Gypsey Blood (2 page)

“Gypsy Girl, imagine running into you here at the station, of all places.” Bobby wedged his hands into his uniform pockets and snickered at his joke. He glanced over at his car. “What’s up?”

Rita bit the inside of her cheek to ignore the nickname. “I’m on the prosty murders. That part of town is your regular. Did you or Gus pick up on anything screwy?”

“Gus and
me
saw the vic. Told her to warn the other gals to be extra careful, what with the murders.” He looked down and kicked a stone. “Guess it didn’t help.”

“What time did you talk to her?”

“After eleven.
When Gus ran into the Hobnob for some coffee.”

“Did you bother to check out any black vans? Or did Gus happen to see someone odd in the Hobnob?”

Bobby gave her a cold stare. “We know our job. It’s all in our report.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead,
then
spat on the ground. “Hey, maybe your Gypsy mother could look in her tea leaves and help us out again like she did when she found that ballsy car thief. You know the one I mean.
The guy who ended up being a legit repo-man.”
He let out a long, wheezing laugh.

Rita bristled. “Well, he was the one taking the cars.” She beetled her eyebrows and made a cross with her forefingers in front of his face. “Maybe I’ll put a hex on you for making fun of Ma’s help.” She smirked at the quick spark of fear in his eyes, spun on her heels and walked away.

Reacting to Bobby’s baiting had been as immature as getting upset with
Nancy
’s jibes. When Bobby had called her a “Gypsy slut” in front of their junior English class, she had punched him in the mouth, splitting his lip, and knocking his tooth loose. She chuckled. At least that was a pleasant memory. Even with the one-month detention.

Her grin faded as she entered the building. She had grown-up worries now.
Three women in the morgue.
How many more would fall victim before they bagged the bastard. Bobby must have warned this last prosty right before she met the killer.

The crystal felt like a chunk of steel against her chest. She tugged her jacket tighter when a sudden chill washed over her.

Chapter Two

Rita waved to the sergeant, passed the main desk, and climbed the tiled steps two at a time to the second floor. Gray desks with their flat screen computer monitors sat at odd angles around the spacious room. The muted voices of the personnel intermingled with the shrill ringing of phones. She weaved between the desks, tossed a “hello,” or “how you doing” to her fellow officers. Rita checked her voice mail, e-mail, then picked up a small notebook from her desk and hurried to the back conference room.

Orange plastic chairs and scarred wood tables sat haphazardly about the room. The smell of fresh coffee teased her taste buds. Rita needed a shot of caffeine--badly. She hurried to the coffee pot sitting on the corner table and poured the steaming brew into a foam cup. Bumping a chair back from a table with her hip, she sat next to Della.

Della had become her best friend when they worked undercover as hookers to strengthen the city’s arrest stats. Della’s flawless cocoa skin and lush curves made her the perfect lure. Her take-no-shit attitude and high scores on the shooting range won the respect of every cop at the precinct.

Rita nodded at Hank and Sully, both good men. Hank’s quick mind and strong physique, plus Sully’s eighteen years of street smarts would be of advantage to their small task force. She settled her attention on the acne-scarred face of Chief Lipinski who stood in front of the whiteboard.

Footsteps sounded behind her. Rita cast a glance over her shoulder. A stranger walked into the room, closed the door and leaned against the wall in the corner. Black hair curled over his ears and skimmed the neck of his ribbed pullover. The gold cross hanging to the middle of his chest glinted in the sunlight washing through the window. The symbol seemed at odds next to his heavy-duty shoulder holster. The man studied the pictures on the board, the sharp planes of his face set in taut concentration. She sensed a suppressed anger and urgency about him.

His eyes snapped to hers. She stiffened her spine, lifted her chin, and stared back. His lips relaxed into a quirky half-smile. Rita’s breath hitched. She faced front and concentrated on the Chief. The crystal tucked in the cleft of her breasts warmed, and her palms were suddenly sweaty.

Della poked her in the rib and whispered, “He’s a hottie.”

“If you like
them
too tall, too rough-around the edges, and too dangerous looking.”

“Well, he sure is eyeballing you, girlfriend.”

Chief Lipinski set a blue marker on the desk and shuffled papers. “Okay, listen up. Meet Agent Matt Boulet, FBI, PCU or Priority Crimes Unit. He’ll be heading our task force. Our perp is not new at this, but I’ll let Agent Boulet explain.”

Hank mumbled under his breath and tossed a sharp glance at Boulet. Chairs squeaked as the group shifted in their seats. Sully let out a long-suffering sigh.

Boulet nodded and, with an easy gait, walked to the front, then hooked his thumbs in his jeans pockets. “Thank y’all for having me. I’ve been sent here ‘
cause
we’re familiar with this man. Six murders, same M.O., in
New Orleans
. Then, we followed the trail of his kills north.
Almost bagged him in
Charlottesville
.”
He cleared his throat. “Embarrassed to say, he got away.

 
“The powers that be out of your Pittsburgh FBI office asked me to work in tandem with this city’s force. If y’all are wondering why we don’t have a whole team combing your turf, it’s because we’re a little overwhelmed with Homeland Security now. Plus, we’re not really after the credit on this one, folks. No toe-stepping. I need your help.”

Hank leaned forward and propped his elbows on the table, showing off his gym-hardened muscles.
“PCU?
Never heard of ’em.”

“Not many have. We’re a special unit formed in the last few years and headquartered in the mid-states.” Boulet smiled. “They sometimes call us the Peculiar Unit, or worse, Pukes.”

“Name must be a good fit,” Hank piped up. The others snickered.

“You’ve been on this actor’s ass so you know more than we do.
Ritualistic?”
Sully asked.

“Yeah.”
Hank turned a poker face to Sully. “The bloodletting’s a dead giveaway.”

Everyone groaned. Boulet grinned. Rita couldn’t take her eyes off the way Boulet’s lips moved, the way they slashed into a hard line when serious and the way they curled on one side with that quirky grin.

Della crossed her arms and leaned back in the chair. “We only have a vague idea what
this piece of shit looks like
from a hooker’s quick take. No set pattern to his hits. What’s the plan?”

He quieted for a beat,
then
took a deep breath. “Gonna ask you ladies to work the streets. I brought sketches. The Chief will pass them around. You two gentlemen will be assigned to the ladies. I’ll be near and ready. Do not use your com radios, stick to cell phones. Our player may have a scanner.” He placed his hands on the back of a chair and leaned into the group. His face shadowed with a deep bleakness, so tangible it flapped like dark wings against the corner of Rita’s mind.

A connection pulsed between them. The amulet warmed her skin. Her throat tightened. She inched forward. A dull ache spread through her chest. She felt a harsh pain, a deep need, radiating from him.

Eyebrows arched, Boulet nailed her with a puzzled look. The hairs on the back of her neck leaped to tingly attention. She clasped her hands tight to still her tremors.

Boulet turned his focus back to the group. “Listen carefully. You must follow my instructions to the letter. Ladies, do not enter his van under any circumstances. Prostitutes are his favorite targets, the easiest for him to lure. He takes them to a quiet spot, snaps a chunk out of the jugular with a hand-held device after he bleeds them out. Profilers are saying his twisted mind has conjured up a religious purpose. And gentlemen, make no mistake. He has and he will kill a man if caught in the act of bleeding his victim. He is fast, and he is strong--very strong.”

Sully hunched forward.
“Can’t beat a bullet.”

“True.”
Boulet quirked his lips.
“And good luck if you get that chance. He will count on you to underestimate him.”

Hank sat up straight, rubbed at his square jaw. “If he tries to do an end run, we shoot. Corner him, we haul his ass outta the van and cuff him.”

“No.” Boulet’s face turned hard, his sharp cheekbones paled. “This is gonna sound a little unorthodox, but it’s a direct order from my boss, Director Witherson. Wedge this perp. Surround him. Then it’s vital that I try to take this man alone.”

The room fell silent. Rita held her breath.

Sully slid forward on the chair, a gray lock of hair falling onto his forehead. “Alone? That’s crazy. What kind of nut job would give an order like that?
Makes no effin’ sense.”

 
“No fuckin’ way.” Hank slapped the table and jumped to his feet. “This jerk-weed is going down anyway we can get him. We’ve already got three dead that we know of.”

Rita looked to the back of the room at the Chief who sat stone-faced. He cast
her a
wary glance and hitched his shoulders in his “nothing I can do” shrug.

“Let me repeat. These orders come from higher-up,” Boulet said.

“Want to share the why of those bullshit orders?” Della asked.

“I argued with the director, but he’s keeping y’all on a ‘need to know’ basis, and my orders are that you folks don’t need to know--yet.” Boulet sighed again. “Look. I know this all sounds bizarre, but I’m saying you have no choice but to ride with this.”

Hank sat heavily and shot Sully a look.

Della toyed with a pencil. “And what the hell are we decoys supposed to do when we spot him?”

“Again, let me repeat: Do not get into his van. You’ll be wired so only your partner can hear you. And he will be keeping a very close watch on you. When you spot our man, they’ll give me a heads-up. Stall. Keep him talking until I get there, then join your partner and stay back.”

“And what are we supposed to do while you take him,” Sully shouted, “a fuckin’ crossword puzzle?”

Hank kicked out his black-sneakered foot and shoved the chair in front of him. “I still say we take him down when we get the chance.”

Chief Lipinski rose to his feet. “Back off, people! I have my orders, too. We follow Boulet’s plan. Hank, you and Sully hand out these sketches to as many girls you see walking the streets before Della and Rita start their rounds.”

Della nudged Rita. “Guess we get our ‘Sluts R Us’ duds out of mothballs.”
          

Rita nodded. She would follow orders, but too many unanswered questions floated in her mind. She raised her voice. “Since he’s such a big, strong, badass, who lived to provide the sketch?”

“Me.”

The way Boulet uttered that one word made her teeth click together.

Boulet tugged down the ribbed collar of his sweater. A red scar marred the cords in his thick neck. “My partner and I were doubling him. We were too late to save the woman. He nicked me first. While I was trying to stop bleeding, he took out my partner.” He studied the floor,
then
his eyes hardened as he made eye contact with everyone in the room. “But now I know this bastard, and I’ll be ready for him.”

“Sounds more like a personal vendetta,” Rita said.

“Yeah, that too.”
His lips pulled back with an ironic chuckle. “More than you can imagine.”

The chief dismissed them, setting the start time for nine that evening.

Rita remained seated, staring at the sketch and finishing her coffee as the others left the room. She guessed the man’s age as late forties. He had a prominent widow’s peak and the defining bump on his nose. The eyes narrowed below bushy brows. Whoever drew this had made the perp look like he was laughing at them. Why had the crystal failed her?

Her thoughts turned to Agent Boulet. His strange orders and how the empathic contact had shaken her. Sure, she had felt some slight psychic nudges occasionally, but never a sharp, strong connection as she had from him. What did it mean? She didn’t deny her attraction to him. Maybe the amulet was shoving her into sensory overload. Yeah, sure it was.