S. Harper - Cursed

Johnson holds up a hand. “Stop. You’re telling me this Dr. Pierce died in the lab that blew up today?”

I nod. “Yes. That’s where she’d been doing the transplants.”

“Why confess and then destroy all of the evidence?” he asks.

Zack blows out a breath. “She wasn’t doing the transplants voluntarily. She was being blackmailed. And she wasn’t the only one. These operations were far too complicated for her to do alone. There were other medical personnel, not to mention organ recipients who had no idea they were involved in anything illegal—some of them children. She was trying, in her own way, to minimize the damage.”

“Christ.” Johnson leans back in his chair and waves encouragement. “Let’s hear all of it.”

Zack relays the story—the concocted story. How, while we were following up on a lead for the Patterson case last night, Dr. Pierce approached us. She was nervous, seemed off. She knew we were from the FBI and insisted we come to her office today, that she had something important to tell us, to give to us. How when we tracked her down this morning she was waiting for us. Said she was tired of the deception. Ashamed of what she’d done. Couldn’t live with the guilt. How she took her own life and very nearly took ours.

Finally he pauses.

Johnson shakes his head. “You’re lucky you weren’t killed.”

“That wasn’t her intention,” I say. “She wanted to give us this.” I hand him the spreadsheet. “She slipped it under the door to the lab after locking herself inside.”

He takes the sheet of paper in hand. “A list of the recipients and donors?”

Zack leans forward. “More than that, sir. She also gave us a name, Davis Mager. The man supplying the organs. My guess is that Mager is just the beginning, a small cog in a very large illegal transplant scheme.”

“A donated organ always reflects the DNA of the donor,” I add. “Pierce said most of Mager’s ‘donors’ were homeless. Forensics should be able to match up the transplanted organs to that string of missing homeless cases Garner’s been working on.”

“Right,” Zack agrees, then connects the last dot. “Garner builds a case against Mager for the string of murders and exposes them as being part of a large operation that stretches who knows how far.”

Johnson jumps up and makes a beeline for the door. “Garner?” he shouts.

“Yes, sir?”

“Get your ass in here. Armstrong and Monroe are about to make your day.”

• • •

It’s three hours before the paperwork is complete and we’ve finished briefing Johnson and Garner, who was more than happy to take over the investigation. A BOLO is issued for Davis Mager. Turns out he has a vast and colorful criminal record. The only thing Zack and I fear is that the weasel might try to cut himself a deal to get out of doing significant time. On the other hand, if he manages to elude the law, he certainly won’t elude Kallistos.

“Are you ready to get out of here?” Zack asks once Johnson’s dismissed us.

I nod, gathering my bag and jacket. “Hell of a first case, huh?”

Zack smiles but doesn’t say anything until we’re outside and approaching his car. Then he reaches out. The back of his hand barely brushes mine, a feather touch. “Your place or mine?”

“Yours. I could use a walk on the beach.” I climb inside and rest my head back on the seat. “But let’s swing by Evan’s first, so I can get my car.”

He pulls out of the office parking lot and heads for the freeway. I close my eyes. I know Barbara Pierce’s death was justified. Thanks to her notes, Davis Mager will be made to answer for his crimes, too. And a dozen cold cases solved. But all the same, I don’t have the feeling of satisfaction I usually have at the end of a case. We’ve saved four kidnap victims whose stories will never be told. We lost two vampires whose names we never knew. Someone may be searching for them, too. And then there are the patients whose lives were saved by Pierce. Others, like Mager’s daughter and Michael Dexter, were likely unsuspecting and as much victims of Mager and Pierce as the homeless who lost their lives.

I glance over at Zack. His expression is once again calm, composed. He’s a good partner. This was a bad case.

“Sorry you transferred?” I ask.

A smile tips the corners of his mouth. “Are you kidding? How could I be sorry? What kind of man would pass up the opportunity to work with a real honest-to-God Siren?”

I turn away from him and stare out the side window. His attempt to bring some levity to the situation just makes my heart heavier. When he reaches over to take my hand, my stomach knots, my heart wrenches.

What the hell am I doing? Why did I suggest going to his house?

Zack and I both know we aren’t going there just to walk on the beach.

Liz’s face is stark and rigid in my head. Disapproving. Her words of warning and wisdom ring in my ear. I know she means well. I know she’s right. I know that if I really, truly care for Zack, I need to protect him.

I need to end things with him.

Soon.

I’d hoped the walk on the beach would clear my head, and for a while it does. Zack and I stroll in silence, watching the water, listening to the pounding of the surf. Our pace is leisurely. Clouds are beginning to roll in from the horizon. A stiff breeze batters the waves.

Explains why we have the beach to ourselves.

Still, I don’t complain. The chill in the air is a balm to my troubled spirit.

My head is spinning. There’s what to do about Zack, of course. But Sarah and Kallistos are also weighing on my mind.

Kallistos. I led him to Alan. He read me during that kiss, when I thought I was reading him. I’m sure of it now. It’s the only explanation I can think of. The memory of his kiss lingers in my head. I keep replaying it over and over, trying to pinpoint the moment of my monumental failure. I’ve grown too out of touch with the supernatural community. I’m out of practice. It would be wise to reacquaint myself with those in control as well as their politics. There is a certain amount of safety in anonymity, but knowledge is power, and the lack of it I possessed today about Kallistos Kouros has cost others and me. I can’t let him take me by surprise again. I need to find out all I can about Kallistos, and I know where I’m going to start.

Liz.

Then there’s Sarah. Did she and Zack really sleep together the other night? Does it matter? Either way, I know I should tell him she confronted me. Why am I so hesitant? Because part of me is afraid. Not for myself, for Zack. I know about werewolves and pack dynamics. Politics and power in their community, unlike that of the vampires, is constantly shifting. Some pack leaders rule with an iron fist and they can be brutal in their dealings with those over whom they have authority. I don’t know if Zack’s told me everything about why he left South Carolina. I don’t know if his going back would place him in danger. I do know the way he feels about me would. It could be Sarah isn’t all that bad. Perhaps she’d even be good for Zack, make him happy. Maybe if she was to stick around, and I was out of the picture, whatever they had could be rekindled.

Zack’s arm is suddenly draped over my shoulders. “What are you thinking about?” he asks.

“I’m thinking maybe it’s time we start back?” Not true, but safe.

His grip tightens. “Are you cold? You can have my jacket.”

I shake my head. “No. Just a little tired. The events of the week are catching up to me.”

“How’s the headache?”

“Better. I think the fresh air did the trick.”

We swing around and retrace our footsteps, still outlined in the damp sand.