It looked at him, tilting its head.
He thought he heard a f lutter of wings, and turned to see that birds had begun to light down around them. He wondered if he was wearing aftershave with bird phero-mones and felt an odd sensation of dread.
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“The birds again,” Kelsey said in a low voice.
Startled, he looked at her.
“There was a crow at the kitchen window yesterday morning,” she told him. “And then here and, after that, in my dream.”
“The Comanche believe differently from the Apache,” he explained. “They believe all creatures bring power, and we can look to them for the particular energy and power they provide.”
“I have to admit, I feel as though I’m in an Alfred Hitch-cock movie,” she said, frowning.
“I thought that, too. At first. Half these guys are crows.
Like Jackson Crow,” he muttered.
“You think Jackson Crow is controlling the birds?” she asked skeptically.
“No. I’m thinking along the Comanche line,” he told her.
“They’re here for a reason. They’re here to give us power.” The birds settled around them, but did nothing that was in any way frightening. He remembered the hawk that had taken down its prey in front of him. That had been just yesterday morning. The hawk had almost dared him to try to take its kill.
He hadn’t done so, but he’d held his ground. Which was when he’d seen the mass of crows and myriad other birds.
“We can walk around the Alamo,” he suggested to Kelsey.
She nodded. “All right. Since Zachary doesn’t carry a cell phone.”
She stood and he joined her. He took a step forward, then paused. One of the birds was swooping toward them. In-IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012
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stinctively, he reached out to draw Kelsey against his chest.
He thought the bird might be attacking.
But it dropped something at their feet and f lew on.
Kelsey straightened, pulling down her jacket and brush-ing back her hair.
“The little bastard was dive-bombing us!” she said.
“No…no, it wasn’t.”
Logan bent down to see what the bird had dropped. It looked like a small twig, tipped in red paint.
Kelsey gasped as his hand closed around it, and he realized what he was seeing wasn’t paint.
It was nail polish. On the well-manicured nail of a finger.
A human finger.
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“This is what I think it is, isn’t it?” Kelsey asked.
Logan nodded. Kelsey was prepared; she reached into her purse and produced an evidence bag. “We have to bring it right in,” she said.
“I’m going to call Crow.”
“But shouldn’t we—”
“No, I’d rather we took it to someone else I know. Someone not associated with this case.”
“But…Gaylord has to be competent. Otherwise, I’m sure Jackson Crow would’ve brought in a different medical examiner,” Kelsey said. But that didn’t seem to sway his opinion.
“Fine. Your call,” she said, shrugging. He got through to Crow, and when he’d finished, he told her, “We’re going into the office. Crow’s calling someone. Someone I like better than Gaylord.”
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As she walked briskly toward his car—his strides were long when he was in a hurry—Kelsey asked him, “Who?” He glanced her way. “There’s a new, younger woman at the M.E.’s office. I’ve worked with her on a few cases.
She’s not as matter-of-fact as Gaylord. Don’t get me wrong, Gaylord is competent, he’s just been at it too long. To him, a body is a body. Kat Sokolov has a greater…I don’t know, investment in her cases.”
Kelsey
grinned.
“What?” he asked.
“Strange. When I first met you, I took you for matter-of-fact.”
He smiled slightly, and Kelsey realized she was pleased when she made him smile. And even
He thought he heard a f lutter of wings, and turned to see that birds had begun to light down around them. He wondered if he was wearing aftershave with bird phero-mones and felt an odd sensation of dread.
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“The birds again,” Kelsey said in a low voice.
Startled, he looked at her.
“There was a crow at the kitchen window yesterday morning,” she told him. “And then here and, after that, in my dream.”
“The Comanche believe differently from the Apache,” he explained. “They believe all creatures bring power, and we can look to them for the particular energy and power they provide.”
“I have to admit, I feel as though I’m in an Alfred Hitch-cock movie,” she said, frowning.
“I thought that, too. At first. Half these guys are crows.
Like Jackson Crow,” he muttered.
“You think Jackson Crow is controlling the birds?” she asked skeptically.
“No. I’m thinking along the Comanche line,” he told her.
“They’re here for a reason. They’re here to give us power.” The birds settled around them, but did nothing that was in any way frightening. He remembered the hawk that had taken down its prey in front of him. That had been just yesterday morning. The hawk had almost dared him to try to take its kill.
He hadn’t done so, but he’d held his ground. Which was when he’d seen the mass of crows and myriad other birds.
“We can walk around the Alamo,” he suggested to Kelsey.
She nodded. “All right. Since Zachary doesn’t carry a cell phone.”
She stood and he joined her. He took a step forward, then paused. One of the birds was swooping toward them. In-IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012
9780778313298_HC.indd 96
11-12-01 3:55 PM
97
stinctively, he reached out to draw Kelsey against his chest.
He thought the bird might be attacking.
But it dropped something at their feet and f lew on.
Kelsey straightened, pulling down her jacket and brush-ing back her hair.
“The little bastard was dive-bombing us!” she said.
“No…no, it wasn’t.”
Logan bent down to see what the bird had dropped. It looked like a small twig, tipped in red paint.
Kelsey gasped as his hand closed around it, and he realized what he was seeing wasn’t paint.
It was nail polish. On the well-manicured nail of a finger.
A human finger.
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“This is what I think it is, isn’t it?” Kelsey asked.
Logan nodded. Kelsey was prepared; she reached into her purse and produced an evidence bag. “We have to bring it right in,” she said.
“I’m going to call Crow.”
“But shouldn’t we—”
“No, I’d rather we took it to someone else I know. Someone not associated with this case.”
“But…Gaylord has to be competent. Otherwise, I’m sure Jackson Crow would’ve brought in a different medical examiner,” Kelsey said. But that didn’t seem to sway his opinion.
“Fine. Your call,” she said, shrugging. He got through to Crow, and when he’d finished, he told her, “We’re going into the office. Crow’s calling someone. Someone I like better than Gaylord.”
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As she walked briskly toward his car—his strides were long when he was in a hurry—Kelsey asked him, “Who?” He glanced her way. “There’s a new, younger woman at the M.E.’s office. I’ve worked with her on a few cases.
She’s not as matter-of-fact as Gaylord. Don’t get me wrong, Gaylord is competent, he’s just been at it too long. To him, a body is a body. Kat Sokolov has a greater…I don’t know, investment in her cases.”
Kelsey
grinned.
“What?” he asked.
“Strange. When I first met you, I took you for matter-of-fact.”
He smiled slightly, and Kelsey realized she was pleased when she made him smile. And even
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