Daimon - DANIELLE BOLGER (best fiction novels TXT) 📗

over the crime scene. This case is on me now. I've got to catch both Valentine and his damn copycat killer.”

The invisible hands I had outstretched to the man's heart instantly retracted by way of alarm. “Copycat?”

“Shit.” He groaned.

The cops are after me too?

“Look, just forget that, will you?”

Not only would the Foxes and Valentine be after me to see how I lived or what became of me, but I also had the police to contend with. It was obvious that the crime scene was not Valentine's style. It had been far too sloppy. A chill ran down my spine as I realized I would have left evidence everywhere pointing right back to me.

I raised my eyes to peer into Ryan's fearfully. How long before you come after me?

Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.

That sly internal voice made itself known again, Better get him before he gets you.

“It's not safe,” I husked.

“I know, but it's never been safe in this city, not really,” he responded as he ran a hand through his hair. “The public don't care about all the violence and crime that goes on right under their noses. They don't want to. They'd rather have one thing to be afraid of—one killer—but with a copycat, they'll have to see more danger—more bloodshed—and that's not good for someone in my position.”

“It's not safe,” I repeated. I meant to say that it's not safe here, but my mouth never formed that last word.

“Jane?” Ryan cooed with concern. “You're...you're really scared by this?” He was soft but disbelieving. “In all the time I've known you, you've never been scared of anything.”

Kill him. The voice ushered. That way he won't discover you, and you will discover satisfaction.

“I am scared.”

Then he took my hand in his. He was standing in front of me, beautiful blue eyes reaching into mine, looking for that pained spot to nurse back to health.

I recoiled my hand and averted my gaze before he could get a close look into my eyes. “Don't.”

“Jane, I don't understand. Did that sight really shake you up so much?” Then he breathed as if understanding hit home. “It reminded you about it, didn't it? About what happened in the restaurant?”

I didn't correct him that a torn out heart looks very different to bullet wounds. “The copycat, do you know who it is?”

“Not yet,” he replied, “but don't worry, we'll find him.”

“There was a lot blood there.”

“Yeah, I think you might have guessed that it was too much for just one person. Something went down there, and by the look of it, two people were killed. Except, we only have one body.”

My head was dazed as all my strength was used to just hold me still to the spot. I had to learn more so I could not run, but staying there made me want to attack him. My brother's best friend, a man I could have once called family. How could I desire to disfigure and murder a man that I still held feelings for?

This struggle used every ounce of energy I contained, and that resulted in my voice coming out small and feeble, belying the monster I had become. “Do you think that maybe the other person could have survived?”

Ryan breathed, “No, I don't. Even if the other person was a large man, there was too much blood loss. Whatever injury was sustained, it would have been fatal.”

“I see, so the other person that was there really is dead.” A tear escaped me.

He touched my chin lightly and turned my head so that I was looking back at him, at a seductively close range. “Quit crying, Bambi-eyes, you're making your mascara run.” He sighed. “I shouldn't be telling you this. Shit, I can't believe you have this control over me after all these years, but...If it's a copycat you're scared about, well I wouldn't be.”

I frowned, just able to tear my gaze from his blood-engorged lips.

“The psych reckons it's a new killer, but I disagree with him. For one, we know psychologists are full of shit.” He winked. “For another, the setup and execution were all so accurate, except for one thing—the victim. That makes me think that there is another killer, but he's not a copycat. He's an initiate, but then something went wrong. The psych thinks that Valentine is a lone wolf sort and would never share his knowledge with anyone else. Lone wolf or not, there were at least three people in those woods last night, and Valentine only kills one a time.”

I retreated from his grasp again, slinked onto the sofa and stared mindlessly into the embers resting in the fireplace. I just had to clear my mind: all my thoughts, emotions, and desires. Fear could not be easily quelled. “You said it won't be long until you find that other person?”

He sat back down on the sofa, far to the other end, respecting my need for distance. “There's blood, which if we can match it to any DNA on the database then we'll have a person of interest. Then there'll be investigations made into the victim to see whether this was a personal or planned attack, but any connection there will be unlikely. None of that will really matter anyway. With blood loss like that, it'll mean there'll be a body, and those tend to have a way of popping up. What I'm hoping for out of this, though, is something that will lead us from this missing person to Valentine. In a way, it could be our first big break, but at the moment it looks like a copycat and that does not look good on a public management system.”

“I see,” I responded slowly, pushing down that dark desire within myself. With opportunity presenting itself, I made a proposal. “If you give me a statement, then I can make it look like just another normal Valentine murder.”

Mistrust flashed across his features.

“I can make this work, Ryan. If you can trust me, then I can print something that will benefit both of us. You can have the public's trust.”

“You mean, you can have your headlines,” he shot back, voice becoming cold.

I wanted to shout at him: I don't care about glory or saving the city anymore. I just want to know what happened to me so I can fix it!

Don't forget, my internal voice piped, you want revenge too.

“Ryan, please trust me. The last thing I want to do is hurt you.”

This was said as a painful groan erupted from my belly.

Chapter Seven

As I walked into the Coastal Horizon the next morning, my course was interrupted after taking no fewer than ten steps into the office.

“Frank says you're not allowed to show your skinny ass in these walls anymore,” Emma Hart stated smugly, looking at me through daring eyes.

“Well, I happen to think that if your ass can fit through these walls than mine is capable, also.” I stared squarely back at her, on level due to our equal heights. I noticed her heart beating hurriedly and a small upturning of her lips, which she struggled to keep level. She was very excited but trying to appear authoritative and stern.

Emma was approaching thirty, but due to a chronic passion of smoking and yoyo dieting, she appeared closer to her mid-thirties. In daily failed attempts to mask her drawn and pallid features, layers of makeup were applied. The end result just made her look more sickly, as blush and mascara were applied too heavily, and only served to emphasize her gray-white skin. To add to the decayed figure, her hair was a lank, mousy blonde, framing eyebrows manicured so thin that, at a distance, they disappeared.

“Are you implying that I am fat!” she cried, incredulous. “I was once a model, I'll have you know.”

“One can hardly call you that now,” I incited.

She took a menacing step forward so that her face was pressed so close to mine I could feel the steam from her breath. After gritting her teeth, she smiled. “Well, I'm not the only person who looked better yesterday, but, at least, I can't be called unemployed.” She lingered on the word indulgently. Watching her plush red tongue pronounce the last word made me wonder how her heart would taste. After all, skin was one of the first organs to show signs of insult, obviously, her tar filled lungs wouldn't be looking so pretty, but their neighbor may be still lush with life. From what I could hear, it was pounding very triumphantly.

“Emma, you can get back to your desk.” Frank appeared and positioned himself to cut the smug girl from view. Emma shuffled around and reinjected herself back into the office's happenings.

“Frank, I was just here telling Jane what you were saying yesterday evening.”

“I know. I'm not deaf, damn it.”

Emma seemed taken back, and she dropped her pompous stance. “Frank, I'm just trying to help you deal with the dead weight,” she pleaded.

“Go back to your desk, Emma,” he demanded, then added under his breath, “Good work on that rush job by the way.”

Suddenly Emma became taller, and she stalked away proudly. Before departing, she replied, “Of course, Frank. It's nothing but a pleasure reporting for you.”

Frank stood still for a moment as if waiting for a cry of protest from me. When I said nothing, he stated, “Well, there you have it. Pack up your things and leave. You didn't turn in your art piece, so you're out of here. I want you gone within the hour.” He began to retreat back to his private office but stopped when I called after him.

“Hmm, alright then, but can you tell me which agency would pay the best for this story I wrote titled, Valentine's New Victim? It features an in-depth exclusive with head detective Ryan Morgan.”

Frank turned back warily.

“Didn't Sandra say something yesterday about an old pal of mine getting me to a front row seat of the crime scene? That's precisely what I got, and these pictures he gave me are straight from the police forensics unit. I bet this thing will turn a pretty penny to whatever news agency places the highest bid. Who do you think I should offer it to, Cloud News?” I had pulled the papers from my handbag and was now feigning to peruse over my own typed words.

Frank strode heavily towards me, in a pace, I did not think possible for the small stout man, and snatched the story straight from my hands. “Go back to your desk. I'll come back once I'm done reading this.” He was still frowning, but I could hear his elevated heart rate beating aspirin-thinned blood through his narrowed vessels as he strode for his office.

I nestled into my own desk, throwing a disgruntled Emma a smug glance. I wondered, then, whether I would have the chance at some point to be in a room alone with her. Surely, no one would cry over that girl if she were to disappear.

I shut my eyes tightly and reminded myself that, annoying as she was, she was still human, and I swore that I would not harm anyone else. It was getting quite hard, though, in a room with so many people to choose from. No! I have to keep in control!

“Did I hear you right just now?” I snapped my eyes open and turned slowly to a fuming Sandra. “That piece you threw at Frank, that wasn't about Valentine, was it?”

Proceeding with caution, I chose my words very carefully, “Sandy...” but I never had a chance to say them before she blasted over the top.

“How could you do this? You know I'm tracking him. I'm the one doing the Valentine reports. I'm the one who does all the psychological profiling, and I'm the one that attends the crime scenes.”

I tried to interject, but again was never given an opening. “When people turn to the Coastal Horizon paper in the morning and look for the latest info on Valentine, who do you think they expect to give the latest report, hmm? Me! Sandra Young! Not Jane Kirra or that stupid pen name of yours.”

“Sandra, settle down. I was just trying—”

“Christ, Jane, how can you stab me in the back like this? I take you to that crime scene because I feel sorry for you and then you write your own piece on it using Ryan as your hook. How can you do that to me? I swear if my story doesn't get printed because of this...”

Frank re-emerged from his office, squinting through the dense fat on his face.

“Good work. It's being uploaded to the website now and will be printed in tomorrow's paper. I want