The Sinner

Instead of calling him, she went into Safari and did a Google search on the lawyer her parents had used—and found the man’s obituary. He had died ten years ago.

Naturally.

To pass the time before the train started moving and she could fall asleep against the window, she played the voice mail that had been left by the unknown number, expecting it to be a scam offer for health insurance or maybe a fake program to help her with student loans she didn’t have.

Hi, Ms. Early. This is St. Francis Urgent Care. You were here about seventy-two hours ago? You left us a blood sample? Well, it turns out that it was contaminated in the lab somehow. We hate to ask you to do this, but could you come in and let us take some more? Again, we’re really sorry. We’ve never had this happen before. It must have been a screwup on their part, but they’re saying they couldn’t read what they had. Thanks. Oh, our telephone number is—

Jo cut the message off. All of that was so not on her list of things to worry about. Besides, she’d essentially been cleared by the doctor and—

Frowning, she rubbed at her nose, a terrible smell invading her nostrils. When there seemed to be no escape from the stench, she leaned out into the aisle. Two men had entered the car at the far end, and it had to be them.

Assuming the pair had strung dead skunks around their necks under their coats.

Jo blinked her eyes and rubbed her nose again. God, she’d never smelled anything so awful. It was like baby powder and roadkill—

All at once, her headache came on with a vengeance, her skull pounding with pain. Clearly, the stink was the trigger.

Nope. Not gonna do this for two hours, she decided. No matter how rude it is to move.

Grabbing her backpack, she got to her feet and shuffled up to the next car in line—and thank God that whatever the smell was didn’t carry into the other space.

Just as the train bumped and started forward, she sat down at a new window seat and massaged her temples. As the agony continued to build, she refused to submit to it. For some reason, she had the feeling it was trying to distract her. Get her off some kind of thought trail.

Even though that was crazy talk. Anthropomorphizing a migraine? Really?

Still… that stench. What about the stench—

Even as the vise cranked down harder on her skull, she probed further the conviction that she had smelled that horrible stink before. Sometime recently. Very recently…

Going into her phone, she went to her call log. Without knowing what she was looking for, she checked what had come in on, and gone out of, her phone over the last couple of days. Lot of calls back and forth with McCordle. Then there was Dougie looking for money. Telemarketing bullcrap—

Jo sat up.

What the hell had she been doing, talking to Bill at ten p.m. A number of times?

She’d been home at the time. Or should have been. And yet she had no memory of speaking to him then. Sure, they regularly chatted about their little extracurricular hobby with the supernatural—but not after ten o’clock on a proverbial school night. And not over and over again within such a short period of time…

No, wait, she thought. She’d been out somewhere. She had gone in search of… something.

Yes, in her car. It had been raining—

Moaning, Jo shut her phone down and had to let her head fall back against the seat rest. As she breathed in a shallow way, she vowed to find out where the hell she had gone and why she had called her friend.

She was done with the knowledge holes in her life.

At least a simple mystery like where she had been when she had spoken with Bill had to be solvable.

It just had to be.

 

 

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

 



Thirty minutes after nightfall, Butch parked the R8 in the downtown garage—and this time, he did not expect to meet with anyone. Not Mel. Not his roommate. Not his roommate’s estranged mother.

Yup, he wasn’t interested in crossing paths with anybody.

And FFS, it sure would be handy to dematerialize.

Instead, he hoofed it. Stepping out of the garage, he popped the collar on his leather jacket, ducked his head, and started making time. The rest of the Brotherhood were still back at the mansion, doing a weapons check—something he technically should have been involved with. But whatever. He needed a little personal time before—

As his phone started going off, he took it out and killed the vibration without bothering to check to see who was calling. This wasn’t going to take long, and as soon as he was finished, he’d hit the home team up, pull a mea culpa, and proceed with the regularly scheduled program.

It took him six minutes to get to his destination, and as he stared up at the twenty-story office building, it occurred to him that he had no memory of how he and Mel had gotten inside the night before. She must have had a key. Had it been through the front entrance? That seemed unlikely given that there were revolving doors that had been locked in place because it was after hours.

Around back?

Unease prickled up the nape of his neck, and he palmed one of his guns as he went down the side of the building. In the middle of the block, he found an unmarked entrance, but it was bolted closed with no wiggle room whatsoever.

Hell, the damn thing didn’t have a lock to pick or even a card reader. Had to be an emergency exit.

Rounding the far corner and facing off at the back of the property, he hoped for a receiving dock in the shallow parking area—and had his prayers answered. But that was as far as the good news went. He couldn’t get into anything. Not the bay doors that were all rolled down tight, and not the three regular doors with their electronic key readers for which—duh—he had no pass card.

He went around the footprint of the building. Twice.

Before he caved.

Taking out his phone, he was cursing as he hit send on the call. No reason to go into his contacts to find the number. The fucker in question had been the last person who had called him. Three times in a row. In the last three and a half minutes—

“Where the fuck are you?” V snapped.

“That’s not important. I need a favor—”

“Oh, it’s not important. I’m on lockdown here—with Lassiter, P.S., who’s going to make me watch The Munsters all night long—”

“—I need to get into a locked facility—”

“—when I’m an Addams Family kind of male—”

“—and it’s got these card reader thingies—”

“—and more to the point, you’ve clearly skipped weapons inspection—”

All at once, they both stopped and barked, “Will you listen to what the fuck I’m saying!”

Then, also at the same time:

“You’re watching TV with Lassiter?”

“You’re trying to break into a building?”

Butch fought a wave of exhaustion. “Look, it’s not for business. I just need to get into this place, and you’re the only person who can help.”

“Where are you? And if you say not important again I’m going to punch this angel because he’s the closest thing to me.”

“Not important—”

Over the connection, there was a muffled OW! What the FUCK, V!

“God, that was satisfying,” V murmured. “Thank you.”