Brooding City: Brooding City Series Book 1 Read online

  “Both of which we eliminated,” Brennan pointed out.

  “Right. But once those options were gone, it left the question of why the killer took the eyes. And then it suddenly dawned on me!” She swiveled in her chair and brought up the computer screen. She spoke while she typed. “I asked the lab techs to analyze a tissue sample of the skin around his eyes, where we saw…ah, here it is. Remember the skin irritation we saw at the crime scene? It was caused by some kind of corrosive substance, not a result of the knife gouging the eyes out.”

  Brennan followed her train of thought. “So we don’t have a motive yet, but you think the killer removed Nettle’s eyes because he was covering his tracks?”

  She nodded. “Whatever the substance was, our killer thinks it can be traced back to him.”

  “Was the lab able to determine what exactly we’re dealing with?”

  “Unfortunately, no. There wasn’t enough tissue to work with. But considering Nettle’s profession, I’m thinking it’s something you might find in a pharmacy.”

  “Something you’d find in a pharmacy,” Brennan echoed. “So if there’s something missing from Zachariah’s workplace—”

  “Then we can find out what burned our victim’s eyes—”

  “And follow the clues back to our murderer!” Brennan finished triumphantly. His grin was mirrored on Bishop’s lips, and they stared at each other in mutual excitement.

  “Well, aren’t you two just adorable?”

  Brennan was surprised by the familiar voice. He looked up to see Sam leaning casually against the glass divider with the hallway. Sam was watching them with an amused look sprawled across his face.

  “Sam,” he said. “What are you doing here? Don’t get me wrong, it’s always a pleasure, but…”

  “But you didn’t call me, I know,” Sam finished. He gestured to Bishop. “I’m actually here to pick up that one.”

  “Noel?” Brennan’s eyebrows reached for the ceiling as he turned to her. “You asked him to come here?”

  Bright crimson flowed high into her cheeks, though it was impossible to tell whether from anger or embarrassment. “We are working together on the case, so yes, I asked him to come as a consultant. Only to consult on the case,” she stressed, looking Sam pointedly in the eye. He nodded, his solemn expression belied by his amused, dancing eyes.

  The light perfume, revitalized energy, and visibly happier demeanor all suddenly made sense. Brennan glanced incredulously between the two of them.

  “You two are going on a date?”

  Sam held up his hands. “Hey, I’m just a paid consultant. I wouldn’t know a date if it called me up out of the blue and asked me to brunch. Certainly not after impromptu drinks together the night before.”

  The blush in Bishop’s cheeks deepened.

  Brennan shook his head. “This is a dream. A crazy, delusional dream and the Sleepers are coming for me soon.”

  “It isn’t a date,” Bishop said firmly. “And I needed a strong drink after the day I had yesterday. Sam happened to be there, and he offered to pay. Then I walked home, alone. Which is exactly what will happen today,” she finished, directing the last part at Sam.

  True, chimed the little voice in Brennan’s head.

  As he watched them go, his right hand fell unconsciously over his left, where his fingers touched upon the smooth metal of his commitment to Mara. His heart still ached for her after so many years. He waited until Sam and Bishop were out of sight before collecting his things and heading back home.

  Chapter Ten

  Jeremy had never let go of a dream so reluctantly.

  He had been reliving a memory, one very familiar to him.

  In the Jardin des Anges he stood, admiring the beautiful flowers as an equally lovely specimen of a woman, her arm looped in his, leaned gently into him and rested her head against his shoulder. A harpist played soothing music from an obscure corner of the gardens, the notes dancing softly in the air as they were carried by the wind.

  “Annabelle,” he said.

  The blonde, blue-eyed girl stirred from her reverie and looked up at him with the most heart-warming smile. “Yes, my love?”

  “I think this is the best date we’ve ever been on.”

  “Really?” she asked, her smile deepening. “You aren’t bored to tears yet? I was sure that a visit to the Jardin des Anges would finally scare you away.”

  “I never said I wasn’t bored,” he grinned, pulling her in for a kiss that lasted several seconds. “But I love you.” Her eyes glittered in response to that. “I love you, and you will have to try so much harder to dissuade me.”

  “Mmm. Maybe I don’t feel like trying all that hard,” she cooed, melting into his embrace.

  “Good.” He kissed the top of her head.

  They started walking toward the exit of the Jardin.

  “I’m just glad you didn’t get down on one knee,” Annabelle said. “If I get proposed to someday, I want it to be an intimate moment, not surrounded by strangers.”

  Jeremy had his free hand stuck deep in his pocket. He toyed with the small, velvety box that hid there, secreted away until the perfect moment. He feared that moment had just passed.

  “A proposal? In the Garden? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  With a jarring transition, Jeremy awoke into the present. He was delirious for several moments as he took stock of the room. The fire had died down to smoldering embers, and the warmth of the room had greatly diminished with it. His head pounded and he was reluctant to leave the embrace of his bedcovers. He probably would have succumbed to the allure of further sleep if he hadn’t smelled breakfast cooking.

  Outside, the day was already well underway. Flowers of red and orange and blue opened up happily to the sun, greedily drinking in its energy. Even further, the orchards were in full bloom with pears and apples. But not peaches, Jeremy reminded himself. And even further out beyond those, almost invisible from the window, he could just make out the broad, rounded tops of the black walnut grove. A murder of crows flew in that direction.

  The hardwood floor was cool on his bare feet and Jeremy hurried to slip on a pair of loafers. His bandages, he noticed by way of the mirror, had been changed. There was only a small, bright dot of red right over the source of the throbbing pain he felt. He was having difficulty wrestling with his father’s memories; they felt so real, as real as any memory properly his own.

  “Get your breakfast while it’s hot or all of this will be for naught!” his mother called out loudly. Jeremy groaned inwardly at her rhyme as he padded his way quietly down the hallway to the kitchen.

  To call the Scott country home a ranch was something of an understatement. Strong, wooden beams, as thick and rough as freshly felled trees, framed the residence over an area about the size of an acre. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the south walls, and the golden sunlight filled the main lounging room. Shelves had been built into the chairs and couch, each one filled with books of all sizes and colors. Hardwood flooring was covered here and there by soft area rugs, upon which sat the furniture.

  Adjacent to the lounging area was the kitchen; all polished stone and smooth granite, the kitchen was very modern with an aesthetic feel that somehow meshed with the natural décor of the rest of the house. Inside was his mother, with an apron around her waist and her blonde hair pulled back into a bun.

  “Hi, honey,” she said, smiling sweetly at him as he entered. “I’m glad you’re finally awake, it’s been so quiet all morning.”

  “Morning, Ann—uh, Mom,” he replied, covering his slip-up with a yawn. “I slept like the dead.”

  She looked at him worriedly for a moment.

  “Breakfast,” Jeremy said quickly, gesturing. “Smells good. Pancakes?”

  “Of course, my baby’s favorite.”

  “Mom,” he groaned. He was hardly a baby anymore.

  “Pancakes are just about finished, and I have scrambled eggs coming up in a few minutes. There’s bread waiting to be toasted, butt
er and jam on the table. I’m guessing you want milk?”

  “Yes, please,” he said.

  “Well you know where to find it,” Annabelle replied, gesturing toward the fridge. He grinned to himself. She hadn’t changed a bit in the twenty-three years he’d known her.

  Jeremy frowned.

  She was his mother. She was also Annabelle. His head throbbed as he struggled to make those two facts, the two sets of memories he held, compatible with one another.

  His mother saw the stages of Jeremy’s confusion play across his face but said nothing.

  Another thready pulse of pain, only a minor irritation, and Jeremy shelved the problem. He poured himself a glass of milk from the carafe in the fridge and sat down at the table. In addition to the food his mother had listed, there was also sliced ham on a large plate, each sliver the size of Jeremy’s hand.

  “Wow, Mom, you made way too much food for just the four of us.”

  “The two of us, actually.” His mother glanced at the door with a look of irritation. “Your father watched over you while you slept, but he was on his way right back to the city at the first light of day. He promised that it would only be for the morning, to finish the business meeting that was interrupted yesterday. He’ll be back by this afternoon,” she said, wearing her best smile for him.

  If memory served him, he knew now that the cheer was false. Jeremy wasn’t fooled. But he could still beg ignorance, for his mother’s sake. He smiled in return as he sliced his stack of pancakes into quarters.

  “You said the two of us. What about Ellie?” he asked.

  His mother shook her head. “Wild child, that one. I’ve been trying to get her inside, but she’d rather get her hands and knees dirty chasing after rabbits.”

  Jeremy shrugged. “Her loss, more for me,” he said, spearing a healthy portion of ham with his fork and depositing it on his plate. He ate like a ravenous wolf. He had never consumed as much in his life as he did that morning. The stack of pancakes, buttered and drowned in syrup, hardly made a dent in his appetite. The slices of ham, a half dozen total and each slice as thick as his pinky finger, brought his hunger down to a level approaching “gnawing”. He followed the first tall glass of milk with an equal amount of orange juice. His thirst slaked, he scooped up the scrambled eggs with his pieces of toast and put them down with bites of prodigious size.

  His mother smiled and filled her plate with a quarter as much food. “Easy, Jay, don’t forget to chew.” She regarded him a moment. “Or breathe.”

  Jeremy attempted to respond, stuffing food into his cheeks to make room for his mouth to work. It was completely unintelligible.

  “Mum,” he finally managed. It came out British-sounding by accident, by virtue of the food still in his mouth. “How did you manage to make—well, everything—taste so good?”

  “Why, thank you, sweetheart. But it helps when the person eating it has been knocked on the head first.” Her eyebrows furrowed with concern. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

  “I’m feeling much better now,” he said, smiling. He looked outside for a moment; Ellie ran past the window, giggling, followed closely by a small, red-furred squirrel. Jeremy’s eyes returned to meet his mother’s. “Mom, I’m curious how you and Dad met.”

  “Really?” she asked. “Surely we’ve mentioned it to you before, when you were younger. You probably just forgot.”

  He frowned and reflected, searching his memories. His father’s recollections threatened to crowd out his own, though, and he struggled to find an original memory of his that told of his parents’ first meeting.

  “It’s okay if you forgot,” his mother interjected, “I don’t mind talking about it.” A small smile fluttered on her lips. “Your father was a very charismatic man when he was younger. Very charming. The two of us went to university together, as you know, though he was two years ahead of me.” She pursed her lips in concentration. “It was the end of November, I remember. All of us were preparing for our end-of-term exams. And your father, well, he was in his senior year and already had a job lined up after graduation. It didn’t matter what grades he received in the end, so long as he passed and got his diploma.”

  Here she paused, spreading her hands in front of her, a cautionary gesture. “You’ll have to take his word for it, because he only told me this story after we were already dating for several months, but he swears that the first time he saw me his whole life changed. Heart skipped a beat, jaw dropped to the floor, tripped up head over heels; he was such a romantic back then, your father.

  “Anyway, I am sure that I looked like a train wreck. My hair was a mess, I wasn’t wearing any makeup; I had been practically living in the library for the last several days. And in walks your father, tall and handsome, with a nice smile and kind eyes, and the moment he saw me, I knew.”

  She leaned in conspiratorially. “I knew he would be the death of me. He was all grace and collectedness and I was a mess, flustered over finals and papers for which I was in no way prepared. His eyes met mine and he walked directly toward me, never breaking stride from entering the room, and stopped just a half-step away from where I was seated. He said—and I’ll never forget this—he said, ‘When did angels stop living in the Jardin des Anges and start studying in the library?’”

  Jeremy choked on his last piece of toast, snorting with sudden laughter. “He said that?” he asked incredulously. His mother laughed as well.

  “Your father has always had a way with words. He knows exactly what to say, as well as how and when to say it. If he had been any less serious, I would have blown him off, and if he had tried an actual, suave pickup line, I would have screamed at him in frustration to let me study in peace.” She chuckled to herself. “As it was, I was speechless. It was my jaw’s turn to drop, and I just stared at him with wide eyes. He had spoken loud enough for the entire room to hear, which only made it more surreal.”

  “So what happened next?” Jeremy asked.

  Ellie burst into the house, slamming open the screen door with youthful exuberance as she cried “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy!” and threw herself into her mother’s embrace. Only too late did Annabelle realize that her daughter was liberally covered in grass, leaves and mud. Lots of mud. Jeremy grinned to himself. Perhaps he had given too much credit to his sister’s maturity.

  “Ellie!” she cried out. Her white apron was already soaking up the moist mud. She sighed. “Jeremy, do you mind? I’ve got to make sure this one is cleaned up, right now.” She emphasized the last words at Ellie, who squealed in delight as she was tickled under her arms. “I’ll tell you the rest of the story later?” she suggested.

  Jeremy made a split-second decision and steeled himself against the nausea he knew was coming. “Sure thing, Mom,” he said, touching her lightly on her exposed arm. A rush of memories flooded over him, disorienting in speed and vividness, and he was thankful that he was already sitting down.

  Before she had even stood from the table, Jeremy knew everything.

  Chapter Eleven

  Detective Brennan woke in a hospital.

  He was sitting in an uncomfortable leather chair with metal armrests, and his neck twinged from sleeping at an awkward angle. There was very little to be heard going on in the hallway, and a glance at the clock confirmed that it was very early in the morning, hours before dawn. A steady series of beeps toned from a machine. The room was otherwise quiet.

  He turned and looked at the pale woman lying prostrate in bed. She had a slender face, gentle lips and early laugh lines around the eyes. Had she been awake, Brennan knew, blue eyes like sapphires would have glimmered back at him. When the two of them had met, she had been a rare kind of beauty. Beyond her pleasant looks, she had borne a steady strength within her. She had a compassionate heart and loved those around her more than seemed possible, and wherever she would go, smiles would appear.

  His wife, Mara. She had been the greatest gift to this world, the single saving grace of Arthur’s life. That had been befor
e she Fractured.

  Now, the skin clung tightly to her bones, making her fine cheeks stark, almost mountainous protrusions on a light, deeply sloping landscape. Her eyes sunk deep in their sockets, dark as bruises against her ghostly complexion. Her hair grew out long and thin, untended to, sickly. Her gentle lips, so pink and luscious before, were now an ugly purple.

  A knock on the door, and a man in a long, white coat entered quietly.

  “Mr. Brennan,” he said, “can I speak with you for a moment? Out here, in the hallway, please.”

  Arthur rose heavily from the chair and followed the doctor out of the room. He had not recognized the chill before, but he realized that the hallway was considerably warmer than Mara’s room. The nurses’ station was empty except for one, and she was dozing at her desk. The hallway was otherwise deserted.

  “Mr. Brennan,” the doctor began solemnly, “I cannot tell you how sorry I am. You have my condolences.”

  Brennan leveled a look at the shorter man. “My Mara isn’t dead.”

  The doctor nodded sympathetically. “I understand that this is a difficult time for you, but there is nothing more we can do for your wife. She can be kept on life support for a time, but I would not be optimistic for a change in her condition. We can move her to Ridgewood, a long-term care facility, but—”

  Brennan shook his head. “She would want me to keep fighting for her. Her body is still here, and I know her mind is in there, somewhere.” Now the doctor shook his head slowly, unconsciously. They were effectively alone, but his voice dropped to a whisper. “A Sleeper could go in, find her, and bring her back—”

  “Sleepers are myths, Mr. Brennan,” the doctor said. His eyes screamed concern for Brennan’s mental well-being. “And even if they weren’t, it’s a fool’s errand to go tampering with a Fractured brain. The best thing to do is to let her go peacefully.”

  Brennan held back his emotions. They raged against his heart and soul like rapids against a dam; one slip of his control would open the floodgates. He willed away the tears for his lost wife. She wasn’t lost, he reminded himself. He would not allow it.