Dark Wings Descending (3 page)

“Every single one.”

“You need to teach me ASAP.”

“That will be no problem. You’ll pick it up easily. It’s just a matter of knowing what to look for in the endless data threading through.”

“So when do we get more staff to help man these threads and make up our team?” Rafe looked about the large room occupied by just the three of them.

Dean shrugged. “They paid for all the equipment first. I guess when the budgets are back in the black they can help us out by giving us more man—” He shot a look at them both. “Or woman power.”

“The early stages of any new unit is a trial,” Alona said. “We’re just a small task force compared to some of the units being built now.”

Rafe nodded and padded over to the window for a moment. She looked down at the city inhabitants going about their business as usual.

“Impressive view, isn’t it?” Dean said. He rested his forehead on the glass. “And look, from here you can see if there’s a line at the hot dog stand.”

“Always good to know.” Rafe’s stomach rolled a little at the mention of food, and sweat began to break out on her forehead. She swiped at it in annoyance. “Which desk is mine so I can sit down a minute to take all this in?” Dean directed her to a seat and Rafe sat as gently as she could, trying desperately not to show how every movement hurt her. She knew she was fooling no one.

“You sure the doctors said you were well enough to come back to work?” Dean ignored the sharp look he received.

“I was declared fit for sitting at a desk and doing light duties, so here I am. Stop fussing and go find me a bottle of water.” She reached inside her jacket for a bottle of pills. Looking up, she found Dean still hovering over her solicitously. “Please, I need to take these damn horse pills and can’t swallow them dry.” She watched him rush from the office and knew Alona was now standing over her just as closely. “How much were you told?” Rafe asked.

“That you were stabbed by some lowlife and got beaten pretty badly. But I can see most of that still emblazoned on your face.”

Rafe reached up to her forehead where the purpling bruises were still vivid and painful to the touch. “Never let a hulking quarterback head-butt you,” she said wryly.

“I’m just glad you’re back. The DDU needs its leader and we’d only just gotten started before…” Alona trailed off, obviously uncomfortable.

“Before I played face ball with the Quarterback of Quaaludes.” Rafe sat back in her seat. “Still, while I was away you did the office up nice.”

Alona agreed. “I was so excited when they said we were getting new office space and high-tech equipment. It shows we mean business.”

Rafe ran her hand over her new keyboard. “All this tech had to have cost a small fortune.”

“It’s all state-of-the-art. Big-boy toys.”

“You promise to still do police work in between playing with all these buttons?”

Alona laughed at her. “I promise. But, Detective, there are just so many buttons to try!”

Rafe pulled her keyboard forward and typed in her password. She was relieved the screen accepted it. “Thank God I remembered that.”

“Guess the blow to the head didn’t shake everything out, eh, Detective?” Alona teased her.

Rafe stared at her screen blindly, counting herself lucky that the bruises and the hairline fractures were all the damage her head had sustained from the attack. She was chillingly aware she should never have left that alley alive.

The cold night air burned Rafe’s lungs as she sucked it in greedily. She ran, gun drawn, chasing down a killer in the alley. Ahead of her she could hear the familiar sound of someone else running, the perpetrator of the brutal stabbing they’d been called in to deal with. The owner of Castello’s Bar and Grill had just been killed for a few hundred dollars. Had the perp waited until the night had ended, he could have made off with the entire night’s take, which would have been a more substantial heist. Instead, he had tackled the owner mid-evening. Once he’d gotten his money, he had then stabbed the man to death in plain view of his young son. The child had run to call the police, begging them to come save his papa from the crazy man with the knife.

Seven years old
, Rafe thought as she ran,
what a sight to have to witness for so young a pair of eyes
. She cursed under her breath as she banged her hip on a pile of boxes haphazardly stacked. She heard them topple over and whatever had been inside smash to the ground. The sound of things shattering echoed down the alley. Rafe hoped the boxes wouldn’t cause too much of a hassle for Dean to clamber over. He was supposed to be right behind her, but she’d taken off first when he’d pulled up and she’d left him to radio their location in.

Rafe skirted around a Dumpster, furious at the garbage strewn all along the alley. The alley was so poorly lit she could barely make out the rotting obstacles in her way. She slipped on a piece of something and swore out loud.
I’m going to kill myself out here. Cause of death: rotten vegetables that missed their destiny with the Dumpster
.
Her only comfort came from hearing the guy running ahead of her pinballing his bulk off the endless line of Dumpsters crushed together behind the restaurants that ran the length of the street front. The dull thuds easily reached Rafe’s ears and his grunts of pain only served to make her smile as she continued to chase him.

Suddenly, one by one, what little light was available in the alley fizzled out. Rafe slid to a halt as she watched each lamp pop and the lights inside die. “What the hell?” she muttered breathlessly as the alley plunged into darkness. She paused for barely a moment to try to get her bearings, then took off again, praying she didn’t break her neck in the pitch-black. Not even the moon cooperated as it slipped behind a cloud and left Rafe blind. The sounds ahead suddenly ceased. Rafe stopped in her tracks just as an arm slashed out in front of her. The knife caught in her jacket, slicing through the leather and snagging in the material. She just managed to escape the blade from plunging into her gut and clubbed the guy with the butt of her gun. He turned to her, barely dazed by the blow, and Rafe got to look directly into his eyes.
Shit, a crackhead
, she thought just before he head-butted her soundly in the forehead, rocking her back on her feet. In the tussle he freed his knife and brandished it at her. Rafe clutched at her forehead. The pain was excruciating. She managed to raise her gun and pointed it at him. “Freeze!”

He just laughed at her and took a step forward. The bullet that hit him didn’t even seem to register. He stormed at Rafe and stabbed her. The knife plunged into her side, the force behind it doubling her over. Slowly, he withdrew the blade, twisting it in the wound. He seemed to enjoy the howl of pain that escaped Rafe’s lips. He meticulously wiped the bloodied blade on Rafe’s pants and readied it again.

Rafe tried desperately to stop the flow of blood from her side. She staggered backward and raised her gun again. “I’m warning you, you bastard. Put the knife down now.” She could faintly hear the sound of running from behind her and could make out Dean’s voice yelling for her. Her head pounded from the concussion she knew she was suffering. Her side felt like it was on fire and the man just stood there laughing at her. He stuck his neck out, his foul breath hitting her in the face.

“Fuck you, bitch,” he growled as he lunged for her again.

The second shot knocked him back but still didn’t take him down. He righted himself, looking down almost comically at his T-shirt where holes were pouring out blood. He switched his knife to his left hand and lashed out with his fist. He caught the side of Rafe’s head and knocked her off her feet. She was almost rendered unconscious from the force of the two blows she had received and the loss of blood she couldn’t stem. Her hand shook as she determinedly lifted her gun again. She was barely able to see the man as he loomed over her.

The clouds finally shifted, and in the pale moonlight shining down on the alley, Rafe was finally able to see. She stared up into the face of a monster. His vile features were cast in shadows, but his face appeared oddly misshapen and grotesque. Protruding from his temples were lethal-tipped horns. His eyes burned with fire. Rafe aimed the gun at his head, but he snatched it easily from her hand and held it to his temple, taunting her. He laughed down at her as he crouched to straddle her body. His bulk pushed Rafe further into the broken glass and other debris that littered the alley floor. His knee pressed into her ribs, causing her to stifle a scream as the pain lanced through her knife wound. Looking up at the man who held her gun, Rafe prayed like she had never prayed before. She closed her eyes as he brought the gun down to crack it against her skull. She swore she saw stars.

He bent down to whisper in her ear. “Now we’re even.” He held the gun to her forehead. “Now I put an end to your misery on earth.”

Rafe remembered seeing a brilliant light, the purest white that seared her eyes and blinded her. She heard the sound of a gun going off but never saw the man take the bullet right between his eyes. She did feel him slide off her. His weight pinned her down, but all she could see was the light. It didn’t call to her; it didn’t draw her closer. It just surrounded her until she succumbed to it. She closed her eyes and slid mercifully into unconsciousness.

She woke up in the hospital, surrounded by doctors all prodding and poking her. Rafe knew how lucky she had been. The colorful bruises that covered her face would take their time fading, a vivid testament to the battering she had sustained. The hairline fractures to her skull were slowly mending. Dean’s comments concerning the thickness of her skull had been echoed by the medical staff. Her hair being shaved off was the least of her worries.

It was only when she was finally lucid that Rafe found out that Dean had fired the shot that finally brought the man, Marcus Armitage, down. He was an ex-quarterback from a local team who’d kicked him off the squad for spending more time throwing the game to support his habit than he had spent throwing the ball in play. He’d been a six foot nine behemoth who, high on a mixture of cocaine and steroids, had nearly added cop killer to his hall of fame.

Rafe had made damn sure she never mentioned it to anyone, ever, the fires of Hades she’d seen burning in his eyes.

From the tone in Dean’s voice, he’d been calling her name for a while. Rafe snapped back with a blink. “You okay there?” He slowly held the bottle of water out to her, taking care not to startle her with any sudden movement.

Rafe drank greedily from the bottle as soon as she twisted the cap off. The cold water eased her dryness but did nothing to wash away the acrid taste of brimstone she could feel clawing at her throat. “Stand down, Detective, I’m fine.”

“Does that happen often?” Dean asked.

“No,” Rafe said bluntly. She shook her pills from their blister pack, tossed them into her mouth, then swilled them down with more water. She then turned her attention to Alona, effectively ending the conversation. “So tell me about these data streams we have running.”

Without a pause, Alona did as she was asked. “The data we have put in so far from these cases hasn’t brought up any definitive matches, but we’re still searching. With the countrywide DDUs just in their infancy, it might be some time before we get a match from another state.”

“Time is something we can’t afford to wait on. He’s not going to stop. He has a specific and very definite MO. You don’t start something that particular to just give it up after three attempts.” Rafe tapped at her computer and brought up the crime scene photos from the first scene. As if she’d always used the software before her, she flicked the photos up onto the large screen, then stood to study them. The graphic stills hid none of the horror that had greeted the police who had responded to a caller’s terrified find. Rafe’s eyes lingered long on the pose of the woman’s body. “Can we put the second scene up too?”

Alona swiftly brought them up, and the killer’s pattern was easy to see. Two different locations, but the body placement was identical.

“Have we gotten the photos from last night’s killing yet?”

Dean checked his computer and all three scenes were displayed on the big screen.

Rafe hoped to find something hidden among all the stills that would lead her to find the killer’s identity. “So what do we see?”

“The bodies are left in the exact same pose. Arm outstretched, head tilted up unnaturally as if looking toward something, and clothes rearranged to cover the fact that their backs have been ripped open,” Dean said.

“Last night’s butchery of the woman’s back was less than perfect, not his usual standard of clean cuts through the skin, yet everything was still arranged back in place. I’d say he felt rushed.” Rafe leaned in to one particular still and Alona reached in and enlarged the photo. “I’ll have to remember we can do that now instead of straining my eyes.” Rafe thanked her. “However stuck for time he was, he still made time to leave his signature pose.”

“There was quite a bit of foot traffic past that alley when I was called in last night. The local bar had a late-night party going on. That could have hindered him if he was aware people were nearby who could stumble by while he was doing his thing.” Dean pointed at the photos. “He doesn’t tend to go very far into an alley with them or even hide them once he’s done. He seems to drag them toward the biggest shadow and start in on them there.”