Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 131364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“Honestly, she’s nowhere near the perfect game piece for me—a bit too young, and—not to be a bigot—but I prefer my women without talons or claws. Still, I knew she’d bring you to me, so I suppose she was perfect for this special game.”
He had to be lying about the explosives—that kind of rigging took time. But what if he’d prepared it much earlier? Eleri couldn’t risk Malia’s life on a hunch. And while she knew people who she could contact on the PsyNet who wouldn’t put Malia’s life at risk, would help get word to Adam, she couldn’t do it fast enough. Her bruised brain needed too much prep time, might even overload and break if she attempted to enter the Net.
Her eye fell on a pen one of the officers had left lying around. She’d write a note, leave it here—
“Put down the pen.” A computronic laugh. “I can seeeeeee you.” Singsong, a taunt.
Eleri looked out through the large glass window in front of her, but it just faced the wall of the building next door. Which left a single possibility. “You hacked the station’s systems.” He’d also managed to get her private number, she thought with a frown. She was missing something. “What do you want?”
“You in exchange for her. You ruined the game by coming here, and now you have to pay the price.” A hint of petulance, of the lack of emotional maturity their profiler had predicted.
He was mad at her for not acting as he’d planned for her to act, for not being the perfect game piece.
Eleri had no qualms about making the swap, her for Malia, but she knew it couldn’t be that easy. “How do I know you’ll keep your word?”
“You don’t. But at least this way you tried.” Another laugh. “She ends up dead and you could’ve helped her, how will you ever face Adam? You two seem cozy.”
Eleri’s mind raced. Not only did he have her number, he knew about her and Adam. Was it possible the Sandman was a falcon? They flew vast distances, and changelings were used to keeping caches of clothing in multiple locations. He could as easily keep caches of supplies he needed for his murder fantasies.
No, the report from the pathologist had been unequivocal:
Their brain injuries are inconsistent with any type of external trauma. Even a sound wave wouldn’t do this. The only references I’ve discovered to similar trauma relate to those who’ve died as a result of a powerful telepathic assault.
A falcon couldn’t kill that way. Neither could a human.
“After we end this call,” the killer said while she was still calculating her options, “I want you to leave your phone under the desk, where it won’t be seen, then walk to the back door of the station. There’s a closed drink container sitting inside to the left of the door. Drink it and wait.”
Inside?
Knowledge of her direct call code.
Access to the cameras at the station.
Able to take Malia, an intelligent young woman who wouldn’t trust just anyone.
Beaufort, Whitten, Hendricks, were all human.
Who was she missing?
Her memory was her greatest asset, and today, it flashed with a snapshot of a little girl she’d met only for a minute, a girl who’d wanted to telepath to her to practice.
Sascha Duncan’s child.
Half-Psy. Half-changeling. Not in the PsyNet but a telepath all the same.
A man who was half-falcon, half-Psy would be a predator more deadly than anything the world had ever imagined.
Chapter 33
You know why I’m so smart, Eleri? I know falcons don’t have a great sense of smell, no better than humans. I don’t have to waste time covering up a scent trail, because they can’t track me or you that way—and this town doesn’t have many surveillance cameras.
—Unsent message written by the Sandman
The problem with her theory, Eleri thought, was that Psy had stopped procreating with changelings over a century ago, with Sascha’s child one of the first—the first?—of the new generation.
Unless someone had defected before Sascha. Not just defected, but sired or borne a child? It still didn’t make sense, not given what she’d seen of Adam’s pack. They lived in and around each other on a daily basis. No one would miss a half-Psy child. And Adam had been clear that he had no Psy in his clan.
“Convince me you’re who you’re pretending to be,” she said, fighting to buy time so she could figure this out. “I’m not moving for a copycat.” Of course she would because losing Malia was not an option, but she had to play the game, get what she could.
So she used his need for validation, his focus on his image, against him. “I’m only interested in the Sandman.”
“I’m glad you understand the importance of my work—I always knew you did, but it’s good to have that confirmed.” No laughter in his voice now. “I make them red dresses. Beautiful red dresses that turn them into goddesses in death.”