bitch face. "Of course," she said smoothly, "I wouldn't expect you to do a favor without getting something in return."
"Good, then," he said. "You won't be sorry."
"I doubt that," she muttered. She was sorry already. "Okay, tell me about this Invictus. A kind of government organization, right?"
He nodded. "Of sorts."
"You wanted to change the world," she murmured, feeling a little sad, "work for the rights of the underdog. Now you're part of the establishment."
"Life changes a man."
"That sounds like a bumper sticker," she chastised, frowning. "So, what exactly do you want me to do?"
"I need your specialized help with the notes."
"Notes?"
"The killer left behind two notes, both written in Latin."
"That's odd. Latin's so – "
"Dead?"
"No one speaks it, but English is rich in Latin references, not to mention the cultural influence." She set her lips in a serious line. "I wasn't putting Mr. Higgins off when I said the university doesn't allow outside consultations."
"I'll take care of that."
"How?" she scoffed "By strong arming the Catholic Church?"
"Don't worry about it. I've got it covered."
Exasperated by his arrogance, she caught her lower lip between her teeth. "What exactly do you think I can do for Invictus?"
"Work with us on the translations, maybe create a profile of the writer. There's probably something we've missed from the original cases, maybe a clue in the notes. We had our own people on it, but they're profilers, not linguists."
He paused as if weighing his words. "Four years ago, we had three ... unusual murders. Recently we had a similar murder in Utah. I just came from that crime scene. Finally, we got a lead that the killer may be in California."
A sliver of ice ran down Olivia's spine. "But no one's died, right?" Her words fell over themselves. "I didn't hear anything in the news. Could this be related to Keisha's disappearance?" She heard the raw panic in her voice and fought to control it.
Jack examined her calmly. "Not likely, that'd be a monumental coincidence, don't you think?"
"I never used to believe in coincidence." Olivia's mind rattled with dread, and the clutch of irrational fear grabbed at her throat. She looked into his hard, obsidian eyes.
Until you came back here, she thought.
Tuolumne County, California
Chapter Eight
Dragging the body down the basement steps was no easy task. Long and bony, the body was heavier than it looked and handling it strained the Avenger's muscles. Avenger. A self-appointed title, but an apt one. He smiled behind the Inquisitor's mask.
Dumping his awkward load in the basement alcove, he gazed around.
Perfect.
He trailed his fingers over the thick, moist walls. Even if someone lived within a five-mile radius of the building – and no one did – the sounds would be muffled by these ancient, fortified barriers. The access windows high at the north end of the room were boarded up with strips of lumber criss-crossed in irregular patterns. A solitary light bulb dangled from the ceiling, casting a dim glow over the room.
Trudging up the rail-less, wooden steps, he retrieved his tools from the first floor rectory. By the time he returned to the basement and finished positioning his captive correctly, the young man was awake, eyes wide below the gray slash of tape covering his mouth. The Avenger removed the tape in one quick yank.
The kid coughed and choked on his saliva as he hung in his upside-down position. Whining like a child already, even though he was at least nineteen or twenty. "Why are you doing this?" His voice was the high pitch of a girl.
Blood coursed furiously through the captive's body in an attempt to thwart gravity as he hung in his awkward upside down position. It pooled in his cheeks and jutted his forehead into a mass of thick blue veins. The Avenger put forth a finger covered with a purple surgical glove and pushed gently on one ropey pulse at the man's temple.
How weak and puny, thought the Avenger. A
"Good, then," he said. "You won't be sorry."
"I doubt that," she muttered. She was sorry already. "Okay, tell me about this Invictus. A kind of government organization, right?"
He nodded. "Of sorts."
"You wanted to change the world," she murmured, feeling a little sad, "work for the rights of the underdog. Now you're part of the establishment."
"Life changes a man."
"That sounds like a bumper sticker," she chastised, frowning. "So, what exactly do you want me to do?"
"I need your specialized help with the notes."
"Notes?"
"The killer left behind two notes, both written in Latin."
"That's odd. Latin's so – "
"Dead?"
"No one speaks it, but English is rich in Latin references, not to mention the cultural influence." She set her lips in a serious line. "I wasn't putting Mr. Higgins off when I said the university doesn't allow outside consultations."
"I'll take care of that."
"How?" she scoffed "By strong arming the Catholic Church?"
"Don't worry about it. I've got it covered."
Exasperated by his arrogance, she caught her lower lip between her teeth. "What exactly do you think I can do for Invictus?"
"Work with us on the translations, maybe create a profile of the writer. There's probably something we've missed from the original cases, maybe a clue in the notes. We had our own people on it, but they're profilers, not linguists."
He paused as if weighing his words. "Four years ago, we had three ... unusual murders. Recently we had a similar murder in Utah. I just came from that crime scene. Finally, we got a lead that the killer may be in California."
A sliver of ice ran down Olivia's spine. "But no one's died, right?" Her words fell over themselves. "I didn't hear anything in the news. Could this be related to Keisha's disappearance?" She heard the raw panic in her voice and fought to control it.
Jack examined her calmly. "Not likely, that'd be a monumental coincidence, don't you think?"
"I never used to believe in coincidence." Olivia's mind rattled with dread, and the clutch of irrational fear grabbed at her throat. She looked into his hard, obsidian eyes.
Until you came back here, she thought.
Tuolumne County, California
Chapter Eight
Dragging the body down the basement steps was no easy task. Long and bony, the body was heavier than it looked and handling it strained the Avenger's muscles. Avenger. A self-appointed title, but an apt one. He smiled behind the Inquisitor's mask.
Dumping his awkward load in the basement alcove, he gazed around.
Perfect.
He trailed his fingers over the thick, moist walls. Even if someone lived within a five-mile radius of the building – and no one did – the sounds would be muffled by these ancient, fortified barriers. The access windows high at the north end of the room were boarded up with strips of lumber criss-crossed in irregular patterns. A solitary light bulb dangled from the ceiling, casting a dim glow over the room.
Trudging up the rail-less, wooden steps, he retrieved his tools from the first floor rectory. By the time he returned to the basement and finished positioning his captive correctly, the young man was awake, eyes wide below the gray slash of tape covering his mouth. The Avenger removed the tape in one quick yank.
The kid coughed and choked on his saliva as he hung in his upside-down position. Whining like a child already, even though he was at least nineteen or twenty. "Why are you doing this?" His voice was the high pitch of a girl.
Blood coursed furiously through the captive's body in an attempt to thwart gravity as he hung in his awkward upside down position. It pooled in his cheeks and jutted his forehead into a mass of thick blue veins. The Avenger put forth a finger covered with a purple surgical glove and pushed gently on one ropey pulse at the man's temple.
How weak and puny, thought the Avenger. A
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