Authors: Tami Dane
Blood of Dawn (19 page)
The narrow, crowded hallway widened to a relatively open space housing what was probably a dining table on the right—the top was stacked high with papers and boxes and books. To my left was a tiny kitchen. There wasn’t an inch of countertop clear. Beyond the dining space, and down a few steps, was the sunken living room. Or, at least, that’s what I assumed it was. The chief seemed to be using it as a storage unit.
“There are two bedrooms upstairs,” she said, leading the way around the table mountain toward a narrow, steep staircase. At the top of the steps, she opened a door, revealing what appeared to be a usable bathroom . . . as long as I didn’t look too closely. And I kept the lights off. “Your bathroom.” Taking a left, she opened a door. “You can sleep in here.” She scurried in and started clearing off what I had to assume was a bed.
“I—I . . . I’m sorry for the inconvenience,” I said, stepping up to grab an armload of clothes. They smelled clean. I was grateful for that. I added them to the pile that she’d started off to one side.
“I can’t afford for anything to happen to my interns,” she said as she scurried around, trying to empty the bed.
“I’m sorry I put you in this position.”
She nodded, grabbing more clothes; then she stopped to stare at me. “I try to stay out of my agents’ personal lives, but since you’ve made this my business, what’s your problem with Thomas?”
“I don’t have a problem with him.”
“Then why wouldn’t you stay with him? I got the impression the two of you got along well, which is why I’ve been encouraging you to work together.”
“We do get along well. In a professional way. Only professional.”
“So?”
Hmm. I was tiptoeing onto thin ice here. I didn’t want this to reflect poorly on JT. If I told the chief he needed some personal space, she might question his commitment to the team. “I felt it was important, as an intern, to work with some of the other agents in the unit, learn how they do things.”
The chief’s gaze sharpened, but she didn’t question me. She finished building “Mount Clothesmore,” which I’d noticed was comprised of dozens of unworn garments, all still sporting their store tags. “There you are. A bed.” She stepped back and glanced around the room. She shook her head, and then left.
I plopped onto the bed and a cloud of dust choked my throat. After hacking a few times, I dug out my loaner laptop, thinking I’d do some more research on lightning birds. My phone rang as I was powering up the computer.
It was Jia.
“Hi, Sloan? It’s J-Jia.” Jia was whispering. And stammering.
“Is everything all right?”
“Um, no. I need to talk to you.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Can you m-meet me?”
I glanced at my computer. It wasn’t too late; but at this time of night, I wouldn’t make it all the way to the Baltimore burbs before the library closed. “Sure. Where? It’s going to take me a while to get there. I’m . . . at a friend’s house.”
“How about the coffee shop on Frederick Road, in Catonsville?”
“Okay.”
“Sloan, hurry. P-please.”
An earsplitting boom vibrated from the phone.
“Jia? What was that?”
“Just thunder.”
She screamed.
“Jia!” I shouted.
“I’m here. I think lightning struck my house. I’m leaving right now. Hurry. Please.”
The phone cut off.
Adversity is like a strong wind. It tears away from us all but the things that cannot be torn, so that we see ourselves as we really are.
—Arthur Golden
19
Something had happened to Jia. And with that thunder . . . I was absolutely terrified I wouldn’t get there in time. Of course, I looked for the chief first. She was in the shower.
Jia’s scream echoed in my head.
Oh, hell!
Zigging and zagging, I wove through the chief’s condo and raced outside. I was holding my phone, ready to call for help, but I was running too fast to dial. And when I launched myself into my car, I was too busy strapping myself in, starting the motor, and navigating out of my parking spot.
I thought about calling 9-1-1 but I was pretty sure the dispatcher would think I was a nutcase. I tried Detective Forrester’s number, but got his voicemail. I tried Jia again. The line went directly to voicemail. It wasn’t until I was halfway to Catonsville before I finally put in the call to the chief.
She didn’t answer. Probably still in the shower.
After leaving a message for her, I tried JT.
Again, no answer.
Well . . . what the hell was I supposed to do now?
I flipped through my contacts. Gabe Wagner. I tried him.
He answered.
“Well, thank God!” I blurted.
“Hey, I’m just a man. No need to put me on a pedestal or make me divine,” he said, chuckling.
“I wasn’t trying—” I cut myself off. Gabe Wagner was irritating and adorable, and I had no time for either. It was time for action. “Forget about that. I need your help.”
“Sure, Sloan. What’s going on? You sound a little frazzled.”
“‘Frazzled’ isn’t the word for it. I’m panicked. I’m on my way to . . .” Did I think Jia had made it out of her house? I wanted to believe she had. For one thing, I didn’t know where she lived. Catonsville wasn’t out of the way. It was worth a try. In the meantime, I needed to get an address for her. “Catonsville. Meet me at the coffee shop on Frederick Road.”
“Okay. Can I ask why?”
“I just received a call from my informant. She’s in some kind of trouble. It might be the unsub.”
“Which unsub?”
“She called me, sounding scared and upset. Then there was a loud boom. Thunder. And she screamed.”
“Then shouldn’t we be going to her house?”
“I wish we could. I don’t have her address. Plus, she said she’d meet me at the coffee shop. And that was after the thunder.” I glanced over my shoulder as I fought to wedge Mom’s car into the space the size of a tricycle between a semi and an SUV traveling at almost eighty miles per hour.
“Damn. Do we know how to stop that lightning thing?”
“Lightning bird,” I corrected. “No. Not yet. I’m just hoping I can get to her before he seduces her and—and . . . bites her.”
“Sloan, shouldn’t you be calling the chief on this?”
“I tried.”
“You’re staying with her, right? You didn’t tell her you were leaving?”
“I tried. She was in the shower. And I was in a hurry.”
“Sloan . . .”
“I know. I left a message. And I called JT. No answer. And I called Forrester. You were my fourth call.”
“Nothing like making me feel special.” Before I could respond, he added, “That was a joke. Let me see if I can get Fischer.”
“Okay. You will hurry, right?”
“Yes. But don’t go to that coffee shop until I get there. Park down the street.”
“Will do. Thanks.” I hung up, tossed my phone on the passenger seat, and pressed the gas pedal a little harder, inching up to eighty-five miles per hour. I roared up to the car in front of me in my lane, zigged into the left lane to pass him, and zagged back into the right lane.
Rinse. Repeat.
Until I was at my exit.
Rinse. Repeat.
Until I was at my exit.
My phone hadn’t rung. Not once. Where the heck was everyone?
I zoomed around the exit ramp, tires barely holding. I jerked to a stop at the light, took a hard right onto Frederick. And in five minutes, I was pulling up to the coffee shop parking lot.
I slowed.
I glanced at my phone.
Then I turned, parked in the first open spot I found, grabbed my phone, and tried Jia’s number again.
No answer.
Well, damn it.
I tried Wagner’s.
He answered, and I just about burst out in song. “Tell me you’re not sitting in the coffee shop parking lot,” he said.
“Okay, I won’t. Where are you? Are you here?”
“Yes.”
A nervous chuckle gurgled up my throat. “You jerk.”
“Give me some credit. I broke at least a half-dozen traffic laws to get here before you, because I knew you wouldn’t wait for me.”
Still holding my phone to my ear, I grabbed my purse, shoved the strap over my shoulder, and jumped out of my car. “Where are you hiding?”
“On the side of the building. I’m walking around to the front now.”
I saw him and clicked off. I dropped my phone into the front pocket of my purse and ran toward the door. “Thank you,” I said as he pulled the door open for me. “Did you reach Fischer?”
“Yes, he’s on his way. I told him we’d wait.”
“I can see you’re not any better than me at keeping your word.”
“If I could get away with it, I would slap some handcuffs on you and drag you back to my car.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“You bet I’d dare. And I will, if you do anything dangerous.”
I believed him. Thus, I hoped I wouldn’t be forced to do something dangerous.
With Wagner on my heels, I rushed inside. My gaze jerked from one table to the next. No sign of Jia. I checked the line. No sign of Jia.
Adrenaline was pumping through my system, making me jittery, as if I’d mainlined a full pot of coffee. I skittered around the perimeter of the room, mumbling, “Where is she? Where is she?”
“Problem?” Wagner asked.
“Maybe she’s hiding in the bathroom. Keep your eyes open for a petite Asian woman.” I raised a hand, palm down, at about my eye level. “About this tall.”
“Will do.”
“Thanks. Maybe you should call Fischer, have him try to get Jia’s address. Be right back.” I dashed across the space, almost slamming into a woman who’d stood up when I hadn’t expected her to. I tossed an apology her way as I dodged a man on his way toward the door. I yanked open the bathroom door and hurried inside. “Jia? Are you in here? It’s me, Sloan.”
No answer.
I hurried down the full length of the room, checking for feet under stall doors. I saw just one set, in the very last stall.
“Jia?” I called out.
No one answered.
I raised my hand to knock; but before I’d made contact with the metal, the stall door opened and a shocked-looking woman of roughly thirty stared at me.
“Sorry. I’m looking for someone, and I was hoping you were my friend.”
The woman nodded, giving me some suspicious eyes as she stepped around me. Yes, she thought I was insane. No big deal. Wouldn’t be the first time . . . or the last.
I followed her toward the front, double-checking each stall. I even pushed open the doors to make sure Jia wasn’t hiding by standing on a toilet.
No deal.
I headed back out. “Any sight of her?”
“Nope.”
“Well . . . now what?” My gaze hopped around the coffee shop again.
I grabbed my phone, poked the button, trying Jia’s number again. It rang. And rang. And eventually clicked over to voice mail. I left a message, letting her know I was worried and cut off the call.
“I guess we head home,” Gabe said.
“Are you kidding me?”
He grinned. “Yes.”
“We need to go to her house. Problem is, I don’t know where she lives.”
“I might be able to help you there. Do you know her last name?”
“Sure.”
He lifted his phone. “This thing can do pretty much anything. And I might have”—he coughed—“access to certain databases that might come in handy, thanks to my father.”
I almost kissed him. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“You didn’t give me the chance. And you didn’t tell me her last name.”
“Do it! Her name’s Jia Wu. And I know she lives around here somewhere.”
Gabe’s fingers poked at his phone’s touch screen. He gnawed on his lip as he waited for the results to come up. I gnawed on mine too, and did a little foot shuffle as well. My gaze kept sweeping the coffee shop. I was hoping Jia would come wandering in any moment now.
Any moment.
Please.
“Got it!” Wagner grabbed my hand. Our fingers wove together, and I couldn’t help but glance down. Why did it feel so natural, to be holding his hand like this?
Immediately I shook myself out of that little moment and together we sprinted out of the store, piled in his car—he insisted I wasn’t in any condition to drive—and drove east on Frederick. It took us less than five minutes to locate her house. I noticed it was dark, but there was a Toyota parked in the driveway.
I didn’t wait for Wagner to cut off the engine. I bailed out, ran up the front walk, and knocked on the door.
No answer.
I knocked again.
And again.
Wagner was at my side when I knocked a fourth time.
“There’s nobody home,” I said, wringing my hands. “Where is she?”
“I don’t know, Sloan. I called Fischer and told him not to bother coming. I have a feeling we’ve been had. It’s some kind of practical joke. A prank.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“She’s a teenager. Teens do that sort of thing. I did.”
“Yeah, well, that doesn’t surprise me about you, but I know this girl, and there’s no way she’d pull this kind of prank. No. It was real. She screamed.” I clomped down the front porch steps, hesitating at the bottom.
What now?
I started toward the side of the house, thinking it wouldn’t hurt to peek in a few windows. I also wanted to check the grass for signs of a lightning strike.
“Where are you going?” Wagner asked, following me.
“I want to take a look around, see if there’s anything that looks suspicious.” I stopped. Looked down. Looked up.
My heart literally stopped beating.
“Look.” I pointed at the ground. There, under the window, was a brown patch. And branching from it, in all directions, were bent, jig-jaggy lines, with smaller branches going off those. “There’s the lightning strike.”
“I see that.”
“Just like Emma Walker’s house. It was here. The lightning bird.” I hopped up and down, trying to look in the window, but I was too freaking short to see in. I dashed toward the fence walling in the backyard. “We need to get back there.”
“Sloan . . .”
I turned a one-eighty and headed back toward the front of the house, thinking there might be a gate on the other side, where the driveway cut along the opposite side of the house and angled into the attached garage. Sure enough, there was.
I hit the latch. Locked.
“Damn it.”
“Sloan,” Wagner repeated as he ran up behind me. He grabbed my elbow. “Stop for a minute.”
“I need to make sure she isn’t in there, hurt. If he . . . If she’s been attacked, her heart may have stopped.”
“Why don’t we try calling the BPD? They can send a car out?”
“Do you really think the dispatcher is going to believe me when I tell her I think a man-sized lightning bird has attacked Jia?”
“Well . . . what if you didn’t give any details?”
“Then we could be sending innocent police officers into a dangerous situation. They should know what they’re dealing with. I already tried Forrester. I left a message. If we wait for him to call back, it could be too late. Do you know what happens to someone when they’ve been struck by lightning?”
“Um . . . no.”
“In fifteen cases out of a hundred, their heart goes into arrhythmia. That’s what kills them. Not the heat. The charge skims over the outside of their body, which is why so many people live. And why they aren’t burned to ashes.”
“That’s all fine and good, but you’re this close to breaking into someone’s house. I’m calling 9-1-1.”
“Fine. You do that. I’m going to see if I can find her. She called me.” I tried the door leading into the garage. Unlocked. “Yes!” I pushed in, blinking in the semidarkness. There were no cars parked in the garage. But there were oil stains on the floor, as if someone parked there frequently. One stain was still wet. “She’s home alone.”
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