snakebyte: book 5.0 in the Byte Series (The _byte series) Page 5

  “A few days ago …” I really had no clue.

  “You haven’t seen him since the …” He took a breath. “Since, the funeral.”

  Oh. And that he knew meant he’d been talking to my dad. I didn’t like where this was heading.

  “I’ll see him soon.”

  “It’s time, Ellie. It’s time you joined the world and saw family and friends and started living again.”

  “I don’t think there is a set time for these things. You can’t snap your fingers and magically make it the right time,” I snarled. His words flapped about in my head like a trapped bird. “Whoa, back up, whose family are we talking about?”

  “Ours. My parents and brothers, your dad and brother and sister-in-law.”

  The whole family. My brain kicked in, trying frantically to come up with an escape plan.

  The whole family.

  Suspicion mounted.

  “Is this some sort of fucked up intervention?”

  Half a smile stuck on his lips. “No, this is a holiday weekend.”

  The hell it is.

  “Let me check with Caine, to make sure he doesn’t need me for anything … you know after today an’ all?”

  I probably shouldn’t leave town. I crossed my fingers.

  Family? Hell, no. Rowan never took his eyes off me. “You thinking about the shooting or being around people who care?”

  I forced a smile. “The shooting.” I lied. “I’ll call Caine and see where the investigation into the shooting lies and if I can get away this weekend.” I lied again with more ease than ever.

  He moved to kiss me. I turned away.

  “You haven’t heard from Mac’s mother have you?” Rowan asked.

  That was an odd question. “No.” I looked at him. “But you have. What did she want?”

  He squirmed like a worm on a hook. “I haven’t heard from her.”

  “But you know something. What has she done?”

  “She’s a mad old woman. Nothing she does or says carries any weight.”

  So she’s said something.

  “If by mad old woman you mean evil old bitch, then yes, she is. And what’d Beatrice Connelly say now?”

  “It doesn’t matter. She’s nuts. Her rhetoric makes her look even madder.”

  “Rowan!” I leveled a stare at him. “Tell me.”

  He sighed. “She threatened to go to police saying that I harmed Carla and that you supplied her with drugs.”

  Christ! With family like her, I don’t need enemies.

  “That’s just awesome.”

  “Glad you think so,” he said with a frown.

  “It’s Beatrice being a pain in the ass. How’d you find out?” Not that it matters. She’ll tell everyone who will listen her warped sick theories.

  “Simon.”

  My dad.

  “It just gets better and better, doesn’t it?”

  Rowan moved toward the door.

  “Do you want coffee? I’ll go make it while you call Caine.”

  “Yes, please.”

  I watched him leave and listened to the stairs creak, once he reached the bottom, I called Caine. He answered on the fourth ring with a strangely formal greeting, “SAC Grafton, Go ahead SSA Conway.”

  I knew my name had come up on his caller ID display so wasn’t surprised to hear him say it. I was surprised at the tone and the formality. We aren’t the most formal of teams.

  “SAC.”

  “I have the reports from today in front of me. Assistant Director Owen and I are going through them now.”

  Oh, Assistant Director Owen was there, good tip off on Caine’s part and that explained the strange formality.

  “I won’t keep you. Rowan wants me to go to a family thing this weekend in New Jersey. My family and Rowan’s parents.”

  Silence.

  I made it clearer. “Family, the whole family.”

  “I see,” he replied. But was he getting it?

  “Thought I should check to make sure it was okay for me to leave Virginia and the District at this point.”

  Caine suddenly woke up. “That may not be advisable, Agent.”

  “Right, I’ll postpone.” The inevitable intervention.

  I heard Owen’s voice and next thing I knew she was on the line. “It’s Executive Assistant-Director Owen, Agent Conway. Considering everything and the unfortunate shooting, you taking the weekend off would be beneficial. Take the holiday weekend and have a break. Kurt, Sam and Lee can work anything that comes up regarding the strangler and, as far as I can see, this shooting today was unavoidable and a good call.”

  My heart sank. Interfering hag. How dare she let me off the hook like that? I could’ve handled today better. It seems to have slipped everyone’s notice that I killed someone and wounded someone else. That’s kind of like shooting fish in a barrel. Eyebrows should rise. I wondered if Owen’s plucked to perfection eyebrows arched at the report she read.

  I got the impression they did not. They should have.

  “You’re sure, ma’am?”

  “Yes, Agent.”

  Caine broke back in his tone almost apologetic. “I’ll call your cell if I need you.”

  “Sure, thanks.”

  I hung up and stuck a smile on my face. I was going to Jersey for family time and it wasn’t an intervention. Yeah, right. I mulled the idea around in my head for several minutes and tried to locate a loophole. I couldn’t see one.

  Shoot me now.

  Then I heard it. There was no mistaking the song or the singer. Bon Jovi sang ‘Dirty Little Secret’ and bile rose in my throat. That’s what it was. The subtle change in him when I mentioned New York. What an idiot. He’s been seeing someone in New York. The song plowed on. Frantically looking for a volume button seemed a little bit nuts, when the song was playing within my head but I did it anyway. The volume decreased. I picked up the phone and made another call.

  “Campbell, it’s Conway.”

  “How can I help?”

  “Those photos you sent me, Rowan and that woman. Do you remember?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  “What else do you know?”

  Silence. Long drawn silence then slow tapping of keys.

  “How much do you want to know?”

  “Answer these questions; have they been together in the last six weeks? Who has him under surveillance? I know someone does. And can you access the information?”

  “Homeland have him on a surveillance satellite feed for his own protection. I can access their data. One moment …” Keys tapped. “He was with a woman in New York.” Quiet again. “I can confirm it’s the same woman.”

  “Anyone else monitoring that?”

  “No. Homeland are only interested in threats, she isn’t a security threat.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  We hung up.

  I could smell the coffee before Rowan appeared at my door.

  Too many mysteries, too much family, and too little coffee swamped my tired body.

  My cell was ringing and getting closer. The smell of coffee bought a ringing cell phone.

  “Catch,” Rowan said, throwing me the phone. “It’s Kurt.”

  I glanced at the phone. It was Kurt. I could see his avatar.

  “Hey,” I said when I answered. “Problem?”

  Please let it require my help. I needed an out.

  “Yes. I’m picking you up we have to reinterview everyone in this case.”

  “Okay. Damn bad timing though,” I said with as much sincerity as I could muster.

  I swallowed my smile.

  “I heard. Caine texted me.”

  So he did get it. I bit my lip.

  “See you soon.”

  “I’m on my way.”

  Rowan was standing looking at me.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “I can’t take off this weekend. Something happened with the case. I’m working.” I reached over to the nightstand and picked u
p my gun, still in its holster. My legs swung off the bed. I stood and slid the paddle inside the waistband of my jeans. It held firm on my belt.

  “They can’t do it without you?”

  “No.”

  “Delta managed for six weeks without you, and now they can’t cope for three days …”

  “I’m working Rowan.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Kurt is on his way.”

  “Of course he is,” Rowan said. He turned around and walked out the bedroom door with the coffee in his hand.

  “Where are you going?” I called after him.

  “Home,” he replied.

  Two minutes later, I was still listening for the stairs and the front door. I could feel him in the hallway.

  “What do you want Rowan? What is this weekend all about?” I lurched into the doorway. “What do you want from me?”

  He was leaning on the wall. The coffee cups were on the hall table.

  “I want you to talk to me,” he said, without making eye contact.

  “I am. I have been.”

  “No, you aren’t and you haven’t been. You’ve hidden in consecutive bottles of booze and now you’re hiding behind a case.”

  “I’m not hiding. Kurt is on his way. I have to work.” I could feel it, the panic, the desperation, the need to escape.

  “Ellie, you have to talk about what happened.”

  No. Wrong. I don’t. I really don’t. You won’t like it if you make me.

  “There is nothing to talk about. Talking about it doesn’t change the outcome.”

  He shook his head, picked up one of the coffees and headed for the stairs. I followed.

  “I’m a patient man, Ellie.”

  “No, Rowan, you don’t get to do this and play the wounded hero.” I stabbed a finger toward him. “You don’t get it!”

  He spun around and stared at me. “Then help me get it.”

  “I can’t.”

  We were in the living room.

  “You won’t. That’s different to can’t,” Rowan said.

  “Okay, won’t it is then.”

  “I’m not a mind reader.”

  “Maybe you should be,” I snapped.

  “We going ten rounds here?” he asked, dropping into the couch.

  “No, yes. I don’t know,” I muttered.

  “Tell me.”

  “You tell me.” I pulled my gun out of the holster as I sat down. Vision of another conversation with a ghost flowed across my internal screen. I set the Glock on the coffee table between us. It was my not so invisible barrier. “You tell me.”

  “Ellie? What’s this about?”

  He didn’t look comfortable. I could see it on his face. The dawning as he realized I knew.

  “Julia. Don’t bother with the bullshit,” I cautioned. “Did you forget who I am?”

  “No, I didn’t forget.”

  “Well, I guess that just leaves stupid.”

  He was sitting opposite me. I looked at the wall behind him and the bullet hole. I doubted I’d ever fix it. That’s where Mac sat when I thought I shot his incorporeal ass.

  “Where to from here?” Rowan asked.

  “You’re going home. It’s over.”

  “Home,” Rowan repeated. “What about the Foundation?”

  “I don’t care. I’m not involved at the moment. You’d only be dealing with Dad and Bob Connelly, if you can handle that, then do it.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll front up for the kids.”

  Yeah. You do that. Such a great guy.

  “Now get out of my house and my life.” I leaned back and closed my eyes. “Now.”

  I heard him stand and walk away.

  He paused and said, “I’ll always love you.”

  “You have a funny way of showing it,” I scoffed as he left.

  The front door closed a few seconds later. I waited until he was in his car before I went back upstairs and used my laptop to access the security settings of the house and the gates. I disabled his codes.

  Over and not coming back.

  Tires on gravel. I could breathe again.

  Chapter Six

  The Radio Saved My Life Tonight.

  I met Kurt at the door.

  “Do you actually want a hand with the interviews?” I asked, peering into the darkness beyond him and beyond the security lighting. I don’t know what I expected.

  “Not really.”

  “Come in.”

  I stood aside and let him enter.

  “Rowan gone?” Kurt asked as he walked down the hallway to the kitchen.

  “Yes,” I replied, following him.

  “Good. I ordered pizza. It should be here in about ten minutes.” Kurt busied himself in the kitchen making coffee. “You been drinking?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  But I’d like to be.

  I wandered back down to the living room and flopped onto the couch. From where I lay my eyes sought the bullet hole in the wall. Another reminder of the week I’d been trying to forget.

  The hole in the wall throbbed.

  As I watched, it grew bigger and bigger, pulsating like a heartbeat. Words crawled from the darkness in the middle. They dragged themselves down the wall and up onto the coffee table. Glowing orange words rearranged until they made sense.

  “He’s seeing someone else,” I said as I read the words aloud. Bit late – figured that out already.

  The words flipped and wriggled reforming as another sentence.

  “You pushed him away,” I said, reading the new coffee table words. I reached my hand out and swirled the orange letters, creating a whirlpool. “Get fucked,” I muttered and slapped my hand into the middle of the orange mess, sending splatter over the couch and floor.

  Kurt called out, “Pizza is here. I buzzed him in the gate.” He poked his head around the living room door. “Where do you want to eat?”

  I looked at the orange mess all around me.

  “Kitchen,” I replied.

  “You all right?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  Kurt didn’t look convinced. That’s okay. I wasn’t either.

  The orange splatter shrunk. I reached out and swirled the shiny puddle with my index finger. It looked like a melted butterfly.

  There was a loud knock from the front door. “That’ll be the pizza,” he said. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  Kurt disappeared. I heard the front door open, a male voice, and the door close. The smell of pizza cruised through the hall carried by light footsteps. I followed it.

  The box was open on the counter by the time I got into the room. I sat on a stool. Kurt placed a plate and a napkin in front of me. He sat on a stool opposite me.

  I took a piece of pizza and ate it. I’d finished the slice and reached for another before I found any words.

  “Tequila would go well with this.”

  A smile caught Kurt’s eyes and bounced across the countertop.

  “Snakebite,” he replied.

  “Which recipe do you use?”

  “Tequila, Jack, and Tabasco sauce.”

  I leaned down and opened the cabinet next to me. Didn’t even have to get off the stool. One by one, I set bottles and shot glasses on the counter.

  Kurt moved the pizza aside and poured the shots. He passed me one.

  We raised our glasses, slamming the shots simultaneously.

  Heat raced through my body. Kurt lined the glasses up again and poured another round.

  “You’re encouraging this,” I said. “You know that right?”

  “Let’s call it medicinal.”

  I slammed the second shot.

  “I need another glass of medicine.”

  Chapter Seven

  If I can’t have your love.

  I sat at my desk in Washington and scrutinized the photos I’d taken at the crime scenes in Rock Creek Park. It was the fourth time I’d gone over them. I was certain I’d missed some subtle yet vital
clue. My magnifying glass sat close to my right hand. The photographs were hardcopy actual photos and spread out on my desk. Pictures from the most recent crime scene were in front of me. I went over each one using the magnifying glass.

  It struck me as odd that I had so many photographs of the woods, and no obvious animal life. On pondering that thought longer, I realized that wasn’t so odd at all. Things that lived in the woods wouldn’t want to be flitting about, or running around with people stomping all over the place. Everything that crept and crawled was probably hiding out asleep, and the furrier critters would stay out of sight.

  Birds though, they weren’t in much danger. People can’t fly. I wondered why there were no birds in the shots. I wondered why there were no birds in the woods. I couldn’t recall hearing or seeing any small birds. Weird.

  I moved to another photograph, in which I’d managed to capture a glimpse of Rowan through layers of branches and leaves. There was nothing there, just recognition.

  My focus became the raven strangler.

  An unkindness of ravens seemed about right.

  A dark shape in a tree within one picture caught my eye. I peered at it through the magnifying glass. The pounding in my chest told me all I needed to know. A raven. I went over the other photographs using the magnifying glass. Again and again, I found the raven in trees. It had watched me walk the crime scenes.

  A shiver ran down my spine.

  Where else did the raven go?

  Shouldn’t it have moved on by now? It’d been a few days since the murder. A few days and the raven still lurked. Why?

  I dragged my laptop across my desk and pushed the photos out of the way. If anything was on the circuit that had birds in it, then there’d be something online. I was sure. Lee had already checked out circuses. So I started with theaters.

  I found the number and called. It took me several minutes to wind my way through the receptionist and front desk personnel to the center manager.

  “Are there any performers in DC or northern Virginia using birds in their acts?”

  “One moment, ma’am, I’ll check the listings.”

  I tapped my fingers on my desk, and then tapped my fingers on my laptop keyboard as I waited.

  “We have two. There is a play on now in Fairfax. They have a parrot on set.”

  “And the other?”

  “A ventriloquist named, Ronald Latham. He’s doing a one-man show at one of the smaller theaters in DC. One moment. I’ll pull up more information.”