J Duncan - Deadworld

Jackie bit off her retort. She wanted him to come back with her to the office, not start a fight. “That’s some awfully big assumptions just from looking.”

Nick shrugged. “Lots of practice.”

“There’s more to it than that.” She picked up the espresso cup and downed the strong, bittersweet liquid in one gulp to hide her shaking hand. She wished Laurel was with her now to help her navigate this supernatural no-man’s land she found herself in. She was supposed to be the cool one under fire. “Tell me, Nick. How often do you drink that fake-blood shit your company makes?”

The relaxed mouth creased into annoyance. “What else did Shelby tell you?”

“Enough.”

“And there’s nothing I can say to convince you to stay away, is there, Jackie?”

The personal note sent a pang through her. Was that a jab? A dare? A warning? “Not in my nature to just let a case slide, Mr. Anderson. Especially when kids are being murdered.”

“Even if it gets you or your partner killed?”

Jackie folded her arms on the table and leaned toward him. “That a threat, Nick?”

He started to say something and then apparently thought better of it. “No. I just don’t believe you, Ms. Carpenter, or the FBI are prepared to deal with this killer.”

“It’s not your place to make those kinds of presumptions. It’s our case now. Cooperate or get out of the way. I’d prefer to do it without tossing your ass in jail. Unless, of course, it’s supposed to be there.”

Mia returned at that moment, a curious expression on her face, her tray loaded with salads and a fresh loaf of bread. A subtle look from Nick was all it took to send her away without a word. “I’ve been chasing this guy for a long time. You honestly don’t have any idea what you’re up against.”

“Why don’t you show me then, Nick? Come in and show the team,” she demanded, finally fed up with his martyr routine. “You think it’s even possible for me to just let the case go? It freaking you out ’cause I’m a girl? That rub your old-school sheriff sense of justice the wrong way? This is a federal case now. You need to leave it alone unless we say otherwise. If we need your assistance in tracking him down, then fine, but if I find you interfering in our case whatsoever, I will throw you in jail faster than you can blink. Can I make it any plainer to you?” She really wanted to reach over and shake him, slap him upside the head, but part of her was afraid of what he might be able to do.

Nick sighed and took a bite of his salad, chewing in silence. When he swallowed and drank down some water, he finally answered. “If you get too close to him, if your partner is able to home in on him or track him down, and you threaten to disrupt his plans, he’ll kill you and anyone else who gets in his way.”

“Then explain it to me. Tell me what we’re up against. What can Cornelius Drake do that makes him so unstoppable, because he surely isn’t going to just sweep in and suck all of us dry, now, is he? Is he going to hypnotize us all? Let us do our job, damnit. Catching killers is what I’m good at.”

“And I don’t doubt that for a moment,” he said, sounding surprisingly sincere, “but I don’t want your blood on my hands if you die trying to get this guy.”

Guilt. Jackie sensed it was a major theme for Nick. His past overflowed with dead bodies. “That’s sweet, really, but you’ve had your chances with this guy and not been able to catch him. Things have changed a lot in the past… decades.”

“Technology can’t really contend with this,” he countered.

“Guys like you, you mean?”

He paused so long she thought he might not answer. “Yes, Ms. Rutledge, guys like me.”

“I could have you locked up in a psyche ward for an admission like that, you know.”

“And you will never find Drake, and he may just kill a bunch of you to get to me.”

“What is he, the Terminator?”

Nick’s smile held no amusement. “Worse in some ways. Look, if I show you something, will you seriously reconsider pursuing this guy?”

“Going to show me your fangs, Nick?” She wiped at the smear of butter at the corner of her mouth and tossed the napkin on the table. “I won’t agree to anything. I’ll consider anything you have to say or show me that is pertinent to the case. If this doesn’t change my mind, will you come in this afternoon to speak with our task force?”

“Spoken like a true lawman.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said, bemused. He reached into the coat lying on the chair beside him and pulled out a small case. “I’ll agree to those terms.”

“What is that?”

He held it out to her. “A contact-lens case.”

Ah, so the freaky eyes were fake after all. “I knew you must be wearing something,” she said while he removed one, and then the other lens, putting them into the solution-filled cups. “Let me tell you, those contacts give you messed-up eyes, Nick. They weird people out, but what’s this got…”

Her sentence trailed off as Nick looked up and met her gaze, crystal-blue eyes, deep and glowing with no iris at all. They were just solid, pulsing blue, within which murky gray tendrils swirled around.

“Look,” he said, a finger pointing up at his eyes. “Look in here and tell me what you see.”

“What the fuck?” They were downright disturbing and oddly compelling. How could he have no iris?

“Please, Jackie. If you want to understand the danger you’re in, just look. It won’t hurt. Trust me.”

She leaned forward, staring at him, and there was something in there, moving, ebbing, and pulsing like a heartbeat. The beat began to fill her head, soothing, calming. Fear washed away in the cool, blue waters of his eyes, so deep one could easily drown in them, sinking away into dark and blissful nothing. Part of her realized what was happening. The word hypnosis ricocheted around in the far recesses of her brain, but she could not latch on to it. The thought swam away in the cool flood of his gaze. Jackie sagged back in her chair. “That’s messed up.”

“What is? Me? You? This case?”

His eyes looked right into her-cold, intense water that filled up every part of her, seeping into her bones, into the deepest parts of her soul. The layers of her just washed away, exposed by that pulsing blue light, until even those bottom layers of muck that Jackie avoided treading in were exposed to his willful stare. He could see it all, and Jackie offered it up to him with eager hands, unable to hold back. Some part of her screamed, filled with terror that he could just reach in and open that Pandora’s Box of nightmares, blood, and death, that releasing its contents could consume them, destroy them in the blink of an eye. The other part of her was sure he held the answers to all her needs, that he could simply cleanse her soul of the blight upon it with a wave of his hands.

He did nothing, however. He acted as little more than a tourist on safari in unknown lands. There was no judgment, no accusations, no blame, just the sense of knowing. He had opened a door into her most private self, or, worse, Jackie had opened it and invited him right in, like a best friend perfectly at ease knowing all the good and the bad.

“Everything is messed up,” she said, aware of the words, but unaware of where they were coming from. “This case is freaking me out; my partner, Laurel, just came out of the closet, we had a big fight because… I… I drink too much. I fuck guys I can’t even remember the next day. Hell, I don’t even like men very much.”

“Why is that, Jackie? They treat you badly in the past? Are you having feelings for Laurel?” His voice held the deepest sincerity, a father’s concern for his daughter, or one lover for another.