janey’s case, she more than likely would have just headed home without trying to check in with the guys. The meeting with her social worker had drained the life out of her.

But they needed her, and she found that the idea they might be in trouble was rapidly replacing her feelings of lifeless discouragement into something more resembling an adrenaline rush. Knowing those two detectives, they could be in a stand-off with a serial killer in a back alley.

The only thing that kept the panic to a minimum was that the place she was going to was public. Not likely that there was a hostage situation happening in the local pub. Then again, it was Darc and Trey…

Mala stepped on the gas pedal, giving a slight burst of speed to her vehicle. It was a Prius, so the burst was more of a hiccup, but she was going a little bit faster.

Rounding the corner of Marion Street onto Post Avenue, Mala felt her heart sink. There were several squad cars, lights flaring, parked around the bar. A group of people were milling around the entrance, looking confused and angry.

Whatever had happened here, it wasn’t looking good.

There was enough of a barricade happening in front of the bar that Mala felt safe to double-park alongside one of the police vehicles. As she stepped out of her car, a uniformed cop approached her.

“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to step back in your car and—”

Mala held up the identification card that she had gotten from HR the day before. Being a part-time consultant had its perks. The uni bent down to take a closer look, then glanced back up at Mala to match her picture to her face.

“Sorry, Dr. Charan. Come on through.” He waved her into the press of cops and bar patrons, where she spent the next few moments trying not to get jostled too heavily.

Ten seconds later, Trey was at her side. “Hey, Mala. Thanks for coming. We… I…” The detective flapped his hands around in a vague gesture that Mala took to mean that Trey had no idea what to say or do next. The gesture ended in him pointing toward one of the patrol cars. Specifically, at one of the figures sitting half in and half out of the back of the patrol car, the door swung wide.

His head was bent down, but the broadness of the shoulders and the gleam of the skin of his head identified him as Darc. What was odd was the way he was slumped down in the seat… well, that, and the fact that he had handcuffs on.

Mala darted her gaze at Trey, who just shrugged his shoulders. Moving over toward the seated figure, Mala tried to figure out what chain of events could possibly end up in Darc, restrained, sitting slouched over in the back of a police car. The only thing that was coming to mind was the Apocalypse, but seeing as there was no fire raining down from the sky, Mala was keeping that one in reserve.

As she neared Darc, Mala caught a whiff of something. Was that… alcohol? Darc’s head popped up, and Mala gasped. Darc had a lump on his forehead and the beginnings of what looked to be one hell of a shiner. He grinned at her.

“Hello, Mala,” Darc slurred. He patted his pockets, seeming to look for something. After a sloppy search using both of his hands, which were cuffed together, the bald detective pulled what appeared to be a small handwritten card out of his inside jacket pocket. He put the card within two inches of his face, peering at it. Then, putting the card back into his pocket, Darc spoke again.

“You look very beautiful this evening.”

Mala barely took in the compliment, she was so stunned. “What are you doing in the back of a police car? In handcuffs?” She leaned in toward Darc and took a deep breath. “Drunk?”

Another voice from deeper inside the shadowy backseat of the car spoke up. “Is this her? The woman?” A form shimmied its way over toward the light. A blond head and piercing blue eyes peered up at her, framed in a striking face that seemed to be all angles leading down and forward to full lips. “Wow. I can see how this one could mess with your sleep cycle.” He gave her a roguish wink that made her skin heat up.

Darc was mumbling to himself. He refocused his gaze on Trey, who had come up beside Mala. Darc’s face pulled into a scowl. Mala was fairly confident that she had never seen Darc scowl. Or grin, for that matter. What was going on with him?

“It did not work,” Darc muttered at Trey. “And I read it straight from the card.”

Trey made a shushing sound and held up his hands as if to restrain Darc from further speaking. Mala had next to no idea what was going on, but whatever was happening, she wasn’t happy about any of it.

“Does someone want to explain to me what is happening right now?”

“Yeah,” Trey responded, then stopped. “No, actually, there’s too much, and a lot of it was in a dark bar where I couldn’t really see well.”

“I’m sorry,” the blond-headed man in the backseat spoke up. “All of this is my fault. I invited these two detectives to come down to the pub with me to discuss a case we’re working on, and things got out of hand.”

“And who are you?” Mala shot back, not sure what to make of this new addition to the group.

“Oh, right,” Trey put in. “I forgot you two haven’t met. Dr. Mala Charan, this is Deputy Attorney Bryce Van Owen.”

“You’re a prosecuting lawyer?” Mala tried not to allow her surprise to register in her tone, but failed miserably. “And you got into a bar fight?”

“What can I say?” The attorney leveled a lopsided grin at her. “I’m Irish. It’s in the blood.”

“You’re Irish?” Trey seemed more shocked by this information than Mala had been at the fact that he was a deputy attorney and in custody. “With a name like Van Owen? And the whole cheekbones thing you got going on? What the hell kind of Irish are you? I’m Irish. You are not Irish.”

Bryce shrugged, his handcuffs jangling. “It’s on my mom’s side. She’s from the O’Brien clan. Some of the first Irish settlers in Washington.”

Trey pursed his lips. “Well, that explains the pub. And the Guinness. And the redheaded cousin. And the bar fight.” He ticked off the points on his fingers. “But… No, actually, that pretty much explains the entire evening.”

“Yeah, I got the hair—and the bone structure—” the lawyer had the decency to look sheepish at that, “from my stuffy German dad. Everything else comes from me mum.” The last sentence was delivered in an Irish brogue. It changed the entire look of his face. Roughened him up a bit. Mala smiled in spite of herself.

“What is the plan now?” She asked of the group.

Trey glanced around. “I think I saw a couple of friends in and among the unis here. I’m going to see if I can get one of them to cut these two loose.” He snorted. “I hope it works. ‘Cause a detective and a deputy attorney getting arrested for drunk and disorderly will make the evening news. And that would not make Captain Merle happy.” He wandered off in the direction of a group of uniformed officers nearby.

“I drank water,” Darc spoke from in between his knees, where he had rested his head. “I drank a glass of water in between every beer. That should mitigate the effects of the dehydration common with alcohol consumption.”

“But what on earth made you decide to drink?” Mala could not get over the fact that this was Darc in front of her. Granted, her experience with the autistic detective was not what you would call intimate, but this went against everything she thought she knew of him. Precise, logical to a fault, opposed to anything that might even appear “sloppy.”

“It’s my fault,” Van Owen interjected once more, cutting Darc off before he could speak. “I pressured him into it.”

“My experience with Darc has been that no one pressures him into anything.” Mala replied.

“Yeah, I can see that’s probably true. Fair point.” The attorney flipped his blond hair up on his forehead with a flick of his neck. “I think he was just stressed out and trying to unwind.”

“It was you,” Darc growled from in between his legs. “I drank because of you.”

Mala had no idea what to make of that at all. Was Darc speaking to her or to Van Owen? She opened her mouth to speak, but was saved from having to respond by Trey returning with a police officer in tow.

“Okay, gents, Officer Duncan here is going to spring you.” Trey waved the officer toward the two men in the backseat. “And let this be a lesson to you, Darc. Leave the drinking to the professionals.” He shook his head. “Wow. I sounded just like my mom. That is so not all right. Your fault, Darc. Your fault.”

Darc nodded his head, and then winced at the sudden movement. It was the closest Mala had ever seen to the tall detective looking meek. He spoke in a low tone.

“I do not think that I will ever repeat this experiment. I found it to be less than effective.”

Effective? And what kind of “experiment” would make this overly-logical, empathetically challenged man decide to get hammered?

It was mystifying, but Mala wasn’t convinced she wanted to know the answer.

*

The lines of light buzzed at Darc, expressing their dispassionate annoyance. It was strange, but he had never before noticed any sound emanating from the pathways of logic within his mind. But now that any noise whatsoever made his entire head throb, their vibrations were more than clear. Was it possible they were doing it on purpose?

Even the muted light seemed to pierce into the depths of his mind, causing him to wince in pain. Never before had Darc experienced anything quite as uncomfortable as this, not even when he contracted the influenza and had been sick for two weeks.

As he entered into the main part of the office the next morning, headed toward his desk, everyone came to their feet and began applauding. The wave of sound hit Darc in the forehead and drove him back several meters before the clapping dissolved into knowing chuckles. They were laughing. Everyone in the office was laughing at him.

This was a completely new experience for Darc. He found he did not enjoy it.

“Darc!” Trey called out to him. The sharp call seemed to echo through his head, disrupting the patterns of light within. His partner grinned at him and spoke in an overly solicitous tone. “Oh, hey. Sorry, dude. Was that painful?” Trey turned back to the rest of the officers and detectives gathered around. “All right. Nothing to see here. C’mon. Shoo.” They grumbled as he waved them off. “Here, man.” He handed Darc a cup.

“What is this?” Darc asked, peering down into the container. It was filled approximately one-quarter full with an unidentified clear fluid with a slight orange tint.

“Drink it. It’ll help with the hangover.”

Darc lifted the vessel up to his lips and emptied the contents into his mouth. The fluid burned all the way down his throat. He coughed and almost spat part of the liquid back out.

“What is this?”

“Just deserts, dude. Don’t ever do that again.” Trey glanced over at Darc and must have seen something in his face, as his tone gentled. “Hair of the Dog. Gin and hot sauce, dude. It’ll make you feel better. Promise.”

“Drinking additional alcohol will reduce the effects from drinking alcohol?” The pathways of logic turned inward on themselves, seeking to make sense of this seeming paradox.

“I know. Sounds weird, but it works. Something about the combination of the spice to kick-start your digestion and the alcohol to take your body’s attention away from what you did to it last night. Give it a minute or two and you’ll be feeling lots better.”

This seemed highly improbable to Darc, but if there were anyone to whom he should defer on this topic, it was Trey. They walked side by side over to their desks.

“I’m glad you made it in this morning, Darc,” Trey said. “We just got a call in. There’s been another murder. You up for going out there with me?” He seemed to think for a moment. “On second thought, screw it. I don’t care if you’re up for it. You’re going. Do the crime, serve the time.”

“I did not commit a crime.”

“Depends on how you define crime. Felony? No. But you stepped into misdemeanor territory last night. Drunk and disorderly, remember? And it’s a slippery slope that leads down the path into eternal damnation. Or suspension. One of the two.”

The phone on Trey’s desk rang, and the sound reverberated through Darc’s skull. He clutched at the corner of the desk, doing what he could to remain erect, while Trey snatched up the receiver with a chuckle.

“Keane.” Trey paused, listening. “Hey, yeah. How did you…? You know what, never mind. Just meet us there.” He glanced over at Darc and appeared to rethink. “Actually, give it a few minutes, okay? You got the address? Course you do. What was I thinking?” Trey dropped the receiver in the cradle, wrinkling up his nose. “That was Harris. I swear, that guy seems to know everything that happens in Seattle before it even happens. He’s coming to the crime scene.”

Darc nodded, turning to head back out toward the parking lot. Before he could begin moving in that direction, Trey took hold of his jacket and steered him toward a chair next to the desk.

“We’re not going anywhere until we talk this out.”

“There is nothing to discuss.” The paths of light throbbed their agreement. They snaked around Darc’s head, pulling him toward the crime scene, where their logic could unravel the tightly tied knots of a madman. Here there was nothing but fog and mist. Out there, logic reigned, pure and clean.

“Nothing to discuss? Dude, you got drunk last night.” Trey shook his head. “No, you got hammered last night. And then took part in a bar brawl.” Darc’s partner sighed, rubbing his hand over his forehead. “Don’t get me wrong. There’s a part of me that’s impressed. But come on. This is you we’re talking about. Darc, the super detective who never gets emotional about anything.”

The trails of light grew insistent in their urging. This was gray area, not their domain, and as far as they were concerned, a waste of time. “This conversation helps nothing. There is work to be done.”

“Man, if you can’t see that there is work to be done here, you aren’t nearly as smart as you think you are.” Trey breathed out. “I get that this is uncomfortable. But apply that giant brain to this problem. First thing, you’re acting all wonky.”

“Wonky. That is unspecific.”

“Whatever. Weird. Freaky. Irrational. Take your pick. Second, you never do that. Third thing, that means there’s an issue here, right? Don’t you call that, like, a syllogy or something? Dammit. I can never remember that stupid word.”

“Syllogism,” Darc corrected, unthinking. But the threads of logic had picked up the pathway that Trey had, however imperfectly, laid out for them. Darc’s partner was correct in his assessment, even if it had not been a true syllogism. Even though the conclusion lay buried in the haziness of gray emotion, the reasoning that brought Darc to this destination was sound. Trey had exposed a blind spot in the seemingly infallible web of logic.

There was indeed an issue.

“You are correct.”

“I am?” Trey sat back, his face losing all outward expression. “I am. Hey, that never happens.”

“That is not accurate. You are correct seven-point-three percent of the time.”

Trey ran his hand through his hair. “Awesome. You couldn’t possibly just say ‘congratulations’ or something, could you?”

“Would that change the facts?” Darc did not understand Trey’s constant need for validation in this area. Either one was right or one was wrong. This was a quantifiable metric. Congratulating Trey for being right was akin to congratulating a rose for being red. It would remain red regardless of the well wishes.

“You know what? Forget it.” Trey muttered.

“It is unlikely that I will forget. And if you are using that phrase in the connotative sense of ‘do not worry about it,’ rest assured that I am not.”

“Seriously,” Trey groused. “Are you trying to pick a fight with me? We were just getting somewhere good, and now you’re off quantifying and measuring again.”

Was that accurate? The idea of staying with the emotional side of this problem was uncomfortable. It was conceivable that Darc was seeking comfort in the soothing glow of the threads of logic with which he was constantly surrounded.

“That is also correct. I am having difficulty identifying this issue, as it falls outside of any logical analysis I can make.”

Trey waved his hands back and forth in front of his face. “Whoa. Hold the phone. You’re saying I was right two times in a row? That really never happens.” Trey held up a finger, cutting off what Darc had been about to say. “Stop. I don’t want to hear the percentages this time.” His finger remained poised until Darc closed his mouth. “So, what are we going to do about this?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

Darc moved down the points as the streams of logic laid them out. “I am unable to self-diagnose, as I cannot see the area that is the issue. You are not qualified to diagnose the problem, or treat it if once you do discover it. Mala is not here. There is a crime scene that needs our immediate attention. Therefore, we do nothing for the time being.”

“But that means you have to listen to me.” Trey had folded his arms across his chest. An indication of intransigence, or perhaps his partner’s body temperature had dropped.

“I always listen to you,” Darc replied.

“No, you always hear me. Those are two completely different things. What I’m saying is, if you’ve got some unidentified personal issue that’s affecting your work, you need to trust me when I tell you something’s wrong. And maybe even follow my advice.” Trey spread his hands, mimicking a scale with balancing arms on either side. He lifted one hand. “This is reason. You’re top banana here, and I’ll always trust what you say about it.” Then he lifted the other. “This is emotion. And you gotta pay attention to me when we’re there.”

As filled with discomfort as this situation might be, Darc could see that Trey’s reasoning in this regard was clearer than his own. Darc nodded, submitting to the lines of logic that wove their way between them both, tying the two men together. They needed one another in order to keep Darc’s issues from tainting their work.

Trey seemed to take in the nod, his forehead creasing. “You just agreed to trust me. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.”

On the outside, it would more than likely appear that Darc also did not know how to respond. But on the inside, the glistening fibers of light were dripping globs of color, bleeding their gleaming from one strand to the next, occasionally pooling on the floor of the mental space that was their playground.

Inside, Darc was weeping.

CHAPTER 16

It had all been Popeye’s idea.

Well, maybe that wasn’t true. Not exactly. It had been Janey’s idea, but Popeye was the one who told her to do it. Usually Janey tried to be super good, but being super good right now didn’t seem like such a good thing. Being super good would make the grown-ups think that they knew what Janey was supposed to do. They kept saying stuff like that. I know you’re scared, Caitlyn, but this is the best thing for you. They didn’t even know that her real name was Janey now. Dumbos.

Janey wasn’t supposed to use words like that, but it was the only thing she could think of.

Popeye and Janey had talked it over on the way to the first place. Not talking like people could hear. That would be silly. The lady that took her away from Darc would have heard, and then they never could have made the plan. That lady probably would’ve taken Popeye away from her, and even though Popeye was really naughty sometimes, Janey didn’t want him to be taken away.

So they talked quiet. On the inside. Like the inside voice that Mommy used to tell Janey to use when it was Saturday morning and Mommy and Daddy were sleeping. But even quieter.

She had put all her clothes in the trash bag that the lady gave her. A big, black one, like the ones that Daddy would fill with grass when he mowed the lawn in the summer. All of her clothes and things stuffed into a bag.

But Janey never took her clothes out of the bag. Not even once.

Because Popeye and she had a plan.

They were going to get out of this stupid place where the kids were mean and the room smelled like a hospital and everybody talked to her like she was dumb. She wasn’t dumb. Just because she didn’t want to talk didn’t mean she was dumb.

She could talk. She had called out to Darc. Yelled his name when the lady was dragging her away. The lady was stinky. Okay, that wasn’t very nice, but she shouldn’t have taken her away from Darc. That was just mean.

So Popeye and Janey had come up with something good. Well, it was bad, really, but it was going to get Janey back to Darc and Mala, so it was good, right?

When she got to the first house, she had seen a big fish tank with lots of fish inside, swimming around. All the kids liked the tank, and Janey could maybe even see why, even though the fish seemed kinda bored. They were pretty, but all they did was swim around and around until it made her a little dizzy.

Popeye agreed with her. Those fish were so, so, so bored. So, when all the kids were asleep that night, Janey snuck down and took them out of the tank. She filled up the tub in the bathroom and put all the fish inside. They did seem to swim faster then.

The next morning, yells broke out in the bathroom and by the tank at almost the same time. Janey had made sure she got her arm wet all the way up to her shoulder when she moved the fish, so when the grown-ups started looking around to see who did it, they knew it was Janey.

Then she found out that the other kids didn’t like Popeye. Not only did they not like him, they were scared of him. Janey thought that was silly, so she introduced them all to Popeye. Really close, so they could see him good.

They didn’t like that much.

She got moved to the second house that afternoon.

The second place needed decorating, so she used her red and black crayons all over the walls. By the time the other kids started screaming and crying at the pictures she’d drawn, Janey was on her way to the third place.

They tried to give her “vitamins.” Please. She wasn’t stupid. When the grown-ups caught her running around pinching the other kids in their beds later that night, she was on to her fourth home. She hadn’t pinched them that hard, the babies. She felt a little bad about that one.

But the next place had a hamster, and Popeye told her the hamster wanted to be free. So she let him go outside, but then smeared ketchup on her hands. The grown-ups hadn’t been very happy with her after that.

The fifth place needed to have its floors watered. They looked really thirsty. All it took was plugging up all the toilets and flushing them all a bunch of times.

The sixth place tried to give her lots more vitamins. They even watched her while she was supposed to swallow them. But Janey was smarter than that. She just kept the pills in her hands until they left the room. When they’d found her running away with her garbage bag full of clothes, they’d just looked at each other and picked up the phone.

Now she was stuck in the seventh place. It had only been a couple of days since the first one. She wondered if her Mommy and Daddy would be mad at her, or if they would be proud. Darc would be happy. Janey wasn’t sure about Mala. She thought Mala would be happy, too, because Mala wanted Janey to be with her. But she didn’t know for sure quite yet.

This was the worst place so far. They locked her in her room, so Janey had started banging her hands against the door and slamming her body against the ground. She was careful to make sure she didn’t get too hurt, but the grown-ups got scared looks on their faces and then took her to a room that had lots of mats and pillows on the floor so she couldn’t hurt herself.

So, she did the only thing she could do. She pulled out her markers and started drawing all over herself. Red, black, and a little bit of orange. Those seemed to be colors that grown-ups didn’t like.

She was in the middle of painting a mouth with lots of pointy teeth on her arm when a man from the house opened the door.

“Caitlyn, there’s someone here to see you.”

It was Mala.

Janey grinned through the red and black ink on her face. Mala stretched out her hands and Janey ran and gave her a huge hug and it felt like Mala would never ever let go of her ever ever. It felt so good.

Mala was happy.

Janey had done a good job.

Popeye started complaining then, but Janey patted his head and told him it was okay. He had done a good job, too.

They both had.

*

It had been a little bit of a shock, seeing Janey like that. Mala had an idea of what had been happening since Janey had been taken to the first home, but when she came into the impromptu padded room and saw Janey covered in ink, Mala wondered just how troubled this little girl was. Mala would have sworn that Janey was not the kind of girl who could do the things the social worker had detailed in the blunt text she had sent Mala late last night.

But when Janey’s face lit up, Mala could think of nothing more than getting this precious little one out of here as fast as humanly possible. When Janey ran to her and buried her face in Mala’s waist, a suspicion started worming her way into Mala’s mind. It wasn’t possible, of course. Janey was a smart and capable girl, but there was no way that she… Was there?

But as Janey grabbed up her garbage sack of belongings, the suspicion grew into a distinct possibility. Janey hadn’t unpacked. As far as Mala had been informed, Janey had been there most of the day yesterday, and all of the previous night. Why hadn’t she put her clothes away?

Janey scooped up her ratty bear from off the bed. The bear looked at Mala out of his lopsided eyes, the green stitching of his patched wound almost florescent against the tattered brown fur of the rest of his body.

The head of the group home, who had identified himself as William Nagle, had done what he could to keep the chitchat to a minimum. “You will, of course, need to keep giving her the medicine that’s been prescribed to her.” He handed Mala several bottles, all of which contained various drugs intended to calm her down. She took the vials without comment. Wow. When Mala had guessed that Janey was being sedated, she’d had no idea how bad it had really been. How was Janey still upright?

Mr. Nagle set down the paperwork Mala needed to sign, then nodded once before exiting the room. He didn’t say goodbye to Janey.

As for Janey, she hadn’t stopped smiling since Mala walked in. Mala hadn’t had time to notice it before, but Janey had a dimple on the left side of her face that only showed up when her smile was full.

The dimple was in full evidence right now.

Mala reached down and took Janey’s empty hand. But when she made contact, she found the delicate hand she clasped wasn’t quite as empty as Mala had thought. There, grasped in Janey’s palm, were about fifteen pills. Mala couldn’t tell from just looking, but her guess was that they corresponded to the bottles Mr. Nagle had given her.

On purpose. Janey had done it all on purpose.

Mala couldn’t help it—she started laughing. It was the kind of laughter that took over her entire body. Bending down to get on the little girl’s level, Mala took Janey in her arms and gave her a huge hug.

“I am so proud of you,” Mala whispered in her ear. “But don’t you ever try to pull that stuff on me.” She winked at the tiny girl in her arms. Janey’s grin somehow managed to stretch even wider across her face.

It was amazing how much she could come to love this damaged creature in such a short period of time. If someone had asked her a few weeks ago if she would be willing to turn her life upside down like this, she would probably have said no. Now, she couldn’t think of any option that would keep Janey out of her life.

And somehow, the fact that Janey had made the choice to misbehave in order to get back to Mala made it all just… click. She was doing what had to be done. Because, for better or for worse, they belonged together. Mala knew that with a certainty.

Janey was hers.

And she—for now and forevermore—was Janey’s.

*

As Trey stepped out of the Land Rover and into the ever-present gray mist that was a Seattle morning, he spotted the FOX news van and groaned. Seriously, how did this woman seem to know how to get to a crime scene even before the cops did? Trey had called her a barracuda before. Now he was reconsidering. Barracudas came off nice when placed next to Charity King.

“Detective Keane!” The pretty reporter waved, looking for all the world like she’d just caught sight of her lunch. “Would you like to comment on this serial killer who has Seattle quaking in fear?”

Please. Any large city usually had at least a couple of serial killers operating at any given moment. The only difference here was that the victims weren’t the invisible—prostitutes or the homeless.

Not that he was about to say that on camera. “No comment.”

“No comment?” Ms. King pressed, her teeth bared in a vicious mockery of a smile. “No comment on the third brutal slaying in the space of less than a week? No comment on the fact that the man you have in custody is clearly not the killer?”

She was good. Trey had to give her that. She managed to say exactly the right thing to set his teeth on edge and make him want to fire back something witty. But anything at all would be an admission in one way or another, and he wasn’t about to go back to face Merle after speaking to a reporter about an open case—with a camera in his face. That wasn’t just stupid, it was career suicide.

Plus, there was a certain amount of satisfaction to be gleaned from seeing the look of frustration on Charity King’s face as Trey pushed past the cameraman and stated once more, “No comment.”

And why was it that no one ever bothered to question Darc? His partner was trailing behind him, but there was no attempt by either Ms. King or her camera operator to stop the bald man. Trey had to figure out how Darc pulled that off. Was it something in his expression? Or did his partner just radiate some scent that confused his predators?

Trey turned his attention to the Tudor-style home where he and his partner were headed. They were in the Capitol Hill area of Seattle, another area of wealth—and power. The registered homeowner here was a Mr. Kyle Carson, one of Seattle’s highest-paid defense lawyers. According to the office scuttlebutt, Carson had gotten off more criminals than the rest of the top ten defense lawyers combined. He worked most often for the high-end drug dealers, and it was an open secret that he was in the pocket of the Colombian cartel Norte del Valle.

As Trey and Darc neared the door, it swung wide and out rolled Bill Harris. Bill always managed to look like he was walking on the deck of a ship instead of on solid ground. He must have been a sailor in a previous life. Or a pirate. Yeah. Bill would definitely have been a pirate.

“Hey!” Bill called out. At Trey’s side, Darc winced. It was a smaller reaction than he’d had back at the precinct, but Trey felt a surge of almost parental satisfaction in the response. That’d teach him.

“Hey, Bill.” Trey took pity on his partner and muted his response. “What’ve we got in there?”

“Dunno. Unis wouldn’t let me into the room where the body was.” He turned to look over his shoulder and called into the house. “Jerk-offs!” Turning back around, he gave Trey a sheepish grin. “Sorry, man. That wasn’t really a what-would-Jesus-do moment, was it?”

“Don’t stress about it. The uniforms like the abuse. Why else would you ever become a cop?” Trey motioned for Bill to precede them into the house. As Trey stepped over the threshold, he could barely take in what he was seeing. The place looked like the Rococo age had thrown up all over the house. Everything was gilded and ornate, with mirrors facing one another all the way down the entryway.

Trey glanced back to make sure Darc was following, and so managed to catch the tall detective’s reaction as he entered the space. He recoiled, his gaze darting from one side of the mirrored hallway to the other. Trey felt the stirrings of sympathy deep within him. It was hard enough to take it in as he was. He couldn’t imagine what it would be like with a hangover.

The hallway opened up into a great room with a vaulted ceiling with… was that a mural painted on the ceiling? Really? Who was this guy? Seriously. Who painted cherubs on their ceiling?

In the corner of the great room was a uniformed cop standing guard in front of a spiral staircase that led up to the second story. He caught sight of the motley group coming in and trotted over to meet them.

“Vic’s upstairs in his office. It’s not pretty.” He looked past Trey to Bill, who was standing behind him and off to one side. “And sorry about your friend there. Captain’s cracking down on visitors to crime scenes.”

“No worries… Gutierrez, isn’t it?” Trey asked. The officer nodded. “Just know that Bill here is working with us on this case. I’ll talk to the captain about it. Make sure he knows.” He thrust his chin toward the upstairs. “And as for being pretty… they never are.”

“Yeah. Guess not. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Trey did a double take at that. It wasn’t like the uniforms to comment all that much on the crime scenes. There was usually some amount of competition in the department as to which cop was the most stoic when it came to the murders.

It must be bad.

Trey worked his way past the C.S.I. unit members who were busy taking pictures, dusting for prints and putting things into little baggies. From long experience, Trey knew how important their work was, but sometimes it just seemed like they were bees swarming around their hive. You knew they made honey. You knew they pollinated plants. But you still didn’t love having them around most of the time.

And then Trey walked into the office and forgot all about the crime scene guys.

This was just nasty.

The first thing Trey saw as he entered the room was a hand. A well-manicured hand that was not attached to anything else. It was resting in a large pool of blood on the top of the desk, right next to a wicked-looking black knife and a cell phone. The phone made sense. After all, the guy was a lawyer. But the knife? That was an odd thing to see in a house like this. Mr. Kyle Carson didn’t seem to be the type of guy to collect knives or guns or stuff like that.

The next thing that Trey noticed was how utilitarian this room was, compared with the rest of the house. Everything was stark and square. Utilitarian lines, Spartan décor, a lack of any gilding whatsoever. It was like the guy who worked in this office and the guy who lived in the rest of the house had nothing in common, and if they did chance to meet, they wouldn’t get along well at all.

The desk was a squat monstrosity that looked like it had been made out of pure steel. Without even touching it, Trey could tell that trying to lift that sucker would probably give him a hernia.

The blood wasn’t just contained to the desk. There were spatters all over the walls, the highest concentrations seemingly on one side of the room. The only spot that was clean was directly behind the desk.

So… lots of blood, but where the hell was the body?

And then, moving forward, Trey saw it. The victim was slumped behind the desk, the chair pushed out to one side. The middle drawer had been removed, leaving a sturdy metal crossbeam exposed. A pair of handcuffs kept one of the man’s arms attached to the crossbar, holding the body up in a strange half slumped over, half squatting position. There was a second, empty set of cuffs at the body’s feet, covered in blood.

Turning around, Trey caught sight of Darc, who seemed to be clenching his fists at his side. Yikes. That wasn’t a good sign. He hadn’t seen Darc do that since the stuff with Father John. His head was cocked to the side, and he appeared to be listening, his brow furrowed into deep grooves.

“Any idea what happened here?” Trey asked the general air.

Strangely enough, Bill was the one to answer him. “Don’t know what happened, but I might know when it happened. I was working a divorce case for this guy’s law firm. I don’t do too much for these guys. They have ties to Norte del Valle, the Colombian drug cartel. But this seemed like a pretty straightforward infidelity thing. Right up my alley. Anyway, I had some information for him, but no one at the office knew where he was. They’ve been trying to get ahold of Mr. Carson here since late afternoon yesterday. So I finally said I’d go out and see if he was home. This is what I found.”

The M.E., the pompous Dr. Hutchinson, lifted his head from where he was examining the body. “That fits with what I’m seeing here.”

“And what are you seeing, Doc?” The M.E.’s face squished up, looking like he’d sucked on a lemon. Oh, right. He hated it when Trey called him ‘Doc’. “Anything worth sharing? Doc?” Sometimes, Trey just couldn’t help himself.

“Well,” said the doctor, after a long pause and an intense glare in Trey’s direction. “I’m always hesitant to say much before the body’s on my table…”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t jump to conclusions, blah, blah… Not good to taint our perceptions, yada, yada… C’mon, Doc. Just give us whatcha got.”

The M.E. took in a deep breath, held it for a moment, then released on what felt like a slow ten count. When he was done, he gave Trey a smile that didn’t reach his eyes and continued as if there had been no interruption.

“…But I can tell you that the victim shows another mark in the forehead, just like the others.”

“Show me.” Darc stepped forward, his gaze intent. He looked down at the symbol pointed out by the examiner. It was a series of three capital Y shapes, connected by a bar across the top. “That is the Babylonian symbol—”

“For the number three,” Trey interrupted. “Yeah. Even I can figure that one out. Not like our killer was really trying to confuse anyone on that count.” Weird. This one didn’t seem to fit in with the Seven Deadly Sins at all. At least not that he could see. He’d talk to Darc about it later. And maybe Mala.

Trey stared down at the corpse. One hand, the right one, was still intact and keeping the body chained to the desk. The other was a bloody stump.

“What was the cause of death?”

The M.E. held up a finger. “Again, I can’t be—”

“Jeez, man, we get it. Just spit it out.” Holy cow, this guy could be tiresome.

“It appears the victim died from exsanguination from the loss of the hand.” Even that amount of speculation seemed to stick in the examiner’s craw. “The knife on the desk appears to be what was used to sever it.”

“Hold on.” Trey looked to the knife on the desk and then down to the bloody wrist. “You mean he...? With the…? Whoa.”

Bill moved closer to the desk, peering intently at the knife. “That’s a Yarborough.”

“That’s a whozit?”

“A Yarborough. It’s a knife that’s given to a member of the Special Forces when they graduate.” The private investigator pointed to the black blade. “See that serial number—SF 0127? That means it’s the one hundred twenty-seventh blade sold to someone from the Special Forces when they started selling them again in 2010. If there were no SF in front of the number, it would be one of the ones that was given out at the graduation ceremony.”

“How did you know that?” Trey asked.

“I was Special Forces. Served in Afghanistan back in 2004.”

“Hold the phone. You were Special Forces?” Trey’s eyes felt like they were bugging out of his head. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

“It was almost ten years ago, Trey.” Bill’s face was studiously blank. “I don’t like talking about it much, and it never came up.”

“Yeah. Okay, I get that.” Trey tried to move off the topic, but then had a burst of inspiration. “Wait a sec. That serial number. We could track down who it belonged to, right?”

Bill looked uncomfortable at that. “Well, it’s possible, I suppose. Most of the Special Forces guys keep their blades close, but I guess one of them could have sold it. Maybe. We all know they can be tracked. I know exactly where mine is.” He stopped talking, looked down at the knife, and gave a sigh. “Might be worth tracking it down.”

“You don’t think our killer could be Special Forces?” Trey queried.

Bill raised his head from his examination of the instrument of death on the desktop. His face was a mask of warring emotions.

Waving his hand, Trey brushed off his own suggestion. “Forget I mentioned it.”

“No, you’re right. It could have been.” Bill shuddered, his eyes distant. “Afghanistan was rough on the best of us. It could have gotten under someone’s skin. Cracked ‘em up. Sure.”

“Okay. Well, it’s worth a shot.” Trey whipped out his notepad and started jotting down the serial number, feeling like a real detective for once. He never used his notepad.

“Hey.” Bill held up a hand to stop Trey. “You mind if I check this one out? Since I kinda have a personal connection to it?”

“Uh,” Trey uttered, nonplussed. It probably wasn’t completely kosher, but it seemed to mean a lot to Bill. Couldn’t hurt, right? He sighed and put his notepad away, unused. “Sure. Go ahead.”

Trey glanced around the rest of the room, trying to find an avenue of investigation that no one else would want to snatch away from him. Darc hadn’t moved since he came into the room. He continued to stare at the body, his entire frame tensed up. It was a look Trey had seen before, and it wasn’t one that boded well. That, combined with Darc’s volatile emotional state, made for what Trey was pretty sure was the equivalent of a nuclear warhead on a countdown.

“Darc,” Trey called out to his partner. “Hey, buddy. You doing okay?”

“All wrong,” Darc croaked, then seemed to snap out of his stupor. “The phone.”

Man, Trey hated it when Darc got all cryptic on him. At least this one wasn’t all that hard to figure out. “Phone. Right. Hey!” Trey yelled to one of the C.S.I. guys. “Once you’re done dusting the phone for fingerprints and whatever else you’re going to do to it, could you pull up the last few numbers dialed?”

This was a good lead. From Bill’s reaction, the knife might end up being a dead end. It was unlikely someone from Special Forces would use a knife in a murder, knowing it could be tracked. So, it had probably been sold or stolen, and Trey wasn’t sure he wanted to meet the guy with big enough stones to steal from a Green Beret.

So, the phone might just end up being the thing that led them to their guy.

CHAPTER 17

The lines were tangled. They snarled and snared, binding around one another, hissing and spitting in their frustration at not finding their proper space.

And they would not go. As much as Darc coaxed and urged, they would not settle. Would not coalesce. Their constant refusal sapped at his strength, leaving him brittle. Emptied out. A false construct of light and logic that appeared solid but would fall apart at the slightest push.

Darc walked behind Trey as they left the crime scene. Behind. Constantly behind. He had always trailed his partner in social and emotional connection. That had never been a question. But now he was falling behind physically. Mentally.

Trey’s shoulders were squared, his walk purposeful. The easy, rolling gait that seemed to flow with the terrain was absent, swallowed up in a seeming sense of responsibility and duty. Darc knew that feeling, the feeling of burden that he had welcomed as a part of himself.

But now Darc knew it was not. It had never been. It had been a mission, a goal, a calling. A calling shared by and supported through the intricate interlacing web of glistening information in Darc’s mind. With it gone or hidden, Darc could now see that it was no part of him. Simply a task he had taken up at one time.

What had taken its place? Darc could still feel some part of that urgency, that drive to track down the killer. The pathways inside continued to spiral and snake inside of him, looking for the correct arrangement that would bring enlightenment. And yet…

And yet.

Darc was still behind.

The ever-present reporter stalked toward them, her heels clicking against the pavement of the sidewalk. Her camera operator struggled to keep up with the woman, dodging around, apparently seeking a proper angle to film his footage.

“Are you ready to admit that there has been a cover-up at the department?” The woman started in without a preamble.

“Wow. Cover-up. That’s new.” Trey pushed past her without slowing, weaving his way around the cameraman.

“What else would you call it when there is a man in jail for these crimes that are still continuing?”

“No comment.” Trey spared a single glance in the direction of the reporter. “And please. Just let us do our jobs.”

Do their jobs. A simple statement. One that Darc could not conceive of uttering. Ever. A statement almost eloquent in its banality and straightforwardness. And yet, at least in Darc’s case, it was not true.

Analyzing his performance since the beginning of this assignment, Darc had contributed next to nothing. Trey had made a remarkable attempt to fill the void left by Darc’s negligence. Darc’s partner had done some solid detective work, worthy of any bearer of the gold detective badge.

The same could not be said of Darc.

For the times when Trey had less to offer in the way of solid police work, he had more than compensated by caring for Darc in his moments of crisis, when Darc would push himself beyond his physical limits in pursuit of the solution. He had also found ways to make himself valuable socially, navigating waters that Darc could never hope to swim. His network of friends, colleagues and informants had been of incalculable worth over the years.

But with Darc lagging behind on the deductive process, what else did he offer?

Darc opened the passenger-side door to the Land Rover and climbed in, slamming the door behind him. A stray stream of light caressed his cheek, whispering of the vectors involved in that simple motion. The amount of acceleration needed to overcome the inertial forces acting on the door. The push of the foot against the pavement to propel his body upward. A simple act, yet filled with hidden pressures and meanings.

Identical to the murders. Identical to Darc’s own emotional landscape.

Something inside Darc clicked. He could not identify what it was, but a thread settled into place, clearing a space in which Darc could work.

When taken as a whole, the emotional barrage assaulting Darc seemed overwhelming. But it was all excessively simple.

Darc was a detective, first and foremost. It was what he did. It was what he was. Without his detective work, his life would have no rationale. Regardless of the fact that this should have been gray emotional territory, it was a point on which the lines of logic agreed. Darc belonged here.

He was currently not doing exemplary work. His work had begun to deteriorate when he allowed romantic thoughts of Mala to interfere with the logical web within him.

Mala was not the problem. His response to Mala was the issue.

While it was true that Mala had been caught up recently in her attempts to recover Janey, she had still managed to contribute significantly more than Darc. The problem was specific to Darc.

Turning to Trey, Darc reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved the notecards—the ones that Trey had written for Darc to aid in his pursuit of Mala.

“I will no longer be needing these.”

Trey darted a glance at Darc’s face, then down at the cards. “What? Keep ‘em. I worked hard on those.”

“I will no longer attempt to interact with Dr. Charan on a romantic level.”

“Dr. Charan? What?” Trey took his eyes off the road and gave Darc what appeared to be a searching look. “What’s going on?”

“I have allowed thoughts of Dr. Charan to distract me in an unprofessional manner. I wish no further such distractions. Therefore, I will no longer pursue the doctor.”

Letting out a big breath, Trey turned his attention back to the road. “Okay. I can’t say I don’t know what you’re talking about. Fact is, you’ve been pissing me off. Royally.”

Darc nodded, satisfied. This was emotional territory, and the fact that Trey seemed to agree with him allowed Darc a certain level of strange comfort.

Then Trey shrugged. “Do what you gotta do. But. Don’t rule it out completely, okay? Let’s get through the case, but then after, you can see. All right?” He pointed to the cards in Darc’s outstretched hand. “Put those away.”

Darc’s comfort vanished. The certainty he had found in his web of glowing pathways shattered into a million points of gloaming. The yes-and-no answers made sense to him. This “wait and see” suggestion from Trey was uncomfortable. Painful.

And yet, Darc took the cards and placed them back in his pocket. And as he put the rules of dating away for safekeeping, some part of him breathed a sigh of utter relief.

*

The first order of business had been to get Janey home and get her cleaned up. Mala drew a bath for her, making sure the water was warm but not hot, then left the little girl to scrub off the ink that had so frightened the leader of the last group home.

Mala left the door to the bathroom open so that she could keep an ear out for Janey. She was old enough to bathe herself, and at least for the moment, Mala wanted to give Janey as much space as she could while keeping her safe. But there was no way Mala was going to lessen her vigilance. She knew from experience just how fast Janey could move when she was motivated.

Chuckling again at the tactics Janey had employed in getting out of the group homes, Mala took the garbage sack into the room that she had decorated for Janey. The feel of the black plastic bag under her fingers stopped her mirth dead in its tracks.

The fact that these children were forced to carry their belongings as if they were garbage was not lost on Mala. The system had so many flaws it almost seemed worthwhile to scrap the whole thing and start anew. But without that very system, Mala would not have been able to bring Janey home with her. Such a mix of strong opposing feelings.

Because of her ties with the police department, Mala had been able to obtain all of the trappings from Janey’s room in her previous home. Pink curtains, pink bedding, even a pink princess dress-up outfit. Mala had taken it all and made up the room to be as close to what Janey had before as possible. She wanted Janey to feel as comfortable as she possibly could.

Taking the clothes out of the sack, Mala began folding them up and placing them in the dresser by Janey’s bed. She was only three shirts in when she heard a noise from the bathroom. The splashing had stopped, but there was another sound.

A sound of choking.

Mala rushed out of the bedroom and into the bathroom, running at top speed. She skidded to a halt in time to see Janey wiping tears out of her eyes. She wasn’t choking.

She was crying.

“Oh, sweetie. Oh, Janey. Come here.”

Mala knelt down and took Janey in her arms, soaking her clothes in the process. She didn’t care in the slightest. Janey sobbed into her shoulder, her small form shaking from the strength of her cries.

“I’m so sorry, Janey. I’m so sorry. I never should have left you alone. I just wanted to get your room ready.”

Janey pulled back from the embrace, wiping the tears from her cheeks again as she shook her head in negation. No? What was she saying no to?

“I don’t understand, honey. You don’t want me to make up your room?”

Another shake of the head. That wasn’t it. It wasn’t the fact that Mala had left her alone. It wasn’t her fixing up the room.

“You’re scared to be here? It’s all new to you?”

Janey’s lips flattened into a straight line and she cocked her head. No, that clearly wasn’t it either. Janey began drawing in the bubbles of her bath. A detective’s badge.

Ah. There it was. Of course.

“Okay, Janey. Let’s get you scrubbed clean and dressed, and then we’ll go find Darc. Does that sound good?” Mala would never admit it to Janey, but it stung a little that she was so desperate to see the detective.

Janey nodded and started soaping herself up again. Mala went to stand up, ready to start in again on Janey’s room. But before she could push herself off her knees, Janey’s hand shot out and grasped the hand with which Mala was balancing herself against the tub. Janey grabbed her hand and shook her head. She pointed at the floor.

Don’t go.

So, Mala sat and helped Janey scrub off the marker. And as the stains came off, the sting of Janey’s connection with Darc subsided and eventually disappeared. Somehow, the fact that Janey wanted her near made any competitive feelings with Darc seem just petty.

*

“You’re sure?” Trey asked, surprised.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Bill answered him. He’d called Trey an hour after Trey and Darc had gotten back to the precinct building. Trey had still been waiting for C.S.I. to get back to him about the last number from the cell phone on the desk when Bill’s call came.

Bill had managed to track down the owner of the blade lickety-split. It had belonged to a Sergeant Greg Maxwell who was living here in Seattle, but it had been stolen from him within the last two months. So, it appeared their killer had some pretty massive stones, after all.

“He filed a report about the theft?”

“Yeah,” Bill grunted. “He seemed to be genuinely pissed off that it had happened. I know I’d be if it happened to me.”

“All right. We might want to bring him in, just in case, but it sounds like a dead end for the moment. Let me know if anything else pops from it.” Trey hung up the phone, musing about a serial killer that wasn’t afraid to tweak the nose of a Green Beret. This case just kept getting better and better. Three murders down and no solid leads in sight.

And Darc didn’t seem to be stepping up his game, no matter what kind of “epiphany” he’d had back in the car. Once Trey had convinced him to put his notecards away, he’d sunk into a stiff silence.

Okay, maybe telling Darc to put the Mala thing on hold was the wrong answer, but Trey knew what he had seen developing between those two. And as much as he kind of wanted to punch Darc in the nads right now, he wanted his partner to be happy. Eventually Darc would figure out a way to integrate his savant abilities and his love life, right? Trey couldn’t help but think that the emotional softening that came from being in a relationship would be a positive thing. You know, after the dating part.

Because it wasn’t a positive thing right now, clearly.

Darc sat hunched over his computer, his shoulders almost vibrating from the tension in them. That couldn’t be comfortable. If Trey didn’t think his partner would freak out the masseuse, he’d get Darc a massage. The thought of Darc naked on a table created an image so ridiculous, he couldn’t help but laugh.

Darc’s head popped up, and Trey’s partner glared in his direction. Trey turned his laugh into a cough, hoping it was a good enough cover.

“So, any thoughts come out of that information factory of yours? Any ideas of where to go next?” Trey asked.

“No. There is something amiss.”

“Yeah, you told me. Mala.”

Darc shook his head. “Something else. The paths are… not cooperating.”

“Yeah, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Trey responded. Darc opened his mouth to reply when two figures rounded the corner, a tall and shapely woman with dusky skin with a tiny blonde figure clutching a ragged bear at her side.

When Janey saw Darc, she pulled her hand out of Mala’s and darted straight at him. She skidded to a stop in front of the seated detective, grinning into his face. She held out her bear to Darc, who solemnly took the bear and looked him over, then handed him back to Janey. He nodded at the girl, who nodded back. Their greeting ritual completed, Janey rushed around the desk to give Trey a hug.

“You’re back!” Trey cried out. Janey pulled back from the hug and nodded her head as if she was trying to make it separate from her spine. She perched herself on the edge of Trey’s desk and looked around the space, completely at home.

“Sorry. I tried to talk her out of it, but she really wanted to see you two,” Mala apologized, a smile on her face.

“Us two? Oh, you mean Darc.” Trey reached out and tickled Janey. She giggled. Trey had never heard a better sound in his entire life.

“I know this probably isn’t the best place for a little girl, but she wanted to be here. And I wanted to get caught up on the case, so…”

“Listen, you never, ever need an excuse to bring Janey in.” Trey reached out and ruffled Janey’s hair. She squirmed away and grinned at him. “As long as you think it’s okay for her, we’re okay with it.” He thought for a second and then murmured. “Besides, she might be able to help us at some point. We still have to find… well, you know.” He gave Mala a significant look, and she returned it. Just because they were working this case didn’t mean they had forgotten about her kidnapper.

Wait a minute.

“Darc. Is it possible that our guy is the same as the one who… you know… did… that… to Mala?”

“I had already considered that possibility,” Darc replied, his tone flat.

“You considered…? And you were going to let me in on that fact when?” Trey raged.

“It was irrelevant. If the two cases are connected, which they have a greater-than-average chance of being, it will become apparent. Otherwise, it does us no good to make that assumption.”

“Dude. Sharing.” Trey dragged his hand through his hair. “Remember? Sharing. You’re not at your best right now. You have to keep me in the loop.”

“Is something wrong?” Mala asked. “I wanted to ask you about that the other night at the pub.”

Oops. That wasn’t good. Trey wasn’t sure how this whole thing between Mala and Darc was going to work out, but he certainly didn’t want to be in the middle of it when it started to get awkward. Which it would, if he didn’t do a little tap dancing right about now.

“Darc’s been having some trouble since our last case. You know. Kinda messed him up. Both of us, really, but you can’t tell so much with me, ‘cause I’m mostly useless the vast majority of the time.”

“Messed you up in what way?” Mala inquired. That must be the psychologist in her coming out. Trey almost felt like he should be lying in a couch.

“Oh, you know, the usual. Seeing your head floating in a pot. Getting a corpse dropped on your head in a freaky underground church. Having to temporarily kill Janey to keep Seattle from blowing up. Stuff like that.”

“I might be able to help with that,” Mala offered, turning to face Darc. “If it’s affecting your performance, we might want to talk about it.”

“I’m not sure—” Trey began.

“It is not needed. I am fine.” Darc turned back to his screen, which Trey though was an interesting choice, seeing as how it was blank.

“I know that emotional issues are difficult for you to process,” Mala pressed. “But they can hinder your savant capabilities, rendering your mental capabilities useless for all intents and purposes.”

Trey checked to make sure Darc was facing away from him, then waved to get Mala’s attention while he spoke. “That does pretty much describe you to a “T” right now, Darc.” Trey pointed at Mala, then at his own chest, made a forward-circling motion with his finger and mouthed the word later.

The doctor must have picked up what he was putting down, as she immediately backed off. “Well, just know that I am here if you want to talk.”

“Again, that will not be needed,” Darc muttered, then paused and lifted his head from his computer screen. He reached into his jacket pocket, glanced down at what looked like the card Trey had given him in his hand, then looked back up at Mala, making eye contact. “But thank you very much for asking.”

Mala’s jaw dropped.

Trey would have laughed at her expression. There was only one problem with that. He couldn’t.

His mouth was hanging open, too.

*

Mala took Janey with her to grab something from the vending machines. Normally, the idea of having Janey eat pretty much any of the items to be found in those big metal boxes would be laughable, but it was serving a purpose at the moment.

There was some sort of odd tension going on between Trey and Darc, and Mala wanted to get a second away from it. Darc had been showing significant signs that there was something off with him, and Trey had pretty much just confirmed it for her.

What the issue was, Mala had no idea, but whatever it was, it was hurting Darc’s work. Him getting drunk the other night was probably the equivalent of seeing the tip of an iceberg above the water. It was a blatant manifestation of the underlying problem, but it didn’t even begin to show where the borders of the issues might be.

Besides, Mala was pretty sure she’d seen a machine with fruits and vegetables in it over in the corner. Trey might have no idea it was there, but as long as the food inside wasn’t rotten, she could get Janey a snack while allowing the boys to talk it out.

As Mala walked through the door to the break room, she almost collided with a man headed out the same door. They both took a step back, and then Mala looked again. There was something familiar about him. Blonde hair. Square jaw.

The guy from the other night at the pub. The one who had been sitting in the backseat of the police cruiser with Darc.

“Oh, hey!” The man smiled at her, showing just a flash of his teeth. His very white, very even teeth. In his very chiseled face. This was one attractive man. “Remember me? I’m the guy who almost got your friend arrested.”

“Yes… ah…” Mala groped for his name and then found it. “Bryce, correct? The Deputy Attorney?”

“You remembered! It’s Dr. Charan, right?”

“Please, call me Mala.”

Bryce grinned at her. “Absolutely. It’s a beautiful name.” He glanced down and spotted Janey at her side. “Why, hello there.” He glanced back at Mala. “Your sister?”

“Very charming. No, she’s my foster child.” Mala answered, trying not to blush. The compliment was outrageous, but the intent behind it was flattering. The lawyer knelt down, getting on eye level with Janey.

“I’m Bryce. What’s your name?”

“Her name’s Janey. She’s not speaking much these days, I’m afraid.”

“Yeah? Good choice. Most people aren’t really worth talking to anyways.” The lawyer grinned and held out his hand to shake Janey’s. Janey hesitated a moment, then darted around behind Mala and buried her face in Mala’s hip.

“Sorry, Bryce. It’s been a rough few weeks for Janey. Looks like she’s not quite up to meeting anyone new right now.” Mala watched the lawyer closely, monitoring his response to this rejection. How a person handled a situation like this could be telling.

“Hey, no problem. Probably good that she doesn’t take to new people all that well.” He turned his attention back to Janey, who had peeked around Mala’s leg. “Stranger danger, right? And who’s this?” He pointed to the bear in the crook of Janey’s other arm. “Is it okay if I shake his hand, instead?” He waited for Janey to respond. She appeared to think about it for a minute, then stuck her bear out from behind Mala. Bryce reached out and took the bear’s paw in two of his fingers. “Cool bear.” He smiled at Janey again, then pushed himself back up to his feet.

That was… impressive. No hint of defensiveness from Bryce or any kind of push to get Janey to open up. It was pretty much textbook perfect. Mala couldn’t help but respond to the kind of care he was taking with Janey.

Mala felt a tug at her waist. Janey was urging her away from the lawyer, toward the vending machines. Mala put a hand on Janey’s shoulder, urging her to be patient.

“Well, it was nice to run into you again… under better circumstances.” Mala gave Bryce a knowing grin and began to move toward the vending machines.

“Actually, I’m glad I ran into you,” Bryce replied, shifting slightly to be able to continue the conversation. “You’re working the case with Trey and Darc, right?”

“Um, yes... I am.”

“I’d love a chance to change your first impression of me. Maybe grab a coffee together… no beers, I promise.” He gave her an apologetic grin that Mala found more than a little bit charming.

Charming, and yet… was this even okay? Mala felt certain there must be fraternization rules, or at least guidelines, in the department. This felt like more than a friendly get-to-know-you cup of coffee. And then there was Janey to consider.

“I don’t have a bad first impression of you,” Mala stated, then clarified. “Well, at least not completely. You were willing to accept responsibility for your actions, you didn’t seem to be trying to talk your way out of trouble, and from what Trey told me, you were protecting a relative?”

“Yeah,” Bryce responded, sheepish. “A cousin of mine. Not that being my cousin is that big of a deal. I probably have hundreds of them floating around Seattle.” He gave her a half-grin, half-grimace. “You know us Irish Catholics. We’re like bunnies.” Chuckling, he continued to maintain eye contact with her. The moment stretched out, and then Bryce gave a little shrug. “You know what? I know you must be super busy. Maybe some other time for that coffee.” He smiled at her again before turning to leave.

Now that Bryce was taking her off the hook, Mala realized that she kind of wanted to go. “Actually…”

He turned back. “Yes?”

“Why not? It’ll give us a chance to go over our impressions of the case.”

“Exactly what I was thinking.” He gave her a grin. “Perfect. Say, this afternoon around five-thirty?”

Mala glanced down at Janey. “I need to stay close to Janey the next couple of days. Can we make it next weekend?”

“Sure thing. Or, you know, you could bring Janey with you. I could get her a hot chocolate.” He leaned down to talk to Janey. “Whatcha think? It might be kinda boring, but I bet we can get you some cocoa with marshmallows. Maybe even a cookie.” Bryce looked back up at Mala. “As long as it’s okay with you.”

It seemed like the perfect solution. Janey didn’t seem particularly happy about it, but it would be good to help her begin to socialize again. Why not?

“Okay. This afternoon at five-thirty. There’s a great place just around the corner from my place. I’ll give you the address.” As she wrote down the directions, Mala felt a thrill of both excitement and doubt that she immediately covered over. It was stupid.

It was just a cup of coffee, right?

*

Leaving the knife had been a mistake.

It had been a symbol of honor and trust betrayed that made the death of that parasite so much more resonant. Still, the knife was traceable. And though the servant of the Lord had been careful, it was a potential loose end. Hopefully tied up, but knots could always unravel.

A flush of excitement sent the blood singing through the servant’s veins. Mistakes had been made, yes. But there had been progress, as well. Blindfolds tied around the eyes of the servants of Mammon. Decoys and distractions set to confuse and confound the enemy.

Already that confusion was wreaking havoc between the two detectives. They continued to surpass the expectations of the servant of the Lord, but the seeds of destruction had already been sown.

For thus saith the Lord of Hosts. Consider your ways.

The Lord’s ways had been considered. Weighed. Carefully chosen.

There was nothing that could stop the work from progressing. The heathen nations would fall to their knees, either in confessing their Lord, or in the agony of a painful and humiliating defeat. One way or another, they would bend. They would submit. There was no other choice.

The servant of the Lord felt a smile begin to spread. Happiness is in the Lord, and only in Him. All else is dross.

CHAPTER 18

There were some days you wanted to just shoot yourself in the foot. Not because there was anything wrong with your foot, mind you, just because… Well, because you needed to feel something, anything. And to relieve yourself from the never-ending tedium with which you were surrounded.

Trey was having one of those days.

Nothing was working out right. Leads were drying up left and right, and even the leads he still possessed he had no idea what to do with right at the moment.

The knife? Dead end, at least for now. Bringing in the ex-Special Forces guy who had owned the knife before it had been stolen wasn’t a terrible idea. It was just way down the list as far as things to do that would be good possibilities for achieving results were concerned.

And the cell phone left on the desk wasn’t proving to be much better. No prints, of course. Plus, it was a burner phone, which had one call listed. Guess what? The call was from another burner phone. From the timeline the M.E. had given them, the call had come in while the vic was chained to the desk. So, whatever the call had been about, it had probably happened right around the time the hand was being cut off.

Awesome. Might be nice to know where that call had come from. And who had been on the other end of it.

Darc had been staring at his screen pretty much since Mala and Janey had left. There was something off there. Up until now, his partner, even at his worst, was effective. He might be pissing everyone in the general vicinity off. He might be self-destructing at a frightening pace. But he got results.

And right now? Nothing. And Trey had very little clue what was going on.

Okay, sure, the whole Mala thing played into it. That seemed pretty plain. But that didn’t seem like enough to completely derail Darc. Thinking that a woman, even one that seemed to be as perfect for Darc as Mala, could keep Darc from his logical deductions was ludicrous. It was putting a penny on a train track and thinking that it would make the cars jump.

Trey just wished he had some idea of what he could do to help. It was clear that whatever was going on with his partner was not pleasant, but Trey felt like he had both hands tied behind his back. Oh, and was then being asked to tie a complicated knot.

There had only been one other time when Darc had struggled like this. One time in which Trey had seen his partner fight his own abilities, and what had helped him through that period was Mala, the very person who seemed to be giving his partner conniptions.

This was a conundrum.

The fact was, they were stuck. Trey had exhausted his limited resources and detective smarts. He had tested himself against the big bad killer and had come up lacking. No big shocker there, but usually he could count on his partner to swoop in—okay, it was generally more of a brisk stride—to save his bacon.

But the sizzle just continued, and Trey was starting to smell smoke. He looked over at Darc, who might as well be a corpse for all the movement he was making. What could he do? What could anyone do?

And then, out of the blue, Darc spoke. “We need to call Mala.”

“What?” Had Trey heard his partner clearly? “You want to bring Mala in on this?”

Darc turned around, his face blank, his tone level. “Yes. Is that a problem for you?”

“For me?” Trey squeaked.

“Yes, for you. Are you having auditory difficulties?”

“No, no,” Trey rushed to respond. “I just thought that you… Well, because of your… It seemed like maybe…”

“You were concerned that my feelings for Mala would influence my decision as to whether or not we should involve her in the case.” The matter-of-fact quality of Darc’s statement made it seem like he was discussing his grocery-shopping list.

“Um. Yes?”

“That would be an inefficient way to conduct myself during this investigation. I am having difficulties processing the information we have uncovered. My contributions to this case have been limited. Mala is intelligent, but can discuss the social and emotional aspects of the case with you effectively.”

What Darc was really saying was that they needed more brainpower on the case than what Trey had. And Trey was all right with that. He knew that the whole detective thing was not his strong suit. He was a people person. And in that area, he gave even Mala a run for her money.

“Yeah, I think you may be right.” Trey went to pick up the phone, then glanced back at his partner, who had gone still once more. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

Darc peered back at him, expressionless. “No, I am not.”

Trey wasn’t sure which was more disconcerting. Darc’s emotional weakness, or how honest and straightforward he was being about it. Maybe it was all healthy and stuff to be that way, but right now Trey could use some rock-like strength. This admitting-to-weakness shiz just wasn’t working all that well for him.

Now Trey had another thing to worry about—whether or not to get ahold of Mala. Fantastic. At the end of the day, calling Mala in or not could make or break this case. You know, unless Trey could figure it all out on his own. Hardy har har.

Captain Merle rounded the corner and strode down the hall, his face looking like someone had pickled it. That wasn’t cause for concern; his face usually looked something like that. The concern came from the fact that he was here late, and out of his office. He was like a predatory beast out of its ecosystem.—on edge and dangerous.

“Where are we on the case?” Merle asked without preamble.

“Well, we’ve got—” Trey began.

“We’ve got more murders and the beginnings of a cover-up scandal,” the captain cut him off. “When I told you to keep the new leads off everyone’s radar, I intended for you to have this wrapped up as soon as humanly possible. The longer it drags on, the more we end up with egg on our faces.”

Trey didn’t want to bring up the fact that it was the captain himself who had wanted to keep everyone thinking that the Nail Biter was the guy. It wasn’t Trey and Darc’s fault that there was another serial killer out there. Okay, the fact that they hadn’t caught him yet was maybe their fault, but still…

“We’re on it, sir,” Trey answered, doing his best to sound apologetic.

“I hope so,” Merle grumbled, moving off back toward his natural habitat once more. “There are stirrings in the Prosecuting Attorney’s office. And I prefer shaken, not stirred.” Before Trey could even process the James Bond reference, the captain had moved out of earshot.

If the Captain wanted things shaken up, Trey would oblige. Well, at least he’d try to get Darc to oblige.

Same difference, right?

*

It was a typical Seattle coffee shop, filled with lots of dark wood shelving and hardwood floors, dim lighting, and hipster patrons. Watching the guys with patchy beards, ironic T-shirts and skinny jeans trying to impress girls with ratty hair, oversized glasses with the lenses popped out, and even skinnier jeans made Mala feel old. And tired.

Because it was a typical Seattle coffee shop, getting a hot chocolate for Janey proved to be a bit more of an issue than any of them had expected. There was a thick European drinking chocolate that looked like the sludge at the bottom of a river, but that didn’t seem like such a great idea. Finally, they settled on a milk steamer with cocoa and hazelnut syrup shots.

There was no way this place would have marshmallows, and Mala hoped that Janey wouldn’t be too ungracious about the lack. She was about to bend down to say something to that effect when Bryce pulled out a baggie filled with the tiny white confections.

“Wasn’t sure they’d have any, so I brought some along.” He winked at Janey. “I promised marshmallows, so marshmallows the little lady shall have.” Bryce swept a quick bow in Janey’s direction, which elicited a slight smile from the stoic girl.

Janey picked out a table for them, clambered up onto one of the chairs, and plopped her bear down on the tabletop right next to her drink. She then waited a moment, looking into the cup with longing. Finally, she stuck out her hand for the baggie of marshmallows.

Bryce handed them over. “You can put all of them in your cocoa, but that means you don’t get another one.” Janey glanced up, skepticism written all over her face. She turned her gaze to Mala, the question plain in her expression.

“Yes. I’ll let you have another one. But only if you behave yourself while you’re here.” Mala watched while Janey seemed to have some kind of battle with herself, but eventually the little girl leaned back in her seat, kicking her legs against the bar of the chair. It may have been Mala’s imagination, but there seemed to be a spark of something stubborn in Janey’s eyes.

That might be a warning shot across the bow. Mala debated cutting the meeting short… finding a convenient excuse to leave within a few brief minutes. But the truth was she wanted to get to know Bryce. She sighed to herself. Well, it couldn’t be that bad. Really, how much trouble could a little girl get into in a coffee shop?

“So, how long have you known Trey and Darc?” Bryce asked, his tone casual. His eyes, however, were not. They were two beams of light focused through sapphires. There was intensity here, and precise focus. Mala felt like the Deputy Attorney was peering into her soul as he set his coffee down on the table.

“Um, it’s been a few weeks. Not much longer than that. We met during their last case. The one with the reverend.”

“Right. I know about that one. I’m pretty sure everyone knows about that one.” The lawyer cocked an eyebrow at her, his expression somehow managing to be both respectful of the tragedy and playful with Mala all at once. But still, there was that singularity of focus that was so disconcerting. Mala felt exposed, naked.

She also wasn’t positive that she didn’t like it.

Janey moved her arm to grab for the baggie that held the marshmallows, apparently to put more in. As she reached for them, her elbow knocked her bear off the table. She scurried under the table to grab her bear. It must have been pretty dim lighting under there, as it took her a bit to come back up. Janey placed the bear back on the table beside her cup of hot chocolate.

Bryce lifted the paper cup back up to his lips for another sip of coffee. A moment later he was spitting into one napkin and using a second napkin to wipe off his tongue.

“What? Ah… Is that...?” he glared into his cup at the offending liquid.

“Is it too hot?” Mala asked, surprised at the large reaction.

“No, it’s…” He looked down at the table, and an expression of understanding crossed his face. “It’s salty,” Bryce finished, nodding at the tabletop.

There, right in front of Janey’s bear, were four packets of salt that had been torn open. Janey grabbed the bear and clutched in a tight hug, a look of beatific innocence on her face. Mala was stunned.

“Janey, did you—?” Mala started.

“Hey, don’t stress about it,” Bryce said, cutting her off. “I can grab myself another coffee, no prob.” He went to step out of his chair and fell flat on his face, the chair tumbling up around his legs, which were splayed at an awkward angle.

“Are you okay? What happened?” Mala said, moving forward to help him. As she got closer, she could see that the lawyer’s shoes had been tied to the legs of the chair.

“Oh my… She’s… I’m… I am so sorry. I don’t know what—” Mala stammered. She had no idea what to say to make this moment less awkward.

But to her surprise, a sound came up from where Bryce lay sprawled on the floor. Not a groan. Not a growl. He was laughing. And not some I’m-trying-not-to-be-pissed-off laugh. This was a full-on shake-your-belly kind of guffaw.

“Ah, man,” he managed, in between bouts of laughter. “I was trying so hard to be smooth and suave, and here I am on the ground, tied to a coffee shop barstool. I’ve been taken out by a small child.”

“Here, let me help,” Mala urged as she knelt down and began untying the knots that connected Bryce to the chair. “I had no idea—”

He held up a hand, holding off the rest of her statement. “This is my bad. You told me it might not be a good idea, but I pushed.” Bryce looked up at the little girl who was still sitting as if nothing had happened. “You got me, kid. Twice.” His expression grew more serious. “Don’t think it’s going to happen again, though.” He winked at Janey, apparently to let her know he was still joking.

“Let me get you another coffee, at least.” Mala wanted to do whatever was necessary to make this right. Or as right as it could be. Then she was out of here. She and Janey had a lot to talk about.

“No, no, I’ll get it. It’ll let me walk off the shame and indignity of taking a nosedive into the wood floor. Plus, I’ll be able to tell if I’ve permanently hurt something.”

Bryce stood, testing his legs one at a time before giving Mala and Janey a grin and heading back to the counter. Mala and Janey had a moment or two before he was back, and Mala intended to use every millisecond of that break.

“Janey, what in the world was that all about?” Mala asked, planting herself right in front of the girl and kneeling down to get on her level. Janey looked right back, her gaze open and vulnerable. Mala had expected defiance, maybe even hostility, but there didn’t seem to be any of it. Janey just shrugged her shoulders, her eyes sad.

“Okay. I can see you’re upset. We can talk about it when we get home.”

Janey nodded and smiled at Mala, for all the world like she hadn’t just pulled two pranks on unsuspecting adults. Mala was starting to feel like she may have stepped in over her head and then some.

“I know you can’t really talk about it, but we are going to discuss this, you know that, right?”

Once more, Janey nodded. There was something strange here. It didn’t seem like she was nervous or frightened of that conversation. It almost seemed like she was excited.

Mala’s perception of events started to shift. This felt too similar to what Janey had pulled with the group homes to be a coincidence. Janey seemed to carry little to no guilt about what she had done at those homes, and there didn’t appear to be much guilt happening here, either.

And Mala had to admit, she agreed with Janey on that one. The little girl had known that she belonged elsewhere, and she pushed the system to make it happen.

Perhaps this wasn’t just random acting out.

At that point, Bryce came back with another cup of coffee. He pulled out his chair and started to sit down when he pulled up short. His seat was already taken.

There, staring back at him, was Janey’s tattered bear.

The lawyer paused for a long moment, then looked at Mala with a wry grin. “I think someone’s taken my seat.” He picked up the bear and set him down on the table with a pat on the fuzzy thing’s head. Taking his seat, he set down his second cup of coffee and settled himself in.

Janey pulled a gold crayon out of her pocket and started drawing on the table. She jumped off of her chair when her arm reach wasn’t long enough to continue her picture.

“Um,” Bryce murmured. “I may be wrong, but this joint probably frowns on that kind of behavior.”

Mala had to agree. This was getting out of hand. “Janey. Stop it.” She got up to go to the little girl to take away the crayon, but Janey had finished up what she was doing. It was a gold detective’s badge that covered most of the middle of the table.

But Mala was completely unprepared for what came next. Janey grabbed Mala’s cup of coffee, her own cocoa and her bear, and put them inside the badge. She then swept her arm out, catching Bryce’s cup and knocking it off of the table.

Well, Mala supposed Janey couldn’t have been clearer than that. For a long moment, no one moved or spoke. Then finally, Bryce heaved a big sigh.

“Well, it was a valiant attempt, at least. Right?”

“I am so, so, so sorry. And I think that also about sums it up,” Mala agreed. She picked up her cup of coffee and nodded to Janey to do the same with her cocoa. “Maybe we can try this again at some point. And the next time, I’ll get the coffee. And hide the salt.” She gave Janey a meaningful glance. “And find a babysitter.” At least this time Janey had the good grace to look a tad embarrassed.

Bryce chuckled at that. “Sure thing.” He turned to walk them out, but then stopped. “But let’s not make it too soon, shall we?” He grinned at Janey and shook his head. “You’re good, kid.”

“Thank you for being so understanding. I mean it. You were great.”

“You’re worth it,” he replied, no hint of a grin on his face this time. “And I get the feeling this little one is, too.”

The heat from the first comment combined with the glow from the second, and that potent concoction kept Mala warm all the way home.

*

It was late, and Darc was walking back to his apartment. Trey would have said that it was far too great a distance to travel by foot, but the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other was soothing. There was nothing awaiting him back at his domicile. Unlike Trey, he had no one there with whom to interact. No Maggie to caress away the hurts of the day.

No Mala to cast a gray fog over his entire mental process.

And sleep would not come tonight. Darc knew that. When there was this much chaos within, the brief surcease that slumber afforded would elude him. He had experienced as much too many times not to recognize the patterns. Even if those were the only patterns he could currently recognize.

The ever-present Seattle drizzle accompanied him as he moved through the night, the sound of the light patter echoing through the narrow streets, beating on the cars parked along either side, tapping against his face, running down his neck as it accumulated. The rain, too, was an old acquaintance, one that had carried him through many a difficult night. It was a constant presence that watered the informational pathways that were the sum and total of Darc’s life.

Darc was logic. Logic was Darc.

What that said about him, he could not decipher.

More lines, their glow tracking residual flashes across his consciousness, crashed into one another as Darc pushed to get answers. No matter how much he pushed to make them cooperate, there was no coherence.

Their case refused to coalesce. And the more information that came in, the worse it became. It seemed to be an essential misconception that was interfering in the processing of the case.

Was it possible for one woman to so disrupt his mental capacity? It seemed to be so, for at this moment, Darc could come up with no other solution.

The decision, since rescinded, to abandon or bury his feelings for Mala had made sense. And yet if this were the block, the obstacle which stood in the way of Darc’s deductive process, what did it mean if Darc chose not to remove it? Would that not mean that every successive death was his responsibility?

As if he had summoned it with his thoughts, a text alert chimed on his phone. Darc pulled out his cell and observed the screen, shining brightly against the dark, wet night that surrounded it.

Dude. We got another one. Where are you?

Trey. There had been another killing. It was the only thing that would cause his partner to interrupt him in the middle of a walk.

As Darc began to text Trey his location, another murder settled onto his shoulders, resting there with the weight of an entire life.

CHAPTER 19

Responsibility sucked.

There was a part of Trey that had always wondered about that. Responsibility didn’t come his way very often, so there had been a real possibility that he’d been missing out on something all of these years.

Yeah. Not so much.

The swish of the tires against the wet pavement droned in the background of his thoughts. Driving in the rain in Seattle. Trey thought for a moment about what his tires sounded like when the street was dry. He came up with nothing.

Normally Trey got the crap jobs, but he didn’t mind them all that much. He was the guy who made sure Darc’s shirt was buttoned up correctly and that he put food in his gob from time to time. That was just being a good friend, right?

Well, maybe not typically, but it was when your friend had Asperger’s.

But now? Now, Trey was handling all the same stuff as before—keeping Darc from bullying the other detectives and government workers, and taking candy from small children—while simultaneously shouldering accountability for a freaking murder case.

Maybe this is what most detectives lived for, but that was not Trey. He lived for breakfast meats. Well, that and a good Reuben sandwich. And pie. Pie was good.

Okay, so maybe he thought about food too much, but that was the point. He was not designed to be in charge. Some terrible mistake had been made on a cosmic level, and Trey was the unfortunate recipient.

The windshield wipers set a constant rhythm that punctuated and orchestrated his morbid thoughts. The rain pelted against the glass, creating a mosaic of tiny beads that was swiped away by the rubber wand each second, leaving a clear streak. Driving through the dark trying to find his partner. This felt awfully familiar. But there was one significant difference. There was no answer to the case waiting for Trey when he found his elusive partner.

What made chasing Darc down, keeping him dressed, and making him eat all worth it was that Trey could rely on him. Darc would bring it home. He’d done it again and again and again.

But not now.

Up ahead, Trey spotted the lean form of his partner under a streetlamp. The drizzle of rain caught in the light created a halo effect around him, outlining his bald head and spare form in an almost angelic glow. Like he was the answer to everything. Usually, Trey would totally buy into it. He’d seen Darc pull answers out of thin air in the past.

The real issue this time was that Trey had a sense that the case wasn’t even all that difficult. If Darc were on his game, it would already be solved. If Trey were even a halfway-decent detective, it would be put to bed.

But here they languished, in some kind of horrible limbo.

Limbo.

That was it. That was where he had seen this behavior from Darc before. It was like their last case. Darc had struggled with that one, too.

What had been different about these two cases? Mala was involved with both of them, that was true, but Trey didn’t really believe that Darc being lovesick was keeping him from functioning as a detective. When Maggie had left him, he’d been despondent, sure, but he’d been even more focused as an investigator.

Was it Janey? The girl had certainly softened the brittle detective. Darc seemed to believe that emotion dulled his deductive powers, but Trey didn’t buy that either. He’d never seen Darc more sharply honed than when Janey had been captured. Well, after he came out of that coma thingy.

Truth was, Trey had no clue. About any of it.

Acting on an impulse that he couldn’t completely explain, he picked up the phone to text Mala, in spite of Maggie’s voice nagging at him not to text and drive. Contacting the woman who was Darc’s biggest distraction right now might be a terrible, terrible idea, but Trey trusted her and her instincts. It was time to get some additional input. Not necessarily for the case, but for getting objective eyes on Darc.

Perhaps the doc could head-shrink his partner. Get his brain cranking. It was a choice that would either blow up in Trey’s face or be the key to unlocking his partner’s potential. Or… it could just be a big ol’ fat nothing. There was always that possibility.

Maybe that could be what Darc’s issue was. He was such a binary guy. It was either one thing or the other, black or white, yes or no. It was usually a fantastic trait as a detective, but perhaps in this particular instance it was working against him. Not allowing him to see the many other levels that existed between the two extremes.

Again, Trey had no real clue. He was out of his depth here on pretty much every imaginable level. Which was why he needed Mala, regardless of the possible negative reaction from Darc.

Trey pulled up beside his partner and leaned over to push the passenger-side door open, a smell of ozone wafting through the opening created. Darc climbed in, his clothing wet, his hair dripping.

“Aw, man. You’re always getting my car wet.”

“I am not always getting your car wet. It only occurs when I have been out during precipitation.” Darc looked straight ahead out of the windshield, seemingly interested in the splatters of water against the glass.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious. My point was… You know what, never mind what my point was.” Trey pulled back out onto the street and began to head to the crime scene. “Figure anything out?”

“To what are you referring?”

“C’mon, dude. I know you. You know I know you. Do we still have to do this dance?” Trey shook his head and reached over into the backseat for a towel that he kept there for these situations. He handed it to Darc, who began toweling off his hair. “You walk in the rain when you’re upset and trying to figure stuff out. So…?”

“I have gleaned nothing about the case.”

“Okay, Darc,” Trey responded, seeing that Darc was not going to let him in this time. Not unusual. Disappointing, but not unusual at all. “That’s not what I was talking about. But okay.”

They sat in silence for the rest of the car ride.

*

The idea of working as a part-time consultant for the Seattle P.D. had seemed like such a brilliant plan. Mala could continue to work, bring in a salary, and bond with Janey. The reality, especially during a serial-killer spree, was somewhere south of that ideal.

Trey’s text had been a bit of an enigma. After giving her the address where she was supposed to go, he ended with, We need your help. I need your help. It almost sounded like it was for something beyond just help profiling the killer.

At least Janey knew the drill. It’s not like she’d never been to a crime scene before. And after the fiasco at the coffee shop, Mala wasn’t about to leave her with a babysitter. For all she knew, she’d come back to the sitter tied up with her hair set on fire.

As Mala packed up a few essentials, including a blanket, some pillows, a couple of juice boxes, and some cheese crackers for Janey, she glanced over at her foster daughter, who was busy coloring on a piece of paper with some crayons. There was a moment of dread, wondering what horrific images Janey was calling up, but then she saw what colors the little girl was using. Pink. Yellow. Tan. Brown. Blue. No red, no black, nothing on the sinister side of the color palette. Mala breathed out a sigh of relief.

“C’mon, Janey, it’s time to go.”

Janey looked down at herself. She was wearing a pair of footy pajamas that Mala had insisted she put on. It might be a long night, and Mala didn’t want her sleeping in her clothes. It was a strange enough thing Mala was trying as it was, taking her foster daughter to an active crime scene looking for a murderer. Having her in pajamas at least made her feel like she was trying to be a good parent.

But Janey seemed less than impressed. The look on her face clearly said that wearing footy pajamas and wearing footy pajamas out in public were two completely different things. And even though they were Janey’s own pajamas, it was possible she was starting to get past the stage where pj’s covered in fuzzy animals was kosher.

“I know, I know. But you’re probably not going to be seeing much of anybody tonight.” Janey wrinkled up her nose at that. “Okay, yes, you’ll see Darc and Trey, but I’m going to get one of the uniforms to watch over the car while you sleep in the backseat. It’s way past your bedtime, missy.”

Heaving a huge sigh, Janey finally nodded her head and padded over to Mala. She held out her hand with the picture in it. It was a blue sky and a bright sun. There were two figures in the middle, a blonde girl and a dark-haired woman with mocha skin. And both of them were surrounded by a gold detective’s badge. Darc.

“Is that why you were so upset tonight? You wanted to be with Darc?”

Janey shook her head no, but then wavered her head back and forth like she wasn’t sure exactly how to answer. She pointed at the picture she had drawn once more. Mala didn’t know with certainty what Janey was saying, but it was clear that her acting out had to do with something she thought was important, both to her and possibly to Mala, as well.

“Janey, honey, I know something was bothering you tonight, and that you’re having a hard time expressing it. But what you did was not okay. You could’ve really hurt Bryce… Mr. Van Owen. Next time if you don’t want me to do something, let me know. Even if you have to draw me a picture. Okay?”

There was a moment’s pause as Janey thought this over. Then she nodded her head slowly. It was apparent that there was still something on her mind, but at least she seemed to be on board with the idea of not causing any more collateral damage.

At this point, Mala would take it.

She gathered the little girl in her arms. Janey was getting taller by the day, and it probably wouldn’t be too much longer that Mala would be able to carry her like this. She wanted to take advantage of every possible excuse. Footy pajamas wouldn’t do too well on pavement, so guess what? Janey was getting carried. Done deal.

And Janey seemed to enjoy it. She snuggled in to Mala’s shoulder and wrapped her arms around Mala’s neck. It was probably Mala’s imagination, but she could swear she felt Janey’s heart beating against her own chest. Hard to imagine something more intimate and precious.

Such a juxtaposition with where they were going and what Mala would be doing. This girl was a partial product of the very same kinds of acts Mala was seeking to avert. And while her approach with Janey might be controversial, it felt right.

Bad things happened in the world. Janey knew that better than most adults. Pretending it was not the case would not lead to healing. Letting Janey know that there were ways to combat the kind of evil than men practiced upon men was something that would end up giving this little girl power. Power to live. Power to grow. Power to thrive.

After a ride down on the elevator to the parking garage, Mala strolled over to her Prius and hit the button on the key to unlock it. She was about to open the door when a voice behind her caused her heart to leap up into her throat, cutting off her breath.

“Excuse me. You’re Dr. Charan, aren’t you?” the woman asked, her tone clipped and professional. Mala whipped around, holding tight to Janey. The figure in front of her was a brunette woman in a tailored suit. Noting Mala’s response, the woman took a step back. “I’m so sorry. I’ve frightened you.”

“Well, yes, to be honest,” Mala replied. “I didn’t expect to run into anyone here in the garage at this time of the evening.” She turned to put Janey in the backseat of the car, pausing a moment to lock the doors. Janey’s face peered out from the window, staring past Mala at the brunette, a curious look on her young face. It was the face of a child who could tell that something might be wrong but didn’t want to show any fear. She was a fighter, that girl was.

“Yes. Your manager let me in. He’s a big fan of my show.” The woman smiled, showing a row of white teeth. There seemed to be a few too many teeth for the size of her mouth, for some reason.

“Your show?” Mala pressed, confused. There was something vaguely familiar about this woman, but Mala couldn’t for the life of her figure what it was.

“Yes. I’m sorry. My name is Charity King. I work for FOX News.” The woman reached forward to shake Mala’s hand, but Mala was still recovering from the shock of being surprised from behind in her parking garage. She wasn’t ready for anything more personal than an exchange of words, which she would be cutting as short as she could.

“You’re a reporter?”

“Yes, that’s right.” Again, the excessive show of teeth.

“Then our conversation is over, I believe,” Mala said with finality. “I’m sorry if you’ve wasted your time.”

“No waste of time. You answered the question I hadn’t asked yet,” the reporter purred, her smile growing downright predatory. “I had heard the department had engaged the services of a psychologist as a consultant. It seems I heard correctly.”

There was nothing to say to that, so Mala stayed silent. But she wasn’t staying passive. Rather than wait for the next round to begin, Mala decided on tactical retreat. She moved to her door, opened it up, and stepped into her car.

“Well, that’s hardly polite, is it, Dr. Charan?” Ms. King stated as she stepped in closer to the car. “I just wanted to talk to you about your experience with the Seattle Police Department up to this point.”

Sure. Did this woman really think this was working? But within moments, Ms. King answered the question herself by heading back to the far corner of the garage where a news van was parked in the shadows. Mala never would have seen it if she hadn’t been looking for it specifically. Which she would be doing from here on out.

As the reporter headed back to her vehicle, she called out over her shoulder, “Hope you don’t mind us tagging along behind you, Doctor. We’re just so curious about what you might be up to so late in the evening. And with a child in tow? Sounds like a story in the making.”

Mala’s blood ran ice. This reporter was looking for information, more than likely on the serial killer case. But if she ended up reporting Mala to the DSHS, the placement could be ended. And what that would do to Janey, Mala didn’t even want to consider.

That might be far-fetched, but Mala wouldn’t put it past this predator masquerading as a human being. The woman’s instincts were plainly that of tooth and claw, fang and nail. It didn’t feel like mercy or kindheartedness was in her repertoire.

So, Mala would have to be careful.

Oh, and find out anything she could that might trip this Ms. King up. Didn’t hurt to go on the offensive when it came to taming a beast of prey.

CHAPTER 20

Okay, so this was gross.

Murders were never pleasant, but sometimes Trey wondered if the killers were just trying to outdo each other. But the worst thing about this was that, as brutal as this killing was, it didn’t even crack the top five. That honor was still held by good old Father John.

Not that this guy wasn’t trying to give the priest a run for his money. Blood spatter covered each and every surface in the bedroom. The victim had been tied to his bed, each limb attached to one of the bedposts. There were also two straps that went around the body and underneath the mattress—one just above the waist, the other around the upper chest just under the armpits. And then it appeared the killer had cut out the victim’s heart. While it was still beating.

The organ itself had been plopped into a container that contained some kind of fluid. The container was placed on a breakfast tray that was set up in a way to give the poor man a view of his own heart as it continued trying to beat.

And how did Trey know that?

Well, the heart was still beating.

“Lactated ringer’s solution mixed with plasma,” Darc intoned from behind Trey.

As Trey peeled himself off of the ceiling he thought to himself that he should really be used to Darc sneaking up on him like that. It’s not like this was the first time.

“That’s it. I’m getting you a bell or something,” he muttered, trying to catch his breath. Turning around, he saw that Darc’s attention was riveted on the container holding the heart. “What did you say? And try to make sure it’s in English this time.”

“The fluid into which the heart was placed. It is called lactated ringer’s solution. More than likely oxygenated. With additional blood plasma.”

“Okay, what the freak is that?” The only word Trey really understood was lactated, and that was just because he liked anything related to boobs. The rest was just so much gibberish.

“It is a homogenous mixture of one or more solutes dispersed—” Darc began. This was so not about boobs.

“Dude. English. En-glish. Seriously. Just tell me why it’s there in that tray.” Sometimes Trey wondered if Darc listened to him at all. No, that wasn’t true. Darc listened plenty. Usually when Trey didn’t want him to. And then repeated whatever he had heard at the worst possible time.

“The reason that the heart continues to beat is due to the solution. It contains ions that the heart needs in order to generate the electrical impulse for the contractions.”

“So this had to have happened within just a minute or two, right? I mean our killer could be right around the corner?” Trey started to sound the alert, but Darc caught his hand before he could call the unis over.

“A heart, given proper oxygen and the correct proportions of sodium, chloride, potassium, and calcium, could continue to beat for up to forty minutes.”

Trey deflated. But not lots. “Still, that means we’re right on top of this one. Who called it in?”

One of the uniformed cops perked up at that. “It was an anonymous tip. Didn’t stay on long enough for a location.”

“Probably a burner cell. Jerk,” Trey growled. “He wanted us to find this. He’s taunting us.”

“That sounds like a real possibility,” a new voice called out from the doorway of the bedroom. It was Mala.

“Where’s Janey? You didn’t—?” Trey looked around, panicked.

“Bring her up to the scene of a murder? No, Trey, I didn’t. Can’t think why.” Mala’s tone was drier than the Sahara. “I left her down in the car with Officer Perry watching over her. She wants to see you both, though. Although,” Mala continued, looking around at the walls. “I’m not sure you’ll be able to get away from this before she falls asleep.”

“Yeah, it’s a doozy. Did you see that the heart was still beating?” Trey pointed at the tray. The contractions of the heart were getting fainter. If Darc was right about the forty-minute thing, they could have a pretty good timeline without waiting for the M.E. Speaking of which…

“Hey, Daniels!” Trey called out to one of the unis. “Can you check and see what the holdup is on the C.S.I. unit? We need to find out if this guy has the same mark as the others. It looks like there might be, but he’s covered in blood, so it’s impossible to tell.”

“I just heard over the radio,” Officer Daniels, a young cop with spiky brown hair, replied. “They got held up by an accident, but they should be here in a minute or two.”

“So, do we know anything about the victim?” Mala asked.

“Hey, you sound like a detective. Or at least a part-time psych consultant,” Trey teased, then sobered. “The vic was an author—if you can call him that. His name’s Richard Soft, which is ironic, considering. He wrote rape erotica. Nasty stuff.”

The C.S.I. unit, accompanied by Dr. Hutchinson, pushed into the room, snapping photos and collecting samples. Trey grabbed Mala by the elbow to keep her from getting run over in the stampede.

“Why is his name ironic?” Mala asked, distracted by the invasion. She then stopped, a look of dawning comprehension on her face. “Right.”

“Yep. Anyway, good old Dick was in the news last year after there was an incident over at Franklin High School where some seniors acted out some of the stuff in one of his books. Messed up some girls bad.”

“I heard about it,” Mala said, shuddering. “It was horrible.”

“Yeah. So, Mr. Softy here goes on this media blitz, raging about how his books were entertainment. Art.” Trey felt his bile rise up in him at the thought of what this man represented. “He wasn’t responsible, everyone should be looking at the parents, writers can’t be held responsible, blah, blah, blabbidy, blah.”

“While meanwhile the kids who were victimized got to be traumatized again every time they saw him on TV. I only caught snippets, but it was enough to make me want to claw his uncompassionate eyes out.” Mala didn’t show her mama bear persona every day, but Trey kinda dug it.

The M.E. interrupted at that point. “I think you will want to take a look at this,” he called out from next to the body. “It certainly seems to be one of the same group. Take a closer look.”

Where Dr. Hutchinson had cleaned away the blood from the forehead, another symbol could be seen. It was the same cluster of three Ys with bars across the arms of the letter, but this time there was another Y with a bar underneath the center of the top row, forming a sort of upside-down pyramid shape.

“Babylonian for four,” Mala murmured. “Well, at least we haven’t missed one yet. I guess that’s good news, right?”

But as Mala spoke, Trey could see Darc off to the side of the bed, his fists clenched at his sides. His body was rigid, and his head was cocked to one side. It appeared that every muscle in his body was clenched tight. Darc began to tremble from the clear strain on his system.

“Darc. Hey, buddy, you okay?” Trey strode over to his partner, placing a hand on Darc’s shoulder. The muscles were like cords under Trey’s fingers. “What’s wrong?”

The tall detective began to hyperventilate. “Four… not… can’t…”

“What’re you saying?” Trey pressed. “I don’t—”

“Seven…” Darc croaked.

“Seven? What the hell?” Turning to look at Mala, Trey begged her for help with his eyes. This was exactly what he’d brought her in for. Maybe she could calm him down better than Trey. It was worth a shot. He was about to ask her when a look of understanding crossed Mala’s face.

“I’ve seen this before.”

“What, this?” Trey shrugged. “Yeah, he does it. Not often, but when he does…”

“No, I mean I saw it during the last case. With Dante’s nine circles. He was trying to fit a piece of a puzzle in where it didn’t belong.” She took her attention from Darc’s face and connected with Trey. “Remember?”

“Remember? How could I forget? He almost launched himself off a catwalk, with me attached.” But even as he spoke, Trey could feel the tension drain out of Darc. His eyes cleared, and he straightened up.

“Mala is correct. That is the missing information which I could not decipher.” Darc nodded in her direction. “Thank you.”

Whoa. Darc had said “thank you” to the same person twice. In the same day. Trey glanced at the window, halfway convinced he’d see fire raining from the sky.

He was used to looking back on his own decisions and swearing a blue streak, but his text to Mala was proving to be exactly what the doctor had ordered. And that doctor was Dr. Mala Charan. Too bad no one but Trey would know what he had done.

“You are welcome, Darc,” Mala responded. “But do you have any idea what it is that you’re trying to force into place?”

“Not yet. But now that I am not attempting to force an answer that would fit an assumption, the logical pathways should open up.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then his body shuddered and his eyes popped open once more. “Of course. The seven sins.”

“Wait. What? I don’t understand,” Trey cut in, glancing from Mala to Darc. “What about them?”

“You mean the listing of the deadly vices?” Mala pressed.

“That was the mistaken presumption. I was taking the list from the modern version of the seven cardinal sins. Pride, lust, envy, sloth, gluttony, wrath and greed.” Darc’s eyes glistened with knowledge that Trey didn’t share.

“Oh, I see,” Mala uttered, her eyes glowing as well. “Solomon.”

“Hold up. You guys are doing it again,” Trey whined. “That thing where you understand exactly what’s going on but I don’t.”

“Sorry, Trey,” Mala replied, her tone apologetic. “It’s a scripture from Proverbs, which is generally attributed to King Solomon.”

“Yeah, I know who King Solomon is, but what does he have to do with—?”

Darc cut him off. “It is a list. It is from Proverbs 6:16-19. These six things doth the Lord hate: yea, seven are an abomination unto him: A proud look, a lying tongue, and hands that shed innocent blood, an heart that deviseth wicked imaginations, feet that be swift in running to mischief, a false witness that speaketh lies, and he that soweth discord among brethren.”

“Really?” Trey asked. “That’s the scripture? Seven are an abomination unto him? Not nearly as catchy as the seven sins.”

“The first must have seemed like pride to you. And the second… what? Gluttony?” Mala asked Darc, as if Trey hadn’t spoken. Well, at least things were getting back to normal. Maybe now Trey wouldn’t have to shoulder the whole investigation.

“Yes,” Darc replied. “But the third and forth murders did not seem to fit within the pattern. The severing of the hand did not seem to match with the sequence from the film, although it could have been a reference to greed, with the hand being severed for thievery. It would not come together logically.”

“But now it makes perfect sense,” Mala continued for him. “The hands that shed innocent blood. He worked for the drug cartels. In the killer’s mind, he would be responsible for the deaths of anyone drawn into that life. And this one… a heart with wicked imaginings. Spot on.”

“Hold on!” Trey shouted, fed up. Both Darc and Mala turned to face him at once, their expressions mirror images of each other. But no matter how shocked they might be at him yelling, Trey refused to be left in the dark any longer. “Okay. I think I get that we’re working off of a different list. But what does that mean for our next steps? Are we any closer to catching this guy?”

“No,” Darc said. “Although now that I understand the pattern, the available information should not fight me.”

“Fight you?” Trey asked, befuddled. “Okay, skip that for now. The next one’s what?”

“Feet that are swift in running to mischief,” Mala answered. “That could be just about anything.”

“Right. So, at the end of the day, not so helpful.” Trey held up a hand, staving off the doctor’s rebuttal. “Sorry. It’s been a long day.” Trey thought it through for a moment, then continued. “Actually, it has been a long day. For you guys, too.”

He could see from the way that Mala was standing that she was tired. Trey had no idea what she’d been doing, but just keeping up with a troubled young girl was more than enough. She had done what needed to be done here.

“Mala, why don’t you take Janey and head back home. There’s nothing more for you to do here tonight.” Trey wasn’t positive, but it looked like Mala was grateful.

Now for Darc. Looking over at his partner’s impassive face, Trey realized this one wouldn’t be so simple. “As for you, it won’t do any good to tell you to go home, so why don’t you head back to the station and look over the files with this new angle? Maybe something will jump out. I’m going to wrap things up here, then I’ll meet you.”

To his surprise, Darc’s only response was a curt nod. Wow. Was this what a partnership was supposed to look like? Where each partner listened to the other respectfully and actually did what was asked if it made sense?

Mala sighed, then turned to walk toward the door. “I only hope that awful reporter didn’t manage to follow me here. I don’t really want to run into her again.”

“Hold up. Charity King was talking to you?”

“Yeah. She cornered me in my parking garage.” Mala shook her head, a dark chuckle escaping her lips.

“That’s it. I gotta talk to that lady. If you see her van, just give it a wide berth. I’ll take care of it after I’m done here.”

It wasn’t until Darc and Mala left, chatting with each other—since when did Darc chat?—that Trey noticed something about the crime scene that hadn’t hit him before. It was strange, but the more Trey looked, the more it made a weird kind of sense to him.

The crime scene had been staged to be as sickly fascinating as it could possibly be. The body in the exact middle of the bed, the walls sprayed with blood, the heart still beating while the dying man watched.

It was like it was all put together to play out in a movie. Or a TV show.

Or a newscast.

It wasn’t something that either Mala or Darc would see, but it was clear to Trey. And then a thought hit Trey like a body falling from the roof of a church. It was probably stupid, but feet that be swift in running to mischief sounded an awful lot like that irritating barracuda of a reporter. And if their killer really was close by…

Stupid. Totally. There were a billion different things that scripture could mean. Still, it would only take a second or two to check out. And maybe it would turn out that Trey texting Mala was a good decision on more than one level.

“Daniels, let the M.E. know that I’m stepping out for a minute. I’ll be back to help with any wrap up.” The uniformed cop gave Trey a nod. Moving out into the hallway, Trey trotted toward the elevator and was down outside the apartment complex in no time.

And there it was, across the street. The FOX News van.

Okay, so she was here. That didn’t mean anything, did it? She was always anywhere that there was any kind of action.

But Trey didn’t see her anywhere, and it wasn’t like Charity King to keep sequestered in her news van. The more he thought about it, the faster he walked. By the time he had crossed the street, he was running.

He arrived at the van and heard footage playback from inside. They were just looking at footage they had shot. No problem. That realization almost convinced him to walk away.

Ah well. He was already here, right? Trey knocked on the door of the van, three hard raps with his closed fist.

Nothing.

He grabbed the handle to open the door, but it was locked. Trey sprinted around to the other side of the van, testing each door as he passed. When he got to the driver-side sliding door, it finally gave.

And there, inside, was a scene out of a horror movie. Both Charity King and her cameraman had been slaughtered. But that wasn’t all.

Their feet, with the shoes still on, had been severed from their bodies and lined up in front of the door, on display for whomever was unlucky enough to see it first. And the unlucky bastard just happened to be Trey this time.

But was it unlucky? Trey knew Charity King more than anyone else on the case. He was the only one who would have seen the connection. Maybe this scene was laid out specifically for him. He glanced up at the makeshift production station that had been set up in the van and noticed a camera pointing right at the door where Trey was standing.

The light on the camera blinked red. It was recording.

A chill ran up Trey’s spine, and he reached into his pocket for his cell to call for additional backup.

Right before a bright and nauseating pain blossomed just behind his right ear and Trey fell forward into blackness.

*

At least the strands of glistening light were no longer fighting him.

Darc had been staring at the files of the case for over two hours now. Patterns were beginning to emerge, but they included an individual about whom Darc had little practical knowledge. It was Trey’s acquaintance Bill Harris. And at this point, Darc was unsure how he should proceed.

After looking through all of the evidence, it was the name that continued to come to the surface. It was surprising how obvious it was once Darc let go of his preconceived ideas about the case.

It had not been Mala’s influence. Well, it was possible that had been a contributing factor, but it was not the salient point. He had been resisting the natural movement of the logic pathways within himself, trying to bend them to his own ideas. He knew better than to do that. How often had he chided Trey for the same sort of mental sloppiness? And yet, when it was Darc with the problem, it seemed less clear.

A mistake he would not make again.

But with his newfound clarity, the name Bill Harris began to be outlined in a clear, bright light. Not the blue light of certainty, but light just the same. Bill had been at every crime scene but this last one, seeming to know at the same time as Darc and Trey did where the murders had occurred. Sometimes even before.

The crimes had a religious backdrop, and Bill had talked of his shame at calling someone a “jerk-off,” stating that it was not what Jesus would have done.

And then there was the matter of the knife.

Bill had so much information regarding that weapon. Information gleaned from his own years in the Special Forces, which service would have allowed Bill to purchase his own blade.

Perhaps the very one they had found at the crime scene.

He had called Trey back, letting him know that the blade had belonged to a former member of the Special Forces who had reported it stolen. But Darc had no way of knowing for sure if Bill was telling the truth.

It had been too late to contact the company that sold the knives, and there was no way of knowing for sure if the company would supply the name of the buyer without a warrant. So, for the moment, Darc was at an impasse.

But at the very least, the information warranted a talk with the private investigator. And sooner, rather than later.

The only real problem at this point was the gray. Once more, Darc had stepped into an area that seemed laden with the foggy cover of emotion. Bill was Trey’s friend. And Darc found that he wanted to honor Trey’s friendship with this man by talking to his partner first.

These emotions were awkward things.

In truth, Darc had worked out most of this information within the first ten minutes of examining the case. But he had continued to study the files, hoping his partner would arrive from the crime scene so that they could talk about this situation.

Darc found the delay surprising. He would have expected that Trey would take no more than an hour or so at the crime scene. Perhaps he should give his partner a call.

Darc began to reach into his pocket to retrieve his phone when a noise down the hallway caught his attention. It was late enough that there was only minimal staff left in the precinct building, and none of them generally came down this way.

As Darc stepped around his desk, he found himself face to face with Bryce Van Owen. While the lawyer was not the least likely person for Darc to encounter here at this particular time, he was certainly not someone who Darc had thought to see.

Bryce appeared somewhat disheveled, his hair sticking up from where he must have run his hand through his locks. His tie was halfway undone, his top button loose. He was also in the middle of eating what appeared to be a microwaveable burrito.

“Darc! Hey, man. What’re you doing here this late?” Bryce asked, his mouth half full of food.

“I am working on the case.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s something I wanted to talk to you about. In fact, that’s the reason I’m here. I just didn’t think I’d actually find you. I was just gonna leave a sticky note for Trey.” He held up a bright pink square of paper that had scribbles all over it. “But since you’re here…”

Darc gestured toward the chair beside his station, watching Bryce seat himself before taking his own place behind the desk. He waited for Bryce to continue.

“So, okay, I’m not sure how to say this. It’s been bugging the hell out of me for a while now.” Van Owen took a deep breath and then let it out. “I think you’ve got the wrong guy for those murders.”

That was interesting. Darc had assumed that once the next couple of murders had shown up that Captain Merle would inform Bryce of the situation. But, apparently, the captain had kept the information to himself, forcing Bryce to follow the information to his own conclusions. Very slowly.

“That is correct.”

“Oh, you mean you knew?” Bryce’s eyebrows shot up. Since this seemed an unusual time for the lawyer to be flirting with Darc once more, the expression was likely one of surprise. “I wish you had told me. I’ve been agonizing about how I was going to tell the great Robi Darcmel that he was mistaken.”

Darc did not understand. The trails of light quavered, bumping into one another in confusion. “You would do so by stating that you believed me to be erroneous in my assumptions. And you would have had a thirteen percent chance of being correct.”

“Those aren’t great odds, Darc,” the lawyer quipped. “Besides, I didn’t really relish going head to head with the department’s resident savant. Anyway, I’m glad we’re on the same page. I was pretty nervous.”

“There should be no trepidation in doing your work to the best of your abilities,” Darc lectured. “My partner has a success rate in this department of thirty-seven-point-two percent, and yet he maintains his employment status as a detective.”

“Yeah, well, I have to do better than that if I want to stay in my bosses good graces,” Bryce grumbled. “But now that all that’s out of the way, what have you guys got on the case at this point?”

Darc hesitated, again feeling the creeping mists of gray reaching out their tendrils to surround him with their blanket of non-logic. He felt that he should not share this information with Bryce, and yet here was a largely objective party. It might be possible to explain the situation to this lawyer. Calculating the possibility that Bryce was more skilled emotionally than Darc, the numbers came up at ninety-seven percent.

A near-certainty.

Using the most brevity he knew how to employ when talking about a case, Darc sketched in the information he had gleaned regarding Bill Harris.

“Bill Harris? I’ve heard that name,” Bryce mused. “Isn’t that the investigator guy Trey’s been using on this case some?”

“That is precisely my conundrum. I am unclear on how exactly to approach the situation with Trey. Is it inappropriate to bring Bill in for questioning without speaking to Trey about it? There is a possibility that the private investigator has nothing to do with the murders, and I find that I have a strong desire to avoid unnecessary discomfort for my partner.” Even as Darc spoke the words, he recognized the change in himself. This is not something that would have troubled him even a month ago. Something had shifted.

“I’m glad you talked to me about this, Darc,” Bryce said, putting a hand on Darc’s arm. “You could pull Bill in and no one could fault you for it, but I think it would be better all around if you talked it through first. Has he gone home?”

“No. He is at a crime scene and should be here shortly.”

“Well, give it a few minutes more and then just call him. It might be uncomfortable, but in the end I think it’ll work out better. Trey’ll know you can be trusted to tell him even the tough stuff.” Van Owen pushed himself up from the chair. “Well, listen. It’s late, and now that all my dark suspicions have been proven correct, there’s nothing for me to do but go home and go to sleep. We’ll talk more tomorrow.” He waved at Darc and strode out toward the front of the building.

Deputy Attorney Bryce Van Owen had given Darc good advice. Talking the situation through with his partner would allow Trey to be able to respond to Darc’s suspicions using information gleaned from his friendship with the private detective.

Trey and Darc would talk it through. It was surprising to him, but Darc found that he was looking forward to the conversation. That was unusual. Darc did not typically enjoy that type of social interaction.

Now all he had to do was wait for Trey to arrive.

CHAPTER 21

The text had simply read, Trey taken. Come now. With an address. The same address where the last murder had taken place.

At first, Mala hadn’t even understood what it meant. Or maybe she hadn’t wanted to understand. But when the panic had subsided a bit and Mala was in the car driving toward the crime scene with Janey curled up in the back with a blanket, Mala found herself perversely irritated by the brevity of Darc’s message. She wasn’t even sure exactly how she would have done it differently, but there had to be a better way to break the news that a friend and colleague had been kidnapped. Maybe a call? Was that too much to ask?

Then again, it was Darc. The fact that he had reached out at all was something of a miracle. And complaining about it to him would require more explanation than Mala had in her at this point. A lengthy conversation between herself and the tall detective was an imminent necessity, but it couldn’t happen right at the moment.

The windshield wipers of the Prius beat out the time, like a countdown to doomsday. What was normally a comforting sound to her was now a reminder of time passing and the importance of fixing this problem before it got worse. For good or ill, Darc was a part of the tapestry of her life now. Janey wasn’t about to forget about her ties with the taciturn detective.

Thinking of those bonds that Janey shared with Darc led to thoughts of Mala’s own feelings for him. She still wasn’t sure what to do about Janey’s fixation on Mala’s relationship with Darc. The feelings Mala held for Darc had always been a complicated mix of fascination, attraction, and frustration. He kept her on her mental toes, but his ability to interact on social and emotional levels were suspect at best. The mental stimulation was a turn-on. The other issues could very well be deal-breakers.

Which was one of the reasons that she had put Darc off when he had asked her out before. It had been during the Father John case, and it hadn’t seemed like such a great idea for the protective guardian of a child victim to date the man who kept putting the girl in dangerous situations.

In retrospect, Darc had been right about all of it. Janey’s ability to handle difficult and even horrific circumstances had been proven time and time again. And instead of debilitating her, as it would have any normal child, it had seemed to do nothing but strengthen her confidence and power.

But hindsight was always 20/20, and there was no way Mala could have known that at the time. And now that she was consulting for the Seattle P.D., specifically on one of Darc’s cases, it just seemed like a bad idea.

Not that that very same reasoning had stopped her from getting coffee with Bryce. Was it just that the Deputy Attorney seemed more engaged? That he appeared to really listen to her? Or was it even worse? Was it the blonde hair, blue eyes, and chiseled jaw? And if it were any of those things, did that make Mala shallow?

Well, as far as attractiveness went, Darc was no slouch. He might not have the conventional good looks of the Deputy Attorney, but there was an intensity there that more than made up for it. And the bald head was sexy.

Mala realized that she was avoiding the more important topic. Trey’s abduction didn’t seem quite real at this point, and seeing as how she had no information about it, there really wasn’t anything she could do. But it still felt like avoidance.

Who on Earth would have kidnapped Trey? It made no sense to Mala at all. If it were the killer, it would seem more logical to Mala for him to take Darc. The tall detective was by far the more threatening of the two when it came to getting caught.

Or was that true? Darc had been off lately. Now that they had determined the root cause of some of the disconnect, it had gotten better, but there had been some markers of additional challenges that Darc was facing. If Darc were a religious man, Mala would call it a trail of faith. And maybe that’s exactly what it was. His religion was logic, and perhaps logic wasn’t giving him what he needed at the moment.

If Trey had been kidnapped because he represented a threat to the killer’s plan, then it would be important to keep that in mind as they moved forward. Mala took a moment to assess Trey’s strengths. They all lay in the areas of empathy, social graces, and an almost anti-intellectual sense of street smarts. Gut instincts.

How that might fit in, Mala had no clue, but she’d try to look at all the evidence with Trey’s eyes as much as she possibly could.

Glancing into the rearview mirror, Mala checked in on Janey. She had fallen back asleep and her head was tilted back and to the left, but her grip on her bear was just as firm as always. Mala wasn’t sure how she felt about that stuffed animal. Janey loved it, so of course it was going to stay, but Mala couldn’t help but feel that most of the little girl’s mischievous ideas seemed to originate from that misshapen creature.

One last look at Janey’s face showed her smiling in her sleep. This whole motherhood thing was proving to be even more challenging than Mala would have thought, but seeing that expression on that precious face filled Mala with almost more emotion than her heart could take.

She was taking this little creature right into the heart of the lion’s den. The harsh words of the social worker echoed in her head, condemning her for her recklessness in taking Janey with her, as well as for pretty much every choice Mala had made concerning the little girl right from the beginning of their relationship.

Normally, the issue with having Janey around at a crime scene was more about the possible exposure to the results of violence. The likelihood of imminent danger was low. But with Trey having been taken, that might no longer be the case. It was unclear where and how it had happened, but any place that had a connection with this killer should now be considered unsafe.

At least there would be one of the cops there to watch over Janey while she worked with Darc.

Working with Darc.

The awkwardness of this whole situation was getting stronger by the moment. The lack of Trey’s presence was now painfully obvious to Mala as she thought through this next encounter.

As she pulled up to the curb outside the apartment complex, she was surprised to see that the lights and police tape were across the street, surrounding a news van belonging to FOX News. She’d seen that van just hours earlier in her parking garage. Seeing it now as part of a crime scene gave her stomach a sharp twist.

Stepping out of the car into the light drizzle, Mala gestured to one of the uniformed cops to take up station outside the car watching Janey. She had planned on a whole spiel explaining Janey’s presence here, but the urgency of the crime scene pulled her forward. It was a black hole of violence and pain awaiting a skilled craftsperson to extract its secrets.

Darc was crouched next to the sliding door on the passenger side of the van, observing something in the gutter. Mala stepped forward, and somehow amidst all the frenetic energy of the scene, Darc sensed her presence and turned to look at her.

“Mala. You are here.”

“Of course,” she replied. “I came as soon as I got your text.”

There was pain in Darc’s face. It perhaps wasn’t there for the entire world to observe, but Mala knew him well enough to look past the hard and somewhat blank exterior Darc presented to the world. He was hurting.

“There is evidence here that I would like for you to examine, as well as information which I must share with you.” The detective wiped his hand over his bald scalp, flipping the moisture from the falling rain away. “I need your help.”

Mala was flabbergasted. If Darc was asking for help in such a direct way, things were beyond bad.

“I’m ready to work. What have we got?” Mala queried, looking for a way to be useful. Seeing Darc vulnerable like this was disconcerting. She hadn’t realized how much she had come to rely on his stoic strength and prodigious intellect.

“The news camera had been aimed at the door and was recording when Trey came out to examine the van,” Darc launched in. “I am not certain what caused him to search the vehicle, but it is clear that this is the next set of murders in the series.”

Darc pointed to the severed feet just inside the door of the van. There were two pairs, masculine and feminine, both still clad in the shoes they were wearing the last time Mala had seen them.

There was something both chilling and fascinating about seeing the dead bodies of people Mala had encountered only hours previously. It was a jolt that sent her thoughts scattering around in random patterns, but that increased her heart rate to mid-workout levels. There was energy there, even if it felt uncontrolled. Mala could see why this life would appeal to some, and become an addiction to others.

“And the Babylonian number?” Mala asked.

“Present on both of the corpses.”

Mala puzzled over that for a moment. “It’s almost like these two killings were intended to be one act. Like these two were one individual in the mind of our killer.” She glanced around the rest of the interior of the van, looking for anything else that might tie in to her idea. “Have you considered the idea that these victims may have a personal link to the killer?”

“That is a standard line of investigative inquiry. There appears to be no link between these individuals, but there is an individual whom I am considering. He has not been looked at in regards to this.”

“You have a suspect?” Mala shot back, surprised.

“No, there is not enough direct evidence to consider him a suspect,” Darc responded, his tone flat. “I might regard him as a person of interest. There are enough unexplained coincidences that I calculate the probability of him having some involvement at seventeen percent.”

“That’s high enough for me. Why haven’t you brought him in yet?”

Darc paused and sighed. That was the closest thing to Darc expressing emotion that Mala had ever observed from him.

“I was waiting until I could speak with Trey.” At Mala’s look of confusion, Darc continued. “He is Trey’s friend. Bill Harris.”

Darc had taken Trey’s feelings into consideration. If she weren’t at a crime scene looking at two dead bodies, she would have squealed a little bit. At least done a small jig. This was huge. It represented a quantum leap forward for Darc. But making too big of a deal of it could be detrimental to the progress, as well as being somewhat inappropriate in their current environment, so Mala did what she could to containing her excitement.

“But now that Trey has been kidnapped…” Mala prompted.

“It seems foolish to refrain from speaking to him,” Darc concluded, nodding. “Yes. I wanted to confirm this with you, as you are much more emotionally connected than I. Your response has confirmed that my thinking is accurate.”

“Uh, yes,” Mala stuttered, surprised again at Darc’s emotional maturity. “Yes. I definitely think you should call him in.” She looked back into the van. “You said that the camera was on when Trey came out?”

“It was. It recorded Trey’s capture, but did not include the captor.”

“The killer seems to know what he’s doing,” Mala mused. “But there’s more than that. He’s taunting us. Giving us just enough information to make us feel that we should be able to figure it out, but not enough to truly be helpful.”

“That was my assessment, as well. I had hoped the arrogance of the killer would lead to additional information, but I have not found it as of yet. The next step is to pull phone call records, but my fear is that if any were made, they were made from another burner cell phone.”

Mala nodded, her mind elsewhere “Were there any surveillance cameras that might have caught the surrounding area? Maybe they saw the killer’s vehicle leave?”

“The only camera is from the apartment complex. We pulled the footage, but our own activity from the previous crime scene blocked the view of the street.”

It felt as though the killer had accounted for every possible avenue of investigation. But there had to be something else here. Mala recognized that she was duplicating the investigative efforts of one of the most brilliant detectives in the country, but what else could she do? How else could she be of service here?

And then it clicked into place. She could do her job.

Mala was there to lend support in the way a profiler might. To observe the crime scenes from the psychological angle. There didn’t seem to be enough information here for her to do much more than sketch a brief outline of the killer, but there was something else that she wasn’t considering.

She could profile the detectives working the case. The killer had pointed to possible evidence without even realizing he had done so. If only Mala could decipher it.

Before, she had realized that the killer targeting Trey might have some relevance. But it was also the fact that Darc had been completely ignored. Almost as if his skill set were irrelevant. That couldn’t possibly be the case, could it?

“This setup in the van seems to have been specifically designed for Trey.”

Darc cocked his head. “Explain.”

Okay, that was starting to sound more like Darc.

“Well, we don’t know for sure why Trey came out here, but he did. Something brought him out here. Something that you missed.”

“The likelihood that I missed any evidence is less than three percent,” Darc responded, his tone as close to offended as Mala had ever heard it.

She sighed, looking for a way to communicate this to the bald detective without getting his hackles up. Mala had no desire to go back to the moody teenaged version of the savant at this particular moment.

“Darc, I get that when it comes to investigating, you’re second to none. But what I’m talking about is something that you are not equipped to see.”

That stopped him. He seemed to mull over what she had said, his eyes darting from side to side as well as up and down. It was as if he were watching a movie no one else could see.

“I understand. You are saying that this lies in the realm of emotional context?”

“Emotional, social… something that Trey would spot in a heartbeat, but that would leave you and I scratching our heads.” Mala felt like she was walking in a minefield. Darc might not have an ego in the same way that many detectives did, but he was just as prickly in his own fashion.

“I am not certain I will be able to ascertain what that might be. So we are in the same position we were in moments ago, before we began discussing this topic.” He turned away from the conversation, clearly done with whatever crazy idea it was that Mala was trying to get him to contemplate. The vast intelligence that was Darc had peered into the problem and seen that there was nothing further to be done. When Darc pointed his intellect at a problem, it was like a laser. But this laser seemed to have an area it couldn’t penetrate, something beyond the range of its beam.

Or was it just an obscured area? A space that was easily accessible, if only Darc knew where to point the beam? A thought blossomed.

“Darc, I think we can work around this. Let’s go back upstairs.” She motioned for the detective to follow her as she moved back toward the first crime scene.

Whatever Trey had seen had to have at least started in the apartment. The chances of Trey seeking out the reporter at random seemed pretty low. Mala had mentioned her problems with the woman to Trey, but that wasn’t enough to make him go down to talk it out with her, was it?

Well, that was always a possibility, but until Mala could find no other explanation, she wasn’t going to give up so easily. Trey going down on her account was noble, but it didn’t help them out as far getting him back went. So, Mala chose to believe that he had come down because of something he’d seen.

At this point, it wasn’t much of a choice, really.

*

Trey woke up to the weirdest thing he’d ever experienced

He was in Mala’s apartment, chained to a bed.

At least, that’s how it had seemed at first. The apartment thing, not the chained to a bed thing. That was pretty clear. But when he stopped and thought about the apartment, everything started making sense. Mala had talked about her kidnapper taking her to an exact replica of her own place.

The kidnapper was the killer.

Awesome.

Too bad that information did Trey no good. It might help Darc out, but Trey had stupidly sent his partner back to the station. Smooth move, ex-lax.

But even if Darc knew, it wasn’t a sure thing that it would put them any closer to finding the guy. At least not before some bad, bad stuff went down, that bad stuff more than likely including Trey. He pushed that image out of his mind. It wouldn’t do him any good at this point, right?

Yeah, it was scary being kidnapped, but Trey figured at least he wasn’t dead yet. He was alive for a reason. And while he was alive, he was going to do everything he could to figure out how to get out of here. In the meantime, Trey was slightly pissed off that he had gotten a totally recycled kidnapping hideout thingy. The killer had gone to all that trouble for Mala, but apparently Trey only warranted the cast-off seconds.

Trey thought for a second about that. It was Mala they were talking about. The guy must actually have some taste.

Fantastic. Not only had he been captured by a homicidal maniac and put into a recycled trap, but Trey actually agreed with his abductor. It was time to get a new job or something. At least take a vacation. Getting clobbered by a corpse falling down on you was maybe a day-off kind of occurrence, but getting kidnapped had to qualify for at least a week or two paid leave.

Again, Darc would know. When it came to rules and regulations, the guy knew the book. Literally. He had memorized the entire book full of rules and regulations. Didn’t mean he always followed them, but he knew them.

Now, how the hell was Trey going to get out of here? He jerked the chains, but they were solidly connected to the very sturdy bed. Unless he could figure out how to pick the locks, he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Don’t bother,” an electronically altered voice rang out from the ceiling. “I took everything out of your pockets that might possibly allow you to get yourself out of your bonds. You’re stuck, Trey.”

“Who are you?” Trey called out, looking around for the camera that had to be there somewhere. “How do you know my name? Are you someone I know?”

“Really, Detective Keane, are you that keen on the idea of dying?” The voice ended in a light chuckle.

“Ha. That’s… wow. Ha. You should think about a career in stand-up. Seriously.” Trey jerked the chains, bruising his wrists in the process. He winced in pain.

“Yeah, that’s probably not a good idea, Trey. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“Something tells me that’s going to happen sooner or later, dude,” Trey spat.

“Dude? Are you so sure I’m a man?” The voice taunted him.

Trey shot back. “The only woman it could have possibly been was the reporter, but you killed her.”

“Maybe she was competition. Did you think of that?” The voice trailed off, but then got serious. “The more questions you ask, the closer you get to death. I’m not foolish enough to let you figure out who I am and then leave you alive to possibly get rescued. Oh no.” The next words were a near whisper. “But I do so enjoy this little cat-and-mouse thing we’ve got going on here. Don’t you?”

“Darc will find me, you know. He’s super smart. Smarter than you.” Trey tried to sit up, got to the end of the chain, and fell back.

“No. I mean yes, of course he’s smart. And possibly even smarter than I am. But he’s not capable of tracking you down. See, I’ve found his weakness.” The voice managed to sound smug, even through the voice modulator.

“Well, if he can’t, Mala will—”

“DO NOT!” the voice screamed, then paused. There was a breath before the killer continued. “Do not say her name. Ever. You are not worthy of holding her name in your mouth.”

Whoa. Well, that explained a lot, actually.

“You love her.”

There was silence for a long time. Long enough that Trey started to think that his kidnapper had taken a snooze or gone for a coffee or something. Killers still did stuff like that. It could happen.

But no such luck.

“When you die, it will not be pleasant.” Then there was a click and the silence stretched on into what felt like eternity. Eventually the lights turned out, and Trey was plunged into complete darkness.

No one would think to come here. Even with Mala and Trey working together, there was no way they would be able to deduce this. This was the craziest move Trey had ever heard of. Going back to a previous crime scene? It just didn’t make any sense.

When Trey finally started drifting off into sleep, the situation hadn’t gotten any better. If it had been Darc, he probably would have come up with something brilliant by now. But Trey wasn’t Darc. He was just a guy who was stupid enough to let a killer sneak up behind him.

He was way out of his depth here.

CHAPTER 22

This experiment that Mala was conducting seemed to be a waste of time to Darc. The lines of logic hissed and spat at him in their impatience. He needed to be tracking down Bill Harris, interrogating him to find out his involvement. Not looking over a crime scene that he had already memorized, after the body had already been moved to the morgue.

“Okay, Darc. We need to look at this from an emotional standpoint. Or, perhaps, a social one.”

The words made technical sense, but the meaning eluded Darc. They also eluded the pathways of light, which wrapped themselves around the doctor as if they wanted to do bodily harm to her. She was in the way of the investigation.

And yet…

Darc had seen for himself that his abilities were hamstrung by his lack of 360-degree vision when it came to his own emotional being. There was, when he stopped to analyze it, compelling reasoning in what Mala was saying.

But was that truly the case, or was Darc allowing his attraction for the doctor to affect him in an adverse way? Were her words more convincing because of the symmetry of her face, the pleasing lines of her body, the dusky color of her skin? Her scent rose from her body, creating a haze of gray that threatened to choke Darc.

“Stop.”

Mala turned to face Darc, a look on her face that spoke of bemusement or possible irritation. “What did you say, Darc?”

The patterns within swirled, a haze of colors and light dancing behind a curtain of shimmering gray. There was no pattern to decipher here. Nothing to fit into place. Only feelings that shifted and moved according to the dictates of some strange algorithm that Darc could not decode.

But that could not be put into words. Rather than attempt to communicate what could not be communicated, Darc lied.

“We should stop and look at the room from the first vantage point where Trey stood. Duplicating his movements could be part of it.”

Mala seemed unconvinced, but she moved back to the doorway of the bedroom, looing in at the scene. Something shifted in her face as she gazed in at the gore surrounding the room.

“Trey is fluent in body language. What did this body say while it was still here?”

This made no sense. Darc looked at where the body had been, trying to understand what Mala was suggesting. It was not helping.

“I do not know.”

Mala took her eyes off the outline of blood where the body had been. “Darc. You have an eidetic memory. You know exactly how the body was posed.”

“But that is not what you asked of me,” Darc answered.

A long sigh escaped Mala’s lips. “It is what I asked of you. That and so much more.” She seemed to think for a moment, then opened her mouth again. “I want you to tell me if there’s anything in the body positioning that might tell us something.”

“The victim was splayed, each limb attached to a different corner of the bed.”

Mala nodded. “As if on display.”

That was a possibility. As the parameters of what Mala was looking for became clearer, they formed into a gray symbol created of emotion and speculation. The positioning of the body was logged into Darc’s processing system.

“Stand here, Darc.” She pointed to a spot right next to her. Darc moved toward her, doing what he could to keep her scent out of his nostrils. “Now, what do you see?”

What Darc saw was a black hole where no light existed. There were no trails of light here because there were no traces of evidence to glean.

Mala’s voice was almost a whisper in Darc’s ear. “Look and listen with more than just your eyes and ears. Pay attention to the spacing of the room, the way the body was presented. What does this tell us?”

Again, the symbols formed within and then made their way through the gray and presented their findings. A form began to take shape.

“The killer wished for this scene to be memorable,” Darc posited, attempting to put into words what the lightless symbols represented.

“Not just memorable,” Mala breathed. “Newsworthy. That’s what Trey saw. That’s why he went down to the van. He saw this. All of it.”

The symbols broke apart into the segmented parts of the emotional landscape they were. Darc was less than pleased with the results.

“This has told us nothing more than what we already knew. Trey was taken. We had that information already.”

Mala shook her head. “No. We knew he had been taken, but we didn’t understand how or why. Now we do.”

Darc suspected that this feeling was akin to what Trey constantly complained of during every case he worked with Darc. He had no comprehension of what Mala was explaining. Mala must have seen the confusion on his face, because she continued.

“Don’t you see? Trey was taken specifically. He understands things on an emotional level that we are not good at. That seems to be exactly what the killer fears.” Mala reached out and grabbed Darc’s arm. “We are that much closer to catching him. If we work together like this, we can figure out whatever it was the killer didn’t want Trey discovering.”

It was ludicrous. Nothing about what Mala had just said seemed to make logical sense. And yet, the lines within did not complain. There was no uprising against this use of the gray fog of emotion. The way the non-logical information was being processed was something familiar to the bright streets of pure knowledge within him.

It was similar to what he did every day, just with emotion, rather than logic.

And if Mala believed that it would work, perhaps it was worth the attempt.

*

It was nearing the end. Not the end of the servant of the Lord’s work, just the end of this era. They were hours away from the time when the only ones standing in the way of the work rolling forth would be crushed underfoot.

Trey Keane would die, and his death would accomplish multiple goals. First, it would incapacitate Robi Darcmel. The bald detective seemed to be without emotion, but to the servant of the Lord, nothing was hidden. The damage to his psyche would be severe and long lasting.

Additionally, there would be a loss of prestige and trust within the police department. What the detective could do now as a matter of course would soon be curtailed. Part of what allowed the man to discern patterns was a willful disregard to the rules and how they applied to him.

Finally, it would prove to Mala that her destiny was not with Detective Darcmel. It was with the servant of the Lord. The Lord had given her to him. He would not be denied his eternal reward because Mala chose the lesser vessel. The weak one, who served the spawn of Mammon amongst them.

All. All would suffer as these had suffered.

The socialite. The tobacco salesman. The lawyer. The writer. The reporter and her cameraman.

They were types of what was to come. It would not end with the seven abominations. That was only the beginning. A warning cry by the watchman on the tower. This would go so much further. Seattle would burn.

A reckoning.

A cleansing.

Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.

*

What had started out as a fantastic idea, if Mala did say so herself, quickly turned into an exercise in pounding her head against a wall. Darc and she had managed to track Trey’s progress using his unique blend of gut-level feel, pop culture knowledge, and empathetic insight. It worked.

But applying it to the rest of the case was proving to be like finding a needle in a haystack. So, as it neared two o’clock in the morning, they backed up and decided to pull in some favors. They needed to find Bill Harris, and barring that, they were going to have to search his apartment. After rousting a few people who were not used to dead-of-night wake-up calls, they had what they needed. Amazing what the kidnapping of a detective could accomplish.

After spending time in some of the more posh areas of Seattle, it was a bit of an eye-opener to return to the areas south of the city. The apartment building wasn’t the worst of the lot, but it certainly wasn’t the best, either. The paint had probably once been a rather friendly color, but was now mostly a grayed-out yellow. It spoke of tarnished dreams and dying hopes.

More rousting, and the manager of the apartment complex grumbled all the way up to the top story of the building, the grouping of law enforcement right behind. He did not seem too happy about the whole scenario, but there also clearly some awe there, as well. That could have been caused by the initial sight of Darc standing with his arms crossed over his chest, his typical lack of expression making him look downright scary.

If she didn’t know him, Mala would have had a similar response. Sometimes it was hard to separate out your first impressions of someone from what you felt about them now. And what did Mala feel about Darc now? She was the last person who could’ve given an answer to that, at this juncture.

The hallway stank of a mixture of cheap new paint and decaying drywall. Several of the overhead lights were out, creating a dramatic light-and-shadow mosaic across the walls and floor as they moved toward Bill Harris’s apartment.

“Here it is,” the super groused. “Knock yourselves out.”

“Remain here.” Darc didn’t look at the man as he moved toward the door. “We may need you to use your keys.”

“Sure, whatever,” the man muttered.

There was no answer after repeated knocks, so Darc nodded to the manager to open it up. He shuffled forward. The man was in his fifties or sixties, and had the type of body that was thin everywhere except his stomach, which protruded out in an exaggerated swell, almost like he was pregnant. After unlocking the door, he shuffled back, his near-rotten slippers swishing against the grit on the floor.

As the door swung wide and Darc and Mala entered, Mala was confronted with an overload of information. On every wall there were surveillance photos, notes, receipts, and odd scraps of evidence attached to whatever case Bill was working on at the moment. It was as if he had used his entire studio apartment as one big bulletin board.

“Oh, man,” the manager spat. “He’s not supposed to be putting tacks in the walls. This is a direct violation of his lease. I’ll never be able to fill all those little holes.”

That’s what you find troubling about this? Mala thought to herself. She was overwhelmed by the implied invasion of these people’s privacy. Bill Harris was not a cop—and yet he was gathering information on these poor souls as if he were. And Mala was pretty sure it was all legal. She felt a sliver of cold make its way down her spine, causing her to shiver and get goose bumps. It was downright creepy.

Sorting through all of this information would take more than a little time, and Mala suddenly hit a wall. She was tired, dead tired. The adrenaline of losing Trey and the subsequent rush of starting to figure out his process had kept her from feeling the lack of sleep. Now, it was starting to catch up to her.

She wasn’t Darc, who seemed to be able to push through for days at a time. Of course, she had also seen the other side of that pushing, where he would collapse or turn into a veritable zombie. Mala wasn’t sure the trade-off was worth it.

It was time to get back home. She had a little girl who needed her bed. Hell, Mala needed her bed. But it wasn’t okay to continue dragging Janey all around town with her. She needed to figure out a way to balance this better. And she would start right now. With Bill not here, the urgency had diminished slightly. She had to get Janey home.

Opening her mouth to speak to Darc, Mala’s eyes caught on something in the corner of the room by Bill’s bed. Crime scene photos. Of the current case. Victims with the Babylonian numerals carved into their foreheads. How had he gotten those?

Next to each photo were what looked like scriptural references. Proverbs 6:16, Proverbs 6:17, others from Ezekiel and Habakkuk and Isaiah. For every picture, at least one quotation.

And then Mala saw something that made her blood run chill. Her own face. Tucked away in the darkest corner of the room, there was Mala herself, from every imaginable angle. Surveillance photos. Of her.

Darc moved up next to her, a stack of what looked like receipts in his gloved fingers. He gazed at the photos, then mutely held out the receipts to Mala.

They were from the Home Depot. Building materials, bathroom sink and counter, drywall, wood, paint, hardwood flooring… all paid in cash. And another receipt for the rental of the space where Mala had been held.

“What is the possibility that Bill is not the killer?” Mala asked, her voice trembling.

But Darc just stood there, saying nothing. He never refused to discuss the probabilities of a case. It must be bad.

And, thinking about it, things could not be much worse. If there were any one individual who understood the most about the case, outside of Mala and the two detectives, it was Bill. He knew their methods, their plans of attack, the ins and outs of this case. No wonder they hadn’t been able to keep ahead of him.

He had been there, misdirecting them from the first.

Mala felt her blood turn from ice to boiling lava in the space of ten seconds. Trey had liked Bill, had treated him as a friend and colleague. Trey had trusted that man.

It was now up to Mala and Darc to make sure Bill paid for that violation.

But looking back at the photos, so many with her own countenance staring back at her, Mala felt a different kind of violation. This man had seen her vulnerable. He had taken pictures of her without her consent. Had observed her in moments when she thought herself alone.

How in the world could she ever tip those scales back in her favor?

CHAPTER 23

Popeye was complaining again. He did it all the time, so it wasn’t that big of a deal, but right now he was complaining about being in the car. He wanted to go home.

But Janey loved it in the car. She loved listening to the sound the car made when it was going. It hummed to her, almost like it was singing her a song. She loved how the backseat curved in just the right way to fit her. It was like being cuddled.

It even smelled good. Like Mala, but with another smell like cotton candy. There was another thing she loved about being in the car. She loved how it made the sounds from outside all muffled. Even Mala’s voice from the front seat was softer, fuzzier.

She was saying something about how sorry she was to drag Janey all over the city. And Popeye was saying, See, I told you so. If he didn’t stop with the sass, she’d put him in the washing machine, and then he would see. Mean old bear.

But Janey was happy. So happy. She was with Mala. She got to see Darc and Trey. And she got to sleep in the car. It was like a vacation, but more exciting. Except for that one time that Mommy and Daddy took her to Disneyland. That had been the most exciting.

But now Trey was gone. It was like when Mala was gone. Janey was scared for him, but she knew Darc and Mala would make it okay. Even that weird lawyer guy would probably help them. Janey hoped they wouldn’t go get hot chocolate again, though.

Popeye said a bad word. Butthead. He was so bad sometimes. Janey pushed him to the other side of the seat and tried to go back to sleep, but then got lonely and pulled him over to cuddle with her again. He kept squirming, making it so Janey couldn’t get comfy. She prodded and poked him to try to get him to stop, but he wouldn’t.

Silly bear.

So she sat awake and watched in the mirror. Mala was worried. When she was worried she got this little line in her forehead in between her eyebrows.

Janey stretched and reached into her bag. It was a nice bag that Mala had made for her. It had her name, Janey, in glitter on the front, and she used it to take snacks with her for when they went out. It also had some games and paper and crayons and markers.

She had meant to grab a juice box. Apple was her favorite, but sometimes Popeye made her drink orange juice. She liked orange juice, but it wasn’t her favorite. Popeye said it was like drinking sunshine. Janey thought he was goofy.

But when she reached in to grab out the juice box, she grabbed paper and crayons, instead. Sometimes when she drew pictures it made people happy. Darc had always been happy when she’d drawn pictures for him. He’d look at her and do that not-smile thing that made her heart warm in her chest.

Of course there were the other pictures that people didn’t like at all. Like the kids in the hospital screaming and running around. And the people at the home. They hadn’t liked her pictures much.

But Mala would. Janey was sure of it.

So she started drawing. Sometimes when she would draw, things would come together in her brain and make other things go into the picture.

It was that way this time. There were things in there about Mala and Darc. There were things in there about Trey. There were things in there about someone else. Someone scary that made Janey hold Popeye closer until he started complaining again.

She poked him in the ribs and told him to hush now.

It was a good picture. Mala would love it. And she would show it to Darc.

And then Trey would come back again.

*

The blending of the glowing lines and the gray mist was… troubling… to Darc. These were realms that should stay forever separate, and yet he was deliberately removing the barriers between them. What was even more troubling was that it appeared to be working.

What had always felt to Darc like an innate antipathy between the cool logic of the gleaming informational pathways and the grey mists was turning out to be largely a false construct, something he had established himself. The implications were disturbing.

So much time spent separating the clean lines of logic from the messiness of emotional attachment, all for naught. The austerity of not allowing human interactions to be more than another set of data in his calculations, all a part of his autism, not some superiority than put him above his fellow man.

Darc knew he was autistic. He had known it from a very early age. His parents had thought they were keeping the information from him. “Not labeling him” was the language they used. But he had known.

And he had taken solace in it. The play in which his classmates would engage had held no interest for him. The crisp parameters of math and science had held his attention where the endless prattle of his peers did nothing but confuse him.

The discovery of his prodigious talents solidified his thinking. He was different. Held apart. Special.

But this holding himself away had distanced him from the very things that would now allow him to solve this case. Mala was correct in her assessment. The glistening threads confirmed it. Blue for certainty. Trey had been kidnapped for his unique abilities in all of the areas that Darc had eschewed.

Maddening.

The pattern, however, was so similar to what Darc knew. Applying the weavings of logic to the bleak moonscape of emotion was all but identical to his normal process.

Or it was when it wasn’t excruciatingly painful.

That was the word for it. Painful. Every time Darc sought to bring together the informational world with the realm of inner life, a sharp ache would develop in his chest, just beneath his sternum. A band would expand from there, tightening around his entire torso, making him feel that it was impossible to breathe.

The physical reaction seemed to have no basis in any disorder than Darc could ascertain. The idea that it might be psychosomatic was rational, yet felt like a small death.

The death of a purely rational existence.

Mala was seated across the desk from Darc, staring at a piece of paper. Her face seemed… softer. This was more gray territory, but Darc did not retreat from it as he was wont to do. The expression was somehow comforting to him.

The paper was resting on top of a laptop that Mala had managed to requisition from one of the officers here working late. She folded it up and placed the page in her purse, glancing up at Darc with a smile. The smile affected Darc in a similar way to the softness he had seen earlier. It was troubling and confusing and reassuring all at once.

Uniformed cops had been stationed at Bill’s apartment complex, waiting for the P.I. to return, and a B.O.L.O had been sent out for the squat man’s vehicle. There was little they could do on that front but await information from the officers.

In the meantime, Mala and Darc were sorting through pictures of all of the evidence recovered from Bill Harris’s apartment. The cases were sprawling, but already they had found some links to the other murders.

He was the one who had alerted Trey to the second murder. Bill had also known about the third. There was the connection to the Special Forces with the knife left behind at the fourth. It was still within the realm of what could be considered coincidence, but it was too much to ignore.

And with the surveillance photos of Mala, the circumstantial evidence now added to the pain in Darc’s chest. It was an intense mixture of the building up of logical chains that surrounded Bill Harris with ties of gleaming light, as well as the uncomfortable gray pressure of the threat to Mala. Darc did not know how to handle these intense emotions, and the pressure was mounting on a minute-by-minute basis.

A symbol intruded, one of the new hybrid creations that were a result of the blending of emotion and information. The symbol spoke of the anxiety that Mala was more than likely experiencing. This was an unusual experience for Darc. One for which he felt quite unprepared.

He opened his mouth to ask her… something. What should he ask her? Mala spotted the aborted motion and turned her attention to him.

“Yes, Darc? Were you going to say something?”

The phone rang.

Officer Daniels’s voice rang through the receiver. “We’ve got him! We found Bill Harris and we’re bringing him in.”

This was more familiar territory. Interrogation. Far more straightforward than emotional inquiry. Far less uncomfortable than imagining the fears of another.

And yet, as he turned away from Mala to question Daniels further about the arrest, Darc could not help but feel disappointed that his conversation with her had never begun.

*

Mala stared across the table at Bill Harris, the man who had been Trey’s friend and who was now more than likely his captor. The man who had killed and killed and killed again with a viciousness and precision that belied his rough-and-tumble exterior.

But what was most disturbing was that Mala’s mind kept going back to the surveillance photos he had taken. With so much on the line, it was Mala’s personal sense of violation that was winning out here.

She’d managed to make it into the room okay. Even sitting down and peering at his face had been doable. But the thought of questioning this man, interrogating him about Trey and the other killings… all while having visions of her own face seen through a telephoto lens? Maddening.

There was a scent of disinfectant that merged with a sour scent that seemed to be coming from Bill. There were beads of sweat that had formed on his forehead, and he was licking his lips, which appeared chapped.

“Guys, I’m not sure what’s going on. Why am I here? In an interrogation room?” Bill blurted. “No one will tell me anything.”

His questions surprised Mala. He seemed nervous, true, but Bill wasn’t acting the way she had expected. Defiance, sure. Arrogance? Possibly. But this? This didn’t make any sense. At all.

Darc continued to stare at the private investigator. This was one of the places where Mala could see that his lack of empathy was a benefit. Where another detective might get uncomfortable with the silence, Darc seemed to use it, waiting until his subject cracked under the pressure. Mala wasn’t even sure that he was doing it on purpose, his demeanor told so little. It was the kind of look that could have wilted lettuce, and Mala was confident it would take its toll on Bill.

And it didn’t take long.

“Come on, Darc! You know me!” Bill sputtered.

“No. I do not. We are acquainted with one another, nothing more. Trey knows you.”

Bill looked around as if to spot the other detective. “Yeah, he does. Where is he? Whatever it is that you think is going on, Trey can clear it up.”

“Trey has been taken by the killer,” Darc intoned.

It took several seconds for that comment to sink its way into Bill’s brain. When the information registered, the reaction was immediate. Bill’s eyes goggled, and he jumped to his feet.

“Well, then. What the hell are we doing here?”

“Bill,” Mala stepped in, pushing the images of her own visage back into the recesses of her mind. “We’re here because there are some unusual coincidences that we need to talk to you about.”

“Coincidences?” he responded, his face slack as he sat back down.

“You have more than once arrived at the crime scenes before anyone else,” Darc took over.

“Well, yeah. Of course.” Bill wiped at the sweat on his face, managing only to smear it around. “I was the one who told you about two of them. Well, one, I guess. I found out about the other at the same time.”

“You were also in the Special Forces,” Darc continued.

“Wha…?” The look of confusion on Bill’s face intensified, then cleared up. “Oh, the knife? That was stolen from the guy it belonged to.”

“So you said,” interjected Mala. “But you were the only one that verified that information. And the blade could’ve been yours. As ex-Special Forces, you certainly would know where to get one.”

“Yeah, but—”

Darc placed the receipts for the warehouse rental, as well as all of the Home Depot purchases, directly in front of Bill. The private investigator peered at them, looked back up at Mala and Darc, then looked down to the receipts again.

“What’re these?”

“You’re going to claim you don’t know?” Mala demanded. “They were found when we searched your place.” There was something off here. Either Bill was much more of an actor than Mala would have given him credit for, or he was repressing memories of his own actions.

“When you…? You searched…?” Bill pulled in a deep breath and let it out bit by bit. “Okay. Okay. I have no idea what those receipts were doing there. I’ve never seen them before in my life.”

“Those receipts tie you to a crime scene at which Dr. Charan was held. The materials purchased at the Home Depot and elsewhere were used to recreate her apartment.” Darc’s tone never varied, but there was something in the way he delivered that sentence that made Mala glance over at the bald detective.

Bill threw up his hands. “Why would I do that? Huh? What possible reason could I have for kidnapping the doctor here?”

“That is a valid question, Mr. Harris,” Mala stated, keeping her aversion in check. She grabbed the surveillance photos of herself and placed them one by one in front of the sweating investigator. His face blanched. It was the first evidence of guilt that Mala had seen from him. This he remembered doing.

“I…” Bill looked up, his eyes slipping away from Mala’s face. “I…” He cleared his throat. “I think that you need to charge me for something or it’s time for me to leave. And go get a lawyer.”

Now this was looking much more like what Mala had anticipated. The problem was, Bill was the answer to where Trey might be. Letting him go was not an option.

Which is why Darc’s response shocked her.

“You may go now.”

Okay, Mala had not seen that coming.

“Um, Darc,” Mala murmured to the tall detective. “Don’t we want to hold him for more questioning or something?”

“We cannot,” Darc responded in his full voice. He seemed indifferent to the fact that Bill could hear him. “There is not enough evidence to charge him, and holding him for questioning with a lawyer present is an ineffective use of time.” He turned to Bill. “Did you not hear me? I said that you may go now.”

Bill shook his head and began to walk out of the interrogation room. Before he got to the door, he turned back to face Mala and Darc.

“I get that this stuff doesn’t look good.” He indicated all the evidence strewn across the table. “But you need to know that I had nothing to do with it.”

The sad part of it was that if Mala hadn’t seen all the facts for herself, she probably would’ve believed him. Some profiler she was turning out to be.

*

So it turned out that having your hands and feet chained to the four corners of a bed was not so comfortable. There would have been times in Trey’s life when he would have killed for some enforced R&R. Okay, killed was maybe a poor choice of words in this particular moment, but the sentiment was the same.

His kidnapper kept late hours, at least according to the clock radio that sat atop the nightstand next to Trey. Whatever the guy did for his day job, it was more than a nine-to-five gig. So, either he was someone that worked a bunch of double shifts, or it was a salaried job that required extra hours on a regular basis.

That was great, but it didn’t really help much. To occupy his time and keep his mind off of his nose that kept deciding it needed to be itched, Trey was trying to figure out who his captor was. And this particular angle felt like a dead end. Too many options. Doctor, lawyer, accountant… How many professions demanded too much of their employees? Even law enforcement should be on the list with that line of reasoning.

Trey rattled the chains for the five-hundredth time. The sound fell flat in the soundproofed room. He’d tried screaming the first few hours he’d been captured, but it just made his kidnapper laugh. And if his captor was laughing, Trey had to think he was barking up the wrong tree.

If he had even one hand free, he might be able to find something nearby that he could use to pick the locks. Hell, if he could find a knife he might even cut off his own hand, like that one guy up in the mountains. Trey thought about taking a knife and shoving it into his own flesh.

Yeah… there was no chance he could do that.

Okay, back to the guy who had clocked him over the head. Not that it had to be a guy, Trey supposed. Honestly, if he hadn’t seen Charity King lying dead with her severed feet sitting in the door of that van, Trey might’ve thought it was the reporter. Heaven knew she’d been enough of a shark that he wouldn’t have put it past her.

But that lead had been cut off with a very definitive foot severing. This guy didn’t mess around. And the more Trey thought about it, the more convinced he became that it was a guy. Not that women were incapable of doing stuff like this, but usually the female killers went for the non-messy kills. Poison. Exhaust from a car in a closed garage. Gas from a stove. That kind of murder was a far cry from what Trey had seen so far.

It just didn’t feel like a woman.

A chuckle worked its way up from Trey’s belly. That was funny. It was so far removed from the kind of detective work Darc did that it made all of Trey’s reasoning seem childish. Maybe that was a little bit of an understatement. Trey felt childish at the best of times. When he was around Darc, he felt pre-natal.

If it weren’t for the fact that Trey was not going anywhere soon, he would’ve given up on this whole exercise a long time ago. But he had nothing better to do. It wasn’t like his captor turned on cable TV for Trey when the psychopath stepped outside.

Cable. Man, what Trey wouldn’t give for a little Downton Abbey right now. Hell, he’d even go for Call the Midwife. Or The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. Trey still couldn’t believe that Adrienne Maloof had gotten fired. How did you get fired from reality TV, for crying out loud?

With his luck, what he’d end up with was Cinemax After Dark. Soft-core porn while he had both hands chained to a bed. That was its own specific brand of hell.

So, it was the guessing game. More than likely, it was someone who hadn’t even come on their radar yet, but Trey had to go based off of the players he knew.

One of the first suspects to come up for him was Bill. The guy had been uncanny in finding out about the murders ahead of time. He’d sort of insinuated himself into the investigation from the get-go. And there was a whole lot of stuff that didn’t quite add up.

But it was Bill. And that was ultimately what made Trey decide that it wasn’t him. Couldn’t be him. All the evidence pointed there, sure, but in a way, didn’t that seem strange? The killer was smart enough to keep a heart beating outside of a freaking body. Didn’t seem like Bill was that guy. Or, if he were that guy, that he’d be so careless about leaving evidence around that would point to himself.

Besides, Trey knew him. Well. Probably as well as anybody else, apart from the guy’s ex-wives. It just didn’t fit in with Bill’s personality. Sure, the guy was a bit gruff, and more than a little cynical. You didn’t do what Bill did everyday and not get a little tired of the crap that people could do to other people.

It wasn’t Bill.

For one crazy moment, Trey even started looking at people in his own precinct. One of the uniformed cops, maybe? That idiot M.E. Dr. Hutchinson? Captain Merle? But none of them really fit the evidence, besides the fact that Trey was pretty sure that Captain Merle never left his desk enough to be a really top-notch serial killer.

What could link a socialite, a tobacco sales manager, a lawyer, a writer, and a reporter? There just didn’t seem to be any link that made sense.

This was Darc’s domain. Darc could take these tangled threads of information and knit an epic tapestry out of them. That was what Trey’s partner did. And here was Trey, trying to figure it all out on his own. It was like a mentally handicapped kid trying to outthink Stephen Hawking while chained to a bed. Kinda unfair, if you asked Trey.

So, screw it. He wasn’t going to figure this out. At least not in the same way that Darc would. Instead, he’d try to feel his way forward. He’d decided it wasn’t Bill based off of nothing but his instinct. Maybe he could turn that around and let his gut decide who the killer was.

Well, this was fun.

A voice rang out in the apartment, and Trey jolted up, his chains yanking him back toward the bed. Man, he hated it when his kidnapper did that.

“Still haven’t figured it out, have you?” the voice crooned in its monotonous mechanical tone. “I know you want to know who I am. Of course you do. What’s funny is that it’s right in front of your nose, Detective Keane.”

Great. It wasn’t enough that Trey was trapped in a recycled holding cell and chained to a bed. Now he had to listen to his captor gloat. Trey was sick and tired of this kind of treatment. Father John had dismissed him, too.

“Hey! How about you lighten up with the whole bad-guy thing you got going on. You’re like every bad stereotype of a serial killer, dude. ‘It’s right in front of your nose.’ Seriously? You can’t think of a better taunt than that? I can give you something better than that by picking my butt.”

The voice went silent. Trey wasn’t shocked. His captor wasn’t much for fireside chats, and Trey hadn’t left him a lot of room to maneuver. It maybe wasn’t the greatest idea to piss off the guy that was threatening to kill you, but the guy hadn’t made a move yet and Trey was getting bored. Besides, his wrists and ankles were getting chafed.

But as much as Trey had tried to play it off, the killer’s statement had rankled. Clearly, there was something obvious that Trey was missing.

Someone who had a connection to every killing. Someone who Trey had met. Someone who Mala had more than likely met. Someone… someone…

And then it came to him. There was no bolt of lightning, no flash of recognition, just an awareness that grew until it had Trey nodding his head in acknowledgement.

He knew who the killer was.

And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

CHAPTER 24

Darc had known releasing Bill Harris was a calculated risk. The patterns had glowed with a green light that spoke of uncertainty. And yet, holding the private investigator had been a dead end, so the risk had seemed a reasonable one.

A reasonable risk that had proved unsuccessful on every level. Officer Daniels confirmed that the unmarked police car trailing the private investigator had lost contact with him. Now, instead of being able to follow Mr. Harris to Trey, the investigator was lost to them. No further opportunities to question or imprison him should new evidence appear. The P.I. was out of reach.

Leaving Darc and Mala with very little usable information. There was nothing to do but go back over all of the evidence gathered so far, beginning with all of the materials taken from Bill’s apartment.

But the threads of logic all pointed to speed being of the essence. Darc was left in a difficult situation where to move forward was to spend additional time that could lead more quickly to Trey’s demise.

Mala came back around the corner from the break room, Janey in tow. The little girl was eating string cheese and holding a juice box. Darc stared at the little one, the tapestry of logic pathways winding around her, caressing her face and playing through her hair. There was a connection here that they were trying to make, but Darc could not see it. It was more of the gray landscape that held back his understanding.

“No word on Bill’s car?” Mala queried. That had been the one avenue left to them—the hope that the investigator’s car might have LoJack.

“The vehicle registered to Bill Harris is a 1994 Honda Accord. No way to trace it.” Darc could see the tracings of light swirling in frustration. The car had been lost in the winding streets of a residential neighborhood. There were no traffic cams, ATMs, or shops with surveillance cameras anywhere nearby.

“There has to be something that we are overlooking,” Mala responded, her face creasing in what could be consternation or constipation. The increased connection between the gray landscape and Darc’s internal logic roads suggested the former. Interesting. There were additional benefits to the growing synthesis of these once-opposing paradigms.

“That is almost a certainty,” Darc confirmed. “But finding what we have overlooked will take time. Trey has been gone now for more than 18 hours. Every passing minute brings him closer to his probable end.”

Janey’s face fell, but then brightened, and she tugged on Mala’s sleeve. Mala leaned down, her face close to Janey’s.

“What is it?”

As Janey began gesturing, a series of movements that made little sense to Darc, a figure strode around the corner. It was Deputy Attorney Van Owen.

“Hey, guys,” he called out as he saw Darc and Mala. “I’ve got something that might help out.”

Mala stood. “What do you have?” She put her hand down to stop Janey from continuing to pull at Mala’s sleeve.

“Well, I called all of Bill Harris’s known clients. I’ve had some dealings with him in the past… he makes his way into court enough for me to know who his regulars are. I put some pressure on them, suggesting that this was a serious ongoing investigation and that it would be in their best interests to cooperate.”

“And what did you discover?” Darc prompted.

“That he had even more of a connection to the previous murders than we’d thought. Every single one of them was someone who had come up on the bad end of one of Bill’s investigations. The socialite had gotten herself photographed sleeping with one of Bill’s clients in a divorce case. Charity King did an exposé on private investigators in Seattle. Harris didn’t come out looking so good.” Bryce Van Owen rifled through the papers in his hands “And there’s a lot more in here.”

“That’s great,” Mala said, her tone less than energized. “But that puts us right back where we were. Bill’s in the wind.”

“Right. But I managed to find out about some stuff that he’s working on currently. And there’s a person that popped up. The next murder’s supposed to be someone that’s like a false witness or something, right?”

“How did you have that information?” Darc inquired. The threads of logic snaked around, confused.

“Trey was keeping me updated. He told me about the whole thing before he was… kidnapped.” He shook his head and continued. “Anyway, there was a case he was involved in just a month and a half ago where the whole thing went south because of a witness Bill had brought in to testify on behalf of his client. The guy, name of Alex Warnick, threw the client under the bus, and the client lost his shirt in the divorce. Threatened Bill with everything from calling the Better Business Bureau to taking him to court. Bill went ballistic.”

The paths of light twisted around, bumping into the lawyer as he reorganized his papers. This could indeed be information that could help them to stay a step ahead of Bill Harris. Whether or not it would also lead them to Trey was less certain. It was, however, the most promising lead they had at the moment.

“I took the liberty of sending some unmarked cars out to Warnick’s place, but I thought you should know about it, in case you wanted to head over there yourself.” Van Owen smiled at Darc. Another come-on? Darc’s newfound interconnection suggested that was not the case. At least there was one result of this new integration that would result in less discomfort rather than more.

“That is an acceptable overstepping of your authority in this case,” Darc answered the lawyer. “And going to the apartment could allow me to collect additional information.” He turned to Mala. “Will you and Janey come along?”

As Mala began to answer, Van Owen stepped in. “Actually, I was hoping to talk to Dr. Charan for a bit.” When Darc turned back to lock eyes with the Deputy Attorney, he continued. “I just wanted to talk through another case with her. Got a witness who’s acting squirrely. Want to know if she’s going to be okay up on the stand.” He nodded to Mala. “Figured a psychologist might be able to help me out with that.”

Darc nodded, although he found that he was experiencing an irrational anger toward the lawyer. The explanation Bryce gave was sound, but Darc found that he did not want Mala to be anywhere near the Deputy Attorney.

But with no plausible reason for needing Mala with him, Darc turned to go. He noticed a sensation of heaviness in his chest that seemed to weigh him down as he moved toward the parking lot.

Is this how it felt to have a heavy heart? If that were the case, the arguments for a full emotional life seemed less and less convincing to Darc by the moment.

*

As Mala watched Darc leave, she felt a flutter in her stomach. There was a sense of disappointment in the tall detective leaving, as well as a sense of excitement that Bryce was near. An uncomfortable combination of sensations.

“So, you need my help?” Mala asked as she turned to speak with the handsome attorney. Bryce grinned at her, his smile increasing the disturbance in her gut. Bryce smelled of sandalwood and pine and a slight musk, a very masculine scent that was just strong enough to reach her nostrils, but not enough to repel her. She felt her skin heat up.

“Well, not exactly,” Bryce confessed. “I wanted to talk to you, and I needed an excuse to keep you here.”

Mala found that she was both flattered and angry at once. “But Darc might need me. Trey’s out there missing, and—”

Bryce held up a hand, cutting her off. “I know. And if I thought for a second that there was anything out there that could help get Trey back, I wouldn’t have kept you back. Truth is, this is a long shot. Darc knows it, but it’s pretty much the only thing we’ve got right now.”

It was true. Mala had even recognized it, at least on a subconscious level. If there had been a compelling reason for her to go, she would have left regardless of Bryce’s pleas. As she processed her own frustrations, Mala felt a tug on her sleeve. Janey.

The girl was pointing toward the break room, her gestures one step shy of urgent. She wanted another snack, maybe? Or she wanted Mala away from Bryce. That seemed the more likely explanation. Mala held up a finger for her to wait for a moment.

“So, what did you want to talk to me about?” Mala asked.

The attorney shifted from one foot to another. “Well, if you haven’t figured it out yet, I like you. A lot.” Mala felt her flush grow, heating up her chest and face. The man certainly seemed to know how to get a reaction out of her. Bryce continued. “And I just wanted to make sure that I hadn’t pushed too hard the other day.”

“No. Not at all. You were the perfect gentleman.”

“Good,” Bryce replied. “Because I’d like to try it again. Maybe some lunch?” He glanced down at Janey, whose mouth was pressed into a thin line. “Both of you, of course. We could go back to my place and I could make you something. I’m a pretty good cook.”

Seeing the look on Janey’s face, Mala wasn’t sure she was up for a repeat performance of the coffeehouse disaster. But she was hungry, and the thought of Bryce’s company was far from unpleasant. As she contemplated, Janey grabbed her arm and began gesturing at Mala. She was miming drawing a picture. Janey was trying to communicate something to Mala. Probably something about how bad of an idea this was.

Still, better to get it all out now, before Janey could trash Bryce’s house. Mala opened her purse and began digging around for a scrap of paper and a pen, and as she did so, the picture Janey had drawn for her earlier fluttered to the floor. Janey scurried over to the paper and scooped it up, unfolding the drawing to see what it was.

When she could see the picture she had drawn, Janey’s face blanched. She gestured frantically for something to write with. Mala dug down and found an eyeliner pencil, which she pulled out of the purse and handed to the little girl.

Without taking a second to move to a table, Janey dropped to the floor and began drawing detective’s badges over and over again on the back of the drawing. She then turned the picture over and pointed toward the exit.

She wanted Darc to see the picture.

Now.

Mala turned back to Bryce. “I’m sorry. There’s something going on here that I don’t understand. I need to talk to Darc.”

“But… lunch? And he’s probably already…” Bryce stopped himself, gave a wry grin and shrugged. “Pushing again, huh?”

“Maybe just a little,” Mala conceded. Seeing his face fall, she added, “But it’s kind of cute.”

“Cute. Great. That’s just what a guy wants to hear.” He breathed a sigh. “Go on. Get out of here. And Janey?” he said, peering down at the girl. “Well played.”

Janey just glared back at him. It was probably better this way. Mala was pretty sure that the only way Bryce and she were going to connect was if Janey wasn’t present.

Which meant, as far as Mala was concerned, that it probably wouldn’t happen. She looked back to see Bryce heading out in the opposite direction, moving fairly quickly. He did have an awfully nice rear end.

Okay, so maybe a babysitter?

Mala glanced down at the top of Janey’s head. She would have to think on it.

*

Darc did not like to drive. He owned a vehicle that he almost never used, a Chrysler Sebring that was about five years old. Trey typically drove whenever they were working on a case together.

It wasn’t that Darc was incapable of driving. The mechanics were simple to master. But his attention remained fixed on the interweaving of the patterns of information that shifted about in his mind, which left little focus for more mundane tasks.

As Darc moved out toward the parking lot, he stopped one of the uniformed policemen to have him relay the address back to Mala. Darc had neglected to give her the information before he had left, and if her conversation with the lawyer did not take too long, he hoped that she would join him. Darc’s conversation with the policeman took longer than it should have—the man was not intelligent.

That had been a waste of time, and the fact that Darc had engaged in it was troubling. Mala could easily obtain the address on her own, seeing as how the man who had the information was the one with whom she was speaking. But Darc had made a point of making sure she had the address. He wanted her there.

And there was no reason for it. Well, no logical reason for it.

Mala would be of little help doing any sort of assessment where a crime had not yet been committed. This was an endeavor with a low possibility of success. The individual might be the killer’s next victim, if the killer was Bill Harris. If the person did end up being the next victim, they might be able to apprehend Harris before he killed again. It was a series of low probabilities, with the outcome becoming less and less certain the further down the stream Darc went. He placed a positive outcome at less than two percent.

Yet he still wanted Mala there.

As Darc neared the vehicle out in the parking lot, he took another moment to assess the inner workings of his gray landscape. He was approaching, not his own Sebring, but Trey’s Land Rover. Darc knew where Trey kept his spare key in his desk at the precinct.

Again, there was no rational reason for Darc to prefer Trey’s vehicle to his own. And yet, here he was, about to commit grand theft auto. Trey would not be pleased to discover that Darc was driving his car.

Yet Darc was going to drive it regardless.

He positioned himself behind the wheel of the Land Rover. The seat and mirrors had already been moved by the uni who had driven the Rover back from the crime scene where Trey had been abducted, so they needed a little additional adjustment. Darc breathed in the air of the vehicle. There was a lingering smell of old leather and fast food, with something else less identifiable underneath. Darc was surprised to discover that he found the scent… comforting.

Starting the engine and easing the car out of its spot, Darc scanned the gleaming lines of logic in his mind for additional information. There was still a lack of cohesion here. Leaving seemed the best of the options, but there was no certainty.

Darc’s attention snapped back to the act of driving as a figure stepped out in front of the Rover. It was Mala, waving her hands for Darc to stop. His reaction had been delayed by his inward focus, and in order to avoid striking Mala, Darc pulled the steering wheel hard to the left. He felt and heard the crunch and scrape as the side of the Land Rover made contact with one of the parking bumper posts placed to keep drivers from entering the lane that moved in the opposite direction.

This would be an awkward conversation to have with Trey.

Mala rushed around to the driver’s side window, which Darc rolled down. “Are you okay?” she panted, her tone elevated in volume and higher in pitch than normal. Did that indicate concern? For some reason, that made Darc’s heart rate accelerate. That was a fascinating physiological response that he would need to investigate further.

“I am unharmed.”

“Okay, good.” Mala paused to take a breath. She seemed to have been running, and Darc could see that Janey was just now catching up to her. Mala must have seen Darc and sprinted to stop him. “There’s something I need you to see.” She pulled out a piece of paper that had been folded in quarters and handed it to Darc through the open window.

Unfolding the page, Darc immediately recognized Janey’s work. “When did she draw this?”

Mala’s eyebrows wrinkled together. “Last night.”

“And you did not think to show it to me immediately?”

“No, I didn’t.” Mala’s tone had deepened and sharpened. “Why on earth would I?”

“This is the way that she and I communicate,” Darc answered.

Raising her hands up, Mala’s eyebrows now lifted in concert with her limbs. “I had no idea.” Then a thought seemed to strike her, as her expression changed once more. Darc could not keep up with this ever-changing landscape of emotional responses. “So you were passing her messages when you…? You… I never would have allowed you to…” She stopped and took a long breath, pointing back at the drawing. “Just… look at the picture. Janey was adamant that you see it.”

Darc studied the page in front of him. It was unlike any of the other communications the girl had given him. There were no symbols of certainty. In fact, the informational stream arising from the picture was filled with gray. Gray tendrils that entered in, leaving glowing bits of activated information in their wake.

Beginning. Danger. Need.

The picture was asking Darc to return to the beginning of the case. Something was there, something he had missed. At least that’s what it seemed to be asking. Again, it was gray and unclear.

And now Darc himself was unclear. He could continue forward to pursue a concrete lead, even though the probability of success was small. Or he could go back to the precinct to follow… what? A feeling. An instinct. A guess.

Darc stared down at the picture for a moment and then shifted the Rover into reverse. Nothing here made logical sense to him.

And yet, somehow, the decision was clear.

CHAPTER 25

Well, Mala wasn’t exactly sure what had happened, but she was sure that something had. Where before Darc had been morose and dejected, now he seemed energized and focused. Not that there was a lot of outward manifestation of either one, but there was a distinct shift in his presence.

It was one of the intangibles that so irritated Darc whenever Mala or Trey tried to bring them up. Although Mala was not confident that his reaction would be the same at this point. There seemed to be a fundamental shift happening in the way he not only handled himself, but also how he interacted with other individuals.

Even this current moment was an example of how things had shifted. From what Mala could see, there was nothing concrete in what Janey had given Darc. And yet he had abandoned a solid lead with seemingly no qualms and was now digging up everything he could from earlier cases. Something that had discouraged him earlier was now the very thing he was determined to do. All because of a picture from a little girl.

It didn’t make any sense, which for anyone else might not have seemed like such a big deal. They were more than a little stuck right now, so doing things that didn’t make a lot of sense were par for the course. But for Darc, even a small departure from the clear road that logic laid down was a huge neon sign pointing right at him, screaming, “Look at me! I’m a different guy than the one you thought I was!”

As they walked back into the station, Mala waved Darc on ahead and stopped off to talk to a group of uniformed policemen close to the entrance of the precinct building. They were huddled around, joking about something that sounded strangely like the weight of a fish.

“Excuse me,” Mala interrupted. All eyes turned to her, some with irritation at being interrupted, and at least one or two of them with a hint of appraisal. “Have any of you seen Deputy Attorney Van Owen?” Janey tugged at her arm, clearly more interested in keeping up with Darc.

One of the cops, a short man with balding hair, responded. “The blond guy, right? He left just a few minutes ago.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“Nah. But it looked like he had all his stuff with him. Jacket, briefcase. My guess is he’s back at the county office.”

Mala thanked him and moved along on the way to Darc’s desk. She had hoped to at least thank Bryce for his offer of lunch. She’d left him pretty abruptly when Janey had found that picture.

Back at his desk, Darc had immersed himself in the files of what looked like every single murder up to that point. It appeared that he had even gone back to the original file of Mala’s kidnapping. That was an experience that she hoped never to repeat.

Thinking back to that time brought up a question that had bothered her since then. Might as well ask about it now.

“Darc,” Mala said. “What did you guys do with that whole setup my kidnapper had built?”

Darc looked up from the open file in front of him, his mouth set in a straight line. This was Darc, so that could mean that he was irritated or just that he had no idea what his expression looked like at the moment.

“The scene was left intact. Once it was done being processed, it would have been locked up and left. There will be follow-up at some point, such as contacting the owners of the property.” Darc stopped, and then shuffled through some papers on his desk. He pulled up the copy of the rental agreement for the warehouse space, then picked up the phone and began dialing.

“Darc, what are you doing?”

“I am calling the power company.”

Okay, that was not anywhere close to where Mala’s mind had been. They were in the middle of tracking down a killer, and Darc was checking on his electric bill? This was making no sense whatsoever.

But apparently he had connected to someone on the other end of the line at this point. “This is Detective Darcmel with the Seattle Police Department. I need to check on the power consumption for the following address.” He gave the person on the other end the exact location of the warehouse. At least now it was clear that this had to do with the case, but Mala still had no idea what Darc was doing.

A voice buzzed in the receiver, the sound of the conversation spilling out into the room in a small, tinny way. Darc began to hang up the handset, but then held it back up to his ear. “Thank you for your help,” he said, then hung up.

Wow. Darc really was changing.

And then Darc was leaving. He had gotten up, grabbed a couple of the files and his keys, and was headed toward the entrance almost before Mala had realized he was done speaking on the phone. So maybe the bald detective hadn’t changed too much.

“Darc, what’s going on?”

“The warehouse is consuming energy,” the detective intoned.

“Right. Warehouses do that,” Mala replied.

“Not empty ones. The amount of power being consumed is not from a light accidentally being left on. There are significant expenditures there.”

And then Mala caught up, both physically and mentally. “So the killer’s keeping Trey there?”

“There is a high degree of probability that such is the case.”

“So we’re heading to the warehouse?” Mala asked, trotting to keep up with the fast-moving detective. Janey was now running alongside, her little legs pumping.

“Yes.”

“Darc, stop!” Mala grabbed his hand, halting his forward progress. “We have to figure some things out before we go.”

“Such as?”

“Well, such as what we are going to do with Janey, for one thing?” Mala knew that time was of the essence, but rushing in did not seem like the answer. “Plus, don’t we need backup or something?”

Without further discussion, Darc grabbed Janey’s hand and swept her down the hallway at breakneck speeds. When they got to Captain Merle’s office, Darc went to push the door open and Mala restrained him by the arm. Wow. Sometimes she forgot how strong Darc was, especially when he was focused on a task.

“Captain Merle? This is your plan?”

Darc looked her straight in the eye. “Yes.”

Well, Mala had no response to that. She allowed her hand to fall away as Darc opened the door to Captain Merle’s office.

“Darc, what are you doing…?” Captain Merle looked at the girl, who was holding onto Darc’s hand with a death grip. “And who have we here? Janey, is that right?”

“That is correct,” Darc responded. “And I need you to watch her.”

There was a long pause, during which the captain’s face went from white to red to purple and then back to white. “I see,” he finally said, swallowing. “And might I ask why you are asking me to babysit this girl?”

“We believe we have found where Trey is being held, and we do not wish to expose the girl to that level of danger.”

“You found Trey?” The captain’s eyebrows rose at that statement. “Well… I suppose… You’re going to want backup, right?” He picked up his phone, presumably to call for support. Whether that support was for Darc and Mala or for the captain himself was unclear.

“No,” Darc uttered.

“No?” The captain replied, dumbfounded.

“No?” Mala repeated, equally confused. What good would it do to have just the two of them there? The likelihood of them getting killed or captured seemed greater than that of them coming away with Trey intact.

“The warehouse is equipped with surveillance cameras, both on the inside and on the outside. Additional policemen would add to Trey’s danger. It is possible that he will see Mala and I as less of a threat, and therefore, of little import.”

Mala thought back to the last time that Darc had pressed for less police involvement. It had been back at the slaughterhouse, and so many officers had lost their lives because they had refused to take Darc’s admonition seriously.

Captain Merle must have been thinking the same thing, as he immediately relented. “Understood. But I want you to have support within a block of where you are.”

“That caveat is acceptable,” Darc replied.

The captain harrumphed. “Well, I’m glad it’s acceptable to you.” He glanced at the girl and then back at Darc and Mala. “Well, go on. Get out of here.”

Darc turned to leave, but Mala watched as Janey put her stuffed bear on the captain’s desk, facing the large, gruff man. The captain began to smile, seemingly in spite of himself.

“Thank you for the bear, Janey.”

It was sweet that the captain believed that Janey was offering him the bear. But as Janey went to take a seat on the couch that faced the captain’s desk, Mala could see that her lips were set in a slight scowl.

As far as Mala could tell, the bear was there to keep an eye on the captain.

*

The face that appeared at the now-open door that led out of the mock bedroom wasn’t a surprise to Trey. The chainsaw at his side was.

“Is that for me?” Trey asked. “Awww. You shouldn’t have. Really.”

“Oh, this isn’t for you,” his captor chuckled. “I have something special planned for you, my frightened little detective.”

Seriously, Trey should have seen who it was all along. Well, actually, no. Trey shouldn’t have, wouldn’t have, couldn’t have. At least not at first. But when you took everything into account, the emotional stuff as well as the practical how-the-hell-had-the-killer-known-that stuff, it only made sense. But Trey wasn’t about to tell this a-hole that.

“So, it’s going to be something more special than death by dismemberment? To what do I owe this honor?” Trey was about to wet himself with fear, but he would be damned if he was going to give this guy the satisfaction of seeing it.

“You should know. Your partner Darc gave you the pattern.”

“Oh, I’m part of the pattern, am I? I feel like there should be some kind of plaque or something. You know… to put up on the mantel.” Trey thought for a second. “So, okay, I’m not dead yet. Plus, I’ve never really lied up on the stand. So I’m guessing I’m not the deceitful witness who soweth lies, right?”

“Ah, arrogance and mockery. Exactly what I’d expect from someone like you.” The killer spat his words out, the tone acidic. Trey really shouldn’t poke the bear, but he couldn’t help himself. Besides, the chafing on his wrists from the chains was driving him totally freaking nuts.

“Oh, okay. So it’s the sower of discord among brethren, is it?” Trey paused, thinking. “Yeah… not really seeing that one, either.”

“Aren’t you?” Trey’s kidnapper chuckled in his throat. “You can’t think of anything that you have done that might cause some amount of discord?”

“Well, there was that one time that I shaved ex-lax on Rodriguez’s French Silk pie, but I’m pretty sure no one knows about… Wait. Hold on.” If Trey’s hands had been free, he would have smacked himself on the forehead. “Is this about Darc and Maggie?”

The killer sneered. “Behind your own partner’s back. With his wife. I’m shocked that you’re not writhing with guilt.”

“Oh, there’s been plenty of guilt, dude,” Trey assured him. “But this is all old news. Yesterday’s headlines. Last week’s scandal.”

“What do you mean?” the captor barked. Trey could have sworn that there was a note of insecurity in that light baritone voice.

“I mean that Darc already knows. You missed out, man. Father John put it all out there right before he dropped a three-hundred-pound corpse on me from the ceiling of that crazy underground church.” Trey shrugged his shoulders, the chains clanking at his wrists. “Darc and I worked past it.”

That seemed to give the man pause. Tension seemed to build up in his shoulders to the point that the chainsaw began to creep upward. Not a good development, as far as Trey was concerned. Then, it felt like all that energy leaked out of the killer.

“It doesn’t matter. You have still sown discord. You are beyond even those the Father hates. You are the seventh whom His soul despiseth. You are slated to die.”

“Listen, man. You know nothing about this. You think that this thing with Maggie and me is evil. You have no idea how it started and you have no idea what it is now.”

The killer opened his mouth, apparently to argue the point, when the ding of a bell caught his attention. A smile formed across his face. “We can debate this a bit later, at a more… picturesque local. For now, we have company.” He turned and strode off, leaving Trey with the residual image of the chainsaw on his retinas.

As far as Trey was concerned, the guy could take his sweet time coming back.

*

Well, Janey could tell that Popeye was not happy. Not even a little bit.

That wasn’t so strange. Popeye wasn’t happy a lot of the time. But right now he wasn’t just unhappy. He was mad.

First off, he didn’t like the captain. He wouldn’t say why, other than that he smelled like vegetable soup. Popeye hated vegetable soup. So he was keeping an eye on that captain guy. People who ate enough vegetable soup that they smelled like it were not to be trusted. At all.

But he was also mad because he and Janey were always being left behind. Even after all the times that Popeye had helped. He’d let Janey hide a knife up his rear end, for crying out loud. If that didn’t get a bear a ride in a cop car, he didn’t know what would.

Janey knew that Mala and Darc and Trey loved her and wanted her around, but sometimes it was hard when they went off and were doing stuff. It was always dangerous stuff. That was the only reason they ever left her.

Still, it wasn’t like she was a baby or something. She’d had lots of stuff happen to her and she hadn’t even cried. Popeye made a sound like he was trying not to laugh at her. Okay, she hadn’t cried much. Popeye was such a butthead. Janey wasn’t supposed to use that word, but it was true. He was.

The captain man was looking at her but pretending not to look at her. Sometimes grown-ups were so weird. He was stacking some papers on his desk and he kept clearing his throat. Hrm, hrm, hrm.

Popeye had an idea. It was a naughty idea, but Janey liked it. Did that make her naughty too? Well, even it if did, she wanted to try.

It meant she had to pretend again. Pretending was fun, but sometimes it made Janey feel bad. Because pretending was like lying, especially when you were doing it to trick somebody. Even if you had to trick them.

But Popeye was saying now, now, now, and even if it was lying Janey didn’t care. She was going to do it, so there.

She started bouncing up and down in her chair. It was funny that when she did stuff like move around when she wasn’t supposed to there were some grown-ups that would get nervous. The captain guy was one of those grown-ups. He started looking at Janey more, and not even trying to hide it anymore.

Popeye said that he had told her so. He thought he was such a smarty-pants.

But just bouncing up and down in her chair wasn’t enough. She crossed her legs and made a face like she had to go to the bathroom. Grown-ups always let her do what she wanted to do when she crossed her legs and made that face.

And sure enough, the captain guy stood up. “Do you have to go to the bathroom?” he asked.

His voice was deep and growly. Kind of like what Popeye’s voice should have sounded like instead of that high squeaky voice. That made Popeye mad. You try going through the washer and dryer and see how you sound, he said. It almost made Janey laugh, but laughing wasn’t going to get her what she wanted. She nodded at the big captain man and squeezed her legs shut even more, bouncing up and down.

“Okay, I’ll show you where it is.” He walked to the door and pointed down the hall at the restrooms that were there close by. “Make sure you hurry back, okay?”

Wow. This was going to be easier than even Popeye had thought. Grown-ups weren’t just weird.

Sometimes they were really dumb.

CHAPTER 26

The lines were converging, but their convergence was odd. Darc had never experienced this before, this coming together of the gray and the gloaming. The streaks of light melded with the gray backdrop, illuminating and giving color and texture to its previously formless mass. And each hill, each valley was another bit of precious information that was leading them onward.

Whether or not this ended up being a successful endeavor, the blending of the two seemingly opposing viewpoints was… beautiful. Darc was beginning to understand, in an imperfect way, why so many seemed enamored or even obsessed with their emotional lives. It was an incomplete view, but it was expanding with each pairing of logical threads and gray landscapes.

Now, Darc hoped that it would prove helpful in finding Trey. As they rounded the corner leading to the warehouse, Darc noticed a car parked across the street from the squat building. A 1994 Honda Accord. Bill Harris’s car.

“He is here,” Darc said, pointing to the car. Mala nodded as she saw the vehicle he had pointed out. Darc pulled the Land Rover up to the curb about a block away from the Accord. No need to park right next to their principal suspect.

Opening the door, he was once more assaulted by the odor of rotting milk. That odor now took on a much more sinister meaning. Rather than being the result of the factory being close to a dairy processing plant, it now seemed to indicate a method of covering over the scent of decaying flesh.

As they approached the building, Darc looked for the telltale red lights of the cameras that he knew were there and operational. The killer had shown such an uncanny awareness of surveillance cameras that there was very little possibility that he was not using that same technology himself.

Darc had no illusions of being able to enter without detection, but he did have a desire to know at what point the killer would know of their presence. As he scanned the façade of the building, he discovered not one, but two points of light, with one camera facing the street, and another above the entrance, pointed at the steps in front.

It was possible that the killer had employed cameras farther out, one at each intersection leading to the building, in which case this entire process would be rendered moot. But Darc would do all that he could to keep their profile to a minimum.

If they were to move around the side of the building to the back, using the entrance that Trey and he had found the last time they were here, they might escape detection for a few more precious moments. It would be worth the additional time and care that they would take for their approach.

Motioning to Mala to stay silent and follow behind him, Darc made his way around the side of the building to the rear. As they passed around the back corner of the building, Darc could see that the back door was wide open.

That did not seem like a positive development.

Darc pulled his gun out of its holster and again gestured for Mala to stay behind him. He moved toward the door, staying close to the wall of the building.

As he entered through the door, the sudden drop in lighting kept him blind for a moment. When his vision cleared, he found himself face-to-face with the barrel of a Magnum 357 pistol.

Their attempt at a stealthy entrance had apparently failed.

*

Another weird thing about grown-ups? They never looked in the backseat of their cars.

Janey had snuck into one of the cars that was getting ready to go to where Darc and Mala were. They said that it was backup, but when the car started driving it went forward. That was dumb.

Popeye said that it was because they were trying to trick the bad guys, but Janey didn’t know why that would trick anybody. As soon as they saw the cars, they’d see they were driving straight ahead. Duh.

Popeye stuck his tongue out at her. He always did that when he didn’t know what to say to argue with her. Silly bear.

It took a while for them to get close to where Darc and Mala were. Janey could hear the two policemen talking to each other and saying that they weren’t supposed to go into the building for fifteen minutes. Then they would go in and help. Darc and Mala would be mad, maybe, but they weren’t just going to let them rot. Janey wasn’t sure what that meant, but fifteen minutes was the same as one SpongeBob. Janey remembered.

So when the car stopped, Janey knew she didn’t have tons and tons of time. One SpongeBob was pretty short.

She waited until the policemen got out of the car and walked over to one of the other cars that was there. None of them were like the cars she sometimes saw policemen in. They were just regular cars.

Popeye was getting itchy, so Janey decided it was time to open the door. She made sure it was the one on the other side of where the other policemen were so they wouldn’t see her. And she was very, very, quiet, even though Popeye kept telling her she was making so much noise. Irritating bear.

She moved around the corner from where all the cars were, ducking down like she was in one of Daddy’s action movies. Except she was smaller.

When she moved around the corner, she stood up straighter. There weren’t any policemen around here. That made her feel both more excited and more scared. She was going to help. She was a good helper. Daddy had always said so. Mommy said so sometimes, when Janey had done the dishes or made her bed.

The building had doors and stuff, but Popeye said that’s what they’ll be expecting. Janey didn’t know what that meant, but she saw a grate in the wall and it looked like it was loose. She could go through there like she had at the scary place with all the meat and the snakes.

Popeye wasn’t sure that was such a good idea. He hadn’t had such a good time at that place.

But Janey knew that if she went through a door, a grown-up might see her. And if a grown-up saw her, it would either be a really, really bad grown-up, or it would be Darc or Mala. If it were Darc or Mala, they would send her away. If it were a bad grown-up, Janey didn’t even want to think about it.

She pulled on the metal grate until it popped off with a big clang. It scared Popeye a lot, even though he said it didn’t. Sometimes Popeye lied. But Janey didn’t care about any of that right now.

It was time to go help Mala and Darc.

*

It was Bill Harris. With a gun. Pointed at Darc.

Oh, and at Mala. She was right behind Darc. And while Darc might provide some sort of protection for her, she had no idea how powerful that gun was.

But then the private investigator did the strangest thing. He lowered his gun and placed it back in its holster. He then began moving toward Darc and Mala, whispering to both of them.

“I didn’t think I’d find you two here. Did he call you, too?”

Mala shook her head. “What are you talking about? What have you done with Trey?”

“Trey? You still think that was me?”

“Well, what else would you be doing here?” Mala fired back.

Bill held up his hands. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m here because of the text. I thought that was why you were here, too.”

“Text? What text?” Everything that Mala thought she knew about what was going on was rapidly being tossed out the window. Bill Harris was the killer. Bill Harris was her abductor. If not, nothing else made any sense.

“This text.” Bill got his phone out of his pocket and opened the text. If you want to find Trey, come alone. Then the address of the warehouse.

Darc’s voice echoed out in the empty space. “That text is from the prepaid cellular device that was the only number listed on the phone on Kyle Carson’s desk.”

Mala felt like her assumptions were a house of cards that were collapsing as fast as she could put them up. How was this possible? An idea blossomed in her brain.

“He could have sent that to himself.”

“Are you kidding?” Bill replied. “Why would I do that?”

“That is indeed a possibility,” Darc declared. “It would remove suspicion from yourself long enough to gain our trust.”

“Okay, okay, I can see that,” Bill assented. “But, c’mon! I’m not that smart. I’m the guy you go to when you want something legal but nasty done. I’m not a kidnapper. I’m not a murderer.” He looked from Mala to Darc, seeming to be searching for any indication that they might believe him.

“There’s too much evidence for it all to be a coincidence,” Mala pushed back. “You knew things ahead of time. The knife. The Jesus stuff.”

“What do you mean, Jesus stuff?” the private investigator snorted. “All that Biblical mumbo jumbo about the seven whatever-the-hell that was? Look, guys, I just don’t take all that religion stuff too seriously.”

“You were recently converted to a belief in Jesus,” Darc contradicted the man.

“Well, yeah, but that’s mostly about staying sober and… you know… not being a douchebag,” Bill stated. “I’m a total believer. I just think most religion’s kinda crap. Big difference, at least to me. And as for—”

“Whatever,” Mala cut in. “You can talk all day long about how it’s all one big coincidence, but I saw the pictures you took of me. The receipts for this place and the copy of my apartment you built were at your place.”

Bill’s forehead crinkled up. “As far as those receipts go, I told you already, I’ve never seen ‘em before in my life.” He held up his hand to forestall Mala’s next outburst. “I know. I wouldn’t believe me either. But listen…” He took a deep breath. “I can tell you about the pictures. I did take them.”

The sudden admission shocked Mala into silence. The fact that he was acknowledging something that appeared so damning forced her to pay attention to the rest of what he was saying. She nodded at him to continue.

“There’s not an easy way to say this.” He cleared his throat. “I… Well, I thought it might be you.”

“You thought…?” Mala’s brain felt like it had blown a fuse.

“It seems ridiculous now, but I didn’t know you. It seemed like it had to be someone who knew a lot about procedure, and I’ve never seen anyone stay ahead of Darc that well. Just seemed like an inside job, you know? I didn’t want someone that Trey obviously trusted to get the drop on him.” It was eerily close to what Mala’s response had been when she’d seen all the evidence against Bill. Still…

“You thought that it was me?” Mala’s tone rose up to an almost shriek.

“Yeah. Sorry.” Bill shrugged his shoulders, his face apologetic. “If it makes you feel any better, you’re like the nicest person I’ve ever stalked.”

Mala wasn’t sure exactly where that put her in the pecking order, considering the usual ilk a private investigator encountered. But Harris’s reasoning about her own possible guilt did make a strange sort of sense. Against her better judgment, Mala found that she believed the investigator.

It appeared she wasn’t the only one. Darc moved to Harris’s side. “This explanation is acceptable for the moment. However, with all of the evidence against you, I will need to take your weapon from you.”

Bill sighed and shrugged again. “I guess that makes sense. Even though I feel naked as a jaybird without it.” He pulled his pistol back out of his holster and handed it over to Darc, who thrust it into the back of his waistband. Mala thought about asking for it, but realized that with no practical shooting experience, she’d be more likely to hit one of her companions than the actual killer.

The three of them moved forward into the open space ahead of them toward the door that led to the apartment. It had a Plexiglas window, which showed nothing but more dimly lit hallway on the other side. Mala noticed the thick layer of dust on the floor they were crossing, with only one set of footprints marring its surface. With a jolt, she realized that those prints were her own from when she had escaped the first time. She was back in her own personal nightmarish version of hell.

Except this time, she was walking toward it, not away.

*

It was kinda cramped inside the vent, but it was okay because Janey was small. Popeye was even smaller, but he complained more. Lots more.

He didn’t like it ‘cause it was dark. And smelly. And dark. And cold. And dark.

Popeye was such a baby. He was the only reason Janey still slept with a nightlight. She had been ready to get rid of it a long time ago. Well, sort of.

But now she came to a place where there was another grate. This one was on the side of a room down by the floor, instead of in the ceiling like the rest had been, so Janey could get out and look around. Maybe that would make Popeye happier.

You could never tell with Popeye.

When Janey got out of the vent, she could see that she was in an office. It looked a little bit like Daddy’s office, except Daddy’s office was warm and friendly and they had lollipops that the lady at the front would give her.

No lollipops here.

There were a lot of pictures, though. Pictures of Darc, pictures of Trey, pictures of that man that was Trey’s friend. He was short and kinda ugly, but he had nice eyes. There were also pictures of Mala. Lots and lots and lots of pictures of Mala.

The pictures made her feel all squiggly inside her stomach, but not the good kind of squiggly. It was the kind of squiggly she got when Mommy would tell her to give Uncle Billy a kiss. Thing was, he wasn’t really her uncle. And he smiled at her funny.

Popeye hated him.

This was like that but lots worse.

There were also some other pictures. They were like the pictures that Janey had sometimes seen Trey and Darc look at when they thought she wasn’t looking. Ones with people that looked like Mommy and Daddy had that last time she had seen them.

Thinking about things like that made her sad, but she knew that even though Mommy and Daddy weren’t with her any more, they were there and they loved her. They had told her that when Grammy had died.

She’s not here, but she’s with you and she loves you and you’ll see her again.

That was what Daddy said, and he never lied. Never.

She would see Mommy and Daddy someday. But for now, she had to help Darc and Mala. So even though it was hard to look at the pictures, she did it anyway.

And next to the scary pictures was another picture that looked like it came out of a book. The one side was ripped, like when Janey had ripped out the picture of the puppy from that book from the library. Mommy had been so mad, but the puppy was so cute.

But this picture was of something else. A place.

There was a loud noise, and Janey scurried back into the vent. The sound didn’t seem like it was close, but Popeye said that was it and he didn’t want to be there anymore. And since Janey didn’t want to be by herself, it only made sense that she would go.

Not because she was scared. That was Popeye. He stuck his tongue out at her again. Naughty bear.

Just to prove that she wasn’t afraid, she started moving down the shaft back toward where she had heard the sound. That would show Popeye.

For once, Popeye didn’t say anything back.

*

As Darc moved through the doorway that led into a narrow hall, Mala was right behind him, almost pressed up against him in an apparent desire to stay as close as possible. It was the only thing that kept the two of them together, as the door slammed shut immediately after they crossed the threshold.

Spinning around, Darc watched as the threads of light swarmed around Bill’s face in the Plexiglas window, trying to make sense of what had just happened. If the expression the private investigator wore wasn’t enough to tell Darc that this had not been his doing, the banging that immediately started on the door was. Testing the door, Darc found that it had been bolted shut somehow. The lock mechanism was not to be found on this side of the door, but from Bill’s frantic pounding, it was clearly not there either.

There had been a split second in which Darc had thought that the door slamming shut could have been Bill Harris turning the tables on them both after gaining a portion of their trust. But somehow that seemed unlikely. Even given the preponderance of circumstantial evidence against the private investigator, the gray landscape had lit up in several places for Darc while Harris was speaking. The surprise he had evinced when first confronted with the presence of Mala and Darc. The confession he had forced himself to reveal regarding the photographs taken of Mala.

Even the P.I.’s suspicion of Mala was a mark on the investigator’s side, rather than against. It was an area of investigation that Darc himself should have pursued, had he not been enamored of the subject of that line of questioning.

The only other plausible explanation for the shut door was that the killer was here and aware of their presence. In any case, the need for stealth was now past. Darc pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.

“Calling for backup?” Mala breathed, her tone radiating a tone that before would have been nothing but gray, but now seemed to suggest relief.

But as Darc flipped open his cell, he could see that there was no coverage. Either the thick walls of the warehouse were blocking the signal, or the wireless signal was being actively jammed. He showed Mala the problem, and watched as her face seemed to collapse in on itself.

The need for quiet was even further shattered as Bill’s face was whipped away from the window, his body reeling back from some unseen attacker. He was bleeding profusely from his nose, which appeared to be broken.

A figure appeared in front of the window, his back to Darc and Mala. He was covered from head to toe in what appeared to be white painter’s coveralls. In one hand he held the long rod of a fighting baton. In the other was a chainsaw.

The white apparition lashed out with the hand that held the baton. The springy rod of metal whistled through the air and caught Bill across the jaw, more than likely snapping the bone. The logic lines glowed softly as they calculated the angle and speed of the impact, confirming that yes, indeed, the jawbone was broken.

Bill would need their help immediately, or else he would likely die within minutes. Pushing Mala behind him, Darc pulled out his gun and fired three shots in quick succession, point-blank, at the window.

The material turned out to be bulletproof. The first two bullets lodged in the plastic before Darc could react enough to stop firing, while the third ricocheted off and struck the ceiling. A small cry came from a duct in the ceiling.

“What the…?” Mala burst out, peering up into the darkness. A small hand pushed against the opposite side of the metal vent cover, hinging it to the side. Out of the open square popped Janey’s stuffed bear, which apparently had taken the bullet in the ear, from the amount of stuffing that was hanging out of the side of its head.

Darc took a hold of Janey’s wrist, pulling her out of the ventilation shaft and setting her on the ground. Almost before her feet had touched the ground, Janey rushed toward Mala and buried her face in the doctor’s waist.

The interweaving strands of logic registered that this behavior was a change from the norm. Darc could also acknowledge that this was a positive change, as Mala was a much better caregiver than he. But there was a slight gray tingling along the edges of this glowing information that Darc could not quite identify. Something that made him inexplicably dejected.

The brief reverie was splintered by the screams that began on the other side of the door. The screams were so high and intense, they sounded almost more like a wounded beast than something that would come out of a human throat.

“That’s Bill,” Mala gasped.

The trailing wisps of light concurred. That sound had come from Bill Harris. And the only thing that could create that type of scream was an intense amount of pain. But even as the pathways of light confirmed physical pain in extremis, the screams became muffled and quickly turned to a kind of moan.

Turning to the window, Darc looked around the warping caused by the two bullets imbedded in the plastic to see what was occurring on the other side of the door. Mala held Janey close, keeping her face away from the window as much as possible.

She need not have bothered, at least not at this point. The white-garbed figure blocked most of the view of what was transpiring. The man was hunched over the prostrate form of the private investigator, doing something up close to Bill’s head or face.

Darc rapped his closed fist along the doorframe. “It is metal,” he informed Mala. “And a deadbolt has been thrown. The only way back is to remove the hinges.” He slid his pistol’s safety on and began using the handle as a hammer, pounding out the pin of the top hinge.

As he worked, there was the sound of the chainsaw starting up, the mechanical grind of the motor and the revolving of the metal chain rattling along Darc’s spine. He exerted himself even further, but the hinge would only move so far with each blow.

At his side, Mala pulled a metal file out of her purse and worked on the lower hinge—after making Janey sit down on the far side, away from the door, with its window opening out onto a wonderland of horrors. The file was not as effective as the gun, but Mala was at least able to maneuver the head out so that when Darc finished with the first hinge, he was able to pop the second pin out in much quicker order. He pulled the door away from the frame and threw it to the side, rushing into the open space at the back of the warehouse.

And stopped, holding up a hand to keep Mala behind him. Mala scooped Janey up into her arms, pressing the girl’s face against her shoulder as the doctor pushed around Darc’s outstretched limb, then gasped in shock as she beheld what had stopped the bald detective.

It was Bill Harris’s severed head, a Babylonian symbol etched on the forehead. The wound was raw and fresh and still bleeding. Three Ys with a bar across the top, stacked on top of another set of three. Six. The eyes were open and staring.

And his lips had been sewn together.

CHAPTER 27

“Time to take a trip, Detective Keane.”

Trey started awake. You would think that being on the brink of death would keep you from taking catnaps, but Trey had discovered that being chained to a bed by a madman was quite draining. Had to keep your strength up, you know?

His captor was dressed in a white coverall, which covered his head, and the entire suit was covered in blood. That didn’t bode well for whoever his sixth victim was. He’d probably kept the suit on for dramatic effect, so Trey decided to ignore it.

“Well,” Trey drawled as he stretched, at least as far as his chains would allow. “It’s great that we’ve finally gotten to a place where you can take me out in public.”

There was no response from his kidnapper, and Trey mentally kicked himself. What was wrong with him? Was he trying to get himself killed?

But then, thinking about it, Trey realized that whatever this guy had planned for him was going to be far worse than any death he could whip up at a moment’s notice. Trey’s best bet for an easy death was right here, right now.

As Trey was busy thinking through his death options, his kidnapper moved around behind him. Trey whipped his head back and forth, trying to see what the jerk was doing back there.

“Hey there, Sparky. No need to go all ninja on me. Whatcha got going back—?”

Trey’s nervous stream of conversation was cut off by a pricking sensation in his neck. A numbness swept down his body, leaving his limbs lifeless. He went to taunt his captor once again, but found that his mouth wouldn’t respond to his brain’s commands.

“Yes,” his kidnapper drawled as he moved back into Trey’s line of vision. “That’s much better. Oh, I’m sorry. Did you have something else that you wanted to say to me?” He paused, his tone polite. “No? Ah, well. I’m sure something will come to you.”

The man pulled a gun out of his waistband, then went to each of the four bedposts, unlocking the chains that bound Trey to the bed. If Trey’s limbs hadn’t been completely without feeling, he wouldn’t have been able to contain a sigh of relief.

There was a furtive movement, and all of a sudden a fire leapt up next to the wall of the bedroom. The flame had an intensity that felt familiar to Trey. What the hell was that stuff called? Gringo Fire? That couldn’t be right. Something ancient. Greek.

And then Trey found himself tossed like a sack of potatoes over his kidnapper’s shoulder. Man, this guy was strong. Something to keep in mind if he ever got free. Well, and if whatever this drug was wore off. If it was something that would actually wear off.

His attacker set off at a brisk pace, especially considering that he was carrying a grown man. The light from the fire created flickering shadows that made the rest of the mock apartment look like something straight out of a horror movie.

Trey found himself hoping that he wasn’t the token comedic relief that got killed in some hideous way before the end of the film.

*

Mala backed away from the head in horror, shielding Janey behind her as Darc searched the room around the head and body. The pool of blood continued to grow as Mala watched in fascinated disbelief the red tendrils creeping forward, ever forward. The blood seemed to be infinite as it poured out of Bill Harris’s headless corpse.

“There is another exit off to the side here.” Darc moved across the room, pointing out the black hole where before there had only seemed to be wall. “This must have been where the killer entered.”

It was not a framed-in door, but rather a hole that had been cut directly in the drywall. The “door” that had made the exit appear to be solid wall was propped against the backside of the drywall, in a space that appeared to be used for storage. The space followed the contour of the room, a three-foot area between the solid brick of the outer wall and the false wall made with drywall.

As Mala moved toward the hole, she felt a tugging on her sleeve. Janey was pointing toward the other door, the one with the window. Her face was set in a way that Mala had come to recognize as her stubborn expression. There was something important the little girl wanted to show them.

“Darc, come back. Janey wants us to follow her.”

The little girl wriggled out of Mala’s grasp, darting ahead, only stopping to make sure that both Darc and Mala were following behind. She glanced up at the vent where she had emerged earlier, stopped for a second as if she was getting her bearings, and then scurried off down the hallway. She took the first left, then a quick right, which took them to another long hallway that seemed to extend down the length of the building.

At the far end of that corridor, a flickering light greeted them. The smoke that began billowing down the walkway gave meaning to that variable light source.

Fire.

The bastard had set the building on fire.

Janey saw the fire and took a moment, her gaze moving all around. She grabbed Mala’s hand and pulled her back toward the last intersection and this time went to the left. They had gone only about twenty yards when they came across a huddled form on the side of the hallway. As they came close, Mala pulled Janey behind her once more.

The form was a dead policeman, his eyes open and staring, a bullet hole in the center of his forehead. Apparently, their backup had decided to come in without an expressed invitation.

Mala glanced at Darc, seeing the crease in between his eyebrows. Once again, if they had only listened to the bald detective, this officer would still be alive.

As they rushed past the fallen cop, once more they were confronted with a hall filled with garishly lit smoke. More fire.

Back again, this time to the first intersection, where Janey turned to the right, instead of the left. They passed two more lifeless forms before Mala could do anything to protect the little girl. But Janey continued forward, even though the set of her mouth showed that the sight of the dead policemen was taking its toll on her.

And once more, the fire stopped them. Janey coughed as she tried to get closer to the blaze, but Mala reached out to pull her back. The little girl pointed to whatever was beyond the flames, her face beseeching.

“Janey, there’s no way to get through. We have to get out of here.” Mala turned to look at Darc, who nodded his head and began leading them back the way they had come.

Three more bodies created obstacles for their escape as they rushed toward the back of the warehouse. As they swept by the last of the forms, Mala thought she recognized the face of Officer Daniels, the young cop who had been so helpful with the investigation up to this point. It tugged at her heart, even as she hurried to get out of what was quickly turning into a death trap.

They had rounded the corner leading to the door with the bulletproof window, Darc leading the way, when an explosion rocked the building. Through the window, Mala could see the wave of heat and light fill the empty room that led out toward the back of the building and freedom.

There was no way out. They were trapped.

*

Sacks of potatoes had been treated with more dignity than Trey had been in the last five minutes. He had unceremoniously been tossed into the trunk of a car by his abductor, without so much as a villain-y quip. It was like the guy wasn’t even trying.

Now he was bouncing along, feeling every bump in the road. Every bump. And there were lots of them. Which led Trey to believe that they were still down in SoDo. Fantastic. It was one of Trey’s favorite areas of Seattle.

Not.

Each time the car rounded a corner, Trey felt himself slam up against the side of the trunk. At least the right turns just pushed his feet into the side. The lefts? It was a pounding Trey was pretty sure his meager portion of brains was not up to.

After a couple of quick turns, a left and two rights, it felt like they were going straight for quite a while. The original lack of other traffic sounds gradually gave way to quite a bit more.

They must be traveling north, up toward the Sound. At least, as far as Trey could tell from back here in the trunk.

His instincts were proven correct as the seaweed swampy smell of the Puget Sound began mixing with the odors of gasoline, old tires, and mold that had been Trey’s companions since he was thrown into the trunk. The frequency of the car’s stops and starts grew as Trey figured they were headed into Seattle’s downtown area.

Trey’s sides were starting to feel like ground meat as they stopped once more and he slammed into the front of the trunk space. This kidnapper guy was going to have a lot to answer for if Trey had anything to say about it. You know, besides for all the killings and stuff.

A right and then a left that smashed Trey’s head into the side of the car again, and then there was another straight section of road where the only change in movement was the starting and stopping of the car. Trey was starting to wonder if the kidnapper was just messing with him, adding in the stops just to make the ride less comfortable. And then the smell changed again.

Fish.

Trey knew exactly where they were. Pike Place. One of his favorite places in the city. Not only was Trey a huge fan of fresh fish, but somehow the smell of that place had been burned into the childhood memory part of his brain. There were days when he would go hang out at the open fish market just to breathe it in. Maggie always made him shower before he came to bed on those days.

Orienting himself to the city, Trey began to pay even more attention to the movements of the car. No one knew Seattle like Trey. He knew its ins and outs, the main thoroughfares as well as the shady back alleys. He might be locked in a trunk, but damned if he wasn’t going to know exactly where he was coming out.

Another scent memory, and again, Trey could place himself exactly. Tully’s Coffee, on the corner of Virginia and First. It was the combination of freshly baked pastries and coffee beans that hadn’t been burnt that was the tipoff. Man, he loved Tully’s.

A series of stops and starts, and another smell. House-smoked wild boar ribs from the Black Bottle. Trey could feel his stomach rumbling. What was it with him and food? Maybe at another point, he’d delve into the questionable psychology of a guy whose entire existence revolved around what went into his stomach. For now, he was just glad he knew where he was.

Another block or so and then a right turn. Suddenly Trey knew where they were headed on this lovely gastronomic tour of Seattle.

But he couldn’t say he was at all happy about it.

*

Popeye was beyond mad.

First, he’d been stuffed into a vent. Then he’d been shot. And now he was going to die in a fire.

And the silly bear thought that it was all Janey’s fault.

Well, she had taken them into the vent—that was true. But she hadn’t been the one who had shot Popeye. She kept telling him that Darc didn’t do it on purpose, but there was no talking to that bear when he got an idea in his head.

And she definitely wasn’t the one who had started the fire.

But one thing Janey knew for sure. Darc was going to get them out of here. She kept saying that to Popeye, over and over and over and over. Popeye just kept complaining about his stupid ear.

She told him to shush. Once they got out of here, he could get his ear stitched back together, no problem. Janey started to cough from the smoke in the room.

Darc had picked Janey up in his arms. Janey loved it when he did that, because even though it always meant that something bad was happening, it made her feel super warm and safe inside. He grabbed Mala’s arm with his other hand and pulled her toward the side of the big empty room, away from where the fire was burning next to the door.

There in the side of the wall was a big blank opening. Janey didn’t know why it was there, but it was just like someone had cut out a big rectangle with scissors. She wasn’t allowed to use scissors because of that one time that she had decided to give herself bangs. That had been the end of the scissors for Janey.

But when Darc dragged Mala through the opening and set Janey down inside the smaller space that was there between the sort-of wall and the real wall, Janey looked around. It didn’t look like there was any way out of here. And from the light that was getting brighter and brighter back in the big space, things were kind of scary.

Popeye said, I told you so. Janey shook him just a little until he promised to stop.

Darc turned to Mala and Janey and said, “Wait.” Then he ran out into the fire and smoke, covering his mouth with part of his jacket.

When he came back, his jacket was smoking in two places and he was carrying a big tool, like the one that Daddy had used to cut down the tree in the backyard at their old house. It was like that, but bigger. Janey remembered the noise and gas-smelling smoke that had come from that tool.

She remembered, and decided it was time to get out of the way.

*

It had been fortunate that the chainsaw was one designed to cut through concrete and brick. The lines of logic had predicted a 67 percent chance, as there was little need for the cutting of wood in most warehouses. However, there had been the chance that the chainsaw had simply been a tool that the killer had brought in with him.

Now it only remained to discover if the blood left behind by Bill’s decapitation had forever ruined the instrument. Darc pulled on the chain, and the saw sputtered to life, catching briefly on a bit of bone. Squinting his eyes against the smoke that was rapidly filling the small area between the drywall and the brick, Darc attempted to breathe shallowly to avoid too much inhalation of the toxic fumes.

Moving to keep Mala and Janey on the other side of the cutting to avoid any debris striking them, Darc brought the saw into contact with the brick of the outer wall. Sparks flew, and a smell of burnt sand permeated the small space. Darc did what he could to shield his face from the flying detritus, but felt several sharp stings as pieces of brick sliced into the skin of his cheeks and forehead.

Cutting through the mortar wherever possible, Darc was able to carve his way through the wall in a matter of minutes. As the brick toppled out into the alleyway, fresh air poured into the space, allowing them all to fill their lungs with oxygen. They coughed and gagged as their bodies attempted to rid themselves of the thick smoke from inside.

They were out.

But now that they were no longer concerned for their imminent deaths, the path ahead was no longer clear. They could retreat to the station to go over traffic cameras, trying to spot and then track down the killer’s vehicle. That option seemed the best of their available paths forward, but it would take far too long.

Now that Bill had been murdered, it seemed possible that Trey was the next intended victim. If that were the case, Darc did not have time to backtrack.

Mala seemed to be taking the same logical route, albeit several steps behind. “What can we do now?” she coughed, as she looked around the alleyway, apparently to get her bearings.

Darc began to speak, but then he saw that Janey was gesturing at Mala. It appeared that she was asking for paper and something with which to write. Once Mala understood the request, she dug around inside her purse, producing a scrap of paper and a pen.

Janey dropped to the ground, using a cardboard box lying against the wall as a surface on which she could place the drawing. Within moments, she had sketched in the essential characteristics of what she was attempting to communicate.

Darc stared at the picture and then began moving toward the car as quickly as he could. He heard Mala as she scrambled to grab Janey and follow along behind as best as she was able. Darc wanted to be more cognizant of these two very important individuals behind him, but there was a clock ticking down in his head. That clock was a marker of Trey’s impending death.

And Darc knew exactly where they had to go.

*

Trey sighed as the killer opened up the door to the trunk, and there, framed behind him, was the Space Needle. Yeah, Trey’d been right. That’s where they’d been headed.

The Space Needle and Trey had a love-hate relationship. Okay, no, that wasn’t really true. It was more of a hate-hate relationship.

It was the place that every one of his visiting-from-out-of-state friends wanted to see, so Trey had been there more times than he could count. But that didn’t account for the hate half of the hate-hate.

That was due to a certain girl that Trey had invited up to meet him before prom his senior year of high school. It was the coolest way he could think of to ask her out. He had thought he was being all romantic, standing there with flowers in a suit. Trey. In a suit. In high school.

But when he’d gone in for the kiss, all he’d gotten in return was a slap.

Trey had gone stag to the prom with a bunch of his buddies who ended up getting blitzed and deciding that Trey didn’t deserve to be wearing pants. He’d ended up walking home, half naked, at two in the morning.

So no, the Space Needle wasn’t Trey’s favorite place on earth.

As his captor dragged Trey out of the trunk, Trey discovered that his limbs had begun functioning again. He wiggled his feet and his hands, wincing at the pins and needles that shot down his limbs.

“I see that the Succinylcholine has begun to wear off,” his abductor purred. “I’m glad. I would hate to have to carry you to the top of the Needle.”

Trey made an experimental fist with his hand and failed miserably. There was no strength in his extremities. His kidnapper must have seen the aborted movement, as he chuckled in his throat as he strapped what looked like a large pack onto his back.

“I would recommend that you not attempt any sort of attack on me, or any escape for yourself, for that matter. The entire facility has been rigged with C-4, and I’m holding a dead man’s switch.” He lifted up his hand, holding up a black device with a lever he held depressed with his thumb. A blinking red light flashed on the top of the box. “Attack me and the whole place blows. Try to run, and the same thing happens. Whatever you do, just remember that you hold a good many lives in your quite incapable hands.”

Trey felt his heart sink into his shoes. Fantastic. There was no way to get out of this one, whatever this one ended up being. If the Needle fell, even at this relatively late hour, so many people would die. There were always crowds surrounding the Needle, even well after hours.

The man grabbed Trey by the shoulder and whipped him around, frog-marching him toward the tall structure. They passed a sign that stated that the Needle was currently closed for what they called “facility upgrades.” Looking up, Trey could see that there was scaffolding surrounding the lower dish portion of the Needle.

But then they were inside the building, passing by the security station where three dead guards stared out at them, a bullet hole in the center of each of their foreheads. They looked to have been dead for a few minutes, at least. Trey found himself wondering if his captor had an accomplice.

Moving past the desk, the man pulled Trey past the barrier that led to the elevators. He shoved Trey inside the open door, following immediately and pushing the button for ascent.

That was the other thing about the Space Needle. Trey didn’t like heights.

Okay, he didn’t hate heights like some people. He didn’t freeze up or hyperventilate or anything. He just didn’t like them. They made him nervous. For Trey, self-preservation was generally a pretty big deal, and heights seemed to violate a sense of what Trey liked to call a comfortable safe-zone.

And traveling to the top of the Space Needle with a homicidal maniac? His comfortable safe-zone was definitely violated. Strangely enough, now that he was no longer chained to the bed, Trey found that his desire to taunt his captor had grown exponentially tinier.

The elevator finally opened up, and after being shoved through several doors that Trey had never known existed, he felt something truly troubling. Trey felt the wind. On his face.

They were on the outside of the Needle.

They were on the other side of the glass windows from the dining area, right next to the lower supports that held the dish of the Space Needle up. Trey could feel the swaying of the large metal structure as the wind pushed against it.

“Well,” Trey mumbled. “This doesn’t look anything like the gift shop.”

Trey’s abductor took a deep breath of the air, gazing out into the night sky. “He that soweth discord among brethren. And your blood will be sown into Seattle’s earth to plant the beginning of a new era. An epoch where the righteous shall fear nothing, but the wicked shall fear for their lives.”

“My blood will be sown? What the hell does that mean?” Trey glanced over the edge, feeling the world spin around him as he did so. “I don’t suppose you mean that you’re gonna cut my hand a little and bleed down, do you?”

“No,” the man replied as he pushed Trey over the edge.

Falling into the blackness, Trey caught sight of the night view from the top of the Space Needle. Even plummeting to his death, he couldn’t help but think that it was one of the most beautiful sights he’d ever seen in his life.

CHAPTER 28

Mala held Janey’s picture in her hand, observing what a wonderful job the little girl had done in depicting the famous Seattle landmark. Although she wasn’t quite so sure why Janey had drawn a picture of her stuffed bear climbing up the side of it.

They were on their way up the elevator, having spotted, parked in the lot, the 1998 Chevrolet Impala that had been the vehicle that Father John’s accomplice had used to take Janey away from the hospital. It seemed impossible that the occurrence had been only days ago.

But as they moved up toward the dish of the Space Needle, Janey suddenly cried out, pointing out the window of the elevator. Mala whipped her head around to see a figure fall over the side of the dish, slamming its torso against an outer bar of the scaffolding surrounding the circular structure.

Somehow, the person managed to wrap an arm around the piping. As the elevator continued its climb upward, Mala caught a glimpse of the person’s face.

It was Trey.

“Darc!” Mala screamed, jabbing a finger at the bald detective’s partner, perched so precariously six hundred feet above the ground. Even as she watched, she saw Trey lose his grip on the railing and slip down to the crook in his elbow.

He was dangling in the air with nothing below him. Mala could see that he was trying to swing himself to a bar that was nearer to the platform that had been built for the workers, but it was just out of reach.

Darc waited until the elevator was just level with the scaffolding, then pushed the emergency stop. The elevator cage ground to a halt, and Darc pushed the doors open, the tendons and veins in his neck standing out in sharp contrast against his skin.

The wind from outside whipped through the supporting girders and entered into the elevator, causing Mala and Janey’s hair to snake up and around their heads. Mala pushed the little girl to the farthest corner of the elevator, keeping her as far away from the opening as possible.

Darc turned back to face Mala, his face a mask of concentration. “There is a ledge here that leads out to the scaffolding. I need you to go help my partner.”

For a moment, Mala couldn’t make sense of what Darc was asking her. Then, in a burst of understanding, it became clear. Darc wanted Mala to climb out of the elevator.

“What? Why? I don’t—” she began.

“You can better navigate the smaller spaces in between the girders,” Darc answered, cutting her off. “In addition, I must travel up to the next level.”

“You’re leaving me here?”

“You and Janey both,” Darc confirmed.

“You… but… what…?” Mala sputtered. This was insanity.

Then she felt a soft hand slip into hers. Janey was at her side, looking up into Mala’s face. Her expression was gentle and radiated confidence. Confidence in her savior, the bald detective who had saved her so many times from certain death.

Even though Mala could not share that unshakeable faith, Janey’s calmness seemed to spread up through her hand, filling Mala’s body with peace. When she turned back to face Darc, her mind was settled.

He nodded at the little girl and then redirected his attention to Mala. “The killer is above us, and cannot come down without passing near this point. But if he gets to the other elevator first, he could put both Trey’s and your lives in danger. I must stop that from happening. Now.”

Mala recognized the urgency in Darc’s voice. The fact that she could identify that emotion in his tone was significant. They needed to move, and it needed to be right away.

Scooting toward the open door, Mala looked out and realized that the trip to the scaffolding was not going to be quite as terrifying as she’d feared. The girder that led to the repair structure was at least a meter in width, and there were plenty of other supports that she could use as handholds.

She grabbed ahold of Janey’s hand and began moving out toward the scaffolding, a mere five meters away. They should be able to get there without any incident.

That was, of course, if they could manage to do so without looking down.

*

As the elevator reached the top of the Space Needle, Darc allowed the bands of light to extend out around the area, looking for the most direct route to the point just above where Trey was hanging. They compensated for the gradual rotation of the restaurant portion of the Needle, which revolved a complete 360 degrees every forty-seven minutes.

The glowing strands pointed out a path, which Darc followed without hesitation. But even as he ran toward the approaching confrontation, he found that his focus was on the three individuals he had left below.

It had been the correct decision. There was an 87 percent probability that this was the right course of action. And yet, the thoughts of his partner swaying precariously in the wind with Mala and Janey risking life and limb to assist him preyed on Darc’s mind in a manner he had never before experienced.

All these thoughts were pushed from his mind moments later, however, as Darc spotted a figure entering through an open service door that led from the restaurant out onto the lower supports of the saucer. The man was spitting curses at the general air.

The man was Bryce Van Owen.

Darc had his gun out and was firing within seconds. After the first shot ricocheted off the wall next to the Deputy Attorney, Bryce dove behind a table. He called out from the relative safety of his hiding spot.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Detective Darcmel.” He held up a hand, which was holding a black box with a blinking red light. “See this? If my thumb comes off of this button here along the side, this whole tower will go boom. And we wouldn’t want that to happen, now would we?”

Lowering the gun, Darc placed the weapon back in its holster. After a moment of no further firing, Bryce lifted his head up above the surface of the table. He caught sight of Darc and smiled.

“Now, that’s better.” He stood and began approaching Darc, his one hand not holding the trigger reaching into a pocket and withdrawing a metal rod. A whip of his wrist, and the rod extended into a fighting baton with a ball on the end of the telescoping arm.

Darc scanned the room, setting in his mind the various obstacles and impediments to movement that existed. This would be an unpleasant fight, especially with the extended reach the baton gave Bryce and the threat of the released trigger.

In an attempt to slow their confrontation long enough for Darc to finish his assessment, he questioned the attorney. “You plan on destroying yourself along with this building?”

“Oh, no. I’m not dying tonight. I just need to go down and take care of that pesky partner of yours and then I parachute off the top house.” He gestured over his shoulder to the pack he was wearing. “Who would have thought that Keane would be resourceful enough to grab ahold of the scaffolding on his way down? I find that I’m equal parts impressed and pissed off.”

“Yes, Trey can be… surprising,” Darc assented.

“Did you really forgive him for sleeping with your wife?” Bryce pressed, his face contorted into an unrecognizable expression.

“I did.”

“Well, Darc. That’s more than I could do.” He whistled through his teeth, then gave Darc a grin. “Didn’t expect to see me here, I’m guessing?”

“No, I did not.” The lines of logic straightened out, pathways merging together and other gateways closing. The images clicked together, forming a new pattern. “But I see now that it could only be you.”

“Yeah, that hindsight’s a bitch, ain’t she?” Bryce crooned, hefting the baton.

“The knife?” Darc asked.

“Hey, Bill isn’t the only guy who’s ever been in the service. And I’ve got buddies all over the Seattle area. Didn’t take much to snag one of their extras.”

The threads of light continued to snake around the Deputy Attorney, illuminating the gray areas of emotional content contained within. “You had a connection with each of the victims,” Darc asserted, all the while continuing to assess the dimensions of the room for the upcoming conflict. It was spacious, if narrow, but there appeared to be little he could use as a weapon to offset the baton.

“Of course. All cases I had worked, in one capacity or another. All corrupt and evil individuals, ripe and filled with decay. Ready for the threshing.” Bryce whirled the baton above his head, apparently testing its heft. From the way he handled the weapon, it was clear he was familiar with it.

“And Bill Harris?”

“Ah, Bill,” Van Owen caressed the name with his mouth. “Bill made the mistake of perjuring himself on a case I was trying. He had a client he swore he was with at the time a crime was committed. Perfect alibi… the guy was in the middle of a nasty divorce. But he was guilty. I knew it. Bill knew it.”

Darc had watched Bryce fight before. The flowing strands of light wrapped themselves around the lawyer, probing, testing. The addition of the baton and the trigger would make the conflict difficult, but the assessment was positive. Darc could win.

“And what of Mala?” Darc pressed, seeking to distract the man.

“Mala. Yes. It would come down to her, wouldn’t it?” Bryce cracked his neck, rolling his head to one side and then the other. “You love her, of course.”

“I do.”

“Well, then, let’s fight for her, shall we?” Bryce asked, and without changing his tone in the slightest, pounced on Darc, the baton whipping through the air.

Darc spun to the side, but not before the baton caught him on the shoulder, rendering his right arm dead and numb. That was impossible. Darc had calculated the speed with which Bryce could attack, but this had been much faster.

“Surprised, Darc?” Bryce purred. “Why do you think I set up that little bar fight? You don’t really think I was protecting a cousin, do you?” He chuckled, the sound not much more than a rumble in his throat. “I knew that this moment would come sooner or later, and I wanted you overconfident and exposed. I know you, Darc. I know your capabilities.” He bared his teeth at Darc, a rictus of a smile that was more animal than human. “But you don’t know mine.”

Once again, he lunged at Darc, who was rapidly recalculating. His strategy before had been based off of misinformation, but Darc rarely made the same mistake twice. Instead of trying to dodge, Darc took another blow on his useless arm, moving in close enough to headbutt the lawyer in the face while wrapping his hand around the black device’s trigger, holding it in place.

Bryce reeled back, clutching at his occipital bone, pulling Darc along with him. Darc clawed at the man’s eyes with his left hand, looking for any advantage. Van Owen swiped his hand away, following up with a sweep of his baton toward Darc’s throat. Darc managed to duck the attack, but could not evade the follow-up that came from the man’s knee, striking Darc full in the gut.

Darc retched, falling backward, releasing his grip on the hand holding the device. Any attack he now made on the attorney could cause the entire Needle to explode.

Bryce wiped away a stream of blood that was pouring out of his nose. “What are you going to do now, Darckie Darc? You lose. The better man wins.” He lashed out with his baton, catching Darc’s injured arm. Darc felt the bone break under the impact.

Using the pain as an impetus, Darc fell to the ground. As Bryce began to move in for a follow-up attack, Darc swept his legs around, catching the lawyer mid-stride.

Bryce fell to the ground, the breath whooshing out of his body. For an eternal moment, it looked like he might lose his grip on the black device, but then he recovered and lashed out with his right foot, catching Darc square in the nose. Darc felt the cartilage crumple and blood streamed from his nose, choking off his breath. His broken arm was twisted underneath him, trapping him in place.

“I have to admit. You’re much more willing to risk destruction than I ever would have thought,” Bryce panted, wiping at his face again as he moved out of reach. “Anyone else would have given up the moment they saw my device.” He sighed. “But really, it’s about time we ended this, don’t you think?”

And then the lawyer’s baton swept down once more, striking Darc in the temple, and darkness swirled up to envelop him in its cool and lightless embrace.

*

Popeye would not stop complaining. He didn’t want to be high up. He didn’t want to be on this big steel bar way up here. He hated it when the wind ruffled his fur. Although he had liked it that she’d drawn him climbing up the Space Needle. That had been pretty cool. But it was different now that he was really up here.

Really, he was such a baby.

Janey understood how he might be scared about being up so high. She was a little bit scared herself. But Trey needed their help, so they just had to ignore the squirmy feeling inside their tummies.

Popeye said that he’d never really liked Trey that much, anyways.

He was such a liar.

Janey and Mala were moving quickly toward the platforms that were set up all along the scaffolding, but when they got there, Janey could see that there was a gate in front of them that had a big lock. Mala was way too big to get through the bars on the gate.

But Janey wasn’t.

Mala wouldn’t want Janey to go by herself. It was dangerous. It was scary. And right now, Mala was holding onto Janey’s hand so tightly that Janey almost thought her hand was going to break.

Janey knew exactly what to do. Before Mala could stop her, she pulled her hand away and slid between the bars. Janey had been right. She was more than small enough to get through.

Mala screamed, “No, Janey! Get back here now!” She reached her hands through the opening, trying to grab Janey’s arm.

But Janey was already on the scaffolding, running along the platform. It was made of big sheets of wood that rattled under Janey’s feet as she ran. It was even scarier than she had thought it would be, but she kept going.

Then there was a big blast of wind that almost knocked Janey over. Her foot slipped and went through a gap between two of the big sheets of wood. She fell to her hands and knees, splinters from the wood jamming into the palms of her hands.

She could hear Mala’s scream from back behind her. That was scarier than falling. Mala wasn’t supposed to scream. The only time Janey had ever heard her Mommy and Daddy scream was when the bad man hurt them. Grown-ups weren’t supposed to scream. Not ever.

Popeye said that he had told her not to come out here.

Well, that made Janey mad. And the mad made the scary almost go away. Not totally, but almost. Enough that she could pick herself back up and keep going.

When she finally got close to Trey, Janey could see that he had slipped even more. It was only his hand holding on to the bar, and it looked like he might fall any second. But he was so far out, away from the wood floors. The wood floors were scary, but the open bars were even worse.

But there was no one else who could help. Mala was too big. Darc was up above. And Trey was going to fall if Janey didn’t help him somehow.

She had to shimmy along one of the pipes, which was really super duper scary, because there was nothing at all below her. There was just the one bar for her feet, and the other one for her hands.

Popeye was saying something about how this was the worst idea ever.

She was about to tell him to shush when another big gust of wind almost knocked her feet off of the bar. Her stomach felt like it did fall, even though she hadn’t.

But then she was right there above Trey and she had to do the scariest thing of all. She lay down on the bar and held on super tight. Then she stuck her leg out.

Trey reached out and missed, then reached out again and grabbed ahold of her leg and swung himself to the next bar over. It hurt really bad for a second, but then he let go and Janey was fine.

When she looked back, Trey was swinging like a monkey, climbing his way over to where there was an opening in the bars. He was safe.

And Janey had helped.

*

Trey couldn’t feel his arms.

Right up to the last moment, he’d been sure that he was going to end up just as Bryce had intended, splatted all over the ground below. Sowing his blood, or whatever the freak the crazy lawyer had been talking about.

He could feel his body wanting to react, to shut down, to start shaking uncontrollably. But he couldn’t let that happen. Not yet.

Mala grabbed him in a big hug the moment he swung himself up onto the platform, squeezing through a small gap in the railing that he’d had to go halfway back to the elevator shaft to find.

“Oh, Trey. I was so scared when I saw you out there,” Mala babbled.

“You were scared?” Trey fired back.

Mala began to laugh through her tears. She had already managed to collect Janey, who attached herself to Trey’s leg like she was never going to let go. Trey had to admit it felt kinda nice.

“Okay, okay,” he finally said, gently extracting himself from the embraces. “We’ve got to get up there and help Darc. He’s out of his depth with that dead man’s switch Bryce’s got.”

“Dead man’s what?”

“Bryce has rigged this entire place to blow, and he’s holding the trigger.”

Mala’s mouth formed a large “O,” even as she began pushing Trey back toward the elevator. It was clear she wanted to get up there as soon as humanly possible.

He started moving back toward the shaft, but then stopped. He realized that Darc would have taken the elevator up to the top.

Dammit.

That meant Trey was going to have to climb stairs. He hated stairs. So very much.

He reached down to pull Janey into his arms, then broke into a trot. At least he’d get a good workout in. It wasn’t like he had gotten any exercise lately. Being chained to a bed didn’t do much for you, cardiovascularly speaking. And it wasn’t that far up to where they were going.

As he ran, he listened as Mala got him up to speed on what had been happening on their end. Darc and she had been working together to figure out what Trey would have seen? That sounded so crazy that Trey almost had to stop running to laugh hysterically. When had Darc ever cared enough to get inside Trey’s brain?

But when they got to the top, it was time to be still and listen and watch. Too bad he was gasping for breath. After a few moments, once his heart rate had begun to approach normal levels, Trey stuck his head out into the main restaurant there in the saucer of the Space Needle, Mala and Janey following right behind him.

And there, about a hundred yards from where Trey was standing, was Bryce. The lawyer had pulled up a chair and was sitting with one leg casually draped over the other. He might as well have been smoking a cigarette or stroking a white cat. He waved at Trey, motioning for him to come closer.

Behind him, Trey heard a gasp. He turned and looked at Mala, whose face had blanched almost white, which for her was a pretty big deal. He frowned a question at her.

“I… He… That…” Mala sputtered. “He asked me out on a date.”

“Mala,” Bryce called out. “I’d been waiting for you. If it weren’t for the fact that you were up here, I would’ve jettisoned out of here and blown this place to bits.” He waved a hand at a heap twenty yards in front of him and off to one side. “You can see that I’ve already had a run-in with Darc.”

Mala cried out and ran to Darc’s side. Trey watched as Bryce’s face hardened, with a quick flash of anger before he managed to smooth it out.

“I see. Is that your decision, then?” the lawyer asked Mala. Mala turned her face up to peer at Bryce, her expression confused. “I built you an apartment. I took care of you.” He pointed a stiff finger at Janey. “I even treated that brat with respect. But when it comes to making a choice, you turn to Darc?” His voice rose up to a near-shriek.

Mala backed away from the crumpled form of the bald detective. “No, that’s not true, Bryce. It’s not true. I was just surprised, that’s all.”

Bryce sucked in his breath through his teeth. “Lies. That’s what it’s been from the beginning. All lies.” He howled out his frustration at the room at large. “Lies to get you away from me. Lies to disguise your betrayal now.”

“No, no, please…” Mala begged.

“I was only waiting for you.” Van Owen straightened the pack on his back. “This would have supported us both. But now it will only see one to the bottom. Goodbye, Mala. Take comfort in the fact that your death will be swift.” He turned and began moving toward the door that led to the outside of the saucer.

Trey could see that this would end in seconds if he did nothing. But what could he do? He had no gun, no weapon that would reach Bryce from where he stood. Any attempt on his part to get near to the attorney would cause him to move faster. And then he would leap off the building and blow the C-4 on the way down.

Okay, so he couldn’t get closer to Bryce, but what if he forced Bryce to get closer to him? An idea blossomed. A terrible idea, but the only one that Trey thought might have a chance of working.

Before he could second-guess himself, Trey called out to the lawyer. “Hey, Van Owen.”

As Bryce turned around, Trey moved to Mala’s side, grabbed her by the shoulders, and planted the biggest, wettest, sloppiest kiss on her that he could muster. He felt Mala’s body tense under his hands, but she must have guessed halfway through what he was doing, as she softened and began to act out a response.

“No!” The cry seemed torn from Van Owen’s throat, as he rushed toward Mala and Trey, his face crazed, his focus intent on separating the two apparent lovers. He pushed over chairs and tables in his frenzy to stop the horror in front of him.

Trey continued kissing Mala soundly until Bryce was steps away from them both. At that point, Trey lunged sideways with no warning, grabbing the device, placing his thumb on the trigger, and ripping it out of Bryce’s hands. Within seconds, the danger to the building had been averted. Trey pressed the black box into Mala’s hand, closing her fingers around the lever.

But that brief moment had given Bryce time to get out his baton. A blaze of white-hot heat ripped down Trey’s back as the rod struck him right in between the shoulder blades. Man, that hurt. Trey felt his vision tunnel for a moment, and then he was scrabbling like a crab off to the side, hoping that he could get away before Bryce could land another blow.

No such luck. Another crack, and the ball of the baton connected with Trey’s collarbone, snapping the small bone there. Trey’s left arm fell limp at his side. He might be able to get some use out of it, but not without the cost of extreme pain.

“He that spareth the rod…” Bryce screamed, kicking over a chair to better get at Trey. Trey lashed out his fist in the direction of the voice, and was shocked when he made contact. There was a grunt, and Trey danced away from the danger, waiting for another blow to land that, thankfully, did not connect this time.

Trey’s mind searched for an advantage, anything that would help to even the odds. He opened his mouth and thrust out the first thing that came to him.

“This is how you treat a rival?”

Bryce stopped in his tracks for a moment. Seeing the response, Trey continued. “So, if you can’t have Mala, no one can. I get that. But you’re not even going to try to take me in a fair fight? How do you expect to win her admiration with that move?”

The attorney glanced over at Mala, a moment of vulnerability showing on his face. “It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t love me.”

“Okay, okay, maybe not,” Trey continued. “But what about you?”

Again, this seemed to give the lawyer pause. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, how are you going to respect yourself if you beat me this way?” Trey dug into the weak spot he could feel was there, twisting without mercy. “How can you ever look in the mirror again and think yourself a man? All you’ll see is Mala’s face, staring back at you, silently asking you if she wasn’t worth fighting for in a fair contest.”

A glaze seemed to come over Bryce’s eyes, and he tossed the baton away from him. “Fine. But don’t expect me to break my own bones. No fight is that fair.” He turned to face his opponent.

But Trey was already prepared. He’d been waiting for the right moment to strike, and when he saw it, he leapt forward… and pushed.

It was a simple push. It shouldn’t have been able to do much. And it wouldn’t have, if it hadn’t been for the fact that Janey was kneeling right behind the Deputy Attorney, her spine at the level of the back of his knees. Bryce was down on the floor before he could register what had happened.

And Trey gave him no time to recover. Grabbing a steak knife off the table, he slashed the blade sideways, the trachea severed from the vicious cut. A spray of blood splashed into Trey’s face, blinding him for a moment, but he brushed it away.

Bryce had fallen to his knees in front of him, clutching at his neck with his right hand, as blood spurted out from around his fingers. His left hand was extended, pleading with Trey for mercy.

Trey looked for that mercy within himself.

He didn’t find it.

Taking the point of the blade and reversing it once again, Trey opened the homicidal lawyer from his navel to his ribcage, watching as Bryce tried to hold his intestines in with his left hand.

Leaning in close to Bryce’s ear, Trey spoke each word with precision.

“They that sow the wind shall reap the whirlwind. Asshole.”

He turned around and saw Mala looking at him in complete shock. He shrugged at her, trying to put a smirk on a face that didn’t want to bend.

“What? I know scriptures, too. Catholic school, remember?”

*

Popeye was swearing.

Janey didn’t know that many swear words, but all the ones she did know, like butt and stupid and fat, well… Popeye was using them.

Mala was stitching up his ear, poking the stuffing back inside every few stitches. And Popeye was screaming at her that he didn’t know what kind of doctor gave her patient stitches without any anesthetic.

Everyone was okay. Well, mostly okay. They were still in the restaurant at the top of the Space Needle, and Darc was awake and holding a napkin from one of the tables to his bloody nose.

Trey was flat on his back, groaning and moaning more than Daddy used to when he would get sick and stay home from work. But Trey was being funny about it.

“Ow!” Trey yelled up at the ceiling. “Ow, ow, owy, ow. You know, I wouldn’t complain if those paramedics got here like now. You know, with one of those little syringes that make things all better.”

Janey giggled, and Trey lifted up his head and winked at her. Then he winced and lay back down right away.

Darc was reading some paper he had pulled out of his jacket. He was looking at Mala with a weird expression on his face, like he wasn’t sure what to do. Darc didn’t ever not know what to do. That was crazy.

But Mala looked up from stitching Popeye and smiled at Darc. “Well, that was one hell of a family outing, wouldn’t you say?”

And Janey wasn’t positive, but it looked like maybe Darc smiled back. It was the first time she’d ever seen him do that. And it was for Mala.

Something about that made Janey feel very, very happy inside.

EPILOGUE

The Master grimaced.

Another soldier in the cause of the cleansing taken down.

It had been inevitable. This one had thought too small, acted too slowly. By the time things began to heat up, the two detectives had been far too close to avoid forever.

But there were others.

There were always others.

It had been a simple plan, really. Find the zealots. The true believers. The ones who would stop at nothing to make, first Seattle, and then the entire world, a better place.

Surprisingly easy, once the process had begun. The markers were clear for any that chose to look for them. A chance phrase here. An overly intense look there.

And then the courting would begin.

That was the real challenge of the endeavor. The courting. It was the riskiest part of the entire process—but also the most fun.

In a very strange way, it was like dating. The thrill of the chase, the flush when the other person began to open up, that red heat when they finally said yes.

And if the answer was no? No matter. There were plenty of soldiers that were willing to take care of the lose ends. And always somewhere else. A sudden “resignation,” a “transfer” or a “long vacation,” and the matter would quietly be dealt with far away from where it could be tracked back here.

It took time, of course, this recruitment process. But that was okay. The cause was just. The workers were willing.

And the Master was nothing if not patient.

Afterword

Thank you very much for continuing with Trey, Darc, Mala and of course, Janey!

If you did enjoy 7th Sin, we'd love to ask you a favor and go back to Amazon and leave a review. We indie authors live and die by our reviews!

We’d also like to enlist your help. If you find any, and we mean any typos, spelling errors or anything funky, please contact us directly at authormccray@aol.com. Even though this book has gone through a gazillion edits, we are all only human and your input is greatly appreciated!

Be on the look out for 5th Pentagram this fall! Looking for other great mysteries to tide you over?

Check out the next section for more mystery/thrillers from Carolyn and Ben!

Other Works by Carolyn McCray

The Darc Murder Mysteries Collection

Praise for Darc Murder Mysteries...

“A pathological serial killer is terrorizing Seattle and the only person standing in his way is Detective Robi Darcmel. From the chilling opening scene to the last lines of the first episode, I don't remember taking a deep breath. As one observer notes in the opening scene at the slaughter house to a man clearly intrigued by the sight and smell of blood, visceral and flesh--”You are one sick puppy, dude.” Indeed...This is a fascinating if horrific read. One of the most unusual “heros” I can imagine, Detective Robi Darcmel has Asperger's Syndrome… Be prepared to be shocked, and hooked.”

Windgo

Amazon Reviewer “In the literary tradition of serial novels, I am loving this new format for the Kindle! The characters are engaging, the plot intense, an excellent read! “

Jon M. Wilson Amazon Reviewer “I absolutely am loving this book! The way it bounces between the different characters perspectives really helps to get a 3-D picture of whats going on. The killer is so creepy and ominous.

S. Busch

Amazon Reviewer “Five stars for an extraordinary hero who senses his way through clues and is seemingly clueless about ordinary give-and-take relationships. a very satisfying , engrossing novel.”

Dot Day

Amazon Reviewer To sample or purchase Darc Murder Mystery Collection, simply click here.

*

The Harbinger Mystery Thriller Collection

Hard-boiled mysteries not for the faint of heart

Anatomy

The greatly anticipated prequel short story to Plain Jane. See where the Harbinger Mystery series began!

Plain Jane

Harbinger’s first novel the #1 Bestselling (Police Procedurals and Hard-Boiled Mysteries)

Dark Lullaby

Is a 12,000+ word stand-alone short story (with no spoilers) that takes place after the Plain Jane: A Patterson-style thriller with a dash of Hannibal.

Soul to Keep

A post-Plain Jane suspsense short story.

Praise for The Harbinger Mysteries…

“Wickedly macabre and blisteringly paced, Plain Jain marks the debut of a thriller for the new millennium.

Brash, funny, terrifying, and shocking, here is a story best enjoyed with all the lights on.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you!”

NYT Top Ten Best Seller

James Rollins

Bloodline

“This book is so creepy. I made the mistake of starting in one night before bed. Not only did the story line keep me turning pages, it freaked me out to the point that I didn’t want to turn off my light.”

The Book Goddess

Book Reviewer

“This one had me flipping pages until 2 in the morning. I knew when I saw the quote from James Rollins (one of my favorites) that I would get at least my money’s worth out of the book, but I had NO idea what laid in store for me.”

Mimi

Novel Ideas

To purchase or sample The Harbinger Collection, simply click here.

*

Got Thrills? A boxed with with your RDA allowance of thrills

From the Carolyn McCray, #1 bestselling author in Technothrillers, Men’s Adventure, Action/Adventure, and War comes a pack of thrillers to get your blood pumping!

AMBUSH

The prequel short story to the extremely controversial 30 Pieces of Silver.

ANATOMY

See where the Harbinger Mystery series began.

HACKED

The prequel short story to the #1 action packed Encrypted techno thriller

GAUNTLET

The action packed prequel short story to the bestselling Mystery/Horror novel All Hallow’s Eve.

DEVIOUS

The shocking prequel to the blockbuster 9th Circle.

MOONRUSH

Carolyn’s pulse-pounding space thriller

CAUGHT

The prequel short story to Crossfire

Praise for Carolyn’s thrillers…

“I found this book to be just as the title said an action packed techno thriller. I read at least a book a week but this was one of those impossible to put down books. It was well worth the money and based on this book I bought her other book and will be placing the next in her series on my wish list.”

Scott Powner

Amazon Reviewer

To purchase or sample Got Thrills, simply click here.

*

Down and Dirty - Carolyn’s suspenseful crime collection

Need to stay up late? Then the Down & Dirty McCray Crime Collection is for you! Packed with suspense and terror, you better keep the lights on while reading these!

All Hallows Eve The one night it’s BAD… to be good Anatomy

The greatly anticipated prequel short story to Plain Jane. See where the Harbinger Mystery series began!

Mary Mary Quite Contrary The prequel short story to start off the new series, The Nursery Rhyme Murders Devious

The prequel short story to the blockbuster smash, 9th Circle Gauntlet

An All Hallow’s Eve prequel short story Praise for McCray's crime novels…

All Hallow's Eve…

“Scary and smart, All Hallow's Eve is perfect for anyone who wants to read a horror story that hits them in the gut. From the intricate psychopathology of the serial killer, to the hair-raising tension, to the skewering of pop culture, All Hallow's Eve is simply a great read.”

Your Need To Read

Book Reviewer

Anatomy…

“Anatomy is a short story that had a serial killer that was really creepy. The FBI profiler, Harbinger, was a real wise guy but also very brilliant. It was interesting and a fast paced story. I can't wait to read more of these stories about Harbinger. He has become one of my new favorite characters.”

Judy Russ

Amazon Reviewer

Mary Mary Quite Contrary…

“Really enjoy this book, short but sure made one want more of the story. I love this writer she gives a good story, keeps one step ahead of you but keeps your interest. Now for more info on when next book in series is coming out. I am ready for it!”

Shirleen

Amazon Reviewer

Devious…

“I loved the 9th Circle Serial Book, and this prequel gave me a much better understanding of Trey and Darc's relationship. Knowing where they both ‘came from’ and their history together put many more aspects of The 9th Circle. Full of suspense and thrills this book was a fun read.”

Readerwhit

Amazon Reviewer

Gauntlet…

“I love all the twists her stories and books have she keeps you guessing until the end. I am a definite fan! Amazon Reviewer”

Judith Flores

Amazon Reviewer

The purchase or sample Down and Dirty simply click here.

*

A Reader’s Feast –Something for everyone From bestselling author Carolyn McCray comes an eclectic collection spanning the breadth of her career.

The perfect gift for that hard to buy for person!

7 Fold of Winter A YA+ Epic Fantasy

The Rush

A prequel MoonRush short story Rook

Let’s stop the apocalypse, people Ambush

A 30 pieces of Silver prequel short story Anatomy

A Plain Jane prequel short story Pet Holiday Miracles A short story collection of inspirational holiday Miracles Pet Whisperer…er…rrr Book 1 in the Animial’s Talk Back series Hacked

An Encrypted prequel short story To sample or purchase A Reader’s Feast, click here.

About the Authors Carolyn McCray

Carolyn has had a long and extremely interesting road to become a bestseller.

When she head to veterinary school those many years ago she had no idea decades later she would be writing controversial historical thrillers, gut wrenching mysteries and roller coaster-style action/adventure tales!

Born in San Francisco and raised in the beautiful Napa Valley, Carolyn always had an overactive imagination. As a child you could usually find her dragging the neighborhood children out to the haunted barn to make her Nancy Drew-style audio tapes. Oh and did she mention, there was an entire life-sized recreation of the nativity scene in the rafters? Yeah, that wasn’t just a little creepy.

Which of course was great practice for writing such blockbusters as Plain Jane: A Patterson-style thriller with a dash of Hannibal and 30 Pieces of Silver: An Extremely Controversial Historical Thriller.

With over 250,000 books sold, Carolyn now lives on a beautiful lake in the Pacific Northwest where the fog rolls in over the water, snuffing out all signs of life around her. Yep, she still loves the creepy!

Ben Hopkin

Ben Hopkin is a transplanted Texan. After being indoctrinated in the Lone Star State he was ripped from his ancestral home and whisked away to Los Angeles, where he was forced to appreciate fish tacos and sushi. While there, he worked as a professional actor, director, and producer, as well as teacher, which he loves most. He has now settled in Provo, Utah, with his wife and three children. Just in case there was any question, Provo is NOT a happy medium between Ft. Worth and LA, although his kids have made the transition from body boards to snowboards seamlessly.

Contact Information

Carolyn McCray can be found just about everywhere social media exists...

Twitter

Facebook
craftycmc@aol.com
www.carolynmccray.com - sign up for my newsletter here!

Ben Hopkin

Website

Twitter

Internet database

Copyright

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, places, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

7th Sin An Off Our Meds Project/published by arrangement with the author FIRST EDITION

Copyright 2013 by Carolyn McCray

All rights reserved

Kindle Edition

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Any inquiries can be made to:

3524 South Star Lake Rd

Auburn, WA 98001
authormccray@aol.com

Table of Contents

Main Menu

Start Reading

About the Author

Afterword

Other Works by Carolyn McCray

Darc Murder Mystery Collection –All Darc. All the time.

The Harbinger Mystery Thriller Collection

Got Thrills? – A boxed set with your RDA allowance of thrills

Down and Dirty – Carolyn’s suspenseful crime collection

Reader’s Feast – Something for everyone

Copyright

Contact Information

Chapters

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Epilogue

Return to Main Menu

Acknowledgments

So many people contribute to any book that it is hard to list them all. However, I intend to try!

This book would never have come into existence without, of course, Jim. Ever cool. Ever there.

Ben, who faithfully edited the manuscript through its many, many, many incarnations.

Dee Dee, who has believed in me for so long it is almost impossible to remember a time without her. #andnothatsnotadissonyourage Carrie, my editor, who knows of my love for sentence fragments and run-on sentences, yet who still patiently edits them to the point where they are readable!

Table of Contents

Title Page

Main Menu

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

EPILOGUE

Afterword

Other Works by Carolyn McCray

The Darc Murder Mysteries Collection

The Harbinger Mystery Thriller Collection

Got Thrills? A boxed with with your RDA allowance of thrills

Down and Dirty - Carolyn’s suspenseful crime collection

A Reader’s Feast –Something for everyone

About the Authors

Contact Information

Copyright

Acknowledgments