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mess as I was. Until I knew where all these lies led, I had to remain as I was confused, angry, and maybe even a little frightened. Of course, it was also possible that I was crazy. That there was no plot against me, and that my depression over my soul mate s death was slipping into neurosis. No, that inner voice said. No! Evin rose abruptly. I m off to bed. You d best be getting some sleep, too. Probably. Except that I wasn t sleepy. But I think I ll watch TV for a little bit. He shrugged, gave me a sketchy wave goodnight, then disappeared into his bedroom. I leaned across to the sofa and grabbed the remote, idly flipping channels and trying to find something decent on. The news and the shopping channel were about as interesting as it got. I threw the remote back on the sofa, then got up and made myself a cup of coffee. What I needed, I thought, as I wrapped my fingers around the mug and leaned back against the counter, was a laptop. With it, I could do some investigating of my own. At the very least, I could do a search for that other murder I was half remembering and uncover whether it was real or just a figment of my twisted imagination. There wasn t anything resembling a laptop in the main living room, and I couldn t remember seeing one in my bedroom. But Evin might have one. It was worth asking, anyway. Hey, bro, I said, not bothering to raise my voice. He d hear me if he was awake, and given he d only just gone to bed, I doubted he d be asleep yet. What? he said, sounding less than pleased. Have you got a laptop with you? Why? That definitely sounded like something my brother would say. Because I want to do a search for a killing similar to the one we found today. Why don t you just let the police do their fucking job and drop the matter? Because keeping my mind busy keeps the pain and the anguish at bay, that little voice said. But I couldn t wouldn t admit something like that to Evin. Because I m curious, that s why. I just want to know if there was another killing elsewhere, or whether I m simply imagining it. What does it matter if there was? Footsteps echoed lightly. He might be arguing, but he was getting up, which meant he did indeed have a laptop. It doesn t matter, but it will solve my curiosity. You know the old saying about curiosity and the cat, he said, as he entered the living area with the laptop tucked under one arm. Then it s just as well I m a werewolf, isn t it? He snorted softly. And I m guessing that if I didn t have a laptop, you d just go out and find yourself one. I grinned. You re learning, little brother. I certainly am, he muttered, and handed me the computer. Promise me you ll drop the matter if you don t find anything. If I don t find anything, I will. And if you do find something, talk to Harris. Let him handle it. I ll talk to Harris. Whether I let him handle it without sticking my nose in it was another thing entirely. Evin grunted and half turned away, then paused. Why is this so important to you? I don t know, I said, honestly enough. It just feels like unfinished business, for some reason. He shook his head. Hanna, we work security for the pack. We roam boundaries and keep rabble off pack lands. Murder, in any way, shape, or form, does not enter our realm of experience. I worked for the pack? That seemed so damn unlikely that laughter bubbled up inside of me. It didn t escape, but only because of an extreme effort of will. Look, I may have simply read about it in the newspaper. If that s the case, then Harris will be more than aware of the connection, and I can let it slide. Then that s what I m hoping for. We re here to relax and recuperate, not chase after ghosts and get caught up in murder investigations. So tomorrow I ll relax. He snorted again but this time it was a sound of disbelief. I m beginning to think that s not in your nature. I had a vague suspicion he was right. Night, little brother. He half waved as he headed back to his bedroom. I fired up the laptop as I walked across to the sofa and sat down, then waited for it to pick up the Internet connection. When Google finally appeared on the screen, I typed in murder and red-horned devil in the search area. And discovered there were apparently hundreds of murders committed by red-horned devils the world over. I refined the search area, hitting the Australia-only button, and reduced the number of murders down to only a couple. One in Brisbane and two in Sydney. I clicked the links and checked out the newspaper articles related to both murders. Of the two Sydney murders, one was a woman who d been found hanged in the closet of her home, and the other a man who been wood- chipped. Apparently, both methods of murders reflected crimes they d spent time in prison for. The Brisbane murder was a little different, in that the woman never spent time behind bars. She was the victim of a hit-and- run the very crime she d been acquitted of several months previously. None of the murders was the one that sat like a bad smell at the back of my mind. I leaned back against the sofa and frowned at the computer. There were definitely similarities in all three crimes, and I had no doubt that there was a connection between them all. But what about my crime? Why wasn t that in the news? Maybe I needed to refine the search more. By state, for instance only my memory failed to come up with where I lived. I shoved the laptop on the sofa beside me, then jumped up and walked to the bedroom. I grabbed my wallet and dragged out my license, this time actually taking the time to look at the address. Cona Creek, Queensland. Not a place that sounded or felt right. I tucked the license back into the wallet then headed back to the laptop. A search for Cona Creek revealed very little about the place even Google maps didn t show a whole lot, with the satellite pics revealing little more than dirt and trees. Although I supposed if it was pack land, then there may not be a town, as such. Many packs preferred the scattered approached to communal living rather than the clustered development favored by humans and packs like the one that owned Dunedan. None of which helped me get any closer to uncovering the who and what behind the murder that was lurking in the recesses of memory. I tried variations of the search but still came up empty-handed. Maybe a kill order had been placed on the story but why would they do that when the other stories were already out there? Once again, I just didn t know. It was a fucking frustrating sensation. I gave up and turned off the computer. Maybe what I needed was sleep. With any sort of luck, tomorrow would bring new ideas and fresh memories. Someone was knocking heavily. Bam, bam, bam it went, relentless and loud. It took me a few minutes to realize the noise was outside my head rather than inside, and I opened a bleary eye. I was still in that small, uninspiring villa bedroom. The nightmare gremlins hadn t decided to transport me back to my real life, wherever and whatever that was. What? I said, then winced. Speaking seemed to aggravate the daggers in my head. Apparently, I still had my headache, too. Harris is here to see you, Hanna. You need to get up. What time is it? I glared blearily at the clock on the bedside table, but the little numbers weren t making a whole lot of sense. It s nearly midday. Get dressed. I ll have a coffee waiting. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |
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