The Medusa Files, Case 3: Escaped From Stone Read online

  Fire raced over her face, and she jerked back.

  The man was huge, as broad and tall as Clayton. His goatee looked blond, but with the streetlight a few feet away, it was difficult to tell, and his skin—including his shaved head—held a bluish tinge. His eyes were bluer than Lachlin’s, piercing like arctic ice, and bright as if lit from within.

  “Stay away from my son.” His breath, a frozen mist, curled around his head.

  This had to be Stroud Boyson. Just great. He’d found her probably before Gage had found him.

  More fire seeped across her cheeks, and she tipped her sunglasses down over her eyes. Now it was impossible to tell the color of his skin. “You know I can’t do that.”

  With a growl, he lunged at her, his anger sudden and explosive. She twisted out of the way, but he grabbed her arm and shoved her against the hospital wall. He knocked her glasses aside, slapped a freezing hand over her eyes, and pressed his forearm against her chest.

  She fought to breathe, wrenching against his grip.

  “This is none of your business, gorgon.” He leaned forward, his weight crushing her, cold seeping from his skin. His breath bit her neck and the side of her face. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll mind your own business.”

  He wrenched her forward and tossed her back the way she’d come. She slammed into the ground and tumbled onto the grass. Fire roared across her cheeks; she shoved her powers back and scrambled to her feet. Stroud was gone.

  She rushed around the side of the hospital. The parking lot was empty. Just great.

  Her phone rang with a generic chirp. It wasn’t anyone she’d programmed in yet. She answered it while searching the grass for her sunglasses.

  “Jacobs.”

  “Hey,” Rika said. “Looks like Randal Boyson struck again. Brandon Finney is dead.”

  “Isn’t that his friend from high school?” There, a few feet away, her glasses.

  “Yep, the friend who called the police saying he’d seen Randal in possession of the jewelry stolen from the Chos’ house.”

  “That cannot be a coincidence.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Rika said, “even though he’s fully human.”

  Morgan reached for the glasses, sending a spike of pain through her shoulder. Damn, Hannah was going to have Morgan’s head. Her collarbone had almost finished knitting back together, and here she was, being thrown around by a frost giant with inhuman strength. “Does Gage know?” Morgan headed to her borrowed SUV. He might not even want to show up at the scene given that Brandon wasn’t Kin.

  “Gage knows and should be on his way soon, but he’s on the other side of town rattling the Devil Riders’ cage. You’ll get there faster.”

  “And with luck, before everything gets cleaned up.”

  “Exactly.”

  Here was hoping she still had enough authority to get into the crime scene without Gage glowering from behind her.

  CHAPTER 6

  Red and blue lights strobed across the white siding of the squat house where Brandon Finney had been murdered. It didn’t look as if anyone from the marshals or the FBI had arrived yet.

  Morgan scanned the road for a two-toned brown station wagon. There, parked behind the medical examiner’s vehicle. Detective Wright was on the scene. Just the man she didn’t want to run into, even if it was pretty much a given that he’d be there. Now she really hoped Gage would show up soon.

  Uniformed police officers and crime scene technicians swarmed the area, marching back and forth down the narrow bricked path along the side of the one-story house. Morgan showed her badge to one of the officers guarding the perimeter from the two dozen onlookers. None of the bystanders were tall—or looked like they were hunching over—or had Randal’s shock of blond hair. The street was lined with a mix of brick and wood-sided houses. It sat five blocks from St. Michael’s college, and most of the homes had been turned into apartments or rooming houses for students.

  Brandon Finney had lived in a basement apartment with access through a narrow stairwell at the back. Inside, Detective Wright stood over the body of a young man, talking with the medical examiner, while two crime scene technicians worked in the bedroom across from them.

  There was only one other door in the living room / kitchen, presumably leading to a bathroom. The apartment was decorated in student chic with run-down, mismatched furniture, although it was cleaner than she would have expected for an eighteen-year-old guy living on his own.

  Wright noticed her from over the medical examiner’s shoulder, and his frown deepened. “Ms. Jacobs.” He said her name as if it was the most exhausting thing in the world.

  “Glad to see you, too, Detective.” Behind him, on a narrow bookcase, stood a collection of delicate, pink fairy figurines. Not typical guy decoration and they suggested Brandon had a female roommate.

  “Where are your friends?”

  “The FBI or the marshals?”

  “You tell me.”

  “Both should be on their way. I’m liaising between them on this one.” For as long as her boss kept his temper about the situation.

  “Of course you are.”

  “What can you tell me about the body?”

  Wright stared at her for a long few seconds, then sighed. “Brandon Finney. Age eighteen.”

  “Can we assume he was beaten to death?” Morgan asked. Brandon had the same marks on his body as Carol Cho. One side of his face was crushed in. The other side looked like it had frostbite, along with his neck and right forearm.

  The medical examiner cleared his throat. “I don’t think we can assume anything.” He was a small man in his late fifties with short, white hair. “I won’t have anything conclusive until I get him into an exam room.”

  “And really, that’s not why you’re here,” Wright said.

  “No. The injuries look very similar to Carol Cho’s, so I’d say it’s the same attacker.” She’d tried playing nice with Wright before, and it hadn’t turned out well, but she just couldn’t seem to help herself. Perhaps without Gage scowling beside her, Wright might warm up a little.

  “You think it’s your escaped convict?” the medical examiner asked.

  “It’s a working theory,” she said.

  “Jeez. Not even a straight answer from you.” Wright rolled his eyes. “You’ve been hanging around your FBI friends for too long.”

  “I don’t see any evidence clearly linking Randal Boyson to this attack or the one on Carol Cho.” At least any evidence she could point out. Even if she did say both Carol and Brandon had cold burns on their bodies, Wright wouldn’t understand what it meant and might not even remember because of the Kin’s glamour.

  “I see—” Wright glanced at the medical examiner and grabbed Morgan’s arm. He steered her out the door and up the steps. “I see a marshal on sick leave who’s walking a fine legal line. What the hell aren’t you telling me about your runner?”

  “You know as much as I know.”

  Wright snorted. “I doubt that.”

  “All we have is a similarity in attacks, and that Carol Cho was the wife of Randal’s victim and Brandon the friend who’d turned him in.”

  Wright narrowed his eyes, making them even more beady in his round face. “And…”

  “And nothing. Find the evidence linking this murder to Boyson, and do your job. When we catch him, you can charge him.”

  “Do my job.” Wright jerked his chin up. “Why do I get the feeling my job is so much more complicated with you and your friends in my life?”

  He didn’t know the half of it.

  “Well, part of my job involves maintaining the security of the crime scene. Until someone with a legal badge shows up to babysit you, you can wait on the street.”

  “And how’s that going to help?”

  “It’s going to keep a civilian from contaminating my crime scene.”

  “I’m hardly a civilian.”

  “Your marshal’s file says differently. Now, do I have to press charg
es?” he asked, his tone saying he really wanted to.

  She opened her mouth, but snapped it shut. An argument wouldn’t help. She was on thin ice with Ed as it was. He wouldn’t take it well if he discovered she’d pissed off Wright and gotten arrested. Besides, Gage or Kate would be here soon and she’d be back into the crime scene.

  “I can wait.” Frustrated fire licked around her eyes.

  “Do you need an officer to escort you to the curb?”

  “I think I can handle that myself.” She pushed the fire back. Wright was just doing his job. That didn’t mean she had to like it, but she could respect it.

  “Good.” Wright headed back down the stairs into the apartment.

  More fire slipped across her cheeks. She was going to need to make a decision about her employment. Ed had demanded it. Wright had clearly pointed out the problems with her current limbo. But the idea of choosing made her insides squirm. She couldn’t really return to life as a marshal, but officially joining Gage’s team felt like a betrayal to Ed and Kate.

  Something snapped in the dark. Morgan jerked her attention to the backyard. Two massive trees towered near the back, and an overgrown bush cloaked the area in shadow.

  The snap came again. There, by the bush. Movement. Something pale.

  The fire seeped across Morgan’s forehead and down her neck.

  The pale thing moved again, coming out from behind the brush in full. It was a jacket. The owner, a girl with dark hair, froze. It was Lisa Cho. What were the odds she owned the fairy statue collection in Brandon’s apartment?

  “Lisa?”

  A police siren chirped, and Lisa’s gaze jumped behind Morgan.

  “Lisa Cho?”

  The siren chirped again, and Lisa bolted back behind the bush.

  Morgan raced after her. “Wait.”

  “I had nothing to do with this. I was in class. I don’t know anything.” Lisa hurried, head down, to the back of the yard and a gate in the rickety wooden fence.

  “Lisa, I know.”

  “No, you don’t know.”

  Morgan grabbed her arm before she could open the gate and pulled her around. “Where have you been? We’ve been trying to get ahold of you.”

  “I was in class. Taking a test.”

  “Please. Just a few questions.”

  “That’s what the detectives said when my father—” She glanced over Morgan’s shoulder again. Morgan could only imagine what Lisa was thinking. It had only been two years since the same chaos had invaded her family’s home. The emotions had to still be raw. This kind of horror and grief wasn’t something easily forgotten. “Is Brandon…? Is he all right?”

  Morgan slid her glasses into her hair and tried to channel Kate’s easy empathy. “I’m sorry. He’s dead.” God, she hated saying those words.

  “You’re sorry?” Lisa’s dark eyes shimmered in the weak glimmer of light coming from the house. “What do you know about any of this? If you’d kept Randy locked up… if you’d locked him up when things first started, none of this would have happened.”

  “I know.” It wasn’t Morgan’s fault, but Lisa didn’t want to hear excuses. Morgan represented the law, and in Lisa’s eyes, they were all responsible for what was happening. Morgan had seen it before and didn’t blame anyone for their reactions. Lisa was angry and scared and grieving. “I want to catch Randal. Make it safe for you again.”

  “Right.” Lisa hugged herself. “I’ve heard that lie before, too.”

  “What did you mean by ‘when things first started’?”

  She huffed out a quick breath. “Randy started acting really weird about four months before he… before everything happened.”

  “That was just after junior prom?”

  “Yes. Brandon, Randy, and I went together. That was the last time we had any fun.” Lisa sniffed. “But then Randy started acting strange, picking fights, starting arguments for no reason. We tried to tell his mom and the principal. We even called the cops on one of the fights, but no one did anything. He just needed help.”

  “And he needs help now.”

  Lisa’s expression hardened. “No. Now he needs to face the consequences of his actions.”

  “Do you know where he might have gone? Who he might turn to for help?”

  “I don’t know him anymore, and I don’t want to know him.”

  “All right.” Morgan fought the urge to shake the girl, make her think longer or harder about Randy. That wouldn’t get Morgan any more answers. “If you think of anything, please—” She reached for the business cards she didn’t have anymore. Just another reminder that she needed to make a decision. “Let me introduce you to Detective Wright.”

  “I don’t want to talk with him.” But Lisa followed Morgan back to the stairwell leading to the apartment.

  “I know you don’t, but the sooner you talk with him, the sooner this will be over with.”

  “The detectives said that last time, too.”

  Morgan handed Lisa off to a uniformed officer at the top of the apartment stairs. She’d let Wright tell Lisa about her mother. At least that was sort of good news. Then Morgan headed back to the SUV to wait for Gage. Not that there was much more he could do, but perhaps he’d notice something Kin related that she hadn’t.

  The crowd gathered around the perimeter had doubled. About four dozen people littered the street, huddled in jackets and hoodies, most in their late teens and early twenties. The buzz of their conversation, filled with tension and uncertainty, hummed through the crisp night. No one knew what was going on, but from all the police cars and the medical examiner’s van, everyone knew something bad had happened.

  And none of that helped her figure out where Randy would run to. He now had money and had taken revenge on the friend who’d betrayed him. From the conversation with Stroud, it sounded as if Randy hadn’t contacted his father—Stroud wouldn’t have stayed around to threaten her if he knew where Randy was—but that didn’t mean Randy wouldn’t try to contact his father. There’d been a BOLO for Randy the moment he’d escaped, but so far neither Kate nor Gage had indicated they’d gotten any hits from that.

  Morgan leaned against the driver’s door. Her body twitched. She couldn’t just sit in the SUV and wait. She needed to do something, but there wasn’t anything to do. Nothing physical, at least. She needed to get inside Randy’s head and figure out what he’d do and where he’d go.

  Except could she really get into the head of a frost giant? Were they just like other people, or was there something alien, monstrous within them that changed their motives?

  She didn’t feel any different than she had before her powers manifested, so maybe frost giants didn’t change either.

  But that wasn’t true. She was twitchier, faster to anger, more stressed out. Of course, that stress could be because she now knew the truth about her world, and the human side of her was having trouble adjusting, but her temper and her inability to sit still had gotten worse.

  There was still so much she didn’t know about herself, about Randy, about everything.

  She shoved away from the SUV. Damn it. Focus. She wasn’t any fundamentally different than she had been before.

  From her albeit small experience with Kin, they were motivated just like humans. They wanted revenge, and love, and power. Randy wanted freedom just like any other fugitive.

  Someone in the crowd said something, the voice high pitched and strained. Morgan glanced up. Maybe someone had seen something. It wasn’t likely given how late and chilly it was, but the police would still canvas the neighborhood. Maybe she could start with the onlookers.

  A large shadow by a tree shifted.

  Another onlooker. Except this person was staying back from the crowd. Whoever it was was large. He was likely a man, given the height and the breadth of his shoulders. A football player, maybe?

  The shadow shifted again, and a hint of blond hair caught the streetlight.

  Big with wild blond dreadlocks. Just like Randy Boyson.

&
nbsp; Morgan inched her hand to her sidearm and eased closer to the tree, trying to not draw anyone’s attention. If it wasn’t Boyson, she didn’t want to create a scene, and if it was, she wanted to get close enough to get him subdued fast—because if it came down to an all-out brawl, the odds weren’t in her favor.

  The shadow turned, and piercing blue eyes locked onto her. Frosted mist curled from his nose, caressing his cheeks, as if the air around him was below freezing. Randy’s eyes widened, and the all-too-familiar recognition flashed across his face.

  Morgan raised a hand, her other curling around the grip of her gun. Randy stumbled back a step, as if his legs had figured out what needed to be done before his brain kicked in. With a grunt, he bolted up the driveway behind him.

  Shit.

  She raced after him. He hurdled over a waist-high wooden fence into a dark yard with towering maples. She leapt over the fence, adrenaline beating through her.

  “Randal Boyson. Stop.” It was a ridiculous thing to say. Of course he wouldn’t stop. But she couldn’t help herself.

  Randy dashed through the yard to the back and crashed through the shrubs, his long legs giving him speed and distance.

  She pushed harder. She had to catch up. She couldn’t let him escape. And damn it, there was no way she could call for backup. Not at this pace.

  He twisted around a narrow birch and barreled around the side of another house.

  Morgan raced after him. Her lungs burned with the bite of the cold night air, and fire licked around her eyes. She reached for her sunglasses propped in her hair, but they’d fallen off.

  Randy flew around a corner into a walkway between two houses. The passage was dark, with thick tree branches above crowding out most of the moonlight. She had no clue what lay beyond, and there wasn’t time to think. Randal Boyson was getting away. She plunged into the darkness, scrambling around the corner.

  A huge hand seized her arm and threw her farther into the passage. She stumbled, pulled her shoulder under her, and rolled. Pain shot through her chest and arm, but her collarbone didn’t break.