J Duncan - Deadworld

He shook his head. “You’re just looking at the wrong guy for answers, that’s all.”

Shelby actually rolled her eyes at his comment, and Jackie leaned down closer to him, no more than a couple feet away. There was a razor-thin scar that ran from his temple down along the jawline to his chin.

“You protecting someone, Mr. Anderson? Shelby, perhaps?” It was a shot in the dark, more to provoke a reaction, but the bemused smile was not what she had expected.

“No, Agent Rutledge. I am not protecting anyone. Trust me. I would be more than happy for you to catch this killer.”

“I trust you about as far as I can throw you.” Shelby snorted, and Jackie had finally had enough of her amused silence. “What about you, Ms. Fontaine? Someone here knows more than they’re saying, and all you’ve been doing since we got here is give Nick every condescending response in the book.” Jackie was starting to think that arresting them might be a good idea regardless, but she was not on good enough terms with Belgerman at the moment to afford any kind of screw up.

“I just work here,” Shelby said with mock innocence. “Nick tells me to say something, I say it. If he doesn’t, I don’t.”

“Bullshit. What exactly is the nature of your relationship with Mr. Anderson?”

Again, the careless shrug. “I work for him.”

When she was not more forthcoming, Jackie stood up straight, hands on her hips. “Do I look stupid, Ms. Fontaine? How about the non-pat answer, just to humor me?”

“I’m not fucking him, if that’s what you mean.”

Jackie threw up her hands in disgust. “I really should just arrest you both.”

Nick said, without looking at her, “That would waste all our time, Ms. Rutledge.”

“Gee, you think? I don’t know what your game is here, Nick, or you, for that matter, Ms. Fontaine, but it’s damn obvious to me that you know something. You’re either hiding something, or-far handier for me-you are both involved, and given that I’ve got two dead boys on my hands and don’t want a third, I’d say that arresting you is looking like a good option here.”

“I assure you,” he said. “You’ll find no direct evidence-”

“Direct?” That was it. The evasive bullshit had to end. “That’s the problem here. Things are just vague enough to keep us guessing. Is that what you want, Mr. Anderson? People are dying here. Kids. Are. Dying. Either you’re directly involved, or you know who is doing this. And, frankly, I’m fucking sick of your evading everything we ask. Why are you protecting this monster? Or are you in league with him somehow? Is that it?”

“I’m in league with no one, Ms. Rutledge.” He took another drink from his coffee and set it down on the table. “I’m protecting you.”

Not the answer she’d been expecting. Jackie took a step back. “What? So you do know who the killer is?”

“You, the FBI, and anyone else who tries to get involved. You won’t catch this monster. You can’t.”

“Presumptuous bastard.” She gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to punch him.

“Jackie,” Laurel said quietly.

“Nope.” She waved a finger at Laurel. “Not calming down this time.” The finger drifted back over and stabbed at Nick. “How dare you, Mr. Anderson, if that is what your real fucking name is. You don’t presume anything about us. It’s my… our job to catch killers like this. We are far more capable, with more resources than you’ll ever have, to nail monsters like this. How could-” She paused, fists now clenched at her sides. God, it would feel so good to deck the prick. “Who is it, Nick?”

“You read the file from 1970?” He leaned back in the cushions, an arm flung along one of the pillows, showing little regard for her tirade. “Two FBI agents were killed by him then. You get involved, the same thing will happen.”

She wanted to scream. “That was thirty-six years ago! We are far more-”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said with a shake of his head. “You aren’t equipped to handle him.”

Jackie reached out and grabbed his arm, fingers digging into firm flesh. “Don’t you dare tell me what I’m not equipped to handle. You don’t have that right. Now tell me who the fuck it is!”

Nick looked down at her hand for a moment, unflinching before meeting her gaze once again. “He’s a ghost.”

“A ghost.” The anger dissipated like so many dandelions upon the wind. “You’re serious. A ghost is draining the blood from the children of Chicago?”

Shelby leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, chin in her hands. She, too, appeared interested in this news or what Jackie’s reaction to it was going to be.

Nick cleared his throat. “Not literally. Whomever he’s possessing is doing it.”

“The ghost of the man who killed your family, Mr. Anderson?” Laurel had leaned forward as well at his words, but she looked decidedly perplexed by the news.

“Great-great-great-grandfather’s family,” Nick said. “It’s been hounding my family for generations.”

Laurel clasped her hands together. Her voice was thoughtful. “So the man in all the photos we have, who looks so much like you it’s uncanny, are your relatives?”

Nick didn’t hesitate. “Yes. It’s a blood feud that this spirit refuses to let go of. So you have to understand, Ms. Rutledge. You are chasing after something you can’t catch.”

“If it’s possessing a body, we can catch the body,” Jackie said. Her mind churned through the information. It still didn’t sit right with her, but where to pick at it eluded her. “Does this jibe for you, Agent Carpenter?”

Laurel sighed and leaned back into the couch. “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s possible, I guess.”

Jackie wanted to throw up her hands in disgust. Now was not the time to be wishy-washy, but what else could she do? This was not her area of expertise, and for the life of her, she could not get a good read on Nick Anderson. If he had been effusive to this point, however, what was to say he wasn’t being so now?

“What’s the tarot card tell us then, Nick? You know all about the history of this case apparently. What’s it mean?”

He looked at each of them for a moment, lingering the longest on Shelby, whose curious arched brow spoke volumes. Jackie needed to get her alone, and the sooner the better.

“Likely, it means someone resembling Gwendolyn will be next,” he said.

“The wife is next?” Jackie asked.

“So it would indicate,” he said.

She crossed her arms over her chest. Why did she feel like she was being led around by the nose? “So a thirty-something brunette woman will be the next target.”

He nodded. “More than likely.”

Yeah, that narrowed it down. “Anything else, Nick? You know, something we might find useful in catching this guy?”

Nick shrugged. “I wish I had something more for you. Shelby and I have been trying to track him down. We’ve sensed him a couple times, but not strong enough to pinpoint.”

“You can track him?”

“As you recall,” he said with a faint smile, “we can sense spirits. When he’s fairly close or in the process of possessing someone, we get a feeling, but it’s sometimes like tracking down a light in the fog. You don’t actually see it until you’re right on top of it.”

Jackie looked over at Laurel, who nodded in agreement. Okay, so maybe that wasn’t bullshit. God, she hated the supernatural. Why couldn’t ghosts stay where they belonged? “This what you’ve been doing, driving aimlessly around the city? Sniffing out the ghost?”

“Yes, ma’am, it is.”

Her lips puckered, holding in the retort. Ma’am? Really? Jackie couldn’t recall anyone ever referring to her that way. Sadly, she could not discern any condescension in his voice. It almost made it worse that the word was genuine.