Vickie knew that she was never going to feel clean enough—no matter what kind of a thermo-shower she was able to take at the hospital, no matter what kind of special anti-everything chemicals existed in the soap she was given.
The sticky red substance was blood.
And it was human.
On the one hand, what happened had provided authorities with an important lead.
There was a possibility that the forensic department might just find a match for that blood.
She had still been drenched in blood.
A very good thing was that the blood had been quickly tested, and by the time she’d gone through her cleansing ritual, she was relieved to learn that it was unlikely that she’d been exposed to any diseases of the blood, such as HIV, hepatitis C, malaria or other. There were still tests being done, and testing took time, but it looked as if she had been covered in the blood of a nicely healthy person.
Griffin had met them at the hospital; he’d spent his time switching between the different areas—the “containment” sector with Vickie, and to the emergency and then the intensive care unit to look over the young woman who had attacked her.
It had been stressful and frightening to Vickie, cleaning off the blood and wondering what might be in it.
Yet, all the while, she couldn’t help but worry and wonder about the redheaded woman. If she had just left her alone...
Vickie was finally clean—fully sanitized, really—and dressed and ready to leave. Devin had gone to her apartment for fresh clothing for her.
Griffin came toward her; they might have been standing in a hospital hallway, but he took her tightly in his arms and held her for a minute. She clung to him, and then she eased away.
“How is the redhead?” she asked.
“She’s hanging in. She’s fallen into a coma. I don’t pretend to know a great deal about the effects of cyanide poisoning, but the fact that she’s not dead—that you got enough of the poison out that she didn’t die instantly—bodes well for her. You and Devin did amazing work.”
Vickie shook her head. “It was instinct, I think. Maybe not in a good way. She threw something at me—I wanted to catch her. And, of course, I felt that I had to keep up with Devin.”
He smiled at that. “You two have a lot in common. She writes fun children’s books and you write for adults.”
“Not so fun, huh?” Vickie asked.
He laughed. “No, just more serious. Anyway, let’s head to ICU, and then, well, you have to be exhausted.”
“No police artists at night?” Vickie asked.
“You’re up to it?”
“Up to it? There was nothing wrong with me. I had a lot of baths. I’m good to go.”
“All right. Barnes is up in ICU. He’ll make arrangements.”
They headed to the ICU section. The redhead was behind glass, but they could join Rocky, Barnes and Devin, who were looking through the window.
The girl’s color was better; she wasn’t the wild, rash-riddled red she had been. She lay perfectly still, an IV in her arm, a machine at her side making a rhythmic sound, as if, with every droning pulse, it helped her breathe.
Barnes turned to look at Vickie. He was a good man; he’d become a friend, and it had meant a lot to her when he’d told her that he admired the way she had managed herself during the Undertaker case.
He shook his head. “Can’t stay out of it, huh?” he asked her.
“Hey. I was minding my own business,” she said.
“Actually, you were out questioning a pair of guitar-playing siblings regarding Alex’s disappearance,” Barnes reminded her.
“Well, according to Special Agent Lyle, this young woman approached the two of you and asked if you were Victoria Preston.”
Vickie nodded. Barnes looked at Griffin. “You two should have gotten down to Virginia,” he said gruffly.
“Detective,” Vickie said, touching his arm. “Griffin is an agent—he’d be called out on something no matter what.”
“Very strange people might not, however, be asking for you by name,” Barnes said.
And that, of course, was true.
“Vickie still wants to work with the police artist,” Griffin said.
“There’s a young man already here,” Barnes said. He cleared his throat. “We’ve taken some pictures of this young lady, but since we don’t know when...or if...she’ll recover, we’ve had an artist portray her for the newspapers and the media. Hopefully, we’ll be able to find out who she is.” He shook his head with wonder. “It’s pretty amazing that you and Special Agent Lyle were able to save her. Anyway, the artist is downstairs in one of the waiting rooms.”
Vickie nodded, but she kept staring at the girl on the bed.
“Hey, we’re going to keep someone guarding her, but the group of us watching her is not going to change her condition,” Griffin said firmly. “Come on. Let’s see the artist.”
He set a hand on her shoulder and led her out of the ICU and down to the waiting room. It was empty. Griffin saw the coffee machine and prepared cups for the two of them. Vickie sat nervously and waited for him, accepting the cup of coffee as he joined her.
“It’s been such a strange day!” she told him. “I can’t begin to understand. Sure, Devin and I went after her, but...she hadn’t done anything that would have sent her away for her whole life or anything. Why would she want to die? Or, more to the point, how could she be so willing to give it all up—to thrust that pill into her mouth? I just don’t get it. I can’t help but wonder what good we’re doing, if trying to catch these people is causing them to commit suicide.”
“First off,” Griffin said, “we can’t control what other people might choose to do. But it’s my job to stop people who might harm others. I’m sorry as hell that I couldn’t prevent Darryl Hillford putting a pill in his mouth, but I can’t be sorry that I went after him.”
“But...suicide!”
He sighed. “Most of us can’t begin to understand something so...sad. But we are human, and humans believe all kinds of things. And we are frail. Maybe there were threats, maybe promises of grand rewards. Then there’s brainwashing—the effects are real. We haven’t even scratched the surface here. But we can hope that this girl lives. If she’d just thrown blood at you, run away and escaped, we might have had to wonder if it was a separate occurrence—you know, maybe an extreme critic who really hated your books.”
He offered her a dry smile.
She punched him in the shoulder.
“Seriously, because of you and Devin catching her, we know that this young woman is part of the cult, whatever it may be. If she wakes up, she’ll be our best lead. We may also discover something through the blood that she threw on you.” He paused. “That was a lot of blood,” he said quietly.
“So much that the person who supplied it is...dead?”
“I don’t really know. But—”
“Agent Pryce? Ms. Preston?”
Griffin stood and Vickie leaped up.
The officer entering the room was about six feet even with brown hair, brown eyes and an easy manner.
“I’m Officer Jim Tracy.” He shook hands with both of them before indicating that they should take their seats again.
“So, let’s get right to it. Face shape?” he asked Vickie.
She began to describe the waitress who had used the name Audrey Benson. She was in the middle of doing so, remembering details—such as the little freckle on the young woman’s upper lip—when Roxanne Greeley suddenly came to the waiting room.
She paused dramatically at the doorway, looking in.
Then she saw Vickie.
“Vickie! Oh, thank God, you’re all right!”
She ran in and hugged Vickie. Then she looked at Griffin, shook her head and hugged Vickie again. “Thank God! Thank God! I can’t believe you were in danger again. Of course, I mean, I suppose it’s your doing. Kind of like Oscar Wilde, you know. ‘To lose one parent may be regarded as misfortune...to lose both seems like carelessness.’ Oh, wait, I’m sorry, your parents are just fine. And I’m hoping they stay alive and healthy and all. I mean...you! Throwing yourself into danger all the time. Maybe you shouldn’t, maybe you’re inviting these things...wow. Sorry. I’ll stop. I’m just glad you’re okay. Oh, and oh!”
Roxanne finally noticed the police officer who had risen behind Griffin.
“It’s okay, Roxanne,” Vickie told her.
“Seriously, it’s good to worry about friends,” Jim Tracy said, offering Roxanne a hand.
“I’m glad you’re here. Officer Tracy is doing a sketch of the waitress we had at the coffee shop the other night,” Vickie said.
“Oh. Nice. Good,” Roxanne said. Then she looked at Vickie again. “Why?”
“She’s disappeared, too. And she was using a fake name.”
“Oh...okay.”
Jim Tracy showed her the sketch he’d begun.
“You’re very good,” Roxanne told him. “Don’t you think that her face was a little thinner?” she asked Vickie.
“Yeah, maybe,” Vickie agreed.
“Take a chair, please,” Griffin said. Vickie glanced at him with a quick smile. He quickly rearranged chairs so that Vickie was on one side of the artist, Roxanne on the other. He stood a distance off, quietly waiting.
“Now you tell me what you remember, what you think might have been a bit different,” Officer Tracy said.
“Just the bit thinner,” Roxanne said. “Maybe her bangs were thicker... The rest...may I?” Roxanne asked. “Vickie does have a great eye. But I’m an artist. I’m actually making a living with my watercolors and oil paintings,” she added.
“That’s great!” Officer Tracy said. He flipped pages and offered Roxanne a clean sheet.
Roxanne began to sketch. In a minute, they could clearly see the face of the woman who had disappeared.
“That’s her,” Vickie murmured.
“Great image,” Officer Tracy said.
“But your sketch is just as true to her,” Roxanne said. “It’s just easier because I really saw her.”
“I’ll take these back to the precinct, scan them and do some mash-ups and we’ll have a pretty perfect image,” Officer Tracy assured them. “By tomorrow morning, we’ll have the lady in the bed upstairs on the news, and this disappearing, SSN-stealing waitress out there, as well.”
He stood. “I’m done here. If you need anything or if you think of anything else, please call.”
“Thank you,” Griffin said, shaking Tracy’s hand. Roxanne and Vickie thanked him, as well. As he left the waiting room, Griffin said, “I’m just going to check on our young woman in ICU. Then we’ll call it quits for the night.”
“We’re just going to...leave?” Vickie asked.
“She’s in a coma. Nothing much we can do unless she awakens,” Griffin said. “Don’t worry, between all the agencies, we’ll have someone watching her around the clock.”
“Around the clock. They watched Alex around the clock. And then they didn’t. And now he’s gone,” she said.
Griffin hesitated, glancing at Roxanne. He moved closer to Vickie and said softly, “Don’t go thinking that was Alex’s blood you were wearing. You dreamed about a woman with her throat slit on an inverted cross—not a man. Not Alex.”
“Let’s get you guys home right away. I’ll be back.”
Griffin left. Roxanne glared at Vickie. “You should be really glad your folks are in England, being spared the worry! This has been all over the television. Reporters and cameras get places so fast!”
“But they couldn’t have gotten today on camera!”
“Not the first part. They got you—covered in what looked like blood—being led to an ambulance. I guess one of the EMTs or cops did some talking. The reporter said that you were covered in red stuff, but he said that witnesses reported that it wasn’t your blood, and they also knew that the girl had taken some kind of a capsule or pill that you and Agent Devin Lyle had gotten from her. Naturally, they’re referring back to your involvement in the Undertaker case. At least there’s been no mention of Alex’s name so far,” Roxanne told her.
“Great, just great,” Vickie said.
“What was it that she threw on you? Was it actually blood? It was? Oh, God. You don’t think—”
“Griffin keeps assuring me that it isn’t Alex’s blood,” Vickie said quickly. “He’s convinced that they want Alex for his mind, want him to help them find something that has been lost for decades, or something like that.”
“So where are they keeping him? And where are these people coming from? That guy who killed himself because Griffin caught him attacking a woman—and now this girl! Taking a pill because she was caught throwing blood on you. Where did all the blood come from? Vickie, I’m just worried!”
“Don’t be, please. I’ve got Griffin—”
“Thank God for that!”
“And he has close coworkers here and we’re working with Detective Barnes and his department. It’s all good.”
Roxanne smiled. “I guess you were actually kicking ass today!”
Vickie winced. The girl swallowing a pill didn’t seem much like kicking ass.
“She tripped over a tombstone.”
“Because you were moving like greased lightning!” Griffin reappeared at the door.
“Come on, we’ll see you home,” he said, beckoning to Roxanne.
“To my door, and then you two go away. Shoo. Keep your deadly shenanigans away from me!” Roxanne said. “Sorry, kidding. No, I’m not. I’m scared again, Vickie.”
“Don’t be scared. Just be careful. Be extra careful. You know the ropes now, right? Well-lit places with lots of people, no super-late-night excursions,” Vickie began.
“No candy from strangers. Yeah, I know the drill. I’ll be cautious,” Roxanne said. “And I’ll keep in touch. Hey, have your talked to your mom? If she and your dad get wind of the stuff happening here with you involved, you’re in for it,” she warned.
“I’ll write them an email tonight,” Vickie promised.
“Let’s get going,” Griffin said.
The three of them left the hospital.
* * *
Griffin thought that he tended to be aware of the world around him—it was part and parcel of his training. Tonight, it seemed ever more important.
He understood why David Barnes had wanted to believe that it was all over. There was no way for an average citizen to prepare for a spontaneous attack when just walking down the street. And it was impossible to ask the population of Boston to just hole up in a house or apartment and never go out.
Constant fear was debilitating. It wore on the mind and the nerves and therefore, eventually, the whole of the body. Random attacks set the entire city on edge.
But now Barnes knew. Now they all knew, for a fact, that it wasn’t over. And it was all connected. Alex had been attacked first, then others. Alex had disappeared. This girl had called Vickie by name, and most importantly, she’d attempted suicide in the same manner as the young man the other night.
They reached Roxanne’s place, and Griffin warned Vickie to keep the car doors locked as he walked Roxanne up to her apartment, even though Vickie was in his sight line at all times. She smiled at his overprotectiveness.
With Roxanne safely in, he returned to the car and pulled out onto the road, heading the short distance from Roxanne’s to Vickie’s.
Vickie was thoughtful as they drove. “She was a redhead.”
“Yes, definitely, a redhead. Why?”
“No reason, I guess. I just...”
“What?”
“Going back to Sunday night, when Roxanne and I were in the coffee shop looking for Alex, I thought that I saw a blonde woman—really pretty, just staring at me.”
“Ah, well, maybe she admired you,” Griffin said, trying to speak lightly. “I love looking at you. Let me try to get a little poetic. Eyes like emeralds, hair like a raven’s wing...you’re pretty beautiful yourself, you know.” His left hand on the wheel, he reached out briefly with his right, drawing his knuckles down her cheek.
She caught his hand and turned to him, smiling. “Thanks. I was just thinking... I can’t begin to understand or make sense of what is going on. We keep trying to come up with explanations. A guy dies the other night by his own hand, the girl today tried to die and may still die, and...”
“And?”
“I dreamed of someone dying or dead, Griffin. I thought that it was Alex calling to me, and this is absurd, yes, but I do think he’s trying to reach me somehow. But Alex wasn’t hurt in the dream. It was definitely a woman. I keep trying to remember details, but the cross was upside down, she was all bound to it upside down and everything was covered with blood.” She shuddered suddenly. “Like I was today!”
He squeezed her hand. “You’re pretty good at this, you know. Okay, so you may have been foolish and rash, as well, chasing after the woman who threw the blood at you.”
“Devin went after her.”
“Devin went through the academy. She’s armed.”
“Yeah, well, there’s that. But I was pretty sure the redhead wasn’t armed with more than that cup. It’s just so sad, Griffin. And so confusing!”
He agreed.
When they walked into the apartment, she turned in his arms immediately. It had been a ridiculously long day, an emotional day, and he was glad that she was turning to him—rather than away. And yet she seemed keyed up and distracted.
She suddenly stepped away from him, murmuring, “I’ve got to take a shower.”
“You were just sanitized!” he told her.
“That’s the point. I need to feel like I’m not a large swab of disinfectant soap,” she told him.
She turned and headed toward the bedroom.
He followed more slowly, taking off his jacket and sliding his Glock and its holster onto the bedside table. He sat on the bed and wondered if he should just walk in and join her, or give her a moment.
He smiled, thinking about the incredibly erotic way she had intended to greet him the night before.
The water was still running.
Why not? Griffin thought. He looked around the room.
Maybe he simply needed a few props.
* * *
Vickie was startled to hear music playing.
After the long day—food and coffee just snatched up here and there on the run, the last hours at the hospital—she’d been zoning out under the shower when the music jolted her back to reality.
She frowned. The water was falling around her, steam rising, and she was holding a little round ball of her favorite rose soap in her hands.
Griffin had not come into the shower.
She had really at least half expected him to do so.
She rinsed quickly, stepped out, grabbed a towel and headed out of her bath and into the bedroom.
And there, of course, he was.
Returning the favor.
He looked like a million bucks, she thought, lying across the foot of the bed on an elbow, a rose in his hand, wearing nothing but a white collar and tie, and a fedora.
Rod Stewart was singing away on the radio, and as she stood there, laughing, Griffin stood and tossed off the fedora and drew her to him, pulling away her towel and dipping her low in his arms. “Laugh at me, will you?” he demanded.
She stroked his face, curled her fingers around his neck and kissed him long and hard. “Laugh at you,” she said huskily. “That was fantastic. Wonderful. I really would like to see just how far it could go—the music, the tie is a nice touch...and you, well, the display of the body, the muscles...wow. Just one thing missing.”
“What’s that?”
She laughed softly. “Some friends at an open door!”
“You’re heartless, wench. Will I never be forgiven?”
“These muscles really are great,” she told him. “If you let me up a little, I can try to show my forgiveness?”
He eased her up. He lifted her and she jumped up, winding her legs around his waist. She loved the strong hot feel of his naked flesh against hers, and loved even more that he had thought to amuse her, tease her, arouse her...
Take the day away and make magic of the night.
He fell backward on the bed, bringing her down on top of him. She found his mouth first, and then moved against him, bathing his bronzed flesh with erotic sweeps of her lips and tongue. It lasted only so long before he reached for her, tossing her underneath him and rolling with her, returning each kiss, each feathery tease and aggressive touch.
They made love.
Sighing, her head on his chest, Vickie slept deliciously. He was the greatest nectar ever for her, body and soul, and he could exhaust her, as well, and let her sleep...
So peacefully at first.
And then the dream came again.
She heard her name being called. She wasn’t certain—she just couldn’t be certain—but she thought that it might be Alex’s voice.
She rose and found her robe and slipped into it. She started down the path that seemed to be forming in front of her.
She paused, and looked back.
She could see Griffin, splayed out on the bed, his body a glorious bronze against the opaque white of the sheets. She wanted to go back to him, crawl into his arms, or at the least wake him and make him come with her.
“Vickie, Vickie, Vickie...please!”
She turned. The note of anguish in the voice calling to her was so very deep.
And, so, she walked the path again.
She could hear running water, see a deeply forested region before her. Pine needles lay upon the path where she walked. She could smell the very richness of the earth.
The voice kept calling to her.
She stepped out of the path and into a clearing.
And there it was—the inverted cross. There was something else there—a table, a large tiled concrete table. People were gathered in the clearing. They were chanting lowly.
“Vickie, Vickie, Vickie, please!”
Chanting and swaying.
She heard a scream. The cross wasn’t empty. The woman was upon it, upside down. Her throat was slit, and blood...
Blood was rushing, along the trail, into the water beyond the clearing, and it was becoming a tidal wave.
She turned to run. She screamed and screamed and screamed...
She awoke; Griffin was there, holding her, shaking her lightly, trying to get her to focus on him.
She stared up at him.
He stared back at her with his incredible dark eyes, empathy heavy within them.
“The nightmare again?” he asked her softly.
She nodded.
“I’m so sorry!” he said. “They are—such dreams—common with us. People who speak with the dead. But, Vickie, though I know how bad they are, I also know just how important it can be to remember them. Someone is trying to reach you. Maybe it’s Alex, maybe it’s someone else or maybe there’s more than one person.” He smiled gently, holding her even closer. “None of us has answers. Really. You’d think that we—who speak with the souls or remnants of our humanity, ghosts, what have you—would have more answers. We just don’t. Maybe we’re not meant to.”
She cupped his face with her hand. “You’re... I really do love you,” she murmured. “You’re so...special.”
He winced, laughed and kissed her fingers. “Special. Great.”
“I didn’t mean...oh! Never mind. You are kind of special in a fedora!”
They both jumped when there was a knock at her door.
“What the hell?”
“Someone must have left the front door to the building open again—hate to say it, even after the Undertaker thing, none of my neighbors ever remember to lock the outer door,” Vickie said, jumping up.
“Seven-thirty,” Griffin muttered, looking at the clock on her nightstand. He stood and slipped into a T-shirt and shorts and headed out. Vickie found her robe and did the same.
Griffin reached the door first and looked through the peephole. He opened the door right away, just as Vickie came up behind him.
Rocky and Devin were there.
“What’s happened?” Griffin asked them. He didn’t mention the hour.
And he wouldn’t, Vickie thought. He knew that if they were there, it was for a reason.
“Barnes called you and then me,” Rocky said. “They—”
He broke off, staring at Griffin, and frowning.
“What’s on your neck?” he asked Griffin.
“What? Ah!” Griffin reached up and grabbed at the white collar he’d donned for his pose the night before.
Vickie hadn’t thought it was possible for someone so tanned to blush so fiercely.
“Oh,” Rocky said.
“Ohhhh!” Devin said, and laughed.
“Hey!” Griffin protested.
“Don’t tease, it’s all great,” Devin said. She punched Rocky in the arm. “No judgment. Go for it, you guys! Anyway, we’re not here to ruin your sex lives.”
“Well, you’re not doing a bad job!” Griffin said.
“You didn’t ruin anything. We just woke up,” Vickie said. She couldn’t help giggling, and then they were all really laughing, and it felt good—their lives could be far too filled with tension. Yes, it was good, even if a little embarrassing.
“Do we know who the young lady is in the hospital? Our redheaded Jane Doe?” Griffin asked.
“No,” Rocky said, “but they’ve found a match for the blood that was thrown on Vickie.”
“A match? Already? You mean, they have more than O positive...a real match to someone?” Griffin asked.
Rocky nodded. “Helena Matthews, twenty-five. She was reported missing six weeks ago. The police took a DNA sample from her toothbrush during their initial search for her. She left work in Bristol, Rhode Island, to meet up with friends for an annual dinner in Fall River.”
“She never came home,” Devin finished quietly.