Rook: Let's Avoid the Apocalypse, People Page 2

  She hit the gas even harder. The situation in Africa wasn’t going to wait on mid-town traffic.

  * * *

  Angela Morrey sat in the interrogation room as the detectives milled about, uncertain what to do with her. But she didn’t blame them. She didn’t know what to do with herself, either. She kept wrapping and unwrapping her tear-soaked tissues around her fingers. Even the crying had stopped. Maybe people only had so many tears for a lifetime. Once they were spent, were they done crying?

  “Angela,” Detective Brian Hoffman stated kindly.

  “Yes, sorry,” she said, wiping a stray blonde hair from her face.

  “No, I’m sorry,” he said, as he sat down next to her and put his hand over hers. “You have been through so much.”

  She just shook her head, though. “I just want to get this over with so that I can get home.” Once she got there, she had no idea what she would do, but she needed to get out of the cramped, dingy interrogation room, or she really would lose it.

  Brian sat back and gave her a grim smile. “Okay, then. How well did you know your letter carrier, Mr. Nilen?”

  “Not well. I mean, I said ‘hi’ if I saw him. He would also ring the bell to deliver packages, you know? He didn’t like to leave them on the step. He said he was afraid they would get stolen.”

  Had that simple act of kindness gotten him killed? Did having her as a delivery stop doom the poor man?

  “That’s good, Angela. Thank you. Now, are you sure that you didn’t see anyone suspicious around the neighborhood this morning?”

  She looked up into the detective’s green eyes. How many times had they played out this macabre dance? Between the mail carrier, her cleaning lady, fitness trainer, and her boss, that made it four dead, just in this city. Before that, back home? Her mother, brother, two sisters, an uncle, and just for good measure, a fiancé.

  She wasn’t unlucky. She was doomed.

  Her postman’s death just confirmed it.

  Brian’s partner, Detective Stakeland, paced behind them.

  “I’m sorry, Brian, but don’t we want to ask something other than the softballs you’ve been throwing?”

  Brian turned around and glared at his partner. “Stakeland…”

  But Angela nodded. “Go for it.”

  Brian squeezed her hand, but she shook him off. Seriously, what could Stakeland say or do that was worse than what had already happened? As much as Stakeland obviously wanted to grill her, he equally did not want to incur Brian’s wrath, so his tone was polite.

  “I would like to discuss your alibi.”

  Angela sighed. More of the same. At least if he was going to go at her, couldn’t he be a little more inventive? “I was online discussing a graphic design, switching out background images with a client. He can verify that I was on the call through the time-of-death window.”

  How sad was it that she knew things like “time-of-death window”—and where she was during it?

  “Your phone and online records do seem to support that,” Stakeland said, but then his tone sharpened. “But that does not rule out an accomplice.”

  She could feel Brian tense next to her, but how many times had that allegation come up as well? “You must know that techs have combed through my phone, texts, and email records. I don’t talk to anyone unless it is work related, and even then I do so under an alias that you have access to.”

  “Don’t be smug with me,” Stakeland growled as Brian jumped to his feet.

  She hadn’t been trying to be smug or anything else with the detective. She had just been trying to get through this interview without crumpling into a heap of depression.

  “Back off, Stakeland.”

  “Brian, open your eyes, man. She is jerking you around! That chick has helped kill nearly a dozen people, and you are defending her.”

  Angela watched as Brian’s hand balled up in a fist. He spoke through clenched teeth. “There is absolutely no evidence of that, and I am not going to have you harassing a victim of all of this.”

  “Victim?” Stakeland snorted. “More like perpetrator.”

  Brian shook his head. “Stop and listen to yourself, Stakeland. Why would she do this? Any of this?”

  “Why does a chick need a motive for anything?”

  “Well, the DA certainly does, so unless you are going to be constructive, I suggest you leave.”

  Angela actually felt a little sorry for Stakeland as Brian pointed at the door. It wasn’t the detective’s fault he thought her guilty. She had even gone through hypnotic regression therapy to see whether she was sleepwalking and committing these terrible crimes. At this point, Angela actually wanted to be guilty. At least then, they would lock her away and stop the deaths. As it was now, she was a laser pointed right at the killer’s next victim.

  Hadn’t she left Cincinnati to avoid the carnage? How could it have followed her here? She never should have listened to Brian. Her instincts after her maid’s death had been to move far away again, but the detective had convinced her to stay. That he would catch whoever was responsible. No matter Brian’s dedication, three more people were dead. And the poor mail carrier lost his life because he gave superior service? There was no way she could stay. Not here. Not anywhere.

  Plus, she knew that Brian wasn’t just taking flack from Stakeland, but from his lieutenant as well. Angela couldn’t let Brian ruin his career while the dead kept piling up.

  She just needed to get through this interview so that she could go do what she needed to do. Angela had known since she opened her door this morning and found Mr. Nilen prone on his back, those still, dead eyes gazing up at her. She couldn’t, just couldn’t, do that again.

  Hopefully, her death would be the last death.

  CHAPTER 2

  Location: Cave in the Congo Region of Africa

  Rook waited and watched from the shadows of the cave. He watched the professor, his remaining students, and several tattered gun-for-hire security guards. Group dynamics were always so fascinating, but never so much as when the group was confronted with not just the impossible, but after the impossible just kicked everyone’s ass.

  The professor was—clearly—badly injured. His shoulder was swathed in bloody bandages. The rest of the group didn’t look like it had fared much better. Corpses were piled to the side. With the heavy fighting outside in the jungle, there was no way to dispose of the bodies there. Certainly, the group was far too afraid to move them to the rear chamber.

  Reports were sketchy, but it seemed that all the action happened there.

  Now, though, everyone was crowded around the young man on the ground. Presumably, the vice president’s nephew.

  Perhaps it was time for Rook to make his introductions.

  He struck a match. “Boo.”

  The group jumped to their feet. The guards raised guns with shaking arms. Rook stepped into the room, but Beauty downright sauntered in—still in those six-inch stilettos.

  “Oh, this is nasty,” she stated, picking up one foot and inspecting the bright red sole, and then the other.

  Rook crossed over to Chad. “So, what have we got here?”

  The stunned group, though, did not answer, so Rook looked at Beauty. “Is this our mark, or what?”

  But Beauty slipped on the blood-slicked floor. “These are …” She scraped some brain matter off the sides of her shoes. “These were Guccis.”

  Finally, one of the students snapped out of her shock and put a protective arm over Chad. “Who are you?”

  Rook stood up. “Why, I thought it was obvious.” When the looks upon the group’s faces did not register the “obvious,” Rook continued, “We are the cavalry.”

  Pointing behind him to the dark, tribal men entering the cave, Rook clarified. “Well, actually, they are the cavalry. I’m more the general.”

  Each of the men wore tight loincloths stained red with the blood of a lion. Bright feathers lined the waistbands. Beyond that, the men were naked. So as much as Beauty was grumbl
ing about her shoes, she was also getting her fill of eye candy.

  Without hesitation, the tribesmen began dragging the dead bodies out of the cave.

  “What are they doing?” the student pressed, worry crimping otherwise attractive features.

  “Taking payment for services rendered,” Rook answered.

  “What?” she asked.

  But Rook grinned, amused by the growing horror on her face. “Come on. You look like a bright girl.” Perhaps she was bright, but not altogether quick. “A little snack for the road?”

  The girl studied the tribesmen, then the corpses, and then Rook. “Cannibals?” she spat out. “You employed cannibals?”

  “Um, who else was going to get us past the Apocalypse Now scenario you’ve got going on out there?”

  Still horrified, Kadie rose to her feet. “You can’t expect us to let them take our friends and … and …”

  Beauty stepped over a rather large piece of torso and squeezed the young woman’s shoulder. “It’s best not to dwell on details like that, sweetie.”

  But the student jerked away from Beauty’s grip. “You are sick.” She indicated Rook as well. “You both are sick. I would rather take my chances here.”

  The professor finally ended his silence. “Kadie, I don’t think we can be quite so hasty.” It seemed that the instructor was a bit more practical in these matters. Which wouldn’t surprise Rook, given that the guy’s shoulder oozed a yellow discharge. When faced with cannibals or sepsis, one usually accepted the help of the cannibals.

  One of the rent-a-guards stepped forward and spoke in a thick Irish accent. “I’d give my own bloody arm if it gets us out of here.”

  “I wouldn’t say that too loudly,” Rook said, indicating the large tribesmen. “They might take you up on that offer.”

  The man stepped away from Rook, a look of repulsion on his face.

  What? Rook was only trying to be helpful.

  Kadie turned on her professor. “You can’t be serious! We should trust these … these …”

  The older man put a protective arm over his student’s shoulder. “Kadie, what other choice do we have?”

  By Rook’s count, that would be none. The girl’s lip trembled, and tears sprang to her eyes. Rook was just glad someone else was comforting her. Rook sucked at babysitting. Instead, he knelt beside Chad.

  “Looks like it is time we examined the main attraction.”

  Kadie fled from her professor and tried to shove Rook away. “No. He’s already been through enough.”

  But one little grad student wasn’t going to dissuade Rook. He knelt, picked up a stick, and moved Chad’s torn shirt aside.

  Rook whistled appreciatively. The man’s entire chest was now a seared mess of a seal. The outer edges were black and dry, but near the pulsing symbol, the flesh still oozed a red fluid. The body was trying to heal the affront, but how could it? Red and golden symbols flowed across his skin. One would rise, and then another would sink beneath the surface.

  “Now, that you don’t see every day.”

  Actually, Rook had never seen anything like it. It was extremely rare that something new was sprung on him. Which was just as well, since he was none too thrilled with the experience. He liked to have a plan of action. Even if it sucked, having a plan was better than nothing.

  He turned to the professor. “So, how’d this happen?”

  The professor nodded toward the back of the cave. “You’d best follow me.”

  Rook instructed Beauty to sit tight with Chad. Her expertly red-lined lips curved downward. But Rook gave her that “don’t make me cause a scene in front of company” look, so she awkwardly knelt beside the student.

  Before he followed the rest of the group to the back cave, Rook leaned over and whispered in Beauty’s ear. “Just make sure…”

  “That the bodies are actually dead before your little ‘cavalry’ takes ’em?”

  “Exactly.”

  Beauty nodded that pink weave of hers. “Oh, honey, I was already all over that.”

  Rook allowed a grin to form as he turned to follow the others. Of course, Beauty was all over it. With gorgeous, half-dressed men on the premises, when was she not?

  * * *

  Angela signed yet another document that Brian placed before her. Who knew that death generated so much paperwork? She just wanted to get through it all. As much as she had hated the stale confines of the interrogation room, the noisy squad room was almost worse. The jangly telephone rings and the musty smell of aftershave and beer. The combination of odors nauseated her. And the last thing she wanted to do was make a spectacle of herself by puking on Brian’s desk. He had been so kind. She did not want to be another source of embarrassment for him.

  “Here we go—just two more,” Brian said as he pushed the other forms her way.

  Her pen was poised over it as she scanned the page. “What is this?”

  “Oh, just the form to accept protective custody.”

  Angela shoved the paper away. “No. Not again.”

  She tried to rise, but Brian caught her hand and gently guided her back down to her seat. “There’s no other way, Angela. We have to assume that whoever is doing this will turn on you.”

  “Good! At least it will be over.”

  Brian squeezed her hands together. “I never, ever want to hear you say that again.”

  His eyes were so intent. A dark, caramel brown. His square jaw was outlined by muscles strained with worry. At another place and time, perhaps she could have found him attractive. But right now, his chiseled features only reminded her why she must walk the path set before her.

  Alone.

  She could not go to the morgue to identify another body, let alone Brian’s. He must have taken her silence as acceptance, so he continued. “We will catch this bastard, and you’ll have a normal life again.”

  “Normal?” Angela questioned. “With no parents? No friends? Just an endless parade of graves to visit? How will it ever be normal again?”

  “Oh, Angela,” Brian said, his hand finding her face. His touch was warm, but Angela knew that gesture would never reach her heart. It had hardened over. But she could not let Brian know that. He was so determined to save her.

  “Okay. Okay,” she said, leaning back, removing her hands from his grip. “Protective custody it is.”

  Brian was about to say something when a voice called out, “Hoffman. In here.” They both turned to find the lieutenant standing in his doorway looking pretty pissed off.

  “I’ll be right there,” Brian said to the lieutenant.

  “Now,” the lieutenant stressed.

  “On it, Lieutenant,” Brian responded as he rose. He turned to her. “I will be right back.”

  As he rose, his holster caught on the desk. “Damn it!” he cursed as he unsnapped the holster from his belt. He must have forgotten to lock it away in the flurry of activity once the postman’s body was found on her doorstep. Rapidly, he placed the gun in the drawer, closed it, and put his key in the lock. It stuck a bit.

  “Do you understand the meaning of the word, now, Hoffman?” the lieutenant bellowed.

  Giving up on the lock, Brian rushed toward the lieutenant’s office.

  Angela sank into her chair. She didn’t want to go into protective custody. To live in a series of no-name motels, and eating no-name fast food? The memory nearly made her retch. But if she refused to go, then Brian would insist on staying at her place. She would have no privacy. No time in which to carry out her plan.

  Crossing her legs, her foot banged against the desk. Ugh. She couldn’t even change body positions without causing harm. Then she noticed that the drawer slid open an inch. The silver snap of Brian’s holster gleamed out at her. She wasn’t very religious, but if ever there was a sign from God, this had to be it.

  Before her courage wavered, Angela rose, pretending to get a paper on the other side of the desk. Carefully, she opened the drawer a little more and lifted the gun out. Tucking the gun,
holster and all, underneath her bulky sweater, Angela quietly closed the drawer again. As casually as she could, she headed toward the back of the squad room.

  Halfway to her destination, Brian called out from the lieutenant’s office, “And where do you think you are going?”

  Angela attempted a smile. “Just to the restroom.”

  He nodded, before the lieutenant caught his attention again.

  Hands shaking, Angela continued on her path. A flash of the expression on Brian’s face when he heard the shot filled her vision. It nearly stalled her feet, but she could not let one man’s feelings, no matter how touching or genuine, get another person she knew killed.

  She just couldn’t.

  * * *

  Rook stepped around a pool of pancreas as he studied the large, blackened seal on the cave wall. Taller than he, the etched symbols showed no sign of life. Which, given what happened the last time it opened, was probably a good thing.

  Professor Sanu pointed to the center of the seal. “There were rumors of an ancient rune buried deep beneath a landslide.”

  “Hmm…” Rook commented. “And an equal number of rumors that said it should never, ever be disturbed.”

  Kadie, the student, suddenly went into her haughty act again. Rook supposed it worked on those who liked her pretty face.

  “We are scholars,” she said, really stressing the whole scholar thing. “The truth knows no boundaries. The world has a right—”

  Rook couldn’t take much more of her holier-than-thou attitude. “The world has gotten along quite fine with this artifact buried deep in these caves.” Rook turned as the torchlight flickered and the air reeked of burnt flesh and dirt. “And for all of your education, you, my dear Kadie, have yet to learn that the only ‘truth’ is that the natives, in fact, do know best.”

  As the student sputtered, her professor stepped in. “Looking back, of course, you are right,” he said. He motioned around the cave. “We found this chamber yesterday. Obviously, we didn’t understand its true importance.”

  Rook allowed the professor to ramble on as he studied the seal. It was a mixture of so many art forms. And none were the classic derivation. He sensed some were a modified Germanic script, while others looked crudely cuneiform, and, just for giggles, they had thrown in some angel-speak. It would be quite the find, if it didn’t end up killing them.