Blood-Bonded by Force (18 page)

Jaċken nodded. “Yeah, we’ve all been reading about this maniac.”

The Symbol Killer had earned his, or her, moniker by cutting a strange symbol into the right side of all the victims’ foreheads. Four people had been murdered in San Diego County in the past ten days.

“How does the Symbol Killer affect Ţărână’s security?” Jaċken asked.

“He may not,” Tonĩ admitted. “But Ãlex had a vision about who the killer is, and it’s somebody way out of the SDPD’s league. I thought we might want to help.”

Jaċken crossed his arms. “Which Om Rău is it?”

That hadn’t taken a huge leap.

Ãlex set his briefcase on the desk. “Videön.”

Thomal leaned against the back of the couch. “Oh, goody.”

Thomal, Dev, and Gábor had all had confrontations with the malicious Topside Om Rău, whereas Nỵko had never encountered this noteworthy bad guy. It would’ve been fine by him to have kept it that way, too. Insane, strong, and cruel didn’t make a man Nỵko ever wanted to meet.

“I hacked into the San Diego Police Department’s database,” Ãlex said, grabbing a stack of files out of his briefcase. “And I was able to snag some information and photographs about the case.” He passed the files around.

Tonĩ opened hers. A dead guy’s empty eyes stared at her from an 8x10 glossy photo. “Yuk.”

Even though Tonĩ was a medical doctor, she hated gory stuff. Funny.

Nỵko opened his own file, finding the same photo on top. He studied the intricate swirling design carved into the bloody forehead. “Any idea what the symbol is?”

“It’s a Celtic knot,” Ãlex answered. “Called a quaternary. It’s based on the number four. See how it sort of has four quadrants? This indicates the four seasons, or the four directions—north, south, east, west—or the four elements—earth, fire, water, air—or something
four
.”

“Which?” Tonĩ asked.

“It depends on what Videön is trying to accomplish, I suppose.”

“Any visions about that?” Jaċken asked Ãlex.

“Not a one.”

Jaċken flipped through more pages in his file. Stopping on one, he read off the surnames of the men killed, “O’Connolly, Fleming, Eagan, Dowdall…these names sound Irish.”

“They are,” Ãlex confirmed.

Tonĩ stood up. “There’s probably a connection between that and the fact that the symbol is Celtic.” She headed for her office door. “Let’s dig into it.”

Ãlex’s eyebrows peaked. “Are we done?”

“No. I just need to go barf.”

Jaċken leapt forward. “Tonĩ—”

Tonĩ waved him off. “It’s not the pictures, only the pregnancy hormones.” She made a face. “I guess the pictures didn’t help. I’ll be back in a second.” She shut the door quickly.

There was a pause, then Ãlex asked Jaċken, “Are you okay?”

Jaċken scrubbed a hand across his brow. “Sure.”

’Course, it was a lie. Most days Jaċken didn’t know whether to wind the cat or put out the clock, he was so worried about his wife and unborn child.

Dev made a thoughtful noise. “This pregnancy talk has got me thinking about the last time we were in Tonĩ’s office. It was ten days ago, the same day Marissa and I got our crib delivered and Thomal and Arc went topside, where they had a run-in with Videön at Ria Mendoza’s house. So we know for sure Videön was involved in that kidnapping. Doesn’t it seem coincidental that the first murder occurred”—Dev checked a paper in his file—“only one day after the abduction of Elsa Mendoza? I’d bet my right nut that Elsa’s kidnapping and these serial murders are somehow related.”

Jaċken nodded. “Sounds reasonable with Videön being a part of both.” He swept the group of them with a questioning look. “Any suggestions about the connection?”

The question was answered with empty shrugs. Apparently, no one had the foggiest idea.

Gábor stretched out on the couch, ankles crossed in front of him, his hands linked behind his head. “You guys just tell me who I need to shoot.”

Chapter Nineteen

Ţărână: two weeks later, December 22nd

Faith’s insides slipped sideways and a lump pushed into her throat. “What did you say?”

“You heard me,” Kacie returned. “I said the community has offered to ship our goods here from New York, and I think we should take them up on it. I want all of my clothes and my ballet gear, some of our furniture…or
all
of it. I think it’s time to give up the Soho apartment.”

“Give it up?” Faith’s voice nearly squeaked. She wasn’t hearing this. She absolutely couldn’t be. Faith had only stayed in Ţărână because she’d assumed that after several weeks without New York’s culture and fast-paced lifestyle, Kacie would be begging to leave. Her sister was supposed to be coming to her senses, dang it, not growing more attached to this hick town. “You can’t do that!”

Kacie’s chin came up. “The lease is in my name.”

This was a nightmare. “But what if we want to go back?”
When
we go back.

Kacie expelled a long, hard breath. “I’m not leaving here, Faith. I’ve been trying to tell you that. I wish you’d listen.”

Faith clasped a hand to her throat. Her sister had gone utterly insane. “You’ve only been here two weeks, Kacie. How in the world could you possibly know if—”

“I
know
,” Kacie insisted, her jaw set mulishly. “I’ve never been happier than I am here. I belong. I’m making friends. I firmly believe you’d be happy, too, if you’d get off your butt and give this place a chance instead of holing up here in your room and”—she flung a hand at Faith’s television set—“watching old videos of yourself dancing while feeling sorry for yourself. Real productive, Faith.”

Faith’s chin trembled. How could Kacie, of all people, not understand what Faith was going through?

Kacie leaned forward, her voice growing earnest. “Do you know that no one around here has accidentally called me by your name, not once—at least not the Vârcolac. To them, I smell like
me
and no one else. It’s amazing. For once in my life”—she threw out her arms and tossed back her head, as if soaking up accolades on stage—“I’m unique!”

Tears burned Faith’s eyes. “I didn’t realize being my twin was such a trial.”

Kacie slapped her arms back to her side. “That’s exactly the problem. I’ve always been
your
twin; the sister of the ballet superstar. I love you, Faith, but I haven’t always loved being an identical twin. The second people see you and me, everything is instantly about
you and me
. Those Teague twins. It’s robbed me of the chance to have my own space in this world. I don’t even get to have my own birthday. When we were kids, we always shared the same cake, the same party, and even today I have to remember to buy
you
a gift on
my
day.”

Faith bowed her head, tears falling. She couldn’t believe this. She’d always thought Kacie found comfort in being a twin, same as Faith did. To her, their sameness grounded her with the confidence that there was always one person on earth who knew her down to the kind of impossible depths that only came from sharing matching DNA.

Kacie’s voice softened. “Don’t cry, Faith. Listen, I’ll make you a deal. Go out on a date with Nỵko, and I won’t get rid of the New York apartment.”

Faith whipped her head up. “
Nỵko
!”

“Don’t say his name like that. He’s a great guy, and you’re the only type of woman who a half-Rău like him can have children with. Or Shọn, but he’s—”

“Children!” Good God, Faith couldn’t fathom seeing that monstrosity naked, much less having intercourse with him. “He’s not my type, Kacie. Not at all.”

“How could you possibly know that? You’ve never even talked to the man.”

A quiver stole across Faith’s lips. Because her
type
was someone who could live topside, in the sun, in a city, where she could dance. “He hit a woman. Have you forgotten what you saw in the garage the day we arrived?”

Kacie brushed that aside. “If you’d bothered to find out about it, you’d know that woman was a prisoner trying to escape and one of the half-Rău enemy who’d been part of the plot to
kidnap
us. Nỵko was doing his job, that’s it.” She headed for the door, pausing there, her hand on the knob. “If you’re so miserable here, then go, Faith. But I’m staying.”

Faith held herself very still as loneliness tried to suck her into a black hole, like the time when she was eight and her parents had come up with the bright idea to send their twin girls to different summer camps for “individuation.” Faith had cried for twelve hours straight and was finally sent home—where Kacie was already waiting. “I can’t leave without you.”

“Then
stay
. And make an effort.” Kacie turned and left the room.

Faith stared at the closed door, her insides slipping sideways again. A moment later, she heard a male voice downstairs call, “Hey, Kacie,” not an ounce of doubt or confusion in his tone.

Faith pressed both hands to her face and fought back more tears.
I’m unique!
Why was Kacie so overjoyed by that? Faith truly couldn’t understand it. If they weren’t the Teague twins, who in the world were they?

Swallowing and sniffing, Faith dropped her hands and walked over to her DVD machine. She would watch as many videos of herself dancing as she wanted, and this town could go hang. She pressed
play
. The picture flickered once, then the machine made an ill-omened
zuzzz
sound and the TV screen went blank.

She dug her fingernails into her palms.
On top of everything else today!
She disconnected the DVD from the TV set, then jerked the electrical cord out of the wall socket and scooped up the machine. Scowling, she left her bedroom in high dudgeon. She didn’t know which hillbilly around here did the repairs, but the computer command center was on the first floor. As she turned down the main staircase, she screamed and stumbled back, nearly dropping the DVD player.

Nỵko reached out a hand to steady her.

She lurched back another pace, her heart surging into a runaway beat.

Nỵko quickly dropped his hand, his face flushing scarlet.

Her own face heated on a rush of embarrassment. Her method of greeting him was really quite awful…and probably getting tiresome. “I’m sorry,” she murmured.

The door to Vienna opened and the warrior with the disarming cowlick poked his head out. Seeing it was only Nỵko, he went back inside.

“You, uh, startled me, is all,” she lied. He scared the unholy pants off her.

His size went beyond anything she felt capable of dealing with. She was a woman of small stature, but being around him made her feel miniscule. He was like Popeye OD’d on spinach, minus the comic charm of the quirky sailor man. No corncob pipe protruded from his mouth, rather fangs, and instead of anchor tattoos on his arms, this giant was marked all over with swooping black teeth, a hideous array of them even surrounding his neck. She couldn’t get used to the sight of him, although—if she were going to quote her annoying sister—she hadn’t exactly tried, either.

“Do you need help with that?” Nỵko pointed to the DVD machine. “Is it broken?”

“Oh.” She hugged the machine closer to her chest.

“I can fix it for you.” Nỵko speared a hand through his black hair, sending a ragged clump of it flopping forward onto his forehead. His hair stylist must be a lawnmower with the DTs.

“Thanks, but… I was about to go down to the—”

“They’ll only send you back to me.” He ascended one more stair, bringing himself up to her level, a mighty colossus looming over her, blocking out light and life. “I have all my tools right here in my room. It’ll just take a sec, no problem.” He reached out and eased the DVD player out of her arms.

She immediately let go, not about to let him touch her breasts inadvertently. Or on purpose.

He started down the hall.

She dropped her eyes to the knife strapped to his hip. A waste of weight and space, that. Here was a man whose entire body was a weapon, from the incredible rack of shoulders stretching his T-shirt to near seam-splitting limits, down to his mountainous biceps, and thighs that were each as thick as her waist.
Thicker
, probably.

Nỵko disappeared into Amsterdam.

Should she follow him? She bit her bottom lip. He’d absconded with the DVD of her premiere performance as a prima ballerina—she’d brought an entire collection with her to show to Raymond Parthen—and she definitely wanted it back. She glanced around. She was alone, but noises were coming from Oslo and Vienna. She could scream if Nỵko tried anything. The cowlicked fellow had come to her rescue once, and he surely would again.

She entered Nỵko’s room and stopped inside the door. Squinting, she—
goodness
. She’d never seen so many shelves. Every wall was covered with them, top to bottom, and there were even several shorter ones placed around here and there. More amazing, every shelf was weighted down with a staggering array of tools and other doo-dads related to the trade of handyman.

A workman’s table, high and long, was stretched out in front of the longest line of shelves, directly across from the door, with three stools placed randomly around it, a couple of metal boxes on top. To the left, a super-sized bed was jammed into the corner. The bedspread was a shade of plain dark brown, as austere-looking as the lone lamp sitting on the single wooden nightstand and the picture-less walls. No frills around here. The room radiated as much unpretentious masculinity as its occupant.