Кей Хупер - Blood Ties

“Rex?” he called.

“Hey, BJ. When did you get back?” As always, Rex sounded cheerful. And looked it, his eyes bright and the big smile on his pleasant face marred only by the blood smeared across one cheek.

“Couple hours ago. You were busy.” BJ reached the bottom step and stood there for a moment, gazing around the brightly lit basement. There were no windows, since it was totally underground, but a combination of big, well-placed lights and a lot of white tile and stainless steel more than made up for the lack of natural light.

Still, BJ was always faintly surprised when he came down here by the modern… sleekness… of the place. There should, he thought, be iron and old leather and blood-soaked wood, because that was what a torture chamber was supposed to look like.

Not like an operating room.

The thought, as always, was fleeting, especially when BJ saw what had kept Rex occupied for far longer than expected.

On one of the two long stainless-steel tables lay a hunk of bloody meat only vaguely recognizable as a human being. BJ couldn’t even tell if it was male or female, not by looking, though he knew it had been a man because he had delivered the guy to Rex early the day before, all trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.

His guess was that Rex had been experimenting this time with methods of skinning. That, at least, had been his excited plan.

But the skinned experiment had been left to congeal on the table, abandoned, no doubt hours ago, for a newer toy.

A toy he had apparently left the safety of this house to get for himself.

She lay on the second of the stainless-steel tables, strapped down even though the fight had gone out of her—along with what looked like most of her blood. Numerous small nicks covered her naked body, as did longer and deeper slashes.

It was—almost—artistic.

Blood dripped from the table to join the widening pool on the white tile floor. That didn’t look so artistic, it looked messy as hell, especially since Rex had once more forgotten to position the table over one of the big drains in the floor.

Dammit.

The new toy had been pretty once. Probably. She had blond hair, which wasn’t surprising since Rex favored blondes. Young. She had plenty of curves. And she was still alive. BJ could see a pulse beating—faintly—beneath the bloody skin of her throat.

“Jesus, Rex, what’ve you done?”

His cheerful smile fading, Rex said anxiously, “Bubba won’t mind this time, BJ, honest. Because Father told me to. And we always do what Father tells us to, right?”

You know you’re going to have to kill him one day soon, don’t you, BJ? Before he becomes completely unmanageable?

“Right.” BJ sighed.

“That wasn’t a ghost out there this morning, it was a real sniper,” Tony pointed out. “And yesterday. And on Tuesday. Probably the same one, but definitely flesh-and-blood real. With real bullets. And real mad skills with that rifle of his, to say nothing of his apparently magical ability to disappear into thin air while dozens of armed and experienced law-enforcement people hunt for him.”

“Yes,” Miranda said. “I know.”

“So how could any of this have anything to do with Samuel?”

“One thing we knew absolutely about Samuel was that he had gotten better and better in recent years at locating and recruiting psychics; our inside agents told us that.”

“Yeah, I remember. And so?”

“Noah believes Samuel didn’t bring all those he found into the church, or at least not into the Compound. That he… kept some of them in reserve, unknown to the others in his flock, including our own people undercover inside the church. And that those he chose to keep apart were not only the most fanatically loyal but also the more militant, potentially more violent ones. And maybe the strongest psychics.”

Jaylene was frowning. “Why?”

“Because he planned ahead.”

“Planned beyond his own death?” Tony asked.

“Most of us plan beyond our deaths. We write wills, designate people to handle our property and raise our children, leave our money to the loved ones or charities we wish it to go to.”

“Well, yeah, but that’s a long way from having armed thugs carry out your bloody revenge fantasies after you’re gone. Isn’t it?”

“Samuel was a functioning precog, Tony. A seer. He had apocalyptic visions, yes, and those clearly drove him, but there’s nothing to say he didn’t also have a few visions about his future. His own very personal future. Maybe general, or maybe specific enough that he knew he wouldn’t survive that final battle against Noah and the others.”

She paused, then added, “Given the cold-blooded ferocity of the murders that led us here, and the equally cold-blooded precision of the sniper still out there, my guess is that Samuel made damn sure he had at least one—and possibly more than one—loyal follower wholly dedicated to avenging the death of their ‘Father.’ No matter what it takes.”

“Oh, man,” Tony muttered. Then he frowned. “So why not start killing SCU agents when he had the chance? Because he’s had plenty of chances all this week. Even before, if he’s been watching longer.”

“Toying with us?” Miranda suggested. “Ramping up the danger level to draw more of us in? That certainly worked. Or maybe he was hoping Noah would show up. Because as much as Samuel considered the SCU in general his enemy, he knew very well who built and led the unit.”

Jaylene said, “Is that another reason why Bishop isn’t here? Because he’s more likely to draw fire, possibly endangering the rest of us even more?”

“You know him,” Miranda said. “What do you think?”

With no doubt at all in his voice, Tony said, “He’d step in front of a bullet in a heartbeat to save any one of us. I don’t believe even Samuel’s dark energy could have changed that. So my bet is, he isn’t here because he believes it’s safer for all of us if he is elsewhere.”

Miranda smiled. “I believe the same thing.”

“I’m not disagreeing,” Jaylene said.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, more because they all knew they needed fuel than because they were hungry or enjoying the food.

“How sure are you about Samuel being behind these tortured vies and the sniper?” Tony asked finally.

“If you’re asking whether I’ve had a premonition of my own, the answer is no. But for months we’ve known we had an enemy, long before the confrontation at the church. We know Samuel had some SCU members under surveillance more than a year ago, that he studied us and considered us a threat. That before we even knew who he was, he tried to lure us into a trap. We know he had considerable resources. We know he was fanatical and inspired fanatical loyalty among his followers. We know he was a highly functional precog, was able to channel extraordinary energy, was telepathic—and was able to steal energy from people and abilities from other psychics. We know he had a serious God complex, and from that we can safely infer he expected or planned to control at least some events even after death.”

Miranda paused, then finished, “Add all that up, and I think it’s more than a strong possibility that Samuel has something to do with this killer—or killers. The butcher and the sniper.”

“Okay,” Diana said, trying to feel as calm as she hoped she sounded, “Samuel wants to live. Do I take it that’s him wearing Quentin’s face?”

“You’ll have to determine the truth of that.”

Naturally, Brooke wasn’t going to make it easy for her. Or even just less hard.

Diana wished there was a place to sit down in this endless, featureless corridor, because she was tired. And that was terrifying.