snakebyte: book 5.0 in the Byte Series (The _byte series) Read online

  “Get up!” I ordered.

  He rolled over and fumbled with something. Without thinking, my gun swung from the bird to the man on the ground, I found myself aiming at his head. What was with the headshots and me? Zombies. It’s the only shot that counts.

  “All right, don’t shoot,” he said and struggled to his feet.

  “Why are you here?” I asked. I’m not a big fan of surprises.

  “I’ve been hiking,” he replied. “I could sue the federal government. My shoulder feels dislocated.”

  I suppressed a smile. He’d seen my jacket “Go right ahead.” It wouldn’t bother me any if he tried to sue the Bureau. It’d be expensive and a total waste of his money, but it was his money. I shrugged. “What were you doing skulking about at the edge of the parking lot?”

  “See, that’s rude. I wasn’t skulking I was walking in the park. It is allowed you know.”

  Sneaking up behind someone, jumping out of the woods, not being anywhere near the marked trails. Those things didn’t add up to a walk in the woods to me.

  “My hand’s getting tired. I’m getting tired. And I’ve already shot someone today, so pulling the trigger again ain’t gonna bother me.”

  The smirk disappeared from his face. “Did you just threaten me?”

  “No sir, I told you how it is,” I replied. “I’m calling my partner over, and we’re going to search you and ask you some more questions.”

  I didn’t even need to call Lee, but he ambled up as if I had.

  “Wondered what took you so long, I was getting cold waiting for my jacket,” he said, then nodded his head at the male. “What’s this you’ve found?”

  “Not sure,” I replied. “A lurker, I think.”

  “Looks like he needs searching.” Lee sniffed the air. “Is that marijuana I smell?”

  The man began to back away.

  “Smells like probable cause,” I replied.

  Lee was on him in three strides. He hauled him over to the hood of our truck and forced him into a face-down spread-eagled stance. I holstered my gun.

  A quick search turned up a handgun, another Glock. “I hope the next thing I find is the permit for this Glock,” Lee said with a growl. But the next thing he found wasn’t. He turned up an interesting little plastic baggie of olive green oblong tablets.

  “What are these?” I asked, waving the bag under his nose.

  “Not mine.”

  “From your pocket.”

  “Yeah I borrowed this jacket from a friend,” he replied without flinching or hesitating. I had a closer look at the pills. I knew what they were when I saw the number 542 imprinted on one side of the tablets. Rohypnol. Roofies. A well-known date rape drug, unavailable legally within the United States and smuggled in from Mexico at an alarming rate.

  “We’re going to need a name.” From the corner of my eye, I saw someone with a camera moving closer. “You might want to give us your name before your face ends up all over the six o’clock news and your poor mother sees it. You have a Schedule IV drug in your possession for supply.” I frowned at Lee. “What would the penalty be? Three years?”

  “Hell no, he’s supplying, may have even imported it himself. I’d say twenty.”

  “James Blanchard,” he said. “My name is James Blanchard.”

  Lee and I looked at each other – well that was familiar.

  “Blanchard?” I queried.

  “Yeah.”

  “Any relation to Jennifer Blanchard?”

  He nodded. “Cousins.”

  “Cuff him, this stinks. I need to talk to Mr. Blanchard back at the office.”

  “That’s not necessary,” he said, and groaned as Lee snapped the cuffs on him.

  “Oh, but it is,” I assured him with as much sincerity as I could muster. “I can’t get enough of your delightful company and I’d like to talk with you about your cousin.”

  “Why? Jennifer has never been in any trouble. She’s getting married soon to some guy.”

  I could tell they were a close family. He didn’t seem to know that his cousin was dead, or the reason why so many police had invaded the park. Further discussion was required.

  Lee attracted the attention of a uniformed officer. As he neared, I realized I knew him. With a big grin, Josh Konstram stopped in front of us.

  “Josh!” Lee grinned and slapped his back. “What are you doing out here?”

  We’d worked with Josh a lot over the years. He’d been through some shit with us and come out the other side. Not everyone makes it through,

  “Lee, Ellie, always good to see you.” He frowned. “Circumstances could be better. How you doing, Ellie?”

  “I’m still here.” I shook his hand. “We have a transfer for you. Could you escort this lovely gentleman back to the Hoover building, please?”

  “A pleasure, Ellie.” Josh winked and then kicked the foot of Blanchard to get him moving.

  “He’s got a boo-boo on his shoulder. Mind he doesn’t bump it getting in the car,” I said with a sweet smile as my words dripped like honey.

  “Which one?” Josh called back.

  “Right, I think. Happy trails.”

  We climbed into Lee’s car.

  Lee looked at me. “What is your next move?”

  “I need to get my recommendations to Caine before it all goes pear-shaped. Something damn ugly is going on in Rock Creek Park.” I tapped my fingers on the armrest. “Did you find Kurt?”

  “Yes. He was called into court to give evidence.”

  “What case?”

  “The Madison case. The prosecutor wanted Kurt in earlier than she previously said.”

  “Madison,” I repeated, hoping it would spring a memory but it didn’t.

  “A serial rapist who was preying on women in the NW of DC.”

  “Should I know about this?”

  “It was a case that landed our desk while you were on leave.”

  “So, no then.”

  Lee smiled. “We did a little bit of work while you were out.”

  “Good to know. How long will Kurt be?”

  “A few hours.”

  A sigh escaped. “Okay.”

  “Problem?”

  “No. We’ll be fine without him.” Odd, but fine. My mood slipped down another notch on the darkness scale. That was not a good thing. I needed food and coffee. My preference was coffee from The Firehook or home.

  “I’ll take the interview with Blanchard,” Lee said.

  “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

  “I’ll call when I’m done.”

  “And again I appreciate it.” I looked at him, then shrugged and grinned. “You need to drop me home first.”

  “I do.”

  Lee drove out of the parking lot and away from the craziness.

  I couldn’t help watching the sky, looking for the bird.

  “An unkindness of ravens,” I whispered.

  “What’d you say?” Lee asked, watching the traffic, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

  “An unkindness of ravens.”

  “A murder of crows,” Lee replied.

  “Did you see the raven? It was in the woods behind our car and then it flew away.”

  “Nope.”

  “How could you miss it? It made that horrible noise they make, that caw caw.” I did my best raven interpretation.

  By the look on Lee’s face, I suspected it was awful. “Nope, never heard that. I think I would remember if I did.”

  Lee stopped at the nearest store and came back with sandwiches and orange juice. He dumped two plastic packets of sandwiches in my lap and handed me a bottle of juice.

  “We never did get lunch,” he said.

  I had to wonder if he thought I’d imagined the raven. Maybe I did. Could it have been conjured by my still hung-over and low-on-fuel brain?

  Chapter Five

  Lonely at the Top.

  Lee waved as he left. I watched from the front porch as the big gates closed then punched in the cod
e for the front door and stepped inside my cool, quiet, and empty home.

  I took two aspirin from a bottle in the kitchen and wandered into the main living area.

  Falling back on the couch and I pulled a cushion over my head. In the distance, a phone’s insistent ring disturbed the peace. I pressed the cushion harder around my ears.

  My cell phone buzzed on the coffee table. The main house phone rang. The kitchen phone started up. I pressed harder.

  The noise continued for another few minutes then abruptly stopped. I exhaled and realized I’d been holding my breath. My hands relaxed, and the pillow slipped to the floor.

  Peace.

  I yawned pulled a rug down from the back of the couch and stretched out under it. The plan was to nap for a few minutes then call whoever it was back. Yeah right! My eyes closed.

  When I next opened them, it took a few minutes to focus. The room was dark. Through the window was the starry sky. The moon was up. I’d been asleep longer than a few minutes.

  Crunch, crunch, noises came from the driveway. Footsteps.

  Before they reached the house, I rolled silently to the floor and lay still in the dark space hard against the couch. The footsteps stopped close to the window. The person was either looking in or right by the front door.

  I remained motionless. Two more steps then a loud knock. I jumped. Whoever it was had looked in the window, and moved to the door. I bit my lip to stop myself laughing. I was hiding in my own house from someone I knew. No one could get through the front gates without the code. The intruder was a friend. Someone close. Shut up brain. The waiting seemed interminable as I wondered what the person would do next.

  Another knock. A few footsteps, then a noise by the window. I bit my lip harder and held my breath. My imagination tossed up images of a face pressed hard against the window, nose squished, and foggy glass patterns created by ragged breathing as the person searched for signs of life.

  Footsteps again.

  Another knock on the door this time my name followed the knock.

  “Ellie!”

  Now I was being mean, I knew damn well, who the uninvited caller was. My teeth sank into my lip. I couldn’t very well answer without giving my game away. Instead, I used the opportunity to sneak out of the living room. The dark house and long shadows gave me ample cover. I hurried to the stairs by the kitchen. It was too risky to use the front stairs. Taking the stairs, two at a time and keeping left prevented any creaks and groans. I heard another knock. I pushed my bedroom door open.

  In my room, I woke my laptop and clicked on the security camera icon, then chose the front door camera.

  My visitor stood facing the door. It looked like he was staring straight at me. His hand lifted and knocked again. I watched his other hand extract a cell phone from his pocket. Damn!

  I knew I couldn’t get downstairs without giving myself away. But if he called my cell, he’d know I was home. I’d left it in the living room in my haste to get upstairs and I knew he would’ve heard it ringing on the coffee table. He had a key and the security codes.

  I could hear my cell phone ringing through the laptop speakers. I slammed the laptop shut and dove into bed. As my head hit the pillow, a Grange song echoed throughout the house. A loud knock followed. My phone stopped. Barely breathing I listened and heard a key turn. The lock tumbled. The alarm panel beeped twice as he entered his code.

  A voice called out.

  I closed my eyes, slowed my breathing, and readied myself to wake and appear surprised.

  “Ellie?”

  The owner of the voice came closer. His weight and foot placement caused the stairs to creak and groan. I loved that he didn’t know how to sneak up them.

  Snuggling into the blankets and feigning sleep, I counted his footsteps, knowing when he reached the landing and then when he got to the top and my bedroom door. Light flooded in as the door opened. He knew enough to find the light switches and turn on the hall lights.

  His voice barely above a whisper now, “Ellie?”

  I moved my head, stretched an arm, rubbed my face, and gave the impression I’d woken from a deep sleep.

  “Ellie?” He was right there, at arm’s length.

  I added a sleepy croak to my voice. “Rowan?”

  He moved closer. His fingers brushed hair from my face. “Yes.”

  I felt mean when I heard a small sigh of relief escape his lips.

  “Been here long?” I asked, rolling toward him, pretending I’d just woken, and pushed away the feeling that I shouldn’t have tricked him as I did.

  “No, not long. I called earlier, obviously you were asleep.”

  He sat down next to me, leaned over, and kissed me on top of the head.

  He’s persistent I’ll give him that. I should’ve let him in. How I could I tell him that seeing him reminds me too much of a life that was. We had to have that talk, sooner rather than later.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “I’m fine.” Fine flashed with memories of the past. Fine is not a word I use. “I’m okay.”

  “You made the news this afternoon.”

  Curiosity got the better of me. “What did they say on the news?”

  Wouldn’t be the first time I was on the evening news and I doubt it’d be the last. “They started out with … you need to see it to believe it.” Rowan picked up the remote and turned my television on. He flipped through a few channels before finding one that announced news.

  “Sure, okay, let’s watch the news,” I said, sitting up and rearranging pillows. Last time someone wanted me to watch the news, they were reporting my death. I wasn’t feeling great but I was sure I was alive. Death would be an improvement.

  Rowan nudged me. “Watch. It’s almost running non-stop on this channel.”

  The screen filled with a picture of me, then flicked to the news anchor. “Earlier today an FBI agent, SSA Ellie Conway, shown here alighting from her car, shot and killed a suspected child trafficker in Rock Creek National Park, Washington DC. Hailed as a hero by witnesses, SSA Conway rescued four young girls from two men posing as U.S. Marshalls. One man opened fire, forcing Agent Conway to defend herself and one of the children.”

  I watched as they flashed pictures of the kids, then the kids with their parents, which was a full-blown reunion scene complete with tears and wailing. Then Caine appeared on camera. Special Agent in Charge Caine Grafton spoke about the fortuitousness of me being in the area investigating another crime. Then bam! The news story became celebrity speculation.

  The reporter announced, “Special Agent Conway has been dating Grange front man, Rowan Grange, for some time although they haven’t been seen in public together since the tragic death of Conway’s daughter, Carla. It is understood they were together in the park.”

  Another picture flashed up this time; not a great shot, probably a camera phone, but not a good quality one. Then two more pictures followed and finally one of Rowan leaving the park, alone. He switched off the television.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Why? It’s more crap from the media.”

  We’ve down this road many times before. It didn’t matter anymore.

  “Not so long ago you would’ve been furious that they’d side tracked this into celebrity speculation,” Rowan commented.

  “It’s not important.”

  Anger welled. I forced it down. It’s my job to help people. I did my job. How is it I could save those kids but not my child?

  “It reminded me how superficial people can be. Glossing over a real story, to show me, a fucking singer!”

  I wasn’t sure where his anger was coming from. His publicist would be ecstatic at the free publicity.

  “It’s not worth worrying about.”

  “I want you to know I’m sorry.”

  And I want you to know I don’t care. I pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead in an effort to stop the ache that began a few moments before.

  “Don’t apologize for the actio
ns of other people.” I knew the price from the day we got involved. Once upon a time being with Rowan and his positive energy and amazing view of the world made up for that.

  Or it used to, before.

  “… but.”

  “Let it go, Rowan.”

  His attention shifted to something else. “Weekend plans?”

  “None.” I planned to feed the cat and spend the weekend at the bottom of a tequila bottle, can’t cause anyone any harm there.

  “Spend the weekend in Jersey with me?”

  “New Jersey …” I bounced into a Soprano’s episode without even trying. I shook away the images of old fat mafia types and looked at the chiseled good looking and slim, super fit guy sitting next to me. “I’d sooner go to New York?”

  I used to enjoy being in New York with Rowan. Exploring markets and wandering about, generally unmolested apart from the occasional autograph seeker. Apart from the smell of NYC, I loved the anonymity of the city.

  Something changed. A subtle change in Rowan’s manner.

  Carla loved being in Jersey with Rowan. I’d avoided countless invitations to his country home since her death. The few things that did make it through my tequila-filled last month were invitations from Rowan.

  “It’s a holiday weekend. I’m going to the country house.”

  Go to Jersey with Rowan, or stay home with Shrek the cat? I wanted to stay home with the cat.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “You can’t hide forever.”

  “I’m not. It’s just … I want to be here.” And not there.

  “This is not good for you,” he said with a wave of his arm.

  “And you’re an expert in what is good for me?” A sharp edge crept into my voice. It cut the air and stabbed pointy shards at his words. Something was eating away at me and it was more than Carla’s death. I closed my eyes for a moment but nothing came.

  His tactic changed.

  “No, not at all. Don’t you think being with family could help?” Rowan’s calm soothing tone might have worked once.

  “Family?”

  I wasn’t ready for this.

  “It’s about time, don’t you think? When did you last see your dad?”