With a conscious effort, I forced my breathing to slow and my bones to relax. I cast a glance at my wall clock. The numbers flashed 5:39 P.M. I had time to clean up and do a little research before my dinner with Jaxon.
I lumbered from the bed and only tripped twice on my way to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth, showered, the dry spray doing nothing to wake me.
When I emerged, the scent of freshly brewed synthetic coffee filled my nostrils, strong and intense. I donned the same type of clothing as yesterday—well-fitted black slacks, black button-up shirt, boots, and a black leather jacket. My pants possessed a Velcro strip down the outer seam, allowing easy access to the weapons strapped to my thighs. Of course, I also had guns and knives strategically tethered to the rest of my body.
I twisted my hair in a ponytail, frowned when several locks slipped free, then retied the band with a scowl. Sometimes I yearned to hack off every freaking strand, but I always stopped myself before actually applying the scissors. It was the one feminine aspect of my life, and I just didn’t want to give it up.
Dressed now, I trod into the kitchen and quickly drained two mugs of coffee. I poured myself a third cup and carried the steaming liquid to my desk. I logged onto my computer by voice recognition and fingerprint ID. Mandalay had mentioned that neither Kyrin nor Atlanna were in a database, but I checked again anyway.
When I typed in Atlanna’s name, information about the lost city of Atlantis filled the screen instead. Atlanna’s namesake, perhaps? I scrolled, found the most intriguing articles, and uttered a single command: “Print.”
Holding the papers in my hand, I read, “At the beginning of history, Zeus, the god of gods, granted his brother, Poseidon, the city of Atlantis. This island lay outside the pillars of Hercules, a meeting point of all the worlds’ oceans. For many generations, Atlanteans flourished in wisdom and riches, and the lands overflowed with food and wine. Yet these great warriors and scientists did not remain content with what they had, and greed soon grew in their hearts. They began to invade other lands, hoping to enslave foreign citizens. War reigned supreme. Zeus was angered by the constant battling, and rightly blamed the Alanteans. He hurled a great lightning bolt from the sky into the heart of the city. The land rumbled and shook, and in minutes, the ocean swallowed every rock, hollow, and denizen.”
Brow furrowed, I placed the article beside my coffee mug and frowned. Was Atlanna like these Atlanteans? Was she greedy for slaves? If so, where did the babies come in? Did she want to raise them and make her own army?
That sounded so far-fetched.
To sell them, perhaps? I sat up straighter. Now that made sense.
“Fertility,” I said to the computer, recalling that that had been a common thread in all of the cases. Seconds later, several sites popped onscreen. I printed each page and discovered that Rianne Harte, the lab tech, had been trying to gain government support for fertility drugs to help increase the number of children alien women could bear. Alien women, not human.
That was interesting, but it didn’t help my case. I was dealing with human men, which meant Atlanna had to breed them with human women. Our scientists had tried splicing alien and human DNA to create halflings, but it simply couldn’t be done. Something about the different cell types being foreign and trying to kill each other.
I read the rest of Harte’s article and stilled when I came across the name A. en Arr, who was helping fund the research. A. en Arr. Atlanna en Arr. So, she wanted her aliens to be able to have more babies. So what did she need with the human men? They couldn’t help her with that.
I typed my notes and thoughts into a new base titled “Fertility Murders and Abductions.” I worked for the next half hour, relieved that I had one answer, at least. Without a doubt, Atlanna was the killer.
When I finished, I muttered, “Save and close,” and my computer shut down. I stood. It was time to meet Jaxon for dinner. I could barely wait to tell him what I’d learned.
Just then my phone unit erupted in a high-pitched wail. My dad, was my guess, so I purposely didn’t answer as I gathered the rest of my guns and knives. I didn’t have time to deal with him. A few moments later, my cell unit erupted in a series of beeps. Caller ID revealed the station house.
I immediately answered.
“We found Rianne Harte,” Jack said. “She’s dead.”
I stood in the middle of the crime scene, cataloging the details. Unlike William Steele, Rianne Harte had not been posed to look seductive. She’d been posed to look brutalized. Of course, she had been brutalized. Her eyes were still wide with terror; she lay inside a coffin, her legs and arms painfully akimbo.
We had the casket completely open, giving us an unobstructed view inside. Naked as she was, I was able to catalog the welts, scratches, bite marks, and bruises that marred her entire body. The hair atop her head had been hacked off completely. Her nails were ragged and broken.
She was barely recognizable as the smiling woman I’d seen in ID photos, yet a blood sample had revealed this was indeed Miss Harte. She’d been locked inside the stifling black coffin with some sort of snake or lizard, only it was bright red and obviously not from this planet. Mandalay had found her here in Whore’s Corner, in the same woods we’d discovered Steele.
“Damn shame,” Mandalay muttered before striding to her car.
“Lilla couldn’t have done this,” Jaxon said beside me. His voice carried on the winter breeze. He stared down at the body, shaking his head. “Not enough time.”
“You’re wrong. She had plenty of time. This body isn’t fresh, and Lilla hasn’t been in custody long. To be honest, though,” I added, “I don’t think she did it. Again, this crime is too methodical. Too precise. Every detail complete.”
I paused as a thought occurred to me. “Was Harte, or is she, pregnant?”
“I don’t know.”
“You,” I called to one of the agents nearby. “Do a pregnancy test on her blood, pronto.”
Five minutes later, I discovered she was not and had not been pregnant recently.
“Ghost found two strands of hair,” Jaxon said. “Arcadian.”
“Of course.”
“They were located on the same branch as before. It’s highly doubtful the killer would snag their hair twice in the same spot. Either they were planted and we’re on the wrong path, or the killer is taunting us.”
“We’re being taunted.” Yes, Atlanna was taunting us. I told him what I’d found out about fertility, Harte, and the deadly Atlanna. “She’s cocky as hell and assured of success. That much we already knew. But why not pose Harte as prettily as she posed Steele?”