Page 72 of Darkness

Morrisey sampled a sip of his drink, a concoction claiming to be grape-flavored. Damn, what he wouldn’t give for a shot of tequila. He called up Jessa’s missing and dead friends list, studying each name.

Fuck. Prickles rose on the back of his neck. The two dead women from his latest crime scene were on Jessa’s missing list. Why had they been missing when he’d found them at home? Was that their home? The report listed a different name as the name on the apartment’s lease. Did they know someone was after them and hid out with a friend?

He studied the wall map. The nurse lived on the opposite end of town in one of the community's better neighborhoods, the latest victims came—literally—from the other side of the tracks.

Another name on the list caught his eye, matching a Jane Doe found across the state line. Had she tried to run?

The birthday party, his own attack, the nurse. Three travelers at the party. One in the alley. At least one at the nurse’s residence. The kid and the mastermind.

Jessa. He had to talk to Jessa.

Soft footsteps stopped outside his office door. Morrisey’s heart kicked like a mule in his chest. Farren? Excitement warred with fear. He wanted to see Farren and didn’t want to see him in equal measure, and waited for a knock that never came.

The footsteps retreated. Disappointment and relief replaced the other emotions. After wrapping his mind around the almost bonding thing, he needed a clear head to confront Farren.

He grabbed lunch in the cafeteria, hauling who-knew-what back to his office. He’d nodded on autopilot, uncaring what the traveler heaped onto his plate. Now to make it to safety.

“Hey,” he said in passing by Arianna’s desk, because self-preservation skills said not to piss her off.

“Farren’s looking for you,” she replied without taking her gaze off her computer screen.

Morrisey quick-stepped down the hall without answering. If Farren wanted Morrisey, he knew damned well where to find him.

His heart slammed into his ribs. Farren leaned against the wall three paces from Morrisey’s office door. He couldn’t deal with all the weird thoughts careening around his brain right now. His normally alcohol-soaked mind needed more time to process.

"I've been trying to find you. Are you all right?” The concern on Farren’s face had Morrisey wanting to tackle the man to the ground and forget about lunch.

“I’ve been busy.” Trying to figure out why I’m so attracted to you. Why I dream of you. Why my subconscious tried to bond with you.

Morrisey and Farren scrutinized each other. "I can sense you feel it too," Farren murmured, words nearly too soft to hear. “The pull. The attraction.”

"Not at all." Morrisey dove into his office and slammed the door. He leaned against the panel, every ounce of his being calling out Farren, Farren, Farren. This couldn’t be real, just a traveler trick.

He waited, but Farren’s knock never came.

Morrisey sank his whole being into tracking the traveler murders. Three perps at the first murder, one at the last. Were they the same travelers involved, or was the problem more widespread?

What about the man at the tracks? Had he been the one watching from a porch across from the birthday party? Fuck!

Heaven help Atlanta.

Finally, finally, the workday ended. Morrisey checked himself out of the premises, waved at the guard he now recognized as a traveler, and rode out into the evening.

At the sixth bar Morrisey tried, a voluptuous woman slithered in front of him, wearing a tight green dress, light hair a shade never before seen in nature. “Hello, handsome,” she cooed, clutching a glass. She smiled seductively and walked the fingers of the other hand up his chest, blood-red fingertip daggers digging into his skin.

A few missteps taught Morrisey to be careful. “Jessa?” Strange to be meeting someone without knowing what she might look like. No extra faces appeared.

The woman laughed. “No. I’m Vivian.” She leaned in and purred, “You can call me Jessa if you want to, but that’ll cost you extra.”

A heavily ringed hand wrapped around Vivian’s wrist, yanking her back from Morrisey. A petite brunette rose on her toes and pecked him on the cheek. “Hello, babe. Sorry I’m late.” Jessa glared at her competition, running disdainful eyes over curves exaggerated by a too-tight dress and body enhancers likely found on infomercials. “You’re not needed here. Buh-bye!”

“Well, I never!”

“Yes, you have. And it’s starting to show, dahling.” Jessa made a kissy face and gave a throaty laugh as Vivian flounced away, several pairs of eyes following her retreat. “Actually, my host suggested a threesome, but I explained the problems of mixing business with pleasure.” The hand recently wrapped around Vivian’s wrist now grasped Morrisey’s upper arm. “Walk with me. It’s too noisy in here to talk, and it would take too much energy for a privacy shield with this many people around.”

Did Morrisey dare go anywhere with Jessa? How well did he trust her? She was a traveler, after all.

Jessa stepped back to let Morrisey take in the little black dress, high heels, and tiny clutch purse. “I’m unarmed, and you can sure as hell outrun me in the torture devices this host insisted on wearing. Humans are so strange. Not to mention, you outweigh this body by about seventy pounds, even with your underfed physique.”

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