The Guardian. Connie Hall

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      She glanced toward the frantic dogs. They balked, shivered, and suffered fear fits as the uniforms and crime-scene techs combed the grids they had marked off. “Nothing found in the woods yet?” she asked.

      “Not yet,” Bergman said.

      “There’s got to be parts of the body around here…somewhere.” Joe glanced at the dogs and shrugged. “And what’s up with the damn dogs? They’ve gone loco. We’re going to have to bring in some more teams.”

      Yeah, canines that couldn’t smell death and fear and something that frightened them to the point of madness. Fala looked down at the blood and another chill crawled down her neck. Then she felt Winter’s gaze on her. When she looked at him, he quickly glanced at Joe. He knew something he wasn’t saying.

      Winter said, “The body could have been taken from the scene.”

      Bergman gulped and said, “Or consumed.”

      “One hungry creature,” she said.

      Joe asked, “What kind of animal would eat a whole body?”

      Bergman sneered, his usual expression while he thought. “Don’t know of any animal that eats flesh and bone in one sitting. Even lions and bears leave carcasses.”

      Fala felt the predator’s aura pricking her senses, and it caused another tremor to go through her. “What about tracks?”

      Bergman shook his head. “None found. That’s one of the weird things, too. There should be tracks, especially with this much blood.”

      Fala knew only some supernatural beings left tracks in the physical world. She had a feeling the only track this killer had left was the energy crawling down her skin as she said, “We’ll need surveillance tapes of the park entries and exits. I want men questioning every regular night jogger.”

      Joe added, “And we need background on the vic—”

      “I have all the information on Ms. Sanecki’s friends and contacts in the area,” interrupted Winter. “Her family lives in Cincinnati and I have an agent on the way. I also have her BlackBerry, her itinerary for the past two days and a log of phone calls from her apartment. And I’ve requested her cell phone records.”

      Fala looked askance at him. “Couldn’t get her shoe size yet?”

      “Judging from what I saw, I’d say size eight.” He pointed to the jogging shoes.

      Fala cursed herself for the easy set-up. Without turning toward the shoes, she said, “Asics Gel 500s, actually. She must have been a pronator.”

      Joe’s cell phone rang to the tune of Brahms’s Lullaby. “Sì.” His expression darkened, his nose twitching. He slapped the phone closed and said, “All animals are accounted for at the zoo.” Before he could put his phone away it rang again. He answered, his expression quickly growing in concern. “What? Mannie, that you? Speak up!”

      Fala could tell by the panic in his eyes that something was horribly wrong. Mannie, Joe’s cousin, had just joined the force. Unlucky guy had drawn the graveyard shift.

      In the bright halogen lights set up around the scene, Joe’s face turned pale. He slapped the phone shut, his eyes haunted. “What’s wrong?”

      “Something’s going down at the station. I could barely hear Mannie.”

      “What did he say?”

      “He asked for a priest.”

      Fala turned to Winter. She hesitated but had no choice. “Can you handle the scene alone for a while?”

      “Of course.” He looked offended she’d asked such a question.

      “Let’s go.” She ran behind Joe toward his car, feeling Winter’s gaze piercing her back.

      “I hope everything’s okay,” Winter called to them.

      A silken undertone of sincerity stirred beneath Winter’s words and caused her to turn and look at him. But his eyes said something entirely different. On the surface they glistened like pearls in a crystal glass, but deeper the transparency turned opaque, indistinct, obscuring what? A hidden agenda? Yes, she’d learn what it was.

      Before she jumped in the car with Joe, the moon caught her attention. It wore the same furtive leer as Winter. Ancient Patomani legend spoke of a demon cousin to the moon, Sissong. Sometimes Sissong would come out to dance, entrance his victims, then steal their spirit and eat them. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear Sissong was hiding behind that moon. What was Winter hiding behind?

      Joe had already started the engine and she hopped in the car, wondering what else could happen tonight.

      Stephen listened to the dogs’ baying, whining and barking at being forced to stay near the crime scene. “Control those dogs or get them the hell out of here.” He didn’t take his eyes off of Fala Rainwater as she rode away.

      “Yes, sir.” The officer snapped an order to one of the canine team members.

      Stephen narrowed his eyes on the outline of Fala Rainwater’s head fading from view as the cruiser sped around a bend in the road and disappeared entirely from sight. He didn’t know what he had expected at his first up-close-and-personal meeting with Fala Rainwater, but it wasn’t the physical shock he’d experienced at touching her. He’d grown instantly aware of her power. It had been almost painful as she had prodded his spirit, trying to break through the magic shield cloaking him. She was so powerful he’d felt her energy crackling all over him, and he’d found himself fantasizing about his tongue and the dimple that hollowed the middle of her square-jawed chin. And those raven brows that shadowed periwinkle eyes. The blue glowed with an inner flame, and he had found himself being drawn to that flame like a moth to its death. For a moment he had thought the dark magic wouldn’t be strong enough and she might discover just what he was. He couldn’t let that happen yet, or his plans would be in ruin.

      Yes, his destiny and her destiny were linked now, and there was no turning back. He walked toward the medical examiner, who was still working the scene and heard the polystyrene coffee cup crunch eerily beneath his shoe. It sounded like tiny screams in the heavy, damp stillness of the night.

      Chapter 3

      Fala ran up the front steps of the Twenty-first Precinct. The brick Greco-Roman building had housed the Twenty-first for over a century. It still stood like a bastion of strength in the middle of a block of restaurants and small businesses. Light poured out through the windows of the precinct doors, cutting a jagged edge across the dark steps. Joe had dropped her off and driven around back to cover the rear.

      Colt drawn, she crept up to the doors and glanced inside at the main hallway and front desk. No one in sight. Definitely odd. The small police station fortified the heart of the District, and it hummed with activity round the clock—especially on full-moon nights.

      Fala eased open one of the doors and slipped through. Dead silence engulfed her. It blanketed the normally buzzing front desk. A cup of coffee sat on the counter, steam spiraling up from it like a ghost in the air. Computer screens hummed on the desks behind the front reception area.

      Someone got an email; СКАЧАТЬ