Читать книгу Masked Desire - Alana Delacroix - Страница 8

Chapter 2

Focusing on the sickening scene in front of her took Michaela’s mind off Cormac’s irritating hover, but his question continued to echo through her thoughts. How had Hiro come to be sitting at her desk, in her locked office, when he was killed?

Anjali appeared around the corner, followed by other members of Michaela’s security team. “Ma’am, we’re—” As Michaela’s had, Anjali’s voice stuttered to a stop when she saw the extent of the carnage. “Goddess.”

Michaela didn’t hesitate. “Anjali, you’re with me. The rest of you, escort Ambassador Cormac to his quarters and one of you stay with him until I call. He is not to communicate with others.” She ignored Cormac’s rumble of protest. Until proven otherwise, he was a suspect and she wouldn’t allow him to eavesdrop on her investigation.

Anjali finished gawking and rummaged through her bags for disposable latex gloves. “It’s fresh,” she said as she tucked her curly black hair under a shower cap. “Smell’s still strong and the blood’s only tacky around the edges. Why was Hiro in your office?”

“Good question.” Michaela pulled on her own gear and stepped into the room, laid out with elegant dark woods and marble floors. Getting to Hiro while avoiding the blood was slow work and when she finally managed it, she gazed down at his wide, still eyes. His arms were flung open from the ferocity of the attack, but she knew he’d been typing at her computer. Even with the slaughter in front of her, that minor violation—his fingers on her keyboard—was disturbing. An office key sat on the edge of the desk, marked with blood.

Anjali joined her. “There’s a stab wound near the neck, much deeper than the others.”

“He’s been skinned.” Michaela pointed at his forearms, which showed large, gory patches reaching almost to the bone.

Anjali blanched. “Did he have tattoos? They might have pointed to the killer.”

“Not that I recall.”

“Torture?”

“Anything is possible.”

Dev, her forensics expert, arrived back on the scene. “I left Nadia with the ambassador,” he reported. “He wasn’t too happy.”

Michaela felt a petty surge of unprofessional satisfaction that she instantly repressed. “Come see.”

Weres might be stereotyped as thoughtless and impulsive, but Dev’s process was slow and thorough. He never hurried. The two women left and shut the door, each sighing with relief at the fresh air. “We need to tell Madden and the other councilors,” said Michaela.

“Yes, ma’am.” Anjali’s gaze slid to the door hiding the carnage. “Are you going to tell them everything?”

Michaela stifled a sigh, knowing the multiple layers of drama and paranoia that would ensue if—when—the Pharos councilors discovered the gruesome details of Hiro’s death. “Only Madden. He can decide what to tell the others.”

“Some help?” called Dev. Anjali wrinkled her nose and steadied herself before heading back into the room.

Michaela stayed out. At least Madden was in the building for their meeting, so she wouldn’t have to wait. He answered the phone on the first ring.

“You’re late.” He was testier than usual but she ignored it.

“There’s a reason.” She told him about Hiro.

“In your office?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be there immediately.”

No wasted words. She approved. Michaela stood at the threshold and peeked in through the crack in the door at Anjali and Dev as they muttered to each other. Hiro. Of all the people on Pharos to have been killed, he was both the most and least likely. He was a strong advocate for his fellow humans, and Michaela suspected he harbored an active dislike of his supernatural colleagues. Hiro made a habit of phrasing his points in a way that made the arrogant blood of his arcana fellows boil.

The phone buzzed again and filled her with distaste for this fast-paced modern life. When she was a child, it took weeks for news to travel. Months, even. There was time for people to absorb information and make a sensible decision before they reacted. Not now.

It was a text from Nadia. C made call before I could stop him. Didn’t see him.

Michaela breathed deeply. Cormac had no respect for appropriate process at the best of times. She shouldn’t have assumed the gravity of the situation would cause him to behave any differently. Then, as a fey, he could glamour himself when desired. Nadia, young and cocky even by vampire standards, had probably not known he could, or that Cormac was a rule unto himself, not to be halted by irrelevant things such as rules, or protocol, or minding his own damn business.

“We’ve got incoming,” she called in to Anjali and Dev. “You keep working.”

She shut the door and stood planted in front of it like a sentinel as a babble of voices rose from around the corner. The six or seven councilors were led by Oksana, the other human representative on the Pharos Council. Uneven red blotches stained her leathery, weathered face and her mouth worked as though she chewed a rubbery bite of steak.

“Michaela.” Oksana’s voice rang out over the others. “What are you hiding from us? Is it true? Hiro is dead?”

“Yes.” Michaela kept her voice cool and face smooth but cursed inwardly. It would have been proper for Madden to give the news, but there was no point lying.

Another reason Cormac should have kept his mouth shut.

Oksana stiffened. “I demand to be let in.” Michaela looked over the woman’s shoulder to the huddle of councilors, including Baptiste, her own masquerada counterpart. A slight relief pulsed through her. Although she had no problem standing against the group, it was always good to know that Baptiste was there to have her back.

“You can’t go in, Oksana. We’re conducting an investigation.” Michaela didn’t try to soften the rejection with a gentle touch or tender smile. In her decades as security chief, she’d found the only way to manage the imperious and demanding councilors was to avoid any gesture that might be construed as weakness or reluctance.

“I insist on seeing Hiro with my own eyes.”

“No.” Michaela had often dealt with honest grief but didn’t see much anguish when she examined Oksana’s very dry eyes.

“Michaela is right.” The crowd of councilors parted as Madden approached the door, as imperturbable as always. “There will be a briefing in one hour,” he said. “Michaela will tell you what her team has found then.”

Madden’s intimidating presence, made more effective by a low-level vampiric compulsion, was enough to disperse the group, albeit with some resentment. Baptiste raised his eyebrows and made an almost imperceptible slashing motion at his throat. Michaela nodded in answer to his silent question: Hiro’s death had been murder. He closed his eyes and his lips moved in a silent prayer as he left.

When she and Madden were alone, Michaela opened the door. The vampire’s nostrils flared at the reeking scent of blood but aside from a slight flush displayed no other indication that it affected him. “What do you know?” he asked the team working around the body.

Dev straightened up. “Sir. Councilor Hiro was murdered earlier this morning. We think that he was killed with a single stab wound to the neck and then mutilated further after death.”

“Why?” Madden gazed around at the mess with his pale eyes. “This speaks of a great anger. Hiro was disliked but I wouldn’t say he was hated.”

“We don’t know,” Michaela said. The unknowns at the beginning of an investigation both frustrated her and filled her with anticipation. “Nor do we know why he was in my office.”

Madden rubbed his long fingers along his chin. “This is not good for Pharos.”

Michaela knew he wasn’t referring to the murder per se, which was of course bad enough. The Council had experienced low levels of infighting over the last year. Hiro and Oksana had rounded together some of the weaker factions and occasionally the vampires to vote against the masquerada and their allies. It had brought the simmering tensions that lived between the groups close to the surface and suspicion had run particularly high after the others had learned about Franz Iverson’s rebellion and the popularity of his belief in masquerada superiority. For many, it confirmed what they had always suspected: the masquerada viewed the rest of them as lesser beings. Michaela and Baptiste had been unable to convince them otherwise.

Pharos had been created centuries ago for a single purpose—to uphold the Law that kept the supernatural arcane races hidden from the huge mass of humanity. Should the council rip apart, the Law would be upheld only in pockets by arcane rulers strong enough, and willing, to keep their people hidden. Unpoliced, it was inevitable that some arcana, somewhere, would reveal themselves to the humans. Michaela shuddered at the violent effect this would have. She was under no illusions about how humans dealt with what frightened them.

It would be a bloodbath.

“We’ll check the security tapes and councilors’ alibis,” she said. Tedious but necessary footwork.

“Do you think it was one of us?”

Michaela shrugged. “I don’t want to bias the investigation with an assumption.” The words were rote; both knew the chances were good. Her security had been designed to keep those not affiliated with the Pharos Council out of any of their headquarters.

Madden chuckled drily. “I’d expect nothing less. Have something to present in an hour.”

“I will.”

He turned at the door. “Michaela?”

“Yes?”

“Be ready for questions.”

With that, he was gone. Michaela frowned after him. Why a warning? Then she shrugged. She had fifty-five minutes left and no time to worry about mysteries apart from the one right in front of her.