Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DEVYN
A drenaline surges through me like an electric storm as I press my back against the wall, breathing heavily.
Matthew Lacroix, a fellow FIB agent, doesn’t hesitate to kick open the door and enter the spacious warehouse, his gun raised. I follow along behind him with my own weapon trained on the shadowy corners, searching for any movement, any sign that we’re not alone. I expand my magic outwards, but all I sense is a combination of wariness and hope from my comrades.
Across the way, the back door flies open, and four more FIB agents rush inside.
“Clear!”
“Clear!”
“Clear!”
“Clear!”
“Clear!”
Dammit.
With a heavy sigh, I shove my gun back into its holster and study the building once more. I thought we finally had a lead, something that would blow this case wide open, but it proved to be another dead-end.
Just this morning, I discovered a once-abandoned building had been bought for twice the amount it should’ve. That alone wouldn’t have drawn attention, but security cameras from a nearby store caught a shipment of medical equipment being delivered to this facility. That, combined with its location, made it the perfect base of operations for the murderer.
I dug deeper, sifting through all of the information I could find, and uncovered that the building was bought by someone named Jane Doe. My suspicions were validated when Lacroix, a unicorn shifter who can sense magic, noted an abnormal amount emanating from this building.
Yet it’s empty.
Completely and utterly empty.
I bite my lip to keep from growling—or screaming—and turn towards two of the agents awaiting further instruction. “Fan out. See if you can find anything that can be of use.”
“Yes, sir.” They separate immediately, though I know their search will prove futile.
Our suspect is too fucking smart to leave behind any damning evidence.
It’s apparent that, at one point, this building had a staggering amount of security. I see a thumbprint scanner, number pad, and a place to swipe a security badge. I wonder if I can somehow pull the records of everyone who entered the building through these pieces of equipment—though I have the distinct impression that it’s already been wiped. The killer hasn’t survived this long by being dumb.
“Devyn.” Angelica Morose steps up beside me, her aging face set in a severe frown.
She’s an older woman with gray hair, always kept in an immaculate, high ponytail, and sun-kissed skin from hours spent outdoors. Normally, she has a warm smile on her face, but not today. Come to think of it, I can’t remember the last time I saw her smile. It certainly has been months. This case has been taking its toll on everyone in the division, not just me.
“You need to see this.”
I nod and follow her down a short set of stairs, into a room at the very end of a long hall.
Like the rest of the building, this part of the area has been abandoned, but unlike everything else, it isn’t empty. It reminds me of one of those post-apocalyptic movies where everything is left behind in the state of an evacuation. Clipboards lie on rickety metal tables, the ink smudged and blotted, and strange machinery connects to the electrical outlets, and?—
Cages.
Lots of fucking cages.
They’re not normal cages, though. They almost resemble glass cylinders. The very first one holds a girl—perhaps between the age of twenty and twenty-five—with matted ebony hair and sunken cheeks. Her sightless blue eyes stare blankly up at the ceiling.
Revulsion and horror twist my gut as I drop to my knees to see the dead fae better.
God, what the fuck did they do to her? They didn’t just starve her or keep her captive. They tortured her. Her skin has been peeled away from her muscles, fissures and cracks exploding across the surface like burning paper, and in its place are bright, bloody wounds. A stained hospital gown adorns her slender frame.
Fear jolts through me, as cold as ice water, and I scrub a hand through my hair.
“Get the medical examiner here. Now,” I bark. “And call Boss.”
I don’t check to see if anyone will listen. I know they will. This is my goddamn case, after all.
Though sometimes, like today, I wish it wasn’t. The mantle of responsibility has never felt so heavy before, so staggering. I can barely breathe around the weight on my chest.
“Sir…” Angelica hands me one of the clipboards, and I take it with more force than necessary.
“Is this…?” I suck in a haggard breath, my thoughts stalling. My pulse rushes in my ears.
“Her medical chart? Yes.” Angelica sounds just as disgusted as I feel.
Swallowing, I begin to sift through the papers, my horror at this discovery quickly morphing into an almost incandescent anger.
Bethany Washer.
Kitsune.
Seelie.
North Dakota.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck!
My grip tightens on the clipboard before I force myself to relax. To stand. To lift my gaze off of the dead woman…only to immediately focus on a bloody handprint on the glass, as if she tried to break free before death claimed her. Or maybe she attempted to plead with her captor, praying someone would take pity on her and help her escape.
A tide of raw fury threatens to batter down my composure, but I hold it back through sheer willpower.
“Her name is Bethany Washer,” I say through numb lips. “She lives in North Dakota. We need to notify her family right away.”
Angelica places a gentle hand on my arm and gives it a squeeze. “We’ll catch this guy, Devyn.”
I shrug her off of me and stalk towards the far end of the room. I don’t want to hear false promises or reassurances. Right now, I’m not sure if we’ll ever catch this killer. He’s smarter than us. I don’t know how he always manages to stay one step ahead of us, but he does. This was supposed to be our big lead, and what did we find? A dead body. Like always, we were too late. Too goddamn late.
Dammit, Devyn! If you were a better agent, you could’ve captured this bastard.
I place my hands on the cold metal operating table, squeeze my eyelids shut, and try to breathe. Just breathe. Why does it feel as if I’m inhaling razor blades? Angry tears prick the backs of my eyes, burning like I’ve been struck by hot pokers.
With a roar, I toss the table to the side, watching as it careens off the wall.
What if that woman had been Sera?
I need to find this bastard!
I curl my hands into fists and close my eyes again, trying my best to modulate my breathing. But it’s hard with emotions from my team barraging me from all directions, everything amplified.
Anger.
Hopelessness.
Fury.
Sadness.
“Devyn? Are you okay?” Angelica takes a tentative step forward, and with my defenses lowered the way they are, her own emotions slice at my skin like the dull edge of a blade.
Worry.
Fear.
Anger.
“I’m fine,” I manage to say through gritted teeth. “Continue searching the premises. Instruct Brenda to check the security cameras nearby. Maybe they picked something up. Have Dustin scan the room for fingerprints. Tell Lacroix to study the magical signatures and see if anything sticks out.”
“But sir?—”
“That’s an order, Angelica,” I snap, my self-control incinerating as anger takes over.
The older woman dips her chin once and then hurries to oblige, joining the half dozen other agents already present.
I remain where I am, breathing heavily, my own emotions too tumultuous to comprehend. I want… No, I need Sera. I need to hold her and know that she’s safe, that she hasn’t been harmed, that she isn’t the dead body staring up at me with dull blue eyes, the color turning a murky gray in death.
But I can’t.
Not yet.
I have a job to do, and I can’t afford any distractions, not with lives on the line.
Inhaling shakily, I straighten and pivot on my heel. I immediately stalk towards a small gathering of agents, all of them hovered around what appears to be a diagram.
“What did you find?” I demand, and one of them steps aside for me to see. A huge meteorite crashes in my chest, raining the wreckage into my stomach. “What is this?”
The paper looks as if it was hastily torn out of a book and then crumpled into a ball. My guess is it was supposed to land in the empty garbage bin nearby but hit the floor instead and went unnoticed when the building was evacuated.
“It looks to be the anatomy of a fae,” Lacroix murmurs, his frown deepening.
“Not just any fae,” another agent says, her tone subdued.
I can’t pull my gaze off of the crude drawing before me to acknowledge her.
She’s right. It’s not just any fae.
This is the anatomy of an angel.
And there’s only one angel I know…
Why would a suspected lab of a deadly virus have this?
“Fuck!”
Before anyone can stop me, I turn on my heels and break into a run.