“What was the ‘small gift’?” Investigator Ben Morgan asked his boss
as he and his partner read through the case file. He sometimes missed
the simplicity of his life before joining Special Investigations. Back
then, he could assume anyone who talked to voices in their head needed a
psych eval. Once the world found out superpowers were real, it changed
everything in law enforcement. If an individual could transform into an
animal or bend metal with their bare hands, then anything could be
possible.
“A blue silk evening dress, hand-sewn and fitted to the
target.” Director Henry Delacroix closed the door. As he returned to his
desk, he rolled up the sleeves of white dress shirt to reveal forearms
covered in wiry black hair. “The unsub left it backstage in Miss
Ballard’s dressing room at their concert in Tucson, along with the
handwritten note.”
“How very brash.” Investigator Ray Corwin shook
his head in mock dismay. “He’s in complete violation of stalker
etiquette. A gift like that should be saved for after the second
restraining order.”
Ben hid a smile, keeping his gaze focused on
the old-fashioned rows of file cabinets lining the walls of Delacroix’s
office. His partner might be new to Special Investigations, but he did
not lack confidence to share his opinions. There were lots of rumors
about the man ruffling high-ranking feathers back in the FBI.
Something we have in common. He had learned to respect Ray’s keen insight.
Delacroix’s mouth twitched, the tiny smile appearing and disappearing almost too quickly to register.
Ben
checked the file again, reading the first two letters. Both were short,
only a few sentences. They seemed like ordinary fan mail. “How were
these two sent?”
“Social media accounts. Each set up right before
the messages were sent and shut down immediately after the reply. No way
to trace them.” Delacroix tapped the folder resting on his battered
metal desk. “The FBI thinks it might be the Director.”
Shit.
He remembered the serial killer’s name from his own days at the Bureau.
Eight women stalked and killed in the last ten years. Ben hated using
lurid names, preferring the generic term unsub, an abbreviation for
unknown subject.
This unsub sent his target letters and gifts before kidnapping and
killing them. He then posed their bodies in elaborate settings and
costumes. Even Ray stilled at the dropped name. The Director held the
honor of being one of the most terrifying serial killers currently
operating in the United States.
“There’s a concern the unsub may be an
occulata hominum.” Delacroix rattled off the Latin term smoothly. He came down hard on any Investigator who used the slang insult
loocy
to describe those with supernatural powers. “We’ve been asked to
consult and determine how the unsub has been able to evade capture
despite some very slick operations. This is our chance to show why
Special Investigations should be allowed to continue our work.”
At
its creation three years ago, the Bureau of Special Investigations had
attracted a large number of bigots and bullies. They used the badge to
boost their own egos and stoke their own hatred. The agency was still
trying to purge the bad apples from their ranks while also struggling to
cope with every hint of paranormal activity and every weirdo with
delusions of comic-book grandeur.
Ben had joined Special
Investigations immediately after the Jackson Square incident, determined
to make certain these newly revealed powers didn’t allow their users to
escape the law. He’d heard rumors that Delacroix had been one of the
FBI’s Little Green Men and Tinfoil Hat file chasers. People dismissed
Delacroix as a conspiracy nut, but they were absolutely wrong. His boss
treated every investigation with meticulous care and an unwavering focus
on the evidence. Ben followed the same track. “What about the target?”
Delacroix handed them a glossy magazine to add to the file. “Katherine Ballard.”
A
pretty, scantily-clad blonde stared regally from the cover. Ben didn’t
recognize her, despite the name AGGI helpfully spelled out in big
letters along with a promise to share her trade secrets for staying fit
and keeping grounded.
If this is the same unsub, a one name pop star isn’t his typical target.
A picture inside the magazine caught his attention. The same blond
woman from the cover, laughing with her arms around a young woman with
dark red hair caught up in a practical ponytail that did nothing to hide
her heart-shaped face or big eyes. She caught Ben’s eye more than the
practiced glamor of the blonde. The redhead wasn’t looking at the
camera, but her brilliant smile shone through the lens. Ben frowned.
“The caption says they’re sisters.”
“Technically, they’re
stepsisters,” Ray said. “Aggi’s mother married Katie’s father when they
were both young. They call each other sisters. Referring to them as
stepsisters really pisses them off.”
Delacroix and Ben both stared at him in surprise.
Ray
clucked his tongue to express disbelief. “Aggi has been the hottest
musical act in town for the last five years. How have the two of you
missed her?”
“Katherine is Aggi’s manager and business partner,” Delacroix explained.
“And
she writes songs for a lot of top-forty artists, including Aggi.” Ray
turned his focus back to the magazine photo. “It’s hard not to
sympathize with the Director. Aggi is wearing her own brand of workout
gear, while Katie chooses an oversized T-shirt and leggings? The girl
practically cries out for a proper stylist.”
His partner’s comment
hit Ben like a spark hitting an unexpected pocket of gasoline fumes,
threatening an unprofessional eruption. Luckily his boss wasn’t about to
let the commentary stand.
Delacroix glared at his latest recruit. “Keep your opinions on her personal choices to yourself.”
Ben
sucked in a deep breath. It wasn’t like him to be so unsettled this
early in a case. He’d been up late finishing a report for Denver PD
about an arsonist with suspected paranormal abilities.
Maybe I need more sleep.
“The
FBI suspects the unsub could be an occulata,” Delacroix continued.
“He’s not a criminal mastermind. He leaves trace evidence and DNA. But
no one has been able to get close to him.”
“Any clues on what
powers this guy might have?” Ben realized he was running a fascinated
finger along the edge of the next picture featuring the unsub’s target.
Even in a simple T-shirt and leggings, she carried herself with an air
of competence and confidence. A woman who probably bulldozed through
most obstacles. She’d ignored the first two messages, but alerted the
authorities immediately when the sender crossed a boundary. She wasn’t
easily frightened or intimidated.
Making her even more vulnerable to someone like this unsub.
The realization hit him like a stab to the gut. They had less than a
week to find and stop the unsub before the body count went up another
notch.
“No idea on powers. Which is why I’m putting the two of you
on the case.” Delacroix’s dark eyes fixed on him. “Ben, you know the
most about the different types of powers. Ray, you have a talent for
getting information no one else can. Together, two of you are the best I
have at getting to the right conclusions on the slimmest data, aside
from Investigator Adler.”
“And she won’t leave with a class in progress,” Ben finished.
“Her loss is our celebrity gain. When do we leave?” Ray asked brightly.
“Your plane leaves in two hours. Good luck, gentlemen.”
Ben
stood up at Delcroix’s dismissal. The familiar surge of anticipation
loosened his muscles and sharpened his mind. This assignment held more
of a challenge than going around to local precincts to deliver
be-tolerant-but-careful lectures about what could be lurking on their
streets. The prospect of a real hunt against an adversary who’d already
made a fool of top-level law enforcement promised a satisfying
challenge.
They left Delacroix’s office and jogged down two
flights of stairs. Ray hesitated at the bottom landing. “I suppose
there’s hardly time to stop at home and pick up my albums for Aggi to
sign.”
“Just tell me your go-bag is ready this time.” Ben walked
rapidly through the utilitarian lobby and shoved open the glass doors,
eager to begin the case. They’d need at least an hour to reach the
airport, and while federal officers might get to speed through security,
no one would be holding the plane for them.
“One trip being
forced to wear off-the-rack was deterrent enough.” Ray gave an elaborate
shudder as they crossed the parking lot. “My luggage is waiting in the
car.”
Ben couldn’t decide if his partner actually had money, or
only liked to pretend he did. Distinguishing between the high-end
designers and Walmart wasn’t one of his skills. His own go-bag held two
changes of clothing, an extra sweater, decent hiking boots and his
assigned weapons. Everything fit in a moderately sized gym bag with room
to spare.
“Come on, partner, aren’t you the least bit excited?”
Ray’s smile held more than a hint of mischief as he lifted two large
suitcases out of the trunk of his sleek black luxury car. “We’re going
behind the scenes into the glamorous world of rock and roll. Or at least
pop and party. It could be a chance to break out of your enforced
hermitage and meet some pretty young thing. I’ve heard the dancers with
Aggi’s tour are impressively athletic.”
“Have you even heard of
the term sexual harassment?” Ben gritted his teeth as his partner
transferred the bags to the trunk of Ben’s battered sedan.
“Have I
ever been less than professional in person?” Ray slid into the
passenger seat, completely unruffled by his partner’s irritation.
Ben pulled the car into traffic. “Don’t I count as a person?”
“In the eyes of the law.” Ray grinned. “Trust me, I have a lot of experience in navigating boundaries. I would never push.”
He’s right. While his partner’s behavior sounded outrageous, he did seem to have a knack for setting people at ease.
Peter could do that, too. His mind shied away from the memory.
“I’m
a shameless flirt. It’s how I navigate the world and this job. I’m
playing to my strengths,” Ray continued. “For you, the whole prematurely
grumpy, crusty cynic thing works even if you aren’t much over thirty.
The day-old stubble and shadows under your eyes are a method actor’s
dream.”
Ben’s hands tightened around the leather-clad steering
wheel. “This conversation has officially reached the uncomfortable and
awkward silence stage.”
“It wouldn’t destroy your reputation to
loosen up the teensiest bit. But I’m not about to judge.” Ray waved his
hand in cheerful dismissal. “Your grumpiness won’t affect my ability to
enjoy all of the beautiful men and women that are sure to be hanging
around Aggi.”
“We’re there for the sister. Katherine.” Even as he
spoke, Ben regretted snapping at his partner. Something about this case
had triggered an aggressive protective instinct. He ignored the vivid
image of the target’s face lingering in the back of his mind.
“Actually,
we’re there as consultants,” Ray corrected. “To be wise and experienced
teachers to the ignorant, not action heroes. Which is a shame, because I
would look stunning walking away from an explosion in slow motion.”
Ben cracked a grin. “Are you ever serious?”
“I
don’t expect you to break character on my account. You go on perfecting
your bad cop, and I’ll enjoy performing all the other emotional roles.”
Ray closed his eyes, effectively ending the conversation.
A small smile still clung stubbornly to Ben’s lips despite his best efforts to remain stern.
When
he’d first met Ray Morgan, Ben had accepted the flippant surface for
the truth. During their first assignment, he’d expected Ray to storm off
in a huff when protesters identified them as Special Investigations,
and began pelting them with garbage and insults. Ben had been prepared
to restrain his partner, but to his surprise, Ray had simply wiped away
the smelly remnants, apologized to the protesters on behalf of the
agency, and left the scene. When Ben caught up to him, Ray explained his
reasoning.
“They’re absolutely right. Special Investigations
has done some horrible things. We’ve taken people out of their homes. We
held them in that terrible camp up North without any chance of release.
And we did it all because we were scared of people who were different.”
Ben hesitated. “Given how you feel, I’m surprised you joined the agency.”
“There’s
still an important job to be done. The public needs a sense of safety,
or else you’re likely to have riots and lynch mobs. If good people
refuse to join Special Investigations because of its past, then it’s
going to be filled with the wrong type of people to do the job.”
All
in all, flamboyance and irreverence were a small price to pay for the
reassurance of knowing he could trust his partner to make the right
choice in a tough situation.
Ben grudgingly apologized. “I’ll do my best not to be a buzz-kill.”
“I’ll
keep my stash of gold stars handy,” Ray replied, his eyes still closed,
and his voice dry with sardonic amusement. “You’re not going to ruin my
cheer today, no matter how much doom and gloom you insist on packing.
We’re going to catch a serial killer who has eluded justice for a
decade, hang out with music royalty, and enjoy some West Coast sun.
You’ll see, it will all work out splendidly.”
Ben wished it could
be so easy. Good guys win, bad guys lose, everyone goes home happy. But
he’d already learned the hard-taught lesson of reality, nothing was
guaranteed. Sometimes bad guys won, and good guys didn’t get to go home
at all.
