Awaken Me Darkly (Alien Huntress 1)

“Unfortunately,” Mandalay responded, “there was no blood evidence. Nor was there anything under his fingernails. No fibers—alien or human—to indicate where he was held or how he was transported. The voice recorders around the area have no alien recordings at any time on the day of the murder.”

“What about Rianne Harte’s home?” Jack asked. “What was found there?”

Mandalay shook her head, sending red curls flying. “Nothing, sir.”

“Wonderful. Just f**king wonderful. I expected better than this.” Jack shoved to his feet and strode to the side table. He poured himself a cup of coffee, then drained the steamy liquid in one gulp. He turned back to us. “We’re no closer to finding the victims than we were yesterday. Pressure is rising, people, and will continue to do so until we’re successful or we lose our jobs.”

“Let’s go back to this Kyrin character,” Ghost said. “He was seen with victim number one the night before the abduction. He was also dating Harte. There’s a possibility he knew the others and had some sort of contact with them. So my question is, who’s going to hunt him?”

“Let me take care that,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound too eager.

“You’re finding Atlanna, remember?” Jack said.

I spread my arms wide. “And I can’t do both?”

“You’re not Super Woman,” Kittie remarked with a grin.

“No,” Ghost said with a grin of his own. “She’s Super Bitch.”

Laughter rippled through the room, the kind of rough, biting laughter that came from people who encountered depravity on a daily basis. Jaxon tried to hold his amusement back, but soon gave up and burst into guffaws. Even I lost my scowl and had to smile. I was a super bitch.

“Fine,” Jack said. “Kyrin’s yours.”

Those words affected me on a deep, primal level. Mine, I thought. All mine.

Standing, Jack slapped his hands against the table surface. “All right, people. You know what you’re supposed to do. So get it done.”

I accompanied Jaxon down the long, winding corridor that led to A.I.R. sector five. Our ID cards allowed us to bypass the motion detectors, the heat sensors, and the weight-sensitive floor tiles without a single pause.

Jack had dismissed us five minutes ago, and I’d already called Dallas’s doctor twice. The first time, he put me on hold. The second, he didn’t make the same mistake. I learned Dallas’s tissues were indeed rejuvenating. Dr. Hannah had discovered a foreign chemical in Dallas’s blood, a substance he’d never encountered before, and he’d treated both aliens and humans.

I knew the chemical came from Kyrin.

The good doctor was running more tests, but as of now, Dallas was stable. Still, I couldn’t help but hear a countdown in my head. Three more days until Kyrin reappeared, demanding his sister—unless I found him first.

“You ready for this?” Jaxon asked. He gazed down at me, his features tight with concentration.

“More than you know.” I forced Dallas and Kyrin to the back of my mind. I had to concentrate on the here and now.

When we reached the end of the hallway, we waited at the metal security station doors.

“After you, Jaxon,” I said.

He positioned his head in front of the blinking blue retinal scan. The computer said, “Scanning now,” and flashed the light over his entire face. “Thank you, Jaxon Tramain.”

Jaxon straightened his shoulders and flicked me a glance. “Your turn.”

God, I hated these things. I rested my chin in the recession plate, and the metal monster clamped onto my head for a full optical scan. If one of the antiquated lasers ever received a power surge, I’d be sentenced to permanent medical leave and given an SGA, a sightseeing guidance automaton.

“Thank you, Mia Snow,” the computer said, releasing me.

Now that our identities were verified, we endured a simultaneous palm scan and the doors buzzed open. We entered a long white hallway. To both our left and right sides were sealed entrances, each leading to private cells.

These rooms were rarely occupied for long. Other-worlders brought in were usually interrogated within hours. Then they were either set free if exonerated, or executed if guilty. It was that simple.

I passed Lilla’s cell. Thirty-two. And kept my gaze straight ahead. I’d worry about her later.

Cell 66, our destination, was Hudson’s location—which lacked one more six to be accurate, to my way of thinking. He was human, yes, but he was involved in an alien investigation, so here he stayed. The bastard would be treated with the rights of an earth-born citizen, but he sure as hell didn’t deserve it.

When we arrived at our destination, Jaxon placed his hand on scanner 66A, and I placed my hand on scanner 66B. A yellow light enveloped our fingertips.

“Don’t believe anything I say, okay?” Jaxon said. “You know I have to tell him what he wants to hear if I hope to get any information.”

“I know.”

“Just don’t kill me afterward.”

“Hey, do me a favor and ask Hudson about his daughter. Ask him why he claimed an alien as his own.”

“Alien?” Jaxon blinked. “You think Isabel was alien? Which species?”

“I don’t know. Ask him that, too.”

He nodded just as the lock above each door buzzed, allowing our entrance.

Wiping all expression from his face, Jaxon stepped inside Hudson’s cell.

I entered Observation. From the two-way, I saw that Hudson lay on his cot. A bandage covered his nose, and his eyes were swollen and ringed with bruises. As if to the beat of a drum, he moaned every other second.

Jaxon strode to the edge of the cot, squatted, and peered at the injured man. “You okay, George?” he asked. “You in pain?”

Hudson blinked, but didn’t move. “Do I look like I’m in pain?” His voice was nasal and pinched. “Asshole,” he muttered.

As if he wasn’t laughing smugly on the inside, Jaxon uttered a sympathetic sigh. “Want some meds?”

“What I want is for you to get the hell out.”

Jaxon features softened. “I can’t do that. You’re in trouble, George, and we both know it. Let me help you.”

I knew Jaxon was deliberately using his first name. Made him seem friendlier, more personable. But Hudson didn’t take the bait. Hell, he’d had the same training we’d had.

“Help me?” he squeaked out, turning his head and riveting his eyes on Jaxon. He would have shouted if his nose hadn’t been packed full of gauze. “You don’t give a shit about me.”