Moore?”
“Good news, I hope,” she said, her smile widening. “We’ve got a dead perp in Pensacola that we’ve reason to believe is the Cross-Country Killer.”
“What makes you think that?”
“You name it, we got it. We’re waiting on DNA results, but, really, that’s just a formality.” Moore shook her head. “It’s finally over, Craig. Call your agent home.”
Stearns smiled despite the sudden cold icing his bones. Something was way hinky here. “How’d it happen?”
“One of my agents caught the perp in action. Made a good kill.” Moore’s smile faded. “Unfortunately, the perp’s victim didn’t make it.”
“A shame,” Stearns said. “I think I’ll send my agent on to Pensacola to get those DNA results. Since this isn’t exactly your department.” Especially for the ADIC of Special Ops and Research, an ADIC rumored to have ties to the “non-existant” shadow branch.
“Not necessary,” Moore replied, another warm smile on her lips. “I’ve got an agent there now.”
“Well, hell, then I’ll tell my agent to hang out and enjoy Mardi Gras.”
“Recall Wallace,” Moore said, smile gone.
“So that’s it.” Stearns’s mind raced, flipping through possible courses of action. “What are you hiding in New Orleans?”
“You’re fencing with the wrong person. Get your agent out.”
“One of your projects must be down there. That it?”
A rueful smile brushed over Moore’s lips. “You know better than to ask that, Craig, you of all people.”
It hit Stearns, then, like a fist to the gut. One of Moore’s projects and the CCK were one and the same. Why had Moore even allowed them to work the case? Maybe it hadn’t mattered before because they were never close, but now they were. Wallace was on the bad guy’s ass. Closing in.
“Wallace had better be all right,” he said, voice tight.
“Bring her in,” Moore said softly, “and she will be.” She switched off, the vid-mon going slate-gray with static.
Stearns jumped to his feet, kicked his chair. It rolled across the polished hardwood floor and thunked into the wall. He paced from the rain-misted window to the door and back again. Think! Wallace would never buy it if he just called her in. She’d want to go to Pensacola, check the evidence for herself. Moore probably expected that.
Let Wallace know that the case was officially closed. The CCK was dead. End of story.
Bracing his hands on either side of the window, Stearns stared out into the black night. His stomach churned. Neon flashed on the streets below; car headlights streaked along the wet pavement. Moore’s request was simple.
All he had to do was bring an agent in. And let a killer walk. Again.
----
10
Unforeseen
« ^ »
R ONIN PULLED HIS CAMARO over to the curb and switched off the engine. He glanced at the handheld GPS receiver. Dante’s movement had stopped, then resumed, but at a much slower pace. So…the boy was now on foot.
Getting out of his car, Ronin stepped onto the sidewalk and tabbed his debit spike into the parking meter, then set it for two hours. He checked the GPS receiver, then started walking down neon-lit Canal Street, toward the Mississippi. Even here tourists and vendors crowded the sidewalks, and the four lanes of traffic gleamed with headlights. Horns honked as drivers warned strolling pedestrians as they hung rights or lefts across crosswalks.
Ronin kept his pace at a deliberate mortal-paced stride. He walked with a small herd of pedestrians, not wishing to call attention to himself. Blend, meld, become ordinary and therefore invisible. He didn’t want Dante to see him. At least, not yet. The GPS receiver marked the young vampire just a few blocks ahead of him.
Another thing E didn’t know—microchip-size GPS transmitters had been implanted at the base of the skull of each Bad Seed subject. Johanna had wanted to keep tabs on her experiments once they’d been unleashed.
Of course, most of the subjects—all
“Good news, I hope,” she said, her smile widening. “We’ve got a dead perp in Pensacola that we’ve reason to believe is the Cross-Country Killer.”
“What makes you think that?”
“You name it, we got it. We’re waiting on DNA results, but, really, that’s just a formality.” Moore shook her head. “It’s finally over, Craig. Call your agent home.”
Stearns smiled despite the sudden cold icing his bones. Something was way hinky here. “How’d it happen?”
“One of my agents caught the perp in action. Made a good kill.” Moore’s smile faded. “Unfortunately, the perp’s victim didn’t make it.”
“A shame,” Stearns said. “I think I’ll send my agent on to Pensacola to get those DNA results. Since this isn’t exactly your department.” Especially for the ADIC of Special Ops and Research, an ADIC rumored to have ties to the “non-existant” shadow branch.
“Not necessary,” Moore replied, another warm smile on her lips. “I’ve got an agent there now.”
“Well, hell, then I’ll tell my agent to hang out and enjoy Mardi Gras.”
“Recall Wallace,” Moore said, smile gone.
“So that’s it.” Stearns’s mind raced, flipping through possible courses of action. “What are you hiding in New Orleans?”
“You’re fencing with the wrong person. Get your agent out.”
“One of your projects must be down there. That it?”
A rueful smile brushed over Moore’s lips. “You know better than to ask that, Craig, you of all people.”
It hit Stearns, then, like a fist to the gut. One of Moore’s projects and the CCK were one and the same. Why had Moore even allowed them to work the case? Maybe it hadn’t mattered before because they were never close, but now they were. Wallace was on the bad guy’s ass. Closing in.
“Wallace had better be all right,” he said, voice tight.
“Bring her in,” Moore said softly, “and she will be.” She switched off, the vid-mon going slate-gray with static.
Stearns jumped to his feet, kicked his chair. It rolled across the polished hardwood floor and thunked into the wall. He paced from the rain-misted window to the door and back again. Think! Wallace would never buy it if he just called her in. She’d want to go to Pensacola, check the evidence for herself. Moore probably expected that.
Let Wallace know that the case was officially closed. The CCK was dead. End of story.
Bracing his hands on either side of the window, Stearns stared out into the black night. His stomach churned. Neon flashed on the streets below; car headlights streaked along the wet pavement. Moore’s request was simple.
All he had to do was bring an agent in. And let a killer walk. Again.
----
10
Unforeseen
« ^ »
R ONIN PULLED HIS CAMARO over to the curb and switched off the engine. He glanced at the handheld GPS receiver. Dante’s movement had stopped, then resumed, but at a much slower pace. So…the boy was now on foot.
Getting out of his car, Ronin stepped onto the sidewalk and tabbed his debit spike into the parking meter, then set it for two hours. He checked the GPS receiver, then started walking down neon-lit Canal Street, toward the Mississippi. Even here tourists and vendors crowded the sidewalks, and the four lanes of traffic gleamed with headlights. Horns honked as drivers warned strolling pedestrians as they hung rights or lefts across crosswalks.
Ronin kept his pace at a deliberate mortal-paced stride. He walked with a small herd of pedestrians, not wishing to call attention to himself. Blend, meld, become ordinary and therefore invisible. He didn’t want Dante to see him. At least, not yet. The GPS receiver marked the young vampire just a few blocks ahead of him.
Another thing E didn’t know—microchip-size GPS transmitters had been implanted at the base of the skull of each Bad Seed subject. Johanna had wanted to keep tabs on her experiments once they’d been unleashed.
Of course, most of the subjects—all
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