Dragon Heartstring (16 page)

Leaning forward, he peered at my scrawl. “How can you even read that? There are arrows and dots and scratch-outs all over the place.”

“I have a system.” I blew out a short breath, moving on. “So the bruises and form of killing were the same. Victim number two, Clarice Mitchell, was last seen walking toward her car following the Vaengar games. Her body showed up in Devlin Wood three days later.”

“Right.”

“But now, we have Maxine Mendale. Victim number three, found seven days after her abduction. I’ve checked the Vaengar schedule for who played our local team those nights—two from Drakos and one from another province farther north. Cloven.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Macon sat on the edge of my desk, crossing his arms. “Morgons from all over come to the games. It may have nothing to do with Drakos or Cloven, as far as we know.”

“Hmm. I don’t know about that. I want to do some digging on this place, Devlin Wood.” I tapped my pen on my chin, staring at the printer as it churned out photo after photo. I pulled one from the print tray, a close-up of Maxine’s throat. I peered closer. “Macon. What are these marks?”

He leaned in, examining with me several centimeter-sized scratches along her throat in varying places. He pulled the other photos from the print tray. “Look. There are more here.”

Little slashes along the inside of her wrist, even the inside of her elbows.

“On her inner thigh, too.”

“Damn.” I shuffled the photos. “They’re not killing marks. Maybe it’s part of the cult ritual. Or torture.” Acid churned in my stomach.

“Yeah, but why?”

“You think I know the inner workings of a fanatical, psychotic, sadistic Morgon mind?”

I yanked open the other files with the photos Macon had pilfered from the first two victims. I only had long angles of these crime scenes. No close-ups. That’s why I hadn’t noticed them before.

“Look! Look at her arm.” Even from the distant shot of the body, I could just make out small gashes on the inner arm from wrist to elbow. “Why the hell didn’t I see this before?”

“Because from afar it just looks like scrapes, like the others on her body she could’ve gotten from captivity.”

“Well?” I glanced back over my shoulder at Macon. “Did your boss Torrance say anything about these?”

“Are you serious? I’m an intern. The only information I get on high profile cases like this is from eavesdropping. I fetch coffee, make copies, and do what I’m told. You’re lucky I got these at all.” He thrust his hand through his hair in frustration, making it stick on end. A sure sign my faithful friend was at the end of his rope.

“You fetch coffee?”

“Stop it.”

I shrugged, turning to my desktop comm. “No worries, my coffee-fetching, copy-making friend. There’s someone else who can give us more information we need.” I started typing. “Bennett…Cremwell.” Hitting enter to scan the Net, three Bennett Cremwells popped on screen. “There are three in the Gladium Province. One is fifty-four and works at some robotics factory in the Warwick District.”

“Not him.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah. I didn’t think she’d be hanging with a middle-aged, factory-worker at the Vaengar games.”

He smirked, flipping his brown hair out of his eyes and leaning his wiry frame over my shoulder toward the screen.

I clicked on the next entry. “Bennett Cremwell number two is thirty-five and lives with his wife and three kids on their country estate south of the city. Not him, unless number two was having an affair.” I clicked the last name. “Recent graduate of Gladium University, currently an intern at Cade Enterprises in the technology department. Bingo.”

“How convenient you have such easy access to Cade Enterprises.”

I pushed away any hesitance. My need to interview Cremwell overrode my daddy issues.

“Isn’t it?” I winked. “Hand me my boots over there. Underneath the desk.” Preferring to work long hours in comfort, I often kicked off my shoes in my office. He picked up one boot from under the desk and tossed it, examining the other.

“Size ten? Damn, Moira.”

“Shut it.” I snatched it away from him. “I can’t help it if I’m long-limbed.”

True, not many human girls were six feet tall, but I liked that it gave me an intimidation factor with unwanted men. And annoying women. Fortunately, I was also born with an innate empathy for others—very necessary as a journalist for people to trust me with their stories. Part of getting people to talk was being a quiet, compassionate listener.

Boots on, I hopped up and grabbed my gray, wool coat off the corner rack. Macon followed me to the door. “Can I tag along?” He raised his brows, looking even more like the puppy dog he resembled.

I tilted my head and smiled. “I don’t think that’s wise. He might recognize you from the precinct.”

His brow pushed together in a frown. “So how will you tell him you found his name?”

“I’ll think of something.”

I locked the door to my office. Macon shadowed me as we veered out of
The Herald
wing of the Literary Arts Department. Just as we reached the bottom of the steps, he pulled me to a stop. “Moira.” His voice reflected the gravity in his eyes. “Please be careful. Don’t get too caught up in this one. This isn’t like the car burglaries or even the campus drug ring you covered.”

I slipped my leather gloves on, wiggling my fingers into the tips. “Macon, if I plan to land one of the elite and rare positions on
The Gladium Post
next year, I’ve got to prove that I’m a serious journalist.”

“Yeah. But at what price? Your own life?” His voice cracked with emotion. He really was afraid for me. Rightfully so.

I placed a hand on his shoulder for reassurance, giving him a friendly squeeze. “I know. I’m not stupid. I won’t do anything without protection.”

“I suppose you could always have your brother-in-law’s security team trail you while you do your investigating.” He chuckled. “Now that would be something to see.”

I gave him a bright smile. “What a fabulous idea.”

Nightwing Security, my brother-in-law’s company, would come in quite handy if I managed to persuade him to help me out. That would mean persuading Jessen, too. Quite a feat.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. Don’t you worry your pretty little cranium.” I pecked a kiss on his cheek. “I have a dinner date at my sister’s tonight. And she owes me about a billion favors in babysitting dues.”

Macon tucked his hands in his pants pockets and watched me go, the winter wind blowing his hair in disarray. I jogged to my car at the curb and zoomed into the city toward Cade Enterprises. I needed to hurry and pay Bennett Cremwell a visit before he disappeared from prying, journalistic eyes.

As I sat at a light, a Morgon woman with slender silver wings stood outside of a shop next to a human girl. The human, a curvy blonde, gestured wildly with expressive eyes and a smile on her face. The delicate-boned Morgon tossed her head back and laughed, wings fluttering, her flaxen hair shimmering in the sunlight like golden silk. Friends. Just a decade ago, this would’ve never happened. Even with desegregation laws, the races merely had tolerated one another for business purposes. But not anymore.

Squeezing into a parking spot on the curb, I stepped out and cinched my coat tight, staring up at the towering skyscraper of Cade Enterprises situated in the center of the human business district. Who was I kidding? It
was
the center of the human business district. The lighthouse and beacon to which all other businesses aspired from afar, hoping to one day reach if they had a modicum of the success of corporate king, Pritchard Cade. My father.

I stepped through the revolving glass doors onto pristine, white tile and approached the receptionist’s desk, wishing with all my might that I didn’t run into him. I hadn’t visited the premises in a few years, not since my financial separation from my father and an inherent need to avoid his towering kingdom altogether. My sister had cut herself off from him when she had married Lucius. Father was one of the few public figures who had rejected the intermarrying of the races. Of course, after my brother, Demetrius, married Shakara Icewing, my father had mellowed in his anti-Morgon ways. Demetrius had never told me all that had transpired during his courtship to Shakara that somehow softened my father’s resolve. Though the animosity between both my siblings and our father had diminished over the past few years, resentment and old wounds still festered between them.

While my differences with him stemmed from refusing to accept his mandates to climb the corporate ladder he’d put in front of me, we still managed to have a civil relationship. The best way to avoid arguments was to steer clear of anything that might bring up his overbearing dominance and my willful disobedience. This is why I rarely stepped foot in his place of business. But nothing was going to keep me from my goal today.

I stepped up to the lobby receptionist’s desk. “Hi, Cara.”

“Hi.” Her vacant smile told me she didn’t recognize me.

“It’s Moira Cade. I haven’t been here in a while.”

“Oh! Hi, Miss Cade.” She straightened her spine and fiddled with her blouse. “So good to see you. Um, I apologize I didn’t recognize you. Should I buzz your father and let him know you’re here?”

She blinked rapidly. Good. She was nervous. I needed her to be so she wouldn’t question why I needed to visit Mr. Cremwell.

“Actually, no. I need to speak with Bennett Cremwell in Technology. But I’m not sure what floor he’s on. Could you look up his workstation for me?”

“Of course, I can.” Scanning her comm screen, she tapped something onto her keyboard lickety-split. “Yes. He’s on the thirty-fourth floor in Audio-Visual Systems. Room B sixteen. Would you like me to call him down for you?”

“No. Thank you. I don’t want to drag him from his workspace. I’ll just go right up.”

I headed for the elevator before she could ask any more questions. A man in a sleek, navy-blue suit held the elevator door for me.

Early forties, well-groomed, and reeking of money, he turned a confident smile my way. “Floor?”

“Thirty-four, please.” I kept my eyes straight, watching his reflection in the glossy doors when they squeezed shut. Taking in my shabby appearance, he probably thought I was a visiting friend of someone in the building. His eyes wandered the length of my jean-clad legs. I’d grown accustomed to people staring because of my height. What I could never tell by their inspection was whether a man admired a tall woman or thought them freakish. It didn’t really matter. I stood even straighter, drawing his gaze to my eyes. His lips tilted into a wolfish smile. Thankfully, the elevator dinged, and I stepped out before the cradle-robbing businessman could strike up a “casual” conversation.

I strolled down B wing, ignoring glances from workers in their plexiglass cubicles, then stopped in front of room sixteen. The young man hunched over his desk, head in hands and staring at nothing, must be my guy. I knocked three times on the open door before entering and closing the door behind me. With messy brown hair, heavy bags under his eyes, and unkempt clothes, he sat behind the desk, sagging like an empty husk.

“Hi. Mr. Cremwell?”

Glazed, blood-shot eyes stared back, searching me for recognition and finding none. “Do I know you?”

“No.” I extended my hand. “My name is Marina Creed. I have a few questions if you have a moment.” I certainly wasn’t going to use my real name. Hearing the boss’s daughter’s name might undo him altogether. He appeared to be hanging on by a thread. I couldn’t blame him.

He didn’t extend his own hand in greeting. Stress had obviously withered him down, making him fidgety and unfocused. I took a seat. “I wanted to talk to you about Maxine Mendale.”

He flinched. “Maxine?”

I nodded. “I’m a reporter for
The Herald
at Gladium University. I’ve been following the disappearances and the murders of the three women. The first two were students at GU. Was Maxine a student, too?”

Dazed, he stared at me a moment. “Um, no. Maxine worked at a salon in the Warwick District on Lexington Avenue.”

I flipped open my notebook and started jotting notes. Some of the stores in that area served both Morgon and human clientele. “Did she have Morgon clients at the salon?”

“I’m not sure. She never really said.” He leaned forward, a sad smile creasing his pale face. “We didn’t talk much about work.”

“How did you two meet?”

“We have a mutual friend who introduced us at his club, Paramour.”

I forced my eyes on my paper, refusing to show the jolt of shock that rocketed down my spine with this new discovery. Paramour just happened to be owned and managed by Mikal Lennox, my brother’s best friend. And my ex-boyfriend of three years. I frowned and scrawled a note, feeling an acute headache coming on.

“Was the owner, Mikal Lennox, out with you on the night Maxine disappeared?”

“No. He doesn’t like the Vaengar games.” A wave of relief washed over me. Though I’d hardly believe Mikal capable of any involvement in such a crime, it was nice to eliminate him right off the bat. “We actually started out at his club that night, but Maxine wanted to be adventurous. Said she wanted to check out the Morgons’ idea of fun. Like a lot of girls these days.”

He swallowed hard. I did, too. Poor Maxine never bargained for the adventure she would get that night. Nor did she deserve it. I reached across the desk and squeezed his hand. His weary expression softened at my touch.

“I know this is difficult. Just a few more questions, if that’s okay with you.”

“I already talked to the police about all this.” He pulled away, combing his hands through his hair, his brow scrunching into a deep frown. “How did you know I was Maxine’s friend anyway?”

He
would
have to make that astute realization now. I hated lying, but I couldn’t tell him I had one of my best friends snooping around at the precinct for me.

“I have a few close friends in Nightwing Security.” Actually, I was related by marriage to the owners, but general knowledge was better at the moment. “They were there that night. They found out your name.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his hands clenched together on top of the desk. “It was Morgons that did that to her,” he whispered, voice laced with hatred.