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  “What...what...?” she asked.

  “Cyanide, some form of cyanide, but...she’s alive right now. We’ll get her stomach pumped, and we’ll start going with a Cyanokit,” the med tech told them. “Hopefully you got most of it. What the hell happened? Why would she do such a thing? You’re FBI, right?”

  Devin had introduced herself as such when they had arrived.

  “I’m FBI, yes.”

  Vickie realized that the man was staring at her. She remembered that she was covered in whatever red substance the redhead had thrown at her.

  Was it blood? She didn’t know. Paint? Whatever it was—was it worth this young woman’s death?

  She cleared her throat. “Can she live?” she asked.

  “She can. It depends,” he said. His coworkers already had the girl on a stretcher; an IV had been inserted in her arm.

  She was quiet, though. And as still as death.

  There were police on-site; Devin kept her credentials out, giving the same explanation of events over and over again.

  Vickie’s phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID. It was Griffin, of course.

  She winced.

  They’d never made it into the offices.

  It was all a mess.

  She found herself wishing that she’d never chased the redhead.

  She wished desperately that she’d let it go.

  There was just no reason that this young woman should die—just because she’d thrown something red, something that might or might not be blood, at Vickie.

  She managed to answer her phone as Devin continued speaking with the police and the med techs headed out of the cemetery. The size of the crowd of onlookers continued to grow.

  “Griffin?” she said.

  “I was getting worried—you’re not here yet.”

  “I think you need to come get me,” she said.

  “Where? What happened?”

  She tried to sound just like Devin, calm, concise and yet relating important detail. “A woman on the street attacked me. She—”

  “What?”

  “She threw a cupful of red stuff at me. I’m not even sure what it is yet. We chased her. Oh, God, Griffin! She did what the man did! She took a pill. We got it out of her mouth, Devin and I. But the med techs took her, and they’re heading to the hospital. Devin is talking to the cops. Griffin, why? In God’s name, why would they do something so stupid, so horrible? It’s so sad. Griffin, if I hadn’t chased her. If we hadn’t chased her...”

  “What’s the red stuff?”

  “I don’t know. We just started chasing her—”

  “Is your skin burning? Does it hurt? God, Vickie! It could have some form of acid in it, whatever it is. Are first responders there?”

  “EMTs. Yes, and cops, and—”

  “Get yourself to the hospital,” Griffin told her.

  “I’m fine. I’ll be right here,” she said, knowing that Griffin was close, and just how quickly he could move, even in Boston, when he chose.

  “No, no waiting! Get to a hospital now,” he told her. “I’m hanging up—you get going. I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

  And he did hang up.

  Vickie realized that the redheaded woman was gone, hurried away from the cemetery in an ambulance.

  And now, the remaining EMTs and the cops were staring at her.

  “I’m fine!” she said. “Really.”

  “We have to get you to the hospital, too. Get some samples of whatever that is—and get it off you,” an EMT said.

  “Let’s go,” Devin told her.

  “But...it isn’t any kind of acid. I’d know by now!” Vickie assured Devin and the others.

  “I don’t think it is any kind of an acid,” Devin said.

  “No,” an EMT agreed.

  “What?”

  “Can’t you smell it?” Devin asked.

  “Smell it?” she murmured, frowning. And then she could.

  She hadn’t before, because of the adrenaline running through her. Because of her focus and determination to catch the young woman.

  But now she could smell the substance. Metallic and earthy.

  And she could feel it soaking her clothing. Heavy and sticky.

  And she knew what it was.

  Blood.

  And she was so very afraid...

  That it was human.

  5

  Vickie knew that she was never going to feel clean enough—no matter what kind of a thermo-shower she was able to take at the hospital, no matter what kind of special anti-everything chemicals existed in the soap she was given.

  The sticky red substance was blood.

  And it was human.

  On the one hand, what happened had provided authorities with an important lead.

  There was a possibility that the forensic department might just find a match for that blood.

  She had still been drenched in blood.

  A very good thing was that the blood had been quickly tested, and by the time she’d gone through her cleansing ritual, she was relieved to learn that it was unlikely that she’d been exposed to any diseases of the blood, such as HIV, hepatitis C, malaria or other. There were still tests being done, and testing took time, but it looked as if she had been covered in the blood of a nicely healthy person.

  Griffin had met them at the hospital; he’d spent his time switching between the different areas—the “containment” sector with Vickie, and to the emergency and then the intensive care unit to look over the young woman who had attacked her.

  It had been stressful and frightening to Vickie, cleaning off the blood and wondering what might be in it.

  Yet, all the while, she couldn’t help but worry and wonder about the redheaded woman. If she had just left her alone...

  Vickie was finally clean—fully sanitized, really—and dressed and ready to leave. Devin had gone to her apartment for fresh clothing for her.

  Griffin came toward her; they might have been standing in a hospital hallway, but he took her tightly in his arms and held her for a minute. She clung to him, and then she eased away.

  “How is the redhead?” she asked.

  “She’s hanging in. She’s fallen into a coma. I don’t pretend to know a great deal about the effects of cyanide poisoning, but the fact that she’s not dead—that you got enough of the poison out that she didn’t die instantly—bodes well for her. You and Devin did amazing work.”

  Vickie shook her head. “It was instinct, I think. Maybe not in a good way. She threw something at me—I wanted to catch her. And, of course, I felt that I had to keep up with Devin.”

  He smiled at that. “You two have a lot in common. She writes fun children’s books and you write for adults.”

  “Not so fun, huh?” Vickie asked.

  He laughed. “No, just more serious. Anyway, let’s head to ICU, and then, well, you have to be exhausted.”

  “No police artists at night?” Vickie asked.

  “You’re up to it?”

  “Up to it? There was nothing wrong with me. I had a lot of baths. I’m good to go.”

  “All right. Barnes is up in ICU. He’ll make arrangements.”

  They headed to the ICU section. The redhead was behind glass, but they could join Rocky, Barnes and Devin, who were looking through the window.

  The girl’s color was better; she wasn’t the wild, rash-riddled red she had been. She lay perfectly still, an IV in her arm, a machine at her side making a rhythmic sound, as if, with every droning pulse, it helped her breathe.

  Barnes turned to look at Vickie. He was a good man; he’d become a friend, and it had meant a lot to her when he’d told her that he admired the way she had managed herself during the Undertaker ca
se.

  He shook his head. “Can’t stay out of it, huh?” he asked her.

  “Hey. I was minding my own business,” she said.

  “Actually, you were out questioning a pair of guitar-playing siblings regarding Alex’s disappearance,” Barnes reminded her.

  “Well, according to Special Agent Lyle, this young woman approached the two of you and asked if you were Victoria Preston.”

  Vickie nodded. Barnes looked at Griffin. “You two should have gotten down to Virginia,” he said gruffly.

  “Detective,” Vickie said, touching his arm. “Griffin is an agent—he’d be called out on something no matter what.”

  “Very strange people might not, however, be asking for you by name,” Barnes said.

  And that, of course, was true.

  “Vickie still wants to work with the police artist,” Griffin said.

  “There’s a young man already here,” Barnes said. He cleared his throat. “We’ve taken some pictures of this young lady, but since we don’t know when...or if...she’ll recover, we’ve had an artist portray her for the newspapers and the media. Hopefully, we’ll be able to find out who she is.” He shook his head with wonder. “It’s pretty amazing that you and Special Agent Lyle were able to save her. Anyway, the artist is downstairs in one of the waiting rooms.”

  Vickie nodded, but she kept staring at the girl on the bed.

  “Hey, we’re going to keep someone guarding her, but the group of us watching her is not going to change her condition,” Griffin said firmly. “Come on. Let’s see the artist.”

  He set a hand on her shoulder and led her out of the ICU and down to the waiting room. It was empty. Griffin saw the coffee machine and prepared cups for the two of them. Vickie sat nervously and waited for him, accepting the cup of coffee as he joined her.

  “It’s been such a strange day!” she told him. “I can’t begin to understand. Sure, Devin and I went after her, but...she hadn’t done anything that would have sent her away for her whole life or anything. Why would she want to die? Or, more to the point, how could she be so willing to give it all up—to thrust that pill into her mouth? I just don’t get it. I can’t help but wonder what good we’re doing, if trying to catch these people is causing them to commit suicide.”

  “First off,” Griffin said, “we can’t control what other people might choose to do. But it’s my job to stop people who might harm others. I’m sorry as hell that I couldn’t prevent Darryl Hillford putting a pill in his mouth, but I can’t be sorry that I went after him.”

  “But...suicide!”

  He sighed. “Most of us can’t begin to understand something so...sad. But we are human, and humans believe all kinds of things. And we are frail. Maybe there were threats, maybe promises of grand rewards. Then there’s brainwashing—the effects are real. We haven’t even scratched the surface here. But we can hope that this girl lives. If she’d just thrown blood at you, run away and escaped, we might have had to wonder if it was a separate occurrence—you know, maybe an extreme critic who really hated your books.”

  He offered her a dry smile.

  She punched him in the shoulder.

  “Seriously, because of you and Devin catching her, we know that this young woman is part of the cult, whatever it may be. If she wakes up, she’ll be our best lead. We may also discover something through the blood that she threw on you.” He paused. “That was a lot of blood,” he said quietly.

  “So much that the person who supplied it is...dead?”

  “I don’t really know. But—”

  “Agent Pryce? Ms. Preston?”

  Griffin stood and Vickie leaped up.

  The officer entering the room was about six feet even with brown hair, brown eyes and an easy manner.

  “I’m Officer Jim Tracy.” He shook hands with both of them before indicating that they should take their seats again.

  “So, let’s get right to it. Face shape?” he asked Vickie.

  She began to describe the waitress who had used the name Audrey Benson. She was in the middle of doing so, remembering details—such as the little freckle on the young woman’s upper lip—when Roxanne Greeley suddenly came to the waiting room.

  She paused dramatically at the doorway, looking in.

  Then she saw Vickie.

  “Vickie! Oh, thank God, you’re all right!”

  She ran in and hugged Vickie. Then she looked at Griffin, shook her head and hugged Vickie again. “Thank God! Thank God! I can’t believe you were in danger again. Of course, I mean, I suppose it’s your doing. Kind of like Oscar Wilde, you know. ‘To lose one parent may be regarded as misfortune...to lose both seems like carelessness.’ Oh, wait, I’m sorry, your parents are just fine. And I’m hoping they stay alive and healthy and all. I mean...you! Throwing yourself into danger all the time. Maybe you shouldn’t, maybe you’re inviting these things...wow. Sorry. I’ll stop. I’m just glad you’re okay. Oh, and oh!”

  Roxanne finally noticed the police officer who had risen behind Griffin.

  “It’s okay, Roxanne,” Vickie told her.

  “Seriously, it’s good to worry about friends,” Jim Tracy said, offering Roxanne a hand.

  “I’m glad you’re here. Officer Tracy is doing a sketch of the waitress we had at the coffee shop the other night,” Vickie said.

  “Oh. Nice. Good,” Roxanne said. Then she looked at Vickie again. “Why?”

  “She’s disappeared, too. And she was using a fake name.”

  “Oh...okay.”

  Jim Tracy showed her the sketch he’d begun.

  “You’re very good,” Roxanne told him. “Don’t you think that her face was a little thinner?” she asked Vickie.

  “Yeah, maybe,” Vickie agreed.

  “Take a chair, please,” Griffin said. Vickie glanced at him with a quick smile. He quickly rearranged chairs so that Vickie was on one side of the artist, Roxanne on the other. He stood a distance off, quietly waiting.

  “Now you tell me what you remember, what you think might have been a bit different,” Officer Tracy said.

  “Just the bit thinner,” Roxanne said. “Maybe her bangs were thicker... The rest...may I?” Roxanne asked. “Vickie does have a great eye. But I’m an artist. I’m actually making a living with my watercolors and oil paintings,” she added.

  “That’s great!” Officer Tracy said. He flipped pages and offered Roxanne a clean sheet.

  Roxanne began to sketch. In a minute, they could clearly see the face of the woman who had disappeared.

  “That’s her,” Vickie murmured.

  “Great image,” Officer Tracy said.

  “But your sketch is just as true to her,” Roxanne said. “It’s just easier because I really saw her.”

  “I’ll take these back to the precinct, scan them and do some mash-ups and we’ll have a pretty perfect image,” Officer Tracy assured them. “By tomorrow morning, we’ll have the lady in the bed upstairs on the news, and this disappearing, SSN-stealing waitress out there, as well.”

  He stood. “I’m done here. If you need anything or if you think of anything else, please call.”

  “Thank you,” Griffin said, shaking Tracy’s hand. Roxanne and Vickie thanked him, as well. As he left the waiting room, Griffin said, “I’m just going to check on our young woman in ICU. Then we’ll call it quits for the night.”

  “We’re just going to...leave?” Vickie asked.

  “She’s in a coma. Nothing much we can do unless she awakens,” Griffin said. “Don’t worry, between all the agencies, we’ll have someone watching her around the clock.”

  “Around the clock. They watched Alex around the clock. And then they didn’t. And now he’s gone,” she said.

  Griffin hesitated, glancing at Roxanne. He moved closer to Vickie and said soft
ly, “Don’t go thinking that was Alex’s blood you were wearing. You dreamed about a woman with her throat slit on an inverted cross—not a man. Not Alex.”

  “Let’s get you guys home right away. I’ll be back.”

  Griffin left. Roxanne glared at Vickie. “You should be really glad your folks are in England, being spared the worry! This has been all over the television. Reporters and cameras get places so fast!”

  “But they couldn’t have gotten today on camera!”

  “Not the first part. They got you—covered in what looked like blood—being led to an ambulance. I guess one of the EMTs or cops did some talking. The reporter said that you were covered in red stuff, but he said that witnesses reported that it wasn’t your blood, and they also knew that the girl had taken some kind of a capsule or pill that you and Agent Devin Lyle had gotten from her. Naturally, they’re referring back to your involvement in the Undertaker case. At least there’s been no mention of Alex’s name so far,” Roxanne told her.

  “Great, just great,” Vickie said.

  “What was it that she threw on you? Was it actually blood? It was? Oh, God. You don’t think—”

  “Griffin keeps assuring me that it isn’t Alex’s blood,” Vickie said quickly. “He’s convinced that they want Alex for his mind, want him to help them find something that has been lost for decades, or something like that.”

  “So where are they keeping him? And where are these people coming from? That guy who killed himself because Griffin caught him attacking a woman—and now this girl! Taking a pill because she was caught throwing blood on you. Where did all the blood come from? Vickie, I’m just worried!”

  “Don’t be, please. I’ve got Griffin—”

  “Thank God for that!”

  “And he has close coworkers here and we’re working with Detective Barnes and his department. It’s all good.”

  Roxanne smiled. “I guess you were actually kicking ass today!”

  Vickie winced. The girl swallowing a pill didn’t seem much like kicking ass.

  “She tripped over a tombstone.”

  “Because you were moving like greased lightning!” Griffin reappeared at the door.