Page 15 of Darkness

Gaskins didn’t wait for a verbal response. “You also have excellent insight, like pointing out the possibility that one victim might have known the killer on your last case.”

Morrisey telling how he knew wasn’t happening. “How about those yahoos?” Morrisey gestured toward the door. “You heard what they said about me.” It wasn't like Morrisey hadn't fielded his share of insults throughout his life for anything from his attitude, lack of family, choice in music, being gay, or hell, even not liking doughnuts. You’re a disgrace to the badge. What kind of cop hates doughnuts?

“And you know how things work at the precinct. If they’re not talking about you, they don’t like you. They’re just happy the weird shit didn’t happen to them.”

If only the weird shit hadn’t happened to Morrisey. “So, what did y’all do to the guy who attacked me?” Had a blinding light really come to the rescue?

“He was brought here to Mercy General. About an hour later, a nurse who I’m told shouldn't have been attending him exits the premises without a word to anyone. No one has seen her since. The suspect downright sobbed, saying how sorry he was.”

“Wait. I thought he was dead.”

Gaskins puffed out his cheeks and blew a noisy breath, a familiar stalling gesture while he organized his thoughts. “He survived, but not for long. The missing nurse slipped him a scalpel before leaving.”

What the fuck? “So, we won’t get any answers.”

“No, we won’t.”

Morrisey definitely didn't want to touch the guy again for impressions. “What did he steal from the liquor store?” The liquor store. Morrisey hadn’t even gotten to replenish his booze supply.

“That’s the strange part.” Gaskins glanced out the window at the brick wall next door. “He didn’t take anything. He entered the store waving a gun, threatening everyone, then randomly shot the owner.”

“Fuck.” Killing for no reason?

“I’ll say.” Gaskins refocused on Morrisey. “That’s not even the worst part.”

“It gets worse?”

“The gun the suspect used was registered to an officer from another precinct.”

An icy chill raced down Morrisey’s spine. “There’s more you’re not saying. Talk.”

“They found the officer’s car on the shoulder of a back road. A search turned up bits of him.”

Much more bad news would have Morrisey chanting “fuck” like a mantra.

“We’re still looking for the whole body. This wasn’t a mere cop killing. This was rage.” Gaskins produced his cell phone, turning the screen toward Morrisey. “Recognize him?”

Blond hair, blue eyes. Looked a bit like the angel, but barely. “No. I don’t.”

Gaskins put his phone away. "He's the third local law enforcement officer lost within the last two weeks, not counting Will. This one was Atlanta PD, one was a highway patrolman who disappeared eight days ago, the other DEA.”

Wheels turned in Morrisey’s thoughts as he attempted to put the pieces together. Three different organizations, all dealing with law enforcement. If he had to guess, he’d say drug trafficking must be involved. After all, Highway 85 ran through the area, a known drug corridor. “Are there any connections besides their jobs?”

“They all three match the same physical description. Slightly built blond men with blue eyes. All under thirty years old. Either we have a serial killer with a type, or our killer is angry and searching for someone specific. He or she doesn’t care how many innocent men they have to kill to get to the one they want.” Gaskins stood, stretching out the kinks in his back with an audible pop. “Whatever the hell is going on, I want the open season on law enforcement to stop.”

“You and me both.” Memories came back with a vengeance: three women butchered, Will slipping the pistol barrel into his mouth, the mess that greeted Morrisey when he’d reached the car. Crying, screaming at Will to stop—too late. One face layered upon another, excruciating pain. No one believing Morrisey. Too much, too much.

He clutched his head tightly and screamed.

Chapter Seven

Farren placed his keys in a bowl by the front door, tossing his leather jacket onto the couch. Next, he removed his shoulder holster. Same ritual every day. The situation hadn’t required his Ruger, but it had been close, which would have resulted in more paperwork.

Paperwork. The worst thing about enforcing Terran laws.

Speaking of paperwork. Someone needed to explain. Farren trusted others to follow protocol. How had the ambulance with the occisor wound up at the human hospital, allowing the traveler to acquire another body and escape back into the world? This only proved the point Farren had been trying to make for years—he needed more efficient colleagues.

While he didn’t like to think ill of his coworkers, there were reasons humans and travelers didn’t trust each other.

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