Dangerous Games (Riley Jenson Guardian 4)

Thank God.

And his actions here just now had given me the perfect excuse to run. I'd already accused him of taking me for granted. Given his arrogance, it would be perfectly logical for me to now walk out.

Which was more than worth the price of a bitten lip.

I had a shower to wash the scent of chlorine and Jin off me, then toweled myself dry and put the robe back on. After peering out the door and testing the air to ensure Jin's scent had well and truly faded, I headed back up the stairs to the changing room.

Once dressed, I walked around to the reception area.

"All finished?" the blonde said brightly, as I handed back the locker key.

"Yes. And when Jin comes looking for me, please tell him I do not appreciate being taken for granted." I slipped into her mind as I said it, handing in the stolen keycard and making her believe a guest had found it near the stairs.

"Of course," she said, without skipping a beat. And if the amusement in her eyes was anything to go by, she'd absolutely delight in making such comments to Jin.

I nodded my thanks, but on turning away, caught sight of her computer. Would a receptionist have membership lists on her computer? She'd have to, wouldn't she?

I slipped into her mind again, making her do a search through the database. And discovered that Jan Tait wasn't the only woman who had signed up for a gold pass.

Karen Herbert, the latest victim of the serial killer, had too.

And so had every other victim. oman lay on her back, her arms and legs spread wide, like a starfish. She was naked, and there was an almost rapturous expression frozen onto her dead features. As if the manner of her death had aroused her to the point of fulfillment.

Just like the other women we'd found.

A shiver ran through me, but I wasn't entirely sure whether the cause was horror, or the odd chill in the air. A chill that spoke to an awareness deep within, one that suggested we were not alone in this warehouse.

That dead things abided here.

I rubbed my arms and let my gaze slide down the woman's white body. Like the other victims, she'd been opened up from neck to knee, and all her main internal organs removed. There should have been a lot of blood after a kill like this, but there wasn't - and in many ways that was far worse. Because it meant someone had drained her - drained her while they sliced her and removed her organs. Drained her while she lay there with that rapturous look on her face.

I shuddered, suddenly glad I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. I don't think it would have stayed down at that point.

I forced my gaze from the destruction of her body and looked at her left hand. Like the other victims, she was missing half her little finger. The wound, though healed, looked extremely fresh.

And for some reason, her missing a finger made me feel colder - sicker - than anything else that had been done to her. Which was an extremely odd reaction, even for me.

I looked past her. Jack and Cole were standing in the far corner of the old factory, talking softly. If I concentrated, I could probably hear what they were saying, but it felt like too much effort when I could just ask Jack later on. I studied the immediate surrounds instead. Cole's team had been here for a good half hour by the time we'd arrived, so the few clues evident were already tagged. Like before, the sooty remains of a pentagram was visible on the concrete, and droplets of black wax littered the ends of each point. While I didn't know much about magic, I knew black candles indicated the darker paths rather than the light.

Though the mutilation of the body was enough to indicate that.

I looked back at the woman as something stirred. A wisp of thick air. Smoke, perhaps, curling softly in the air, barely visible against the bright lights the clean-team had set up.

Another chill ran through me.

It wasn't smoke.

It was her soul.

And as it found shape, it found voice, words. Dahaki, it said. Azhi Dahaki.

The chill got fiercer, until it felt like fingers of ice were creeping into my soul. As if the woman's soul brought with it the fierce cold of the underworld. Who the hell is Azhi Dahaki?

I wasn't entirely sure whether I said that out loud or telepathically. Wasn't sure if the woman's spirit would even answer.

It stirred softly, a body of smoke with no features that gently rotated. But with every turn, energy built in the air, until the small hairs along the nape of my neck were standing on end. Only then did the words come again. You must stop him.

With that statement, the energy fell away, and the soul disintegrated, fleeing to whatever region of afterlife it was bound for.