Page 5 of Burn Dragon Burn
The sound of footsteps just outside the door had them all sitting up straight in their seats just before the tall, commanding figure of Director Isaacs walked into the room. Walking the length of the room, not even glancing at the guys sitting around the table.
Taking his seat at the head of the table, the retired five-star General unbuttoned his jacket and finally looked up. Taking a moment to make eye contact with each of the Dragons, he sat back in his high-backed chair, set his elbows on the arms and steepled his fingers in front of his chin.
The huge LCD behind him blinked to life. Each of their names flashed on the screen right before pictures began to carousel from left to right. Photos of each man in the throes of battle. The longer it played, the older the photos got until the screen returned to black.
The silence was deafening. Rafe could hear the thoughts of his Brethren, knew they were all playing the ‘he-who-speaks-first-loses’ game. Tired of the bullshit, needing to know if he was fighting or flying, Rafe opened his mouth at the exact moment that Director Isaac’s eyes turned a glowing yellow and the pupils merely a vertical black line.
Grinning like the Big Cat that messed with the Dragons instead of the birdie, the Director chuckled, “Now that that’s out of the way, how about we talk about you boys coming to work for me?”
3
It’s different this time. It feels personal. Almost…” She stopped, not sure whether to say what wasreallybothering her or make up something to satisfy her grandmother. Unfortunately, or maybe it was fortunately, Nona took the decision away from her.
“You’re seeing the victims through his eyes, right? But not while he’s doing, but rather afterward when he’s reliving it?”
Nodding because her mouth was suddenly so dry she couldn’t speak, Nat’s eyes met Nona’s as she took a huge drink of her iced coffee. It wasn’t surprising that the older woman knew what was going on in her granddaughter’s mind, but instead an uneasiness of what she might uncover.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Child. These are not your feelings,” Nona snapped, having already known what Nat was trying to hide. “This man is sick, deviant, and absolutely perverted. Death, love, lust, flesh, and oh yes, parts of the body feed his deviance.”
Reaching across the table, she laid her thin, wrinkled hand over Nat’s. “He is also very smart and incredibly cunning. Tocatch him, you will have to follow where your gift takes you – no matter how gruesome.”
Mesmerized by Nona’s words, Nat jumped when the alarm on her phone beeped. Grabbing it from her pocket, she looked at the time and jumped to her feet. Rounding the table in three strides, she kissed her grandma on the cheek. “Thank you, Nona. I’ll be back on Wednesday for dinner.”
“See that you do, Donatella,” the older woman called out. “Don’t be late and don’t forget the wine.”
Chuckling as she shut and locked the front door, Nat repeated her grandmother’s words, “And don’t forget the wine,” before scoffing, “How could I forget the wine? Drunk is the only way I can deal with Beth and Bert.”
Just the thought of her cousin and her cousin’s husband set Nat’s teeth to grinding. Not only were they overly cutesy and always rubbing noses and giggling at one another, but heaven help them all, they were expecting their first child.
Not one dinner, holiday, or family get together had passed since Betsy found out she was pregnant that Nat had not been subjected to talk of morning sickness, back aches, constipation, and a menagerie of paint swatches in every pastel color that had ever been created. It was sickening and there was no other way to look at it.
Once in her car, she maneuvered through the old neighborhoods and the historic district before coming up behind the precinct and pulling into her parking spot. Walking towards the back doors, something akin to an anvil falling on her head like always happened to Wile E. Coyote in her favorite cartoons made her stop and turn to the left.
Unable to move, barely able to breathe, Nat’s eyes were glued to the biggest, broadest man she’d ever laid eyes on. If he wasn’t a football player, he should be and if he wasn’t there for her, well, she’d find a way to get in front of him.
Watching until he disappeared behind the brick and mortar of the front of the building, she shook her head and blew out the breath she’d been holding before heading into the station. Throwing her empty Starbucks cup in the trash and grabbing a bottle of water, she walked straight to the Incident Room and stood before the row of white boards and cork boards.
Looking at the smiling faces of the serial killer the media were calling the Yellow Ribbon Ripper, Nat sat her butt on the edge of the table and let her mind wander. It was the only way she could conjure up the images from her dreams and sort them in such a way that she would make sense out of them.
Six girls, different body types and hair colors, all between twenty and twenty-two years of age, all killed in the same brutal manner, all missing their heart and liver. The yellow bow was a clue, but to what?
The immediate connection was made between the yellow ribbon and the military and the DOD had been very cooperative in giving them access to all the records, past and present, that they needed. Nothing had come of it. Every person with even the slightest blip on their psych evaluation had been interviewed. No one stood out or even made her raise an eyebrow.
It seemed as if every ‘normal’ avenue had been checked. Now, it was up to Nat to check the not-so normal ones. Thank the Goddess Fitz knew about her ‘gift’ and whole-heartedly supported her using it. He’d even kept a level head when they’d raided a coven of Witches and had even broken a sweat when he witnessed Werewolves up close and personally.
He was old school, there was no doubt about it, but he’d also grown up with a rather eclectic bunch of foster parents and had experienced firsthand that things are not always as they seem. It was one of the hundreds of reasons that Nat loved and trusted her partner. He had her back no matter what.
Grabbing the full-body crime scene shots from the board and laying them side-by-side on the long, beat-up, conference table, she zeroed in on each girl’s left wrist. There it was, so small human eyes couldn’t see and a magnifying glass would miss it – an upside-down cross with an additional, longer line through it and the top bisecting an infinity sign.
“But what does it mean?” She murmured.
“It means you’ve got trouble.”
Jumping up and squeaking as she spun around like a top, Nat spat, “What the fu…?” Her words trailed off as her eyes landed on the man she’d been ogling in the parking lot just a few minutes before. Up close and personal he was damn near too much to handle.
Taller, broader, just more of ab-so-lute-ly everything within reach. Dark and wavy, his hair was long enough to touch the collar of his blue cotton shirt, but not so long as to make him look feminine. Icy blue eyes with laser sharp focus, she felt as if he was looking right into her soul as the corner of his perfectly shaped lips curled up at one corner and he snickered, “Sorry about that. I should’ve knocked or cleared my throat to let you know I was here.”
Forcing herself to look away, her hands seemed to have a mind of their own as they moved up then down then finally landed on the crime scene photos. Scooping the enlarged prints into a messy stack, she held them against her chest like a shield as she forced her embarrassment into anger and scowled, “You shouldn’t be in here.”