The Blood In the Beginning (38 page)

‘Last one.'

‘Good. Now write.'

I did what he said, then looked up, waiting for the rest of the totally made up bullshit story to unfold.

‘You helped me coach the newbies.'

That was sort of true, not.

‘I led the class from eight-thirty to ten-thirty.'

It sank in. This was his alibi as much as it was mine. Our academy wasn't open after midnight, but Rourke was painting a picture, one that didn't involve him hanging out in the local chain-and-drain, or me stealing Cortinas and driving them into nightclub foyers. Especially, it didn't involve either of us killing anyone, human or Mar. That night, according to Rourke, we trained, went out to coffee with a few others in our club and were home before 1.00 a.m. Computer IP addresses would show that I was up before dawn at the twenty-four hour internet cafe down the block, taking practice exams until lunchtime. Meanwhile, a deranged friend broke into my apartment.
Damn. Poor Joey.
The police, responding to complaints, put him in a holding cell until he sobered up. No charges were laid. He was released by 9.00 a.m. Rourke's IP records had him viewing his bookmarked porn for the rest of the night.
Yuk.
I guess it was believable.

‘And this is watertight?' I asked as I signed my name at the bottom and dated it.

He nodded, his face grim. ‘It's taken care of.'

‘How?'

‘Jones.'

That made sense. Kathleen Jones had caught up with me on campus. In our little private chat, she'd asked for my IP address and permission to view my files remotely. I'd said,
Yes
,
just don't delete anything.
She'd eyed me strangely, like I was wearing all my clothes inside out. I didn't probe as to why.

‘You have powerful people on your side.' Rourke interrupted my thoughts.

‘If you say so.' I tried to work out who this man really was. He seemed to be doing the same to me. ‘So,' I finally asked, ‘are you one of them?' He wasn't that big on wearing shades, not overly fond of salt, and didn't show more than average strength, for a professor, which was pretty damn strong, but still … I didn't know how I'd feel if he was Mar and had never filled me in on my ‘condition.' I tensed, waiting for the answer.

‘I don't even know what they are.' The look on his face couldn't have been faked. ‘But I was about to ask you the same, Sykes.'

I didn't skip a beat. ‘You're kidding, right?' I shoved the pad over to his side of the table and leaned back in my chair. ‘We done here?'

He was up, turning the recorder back on. ‘Thank you, Ms Sykes. The LAPD appreciates your cooperation in this matter.'

‘Same, I'm sure.'

He nodded. ‘Good luck with your final.' He opened his wallet and pulled out a fifty. ‘Take a cab.'

I shouldered my pack and left, not entirely sure how to feel about what just happened.

* * *

Two hours later, I made my way across the street to Science 5 lecture hall. The sun was setting, air muggy. This was it, the last exam. Was I going to make the grade for CDC? My guts roiled. Would I be able to afford the internship, with the new government un-funding?
Don't even go there now.
I had to stay relaxed. Focussed. This was the lab component for histopathology. We would be shown a hundred slides, in full technicolour, a spectrum I could only see half of.
On land, anyway.
I claimed it would be to my advantage, like the colour blind soldiers the government had used to detect camouflaged artillery, back in the day. The jury was still out if it would be an asset or liability. While I thought about antigen-antibody complex deposition, the exam monitors arrived and opened the door.

It was a small lecture hall, an amphitheatre with a capacity of a hundred only. No bad seats in the house. On the twenty-foot square screen were the rules in bullet form:

Exam HISTO509b

I hung my pack on a hook, grabbed a water and found my seat, mid-tier, on the aisle. When everyone settled, the lights dimmed. A buzzer sounded and we were told to open our exam booklets. The first image on the screen popped up, and we were off.

By slide one hundred, my eyes itched and felt blurry, but I had that excited ping in my guts, like I nailed it. Pretty sure, anyway. The last question read:

A previously healthy 24-year-old presents with a low-grade fever, general malaise and sore throat. The symptoms are ongoing for over three weeks. Physical exam showed pharyngitis and tender lymphadenopathy. The patient's peripheral blood smear indicates which of the following to be the most likely etiology and risk factor for this illness? Choose two.

Muffled shouts outside distracted me. A car alarm sounded. I had to pull my attention back to the test. There was a range of possible answers, all somewhat matching the history, but the blood slide was the tip-off. I saw it right away. The neutrophils had no segments, making them monocytes. The case shouted
mononucleosis
, and there it was, option number four. I also checked option five,
Close personal contact (kissing) with her date,
for the risk factor. As I put my pencil down, I heard more car alarms go off, closer this time. Tyres screeched. People were yelling. Screaming?

The exam buzzer went off and I jumped.

‘Pencils down, students.' The lights went up. ‘Double-check your name and student number, and turn your exam booklets face down on your desks. Monitors will collect them once —'

The exam monitor's words were lost under a barrage of horns, wrenching metal and falling glass. I held my breath, listening for more, then exhaled slowly as the sound dissipated. Must have been an accident in the parking lot.
Hope no one was hurt
.

The monitor started to dismiss us, but was cut short again when the entire lecture hall shuddered. My shoulder blades pinched together. Cold fingers crept up my spine and the hairs at the back of my neck stood out. My half-filled water cup quivered. Liquid rose up the sides and burst into droplets that levitated over my desk.
WTF?
I swept up the test before it got soaked. The sound of grating metal had everyone spinning around in time to see the doors torn from their hinges. Light beamed in from the entrance, along with a blast of sounds from outside. It was mayhem. Police sirens wailing. What the hell was going on?

My breath caught as the answer stepped in, blocking out everything behind. I caught the scent of the sea.

Holy hell!

He had to duck to enter the hall. Duck! The man was seven foot tall but that wasn't what disturbed me. As he straightened, I saw he wasn't wearing a thing. Not a thread. That didn't stop me from recognising him though.
No way.

Naked guy was a vision, his muscles sculpted to perfection and hair so long and wet it clung to his back and thighs. Water dripped down his legs as he slowly walked down the steps. His coal-black eyes were scanning for someone.
Guess who?
I swallowed hard. A few women, and a guy or two, sighed and passed out. Others gasped, but it wasn't the sound of fear. If they'd known him, it would have been. He reached my row and looked down.
Ava!
His voice boomed in my head.

My body trembled as I gazed at him, pausing just before I reached his waist
…
my eyes quickly darted to his face towering above me.

He bent to my level, hands braced on the desk. It cracked, but he didn't seem to notice. ‘We need to talk.' His voice was low, spoken just for me.

It vibrated through my body. I cocked my head to the side and tried not to quake. It was strange, how different he looked on land. Granted, I hadn't seen him properly that day I'd been thrown into the sea and met this king of the Mar, but still. I sucked in my breath. ‘Fine, Teern, but you're going to have to wait until we're dismissed.' I pulled my eyes away to find the monitor. She was plastered against the back of her chair, face a frozen mask, mouth open, eyes fixed, unblinking.

‘Yeah, I think we're good to go.' I rose from my seat, squaring the test on the dry desk next to me. He straightened and let me past. All I could think as I led the way up the stairs was, thank the gods I completed my final exam.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

It takes collaboration to publish a book: writer(s), agents, editors, proofreaders, typesetters, artists, designers, reps, marketers, film and video producers, bookshop managers … and most importantly, readers who bring the story to life. My gratitude goes out you all, beginning with the muses, both relentless and kind.

Deep thanks to my family, Sara, Aaron, Kayla, Kinayda, Son, Shawn, Grayson and Zac, who support me without question or pause. I love you guys! Special appreciation also goes to my agent, Nicole Resciniti, who said, ‘Kim, why don't you write an urban fantasy?' and to Aaron Briggs for the brainstorming, cinematic vision, continuity alerts and action authentication. There wouldn't be an Ava Sykes without you.

Huge thanks go to Jean Norman, for talking me up to Harlequin publisher, Jo Mackay, over lunch. Fabulous timing. And Harlequin Books Australia, you guys rock! I have so much appreciation for everyone there who has championed Ava Sykes, especially Jo Mackay and Annabel Blay, and the art department who nailed the cover so brilliantly.

For the fantastic structural and copyediting, warm gratitude goes to Stephanie Smith. It's so good to work together again! For the medical/weapons and biotechnical advice, thank you Greg Briggs and Esther Jones who have kept all the molecules, red cells, revolvers and P-waves in the right places. For the inside info on bouncing the rowdies, I thank Jack Norman. Also bear hugs to MonkeyMe films for the blockbuster trailer and beta reading. Thank you Shawn Wilder, my brilliant sister!

Finally, a big cheers to Julia Knapman, Laurie Ormond and Greg Briggs for proofreading with such diligence and speed, Michelle Hall for her outstanding academic support, Jodi Osborne for photography and friendship, and special thanks to my dear friends who have supported my writing from the start, Traci Harding (the rocking quote too!) Mystic Medusa, Jeannette Maw, Lizzie Fuller, Ly De Angeles, Jimmy, Janette, Candy, Jacque, Victoria and, especially, EJ and the newest member of the team, Ra. You've all helped bring Ava Sykes to life.

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First Published 2016

ISBN 978 148921065 4

THE BLOOD IN THE BEGINNING: AN AVA SYKES NOVEL

© 2016 by Kim Falconer

Australian Copyright 2016

New Zealand Copyright 2016

Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilisation of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the permission of the publisher.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.