Blood of Innocence

by Tami Dane

Genres: Paranormal Romance

Synopsis

Gifted profiler Sloan Skye joins the hunt for an elusive serial killer--and discovers a breed of criminal few know exists. . . A cynic by nature, Sloan Skye wasn't thrilled when she was assigned to the FBI's Paranormal Behavioral Analysis Unit. But her doubts are slowly easing, especially when she sees that working on the fringe allows her to use some of her more unconventional tactics. Most of all, Sloan's grateful her career is on track--because her love life, if you can even call it that, is in shambles. Sloan is searching for a suspect who slays his female victims at night, and bizarrely drains their bodies of blood. Bad enough, but when Sloan learns what the killer is really after, she can barely sleep at night. When the suspect guns for someone very close to Sloan, it's time to throw out the rules and face her deepest fears. . .

Release date: October 24, 2011

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 349

Sample

There are three things I would have gladly given my right arm—and leg—never to see.

How hot dogs are made (trust me, you don’t want to know).

How Porta-Potties are emptied (ditto).

And this.

I’m Sloan Skye, summer intern for the FBI’s PBAU—that’s the Paranormal Behavioral Analysis Unit. You know how the BAU, aka the Behavioral Analysis Unit, profiles criminals? We profile criminals too. But our bad guys have fangs and fur.

At the moment, I was standing in a pretty neighborhood, in a pretty house, in a pretty bedroom ... that also happened to be the scene of a horrific crime.

It wasn’t that it was a grisly scene. There was no blood spatter. No sign of a struggle. The victim was lying in her bed; her blankets were tucked under her chin. She looked peaceful, as if she were sleeping, with the exception of her eyes. They were staring blindly. And she was grimacing. It was a creepy sight.

At my first crime scene—which happened to be on my first day on the job, which just happened to be last week—I threw up. I was determined not to do that again.

When a cool gust from the open window carried the scent of death to my nose, I gagged. It wasn’t looking good for me.

I headed for the window, hoping some fresh air might help.

Special Agent Jordan Thomas—aka JT, aka the drool-worthy, heart-palpitatingly handsome man I’d kissed a couple of days ago—was standing next to the bed. I was guessing he was completely unaware of my struggle to keep my lunch where it belonged.

“Hmm. Looks like the killer punctured the femoral artery,” he said.

I had to assume he’d uncovered the victim. There could be no other way for him to know that. “Is that so?” I said, sticking my face up to the screen and poking at a little hole in the corner. A big blackbird was perched on a tree limb outside. It snapped its wings, zooming into the early-morning sky.

Using gloved hands, I pulled the screen up and looked down. There was no way for a killer to get up here. Unless he was a really good climber. And small. The scraggly ornamental tree outside wouldn’t hold the weight of a full-grown adult, by my estimation. “I don’t think he or she came in this way.”

“No sign of forced entry downstairs either,” Gabe Wagner, another member of our team (who also happens to be just as good-looking as JT), said as he strolled into the room. “And look, jewelry sitting in plain sight on her dresser. Nice stuff too.” My body bristled at the sound of his voice. It tensed even more when I realized he was coming toward me. “What do you have there?” He leaned in, close enough for me to smell his cologne and the subtle hint of warm summer air still clinging to his clothes.

Avoiding eye contact, I slid the screen back in place. “Nothing.”

Before you get the wrong idea, let me explain something to you. Gabe and I have a bumpy history. We dated. A long time ago. He dumped me for another girl. We’ve been frenemies since. Actually, we’ve been more like enemies than friends. He even stole my dream job with the BAU. That was just last week. Then he had the nerve to request a transfer a couple of days later. To the PBAU.

So, of course, I was in full I-hate-him mode at that point.

But then, a few days ago—right after I was rescued from a kidnapper—he confessed he still had feelings for me.

I wasn’t sure what to say or think about that.

Then JT kissed me.

And I didn’t know what to say or think about that either.

It’s all very messed up.

And it’s pretty much all my fault.

At the moment, I just wished it all would go away so we could concentrate on our jobs. Someone had killed this woman. It was up to us to profile who did it and help the police stop him.

“Oh, damn,” JT said.

Thankful for any excuse to get away from Gabe, I headed back toward the bed. As crazy as it sounds, the corpse was the lesser of two evils. “What is it?”

“I think this woman is—was—pregnant.”

“Oh, damn,” I echoed. “Is there any chance ... ? The baby ... ?” I couldn’t say the words. They wouldn’t come out.

“Based on the fact that rigor has begun to set in, I’m thinking ... no.”

The contents of my stomach surged up my throat.

Oh, shit.

I raced back to the window, shoved open the screen, and hung my head outside.

So much for my pride.

And my lunch.

“‘A single white prince, with a passion for juicy steaks, good beer, and moonlit strolls on the beach, seeking single elf with similar interests for long-term commitment.’”

Katie, my roommate, best friend, and the closest thing to a sister that I’ll ever have, spewed a mouthful of cola all over me. After hacking for about five minutes like a lifelong smoker, she said, “Sheesh. Sorry I spit in your face, but you can’t post that.”

Blinking away the droplets that had landed in my eyes, I scrutinized my personal ad for errors. I didn’t see any, not a typo. Nada. “What’s wrong with it?” I wiped a cheek with my sleeve.

“What isn’t wrong?” Katie kindly went to the kitchen for some paper towels. “It’s clichéd. It’s misleading. Not to mention, you used the word ‘elf.’ You’ll get a bunch of fruitcakes dressed like Santa’s little helpers if you post that.”

I ripped several towels off the roll and dabbed my face. “But I need an elf. That’s the most important part.”

Katie flopped next to me on the couch. She didn’t pick up her glass of cola, thank God. This conversation clearly needed a spew warning. “Regardless, you can’t put that in the ad.”

“How else am I going to find an elf? Elmer needs a bride. And that bride must be at least half-elf, like me. If I can’t find him a willing vict ... er, wife, he’ll be dragging me down the aisle. Again. Have you looked at him? That face.” I shuddered. “Those creepy eyes—”

Sniffing the air, Katie patted my shoulder. “I know, honey. Scary.”

“Scary doesn’t even come close.” I clicked delete.

So much for that.

This wasn’t going to be easy.

I was no matchmaker. I couldn’t even manage my own pathetic love life—at the moment, I was trying to figure out what to do with not one but two men. And here I was trying to hunt down a bride for the prince of the Sluagh?

If I’d had any choice in the matter, last week I wouldn’t have promised Elmer, my so-called ex-fiancé, I’d help him. But I was desperate. He’d kidnapped me and was trying to force me to marry him. Besides, I sort of felt bad for the guy. Not only was he freakishly ugly, but he was also miserable. He can’t eat. He can’t drink. Being fond of food myself, I couldn’t survive a single day walking in his shoes. Not to mention, he can only materialize after sunset. Supposedly, all his problems will magically disappear when he marries.

Being a cynic, I wanted to tell him that plenty of people had believed that over the years. Many had learned otherwise.

Staring at the keyboard, I sucked in a deep breath in preparation for a long, drawn-out sigh.

Mistake.

Smoke.

Putrid odor.

Gag.

“Katie.” I pointed at the thick haze billowing out of the kitchen.

“Oh, shit.” Katie jumped up. “I’m on it.”

Katie is finishing up her master’s in chemistry. I love her dearly. And I generally have no issues with her doing experiments in our kitchen. It would go unused, otherwise. But sometimes it got a little old, living with the constant stench of eau de sewer.

“Shitshitshit,” Katie yelled.

Crash.

Thump.

A darker, more menacing cloud rolled into the living room.

Not moving from my cozy spot on the couch, I shouted, “The new fire extinguisher’s under the sink.” Reading some information about a dating site on my computer, I reached for my gas mask. Most people have framed photographs on their living-room tables. Or books. Figurines.

Not me. I have emergency gear on my living-room table.

“Where?” she shouted, sounding a little frantic.

“Under the sink.” I clapped the mask over my mouth and nose and kept reading.

“Ah, thanks. Found it!” A second later, she said, “Everything’s fine.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“What the hell is that stench?” someone else said.

I jumped, jerked so hard my knee slammed into my computer, sending it flying. Luckily, I caught it before it crashed on the floor. I gave the guilty party a glare. “You scared the hell out of me. I told you, you’ve got to stop sneaking up on me like that.”

“I can’t help it.” Elmer, the sneaky prince of the Sluagh, blinked his beady little Sluagh eyes at me, and my glare evaporated. “I tried to think about someplace else at sunset, so I wouldn’t zap here. But ... well ... magical transportation isn’t exactly a science.” He glanced at the computer. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m writing your personal ad for an online dating site. Want to help?”

“Online dating?” he echoed, sounding less than enthusiastic.

I didn’t want to point out the obvious, like how much easier it would be to charm a girl if he didn’t meet her face-to-face right off the bat. Elmer had some pride. I wasn’t about to shred it. “I thought we’d give it a shot, since you’re sort of limited to socializing during nighttime hours.”

“I was thinking we could try one of those speed-dating events.”

“Speed dating?” I didn’t see that working for him. But I didn’t have the heart to say that.

“Yeah. I read about one in the newspaper. They take all types.”

“Sure, even elves?”

“That I don’t know.”

“I think we should stick with online dating for now.”

He looked disappointed. That wasn’t a pretty look on a guy who already had the face that only a mother could love.

“If we strike out, we can try the speed dating next.”

“Okay.” He wilted.

“Doubting me already?” I was doubting myself, but I sure didn’t want him to know that.

“Maybe.”

“Remember, you’ve got nothing to lose. If I don’t find your dream girl, you will still get married.”

His wilt grew wiltier. “To you.”

“Yeah, to me.” I grimaced. “Since when wasn’t I good enough?”

He grumbled something unintelligible. I decided to ignore it. Then he cleared his throat. “I’m the man of your dreams. Sexy. Rich. A genuine prince.”

“What?”

“I’m dictating my personal ad. Why aren’t you typing?” He poked at my computer.

I set my fingers on the keyboard. “I am now. What was that?”

Early the next morning—before sunrise—I dragged my exhausted body out of bed, stumbled into the shower, cooked myself in the scalding spray for as long as I could, and cut off the water.

Dripping wet, I grabbed one towel and turbaned my hair. I used a second towel to dry my face as I stepped out.

I ran smack-dab into someone.

“Aaaaahhh!” I screeched, jerking the towel away from my eyes. “Elmer!” I clasped the towel to my breasts, smoothing it down to cover my vitals. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you.”

“In my bathroom?” My ass was hanging out. I knew it. Elmer knew it too. I backed up, pressing it against the wall.

“Um ... sure.” He grinned. “I thought you might need someone to wash your back.”

“Get out!” Flustered and irritated, I repositioned the towel to cover my butt as best I could, stomped to the door, wrenched it open, and motioned with my head. As Elmer took his time leaving, I said, “Don’t you dare look at my ass.”

“Too late.”

“Urk!” The instant he was out, I slammed the door. “Wait a minute. I thought you could only materialize between twilight and midnight? That’s what you said.”

“Oh. Yeah. I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Yes, you did. So what’s the deal?”

“I ... er ... Actually, I can materialize any time between twilight and dawn. I kinda lied.”

“Why?”

“Because I thought it made for a more convincing story.”

“Elmer.”

“But, Sloan, I need your help,” he shouted through the door.

“Go lie to and ogle someone else for a while. Then see if they’re in the mood to help you.”

“But this is important. I need to talk to you about the personal ad we placed last night.”

“I don’t care. I can’t deal with this now. I need to get to work.” Actually, I did care. Kind of. But I cared more about having privacy while I took care of the essentials. First things first, I put on my clothes—just in case Elmer decided to sneak back in.

“Someone responded,” he said.

“That’s wonderful. Go write her.” I combed my hair, slicking it back into a tidy ponytail. A ponytail wasn’t exactly professional FBI style. But it was quick. And easy. And practical. Especially if I had to go to any crime scenes today.

“I can’t write her,” Elmer the Whiner said.

“Why?”

“I don’t have a computer.”

“Use mine. It’s in the living room. All charged up.” I smoothed on some moisturizer.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Figure it out for yourself. You’re the charmer. Charm her.”

Ten minutes later, I rushed out to the kitchen, in search of caffeine.

The pot was empty. Empty!

Elmer, looking mighty comfortable on my couch, slurped.

I gave him an extra-harsh dose of mean eyes. “What are you drinking?”

“I was getting a little drowsy, sitting here by myself.”

“But you told me you couldn’t eat or drink.... You lied about that too?”

Elmer shrugged. The little lying weasel. “I can drink. But food is out. That’s still bad. You try living on a liquid diet.”

“What else have you lied about?”

Elmer shrugged again.

I glanced at the clock. There was no time to get into this with him. “No more lies, or our agreement is null and void. Got it?” He nodded. I pointed at the window. “What time do you vanish?”

“Sunrise.” He burped. “Excuse me. That was some strong coffee. I’m feeling really alive right now. Oh, damn. Here comes the sun.” And just like that, poof, he was gone.

“I think I hate you,” I grumbled to the empty couch. “Okay, that’s just caffeine withdrawal talking.” Then I threw my laptop in the case and trudged to my car.

I shoved the key into the ignition.

Click. Clickclickclick.

Click. Click. Click.

Now what? Dead battery?

“Oh, hell.” I rummaged in my laptop case for my cell phone and dialed JT’s number.

“Hey, Sloan, where are you?” he said when the lines connected.

“At home. My car’s dead.”

“I’ll pick you up in ten.”

“Thanks.”

Ten minutes was enough time to make some coffee. I burned the little energy I had dashing back inside. Dumped some grounds into a fresh filter, poured the water in, and paced the floor waiting for the first drips of liquid energy to pour out the bottom.

Katie came dragging out of her room as I was catching the black gold in a cup. “Why are you still here?”

“Dead battery. JT’s coming to pick me up. Why are you up?”

“I heard voices.”

“That was just Elmer. He popped in for an impromptu visit just before sunrise.”

“Lucky you.”

JT knocked.

Katie grinned. “Speaking of lucky.”

“It isn’t like that. We only kissed.”

“And went on a date. Don’t forget that part.”

“I lost a bet. I don’t think that counts as an official date. It was more of a ... debt repayment.”

“But you ended up being the winner.”

“Dating a coworker is against bureau policy.”

Katie shrugged. Clearly, she had no respect for the bureau’s rules. JT didn’t either. That was one thing they had in common. Me, I wanted to be a little more cautious. For both of our sakes. He was an agent. I was an intern. If we were to start ... you know ... and people found out, it would look bad for both of us.

The problem was getting that through JT’s thick skull.

I opened the door.

“Hello, beautiful.” He beamed at me as he strolled inside.

Like I said.

I grimaced. “We only went on one date, JT. That hardly qualifies you to graduate to endearment status.”

“Hmm.” He looked down into my mug. Or was he checking out my boobs? I couldn’t be sure. “That coffee smells good.”

“You don’t drink coffee, remember? Besides, we should be going.” I shoved him toward the door.

“Speaking of which, I’m going to jump in the shower,” Katie said, beating a hasty retreat. She zoomed past the bathroom door.

“The shower’s that way,” I called.

“Good morning.” JT grinned at me. His smile was lopsided, his eyes sparkly, and he was standing close. Way too close. He smelled scrumptious. “We have a few minutes, and I’m thirsty. It’s already eighty out there. It’s going to be close to a hundred today. Do you have some vitaminwater?” He brushed past me, letting a hand trail over my hip as he went by. I tried to ignore the little quivers shooting through my body that were sparked by the innocent touch. “You don’t mind if I help myself.” In the kitchen, he opened the refrigerator and dug through its contents. Finding a bottle, he twisted the cap off and leaned his hip against the counter.

“No, of course, I don’t mind,” I said rather belatedly as I sipped. If the damn stuff hadn’t been so hot, I would have gulped it. “Do you have any idea what we’re in for today?”

His grin upped to full wattage. It was one of his wicked smiles. My mood dimmed.

“What?” I said.

“We’re heading to another crime scene this morning. Might want to stick with a liquid breakfast, just in case... .”

My face flamed so freaking hot, I think it was steaming. “Shut up. I was doing just fine until you told me that lady was pregnant. I mean ... a baby?”

“I know. But about that. The ME called me last night, confirming my suspicion. The victim was pregnant. But she wasn’t when she died. Since she hadn’t delivered the placenta yet, he estimated she’d died within thirty minutes of delivering.”

“Really? Okay. So ... where did she deliver? Where’s the baby?”

“I don’t know.”

A shiver crept up my spine as the image of a child, lying helpless in a garbage can, flashed in my mind. “Did the police search everywhere? The garbage? The yard?”

“The lead, Riggleman, has a crew on it now.”

“There wasn’t any blood. No amniotic fluid. If she’d given birth in the house, we would have found something.” I folded my arms across my body. “This case is getting worse by the second.”

His expression sobering, JT set down the bottle and grabbed my hips, pulling me toward him. “It’s terrible and tragic, but we’ll figure it out. Come here.”

I resisted. Or rather, I tried to resist. But JT is strong. And he smells good. And he looks good. And I was creeped out and could use some strong arms at the moment. And ... okay, damn it, I’m weak. I did, however, manage to send him a warning glare, even though I was standing boob-to-chest with him.

Completely ignoring my unspoken warning, he slid his hands up, up, up, and back, until I was enfolded in his arms. Then the little creep kissed the top of my head.

Did he have any idea how sweet that was?

I swallowed a sigh of contentment and shoved out of his embrace an hour earlier than I would have liked to. “We need to go.”

“When are we going on our second date?” An extremely persistent JT asked while watching me hurry toward the door.

“Never.”

JT drained the bottle; then he set it on the counter. “We’ll see about that.”

“No, we won’t.” At the door, I turned to face him, thinking I’d squint my eyes at him and show him I meant business. Big mistake.

He was close enough to kiss. His lips curled up a little, into a ghost of a smile. I almost melted. “Were you going to say something?”

“No,” I snapped, jerking back around to open the door. “Let’s go.” I grabbed my phone and dialed the auto club to schedule a tow. The sooner my car was fixed, the better.

He slapped his hand on the door, holding it shut. Bending over my back, he whispered, “Thank you for the water.”

“You’re welcome. Now, can we go? We’ll be late.”

He let his hand drop. I opened the door, grateful for the fresh air, and staggered outside.

Together, we roared off into the early morning.

Once again, we were in a pretty subdivision, in a pretty Colonial, in a pretty bedroom, dissecting another crime scene. Walking into the room, I got a creepy-bad case of déjà vu. Today’s victim, Katherine Jewett, was lying in bed, blankets tucked up to her chin, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

JT made a beeline for the victim. I started at the door, checking out the clues. I right away noticed the money and jewelry sitting on the nightstand. Not that I’d ever thought these killings were robberies gone bad, but if the unsub could kill a victim without being detected, why wouldn’t he take the money or jewelry? It was right there for the taking.

All around us, crime scene technicians from the Baltimore PD were still hard at work, shining lights and scouring the scene for minute fibers, footprints, and fingerprints.

One of them shook his head. “We live by the assumption that every suspect takes something with him and leaves something behind,” he said. “But damn if we can find what that something is.”

“You haven’t found anything?” I asked.

“Not a fingerprint. Not a footprint—and this carpet is white. It rained last night. What the hell did he do? Take off his shoes at the door?”

I scrutinized the carpet. “You wouldn’t think so. Maybe it’s that special stain-resistant carpet?”

The technician stooped. “Stain-resistant or not, dirt should show. At least a little.”

“Interesting. The body appears to be drained of blood,” JT told me. To the medical examiner, who was still doing his preliminary examination, he said, “Any ideas about the time of death? Or COD?”

“Based on the level or rigor, I’d say it’s been about five hours,” the ME told him. “We’ll be running a full autopsy, but looks like cause of death is exsanguination.”

In plain speak, she bled to death.

Feeling brave, I headed over to the body.

The ME pulled the covers off the victim. Immediately one thing became clear. She was—or had been—pregnant. “I see no sign the victim has been moved after death. And she shows no defensive injuries. Her husband was asleep when she died.”

“He was in the bed with her?” I asked, fighting a serious case of light-headedness.

“Yes, that’s what I’ve been told.” The ME pointed at the victim’s legs, which were parted slightly. “I found only one small puncture wound in her groin. No blood on the sheets, on her clothing, or even on her skin. That makes no sense. Assuming this is the site of the blood loss, when that artery was punctured, there should have been arterial spray.”

“Unless her heart was stopped before the puncture was made,” I reasoned. “Without a heartbeat, there can be no spray.”

JT nodded.

“No sign of trauma,” the ME said.

“Drugs?” I offered.

“I’ll look. May be tough to get enough blood to test for everything. She looks pretty dry. I can use tissue samples for some.”

“Maybe the killer is removing the blood to cover evidence?” I suggested.

“It’s possible.” JT borrowed my camera to take a close-up of the puncture wound. It was small, roughly the size of pencil lead. “The wound is a puncture. No signs of tearing.”

“Take all your photographs now,” the ME said. “We’ll be removing the body soon.”

“Thank you.” JT set about taking shots of the victim from every imaginable angle while I went back to searching the surrounding area for clues. Focusing the camera on her swollen stomach, JT asked, “The baby?”

The ME shook his head. “I’m not getting a heartbeat. We’ll know more when I get her into autopsy.”

My insides twisted. I scurried away and concentrated on breathing deep and slow. “Find anything yet?” I asked the crime scene technician I’d spoken to earlier.

“Not a goddamn thing.” Standing next to a window now, dusting the sill and frame for fingerprints, he sighed, rubbing his forehead with the back of his hand. “We’ve checked every inch of this room. The only prints I’m finding belong to the victim and her husband. No sign of forced entry. No footprints. No foreign fibers. And at this point, we’re not finding anything on the body either.”

“Where is Mr. Jewett?”

“Down at the station, being questioned.”

I set my hand on the sill. It was damp. “Was this window open?”

“Yeah, it was open about an inch. But we’re fifteen feet aboveground. And I checked for prints. Found nothing inside or outside.”

“May I?” I motioned to the window.

“Sure.”

I pushed up the double-hung window, lifted the screen, and hung my head outside. There were no trees or other means for an intruder to enter. “I’ll be right back,” I told JT, and headed outside. The grass below the window was wet. There were no indentations or marks. No sign that a ladder had been set there or anywhere else, for that matter. As it turned out, several windows had been left open a crack. No foreign prints were found on any of them.

Deciding all the evidence was pointing at the husband, I went back inside the house.

As . . .