Page 33 of Darkest Before Dawn (His Perfect Darkness #2)

The statement is so bizarre that Bonds’ mouth goes slack and he almost loses his cigarette. This is the first time the figure has promised to deliver a witness along with evidence. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Rex Roy is personally interested in this investigation.”

“He is, huh? I’m not in the business of bending to a billionaire’s requests.

” Bonds knows the way the world works. He knows oligarchs rule, and the rest of humanity scrambles under the table for scraps.

He’s always tried to keep a low profile, but there are things he won’t compromise on. “Tell him to keep out of my case.”

“He only wants to help.” There’s a note of approval in the man’s voice, but perhaps Bonds is imagining it. “Roy will do anything to protect his wife.”

“And I want to solve this case. We want the same thing, right?” Bonds glances down at the file in his hand. He looks away for only a moment, but when he looks up, the figure is gone. Disappeared.

The hardened detective isn’t unsettled by much, but this makes his mouth fall open.

He turns in a circle, peering into the shadows to figure out which way the stranger went.

He looks out onto the city, half-expecting to see a fleeing stranger racing over the roofs, but there’s nothing but the tired glow of the city lights, the darkness before dawn.

Somewhere else in the city. . .

A man sits in a room filled with photographs of the Blackbird murders.

Carefully arranged limbs, naked in death, surrounded by feathers.

The room has a sour, smokey smell. The man is a silent sentinel, sitting with his head bowed in an almost reverent state.

The silence shrouding him is broken by an infrequent, hacking cough.

An old-timer wakes before dawn and rubs his bleary eyes.

His dreams are a long parade of faces that belong to people now long gone.

Old friends, victims in cases he never solved.

But as sleep recedes, the vivid images fade to muted colors.

By the time he’s walked from his bedroom to the kitchen to start making coffee, the memory of his dreams is all a muddle.

Only the lingering sense of horror and sadness remains.

Three bikers in skull masks race up the road. They swerve toward the police precinct, and the middle rider dumps the bundle draped over his lap on the sidewalk before they all speed away.

Silva, walking in with his chai, hears the groans and rushes up to the writhing bundle. It’s a man, bound and gagged. A press badge clipped to his shirt reads, “Ted Raider.”

“Damn,” Silva says and waves to a pair of uniforms to help him get the poor prisoner untied.

Rex

My car dashboard displays the feed from cameras in front of the police precinct. I watch Fraternitas dump Ted at the front doors, right on schedule. Satisfied that Bonds has his witness, I lean back to enjoy the ride back to the Manor.

“Call Hamish,” I order.

“She’s still sleeping,” Hamish reports before I say anything. He knows this will reassure me, even though I have Alfie monitoring her. Still, I switch the camera feeds to show Inara’s sleeping form.

“I’m on my way back.”

“How did the meeting with the good detective go?”

I suppress a smile. I enjoyed the encounter more than I thought I would. The sneak approach, the disappearing act at the end. I have a touch of theater kid in me. “It went well.”

Hamish says nothing for a moment. I’ve learned to parse his pauses like a language of their own. Sometimes, they’re disapproving, and sometimes they’re thoughtful. This time, I think it’s the latter. “Do you think it’s wise to involve him?”

I picture Bonds’ weathered face, lit by the glow of his cigarette. “He’s involved in the case. We need a way to loop him in.” I know what Hamish is really asking. Do I trust Bonds? “I trust him to do his job. We need all the help we can get.”

Hamish doesn’t argue. He knows as well as I do that the killer’s still out there, and he won’t stop until he has Inara.

Inara

Monday, I drag myself to the police station. Rex told me that Bonds has already been brought up to speed on the whole Ted debacle, so I don’t have to explain.

Bonds takes one look at me and sends me to my desk to follow up on random leads called into the department. He doesn’t say that I look like crap. He doesn’t have to.

I do my penance, reviewing the leads and returning calls to get the statements.

Most of the “tips” are crank calls or useless leads from retirees who just want to report suspicious activity in their neighborhoods.

By mid-afternoon, I’m finished, and my brain is soup.

I could return to Bonds to get more work, but I know when I’m being banished.

I’m picking at my lunch when my phone rings.

Burgess , the screen reads, and I recoil.

I saved my partner’s phone number when we were assigned to each other, but I don’t think he’s ever called.

He’s been avoiding me, which suits me just fine.

Technically, we’re still partners, but we’ve come to a silent agreement that we both work better alone.

If what Burgess does can be called work.

I take a deep breath and answer. “Ramos.”

“Hey.” It’s Burgess. “I heard you found Ted.”

“Yeah. Dead end.”

“You busy?”

I don’t bother lying. “No, what’s up?”

“Got a call out. Someone called the station saying they found a dead body with a bird on display. I’m heading to the scene now if you want to come.”

I rise from my chair, ready to leave, but darkness passes over my vision, leaving me dizzy. Something is coming. Another body, another clue, maybe even a break in the case. I need to be ready.

When the shadows clear, Burgess is still talking. “Ramos? You there?”

“Yeah, on my way. Where should we meet?”

“I’ll pick you up.” He names an intersection that’s a few blocks away from the precinct. “Save me a wait in traffic.”

I grab my coat but don’t do anything to alert my bodyguards.

They’ve been lying low, but the department won’t look too kindly on me taking them to a crime scene.

I want to text Rex, but what would I even say?

‘Hey, I have a feeling something big is about to happen. I actually have these feelings all the time, but I’ve been too afraid to tell you about them. ’

No, I’m not going to share all that. But I do text Ivan that I’m headed out on police business and will be back by end of day.

Forty minutes later, I’m in the passenger seat of the department car Burgess got from the lot. There’s a tension radiating from him, as if he’s uncomfortable just being in my presence. He’s barely looked at me, and I’ve kept quiet because I want as little to do with him as possible.

We pull into a deserted alley, and Burgess kills the engine.

“This it?” We’re in the warehouse district. The alley is full of trash, but there’s no sign of another cop car. “Where is everyone?”

“We’re first on the scene.” There’s a distant wail of sirens, but they seem to be receding.

Something isn’t right.

“Body was found in that building.” Burgess points to the warehouse. He exits the car and I follow more slowly.

“Who called in the tip?” I ask.

“Anonymous call to the desk sergeant. He passed it to us.”

Strange that the desk sergeant would call Burgess when I’ve been sitting in the bullpen all day. Maybe he wanted to light a fire under Burgess’ ass, but it’s weird he wouldn’t at least give me a head’s up in person.

Burgess looks up and down the alley, muttering. “This place gives me the heebie-jeebies.”

“Same.” But I’m here, and I might as well do my job. I search for an entrance to the warehouse. Finally, in between two stinking dumpsters, there’s a solid metal door left cracked open.

“In here?” I ask but don’t wait for an answer. I lean into the door, pushing it open. It yields with a ghastly creak, revealing a carpet of dead birds. There are too many here for it to be a coincidence.

Burgess sees and starts swearing.

“Shhh.” I motion for him to shut up. “I think I heard something.” It was faint, but it sounded like a bang from deep inside the building.

We wait in silence. A breeze sweeps past me, stirring the feathers.

Another banging sound. Like a door shutting.

I draw my gun and call, “Hello?” I signal to Burgess, who nods and readies his weapon.

“Police. Show yourself!” I shout. I move inside, leading with my gun, peering into corners.

“Clear,” I say and cover Burgess as he moves forward.

We sweep through the dark warehouse, following the trail of dead birds.

There’s a faint sawdusty scent along with the smell of something rotting.

Maybe it’s the birds? Their tattered wings tell me they’ve been here a long time. But maybe it’s something else.

I breathe through my mouth and move swiftly through the building, clearing each room. This warehouse hasn’t been used in some time. There’s still some machinery pushed into the corner like oversized insects. Everything is covered in a layer of dust.

The trail of birds ends at a three walled room, some sort of office cubby with a desk but no chair. It’s open on one side, with a metal gate that serves as a door.

There’s a dead bird on the desk, illuminated by a stream of light that comes from the narrow windows by the ceiling. Because of the metal gate, the sunlight falls in a barred pattern, making the bird look like it’s lying in a cell.

A cage.

“Any sign of the body?” Burgess asks.

I step inside to investigate. I check behind the desk, but there’s no body. “No. Are you sure they said there was a body in here?”

A harsh clanging sound makes me turn. Burgess is behind me, sliding the metal gate shut and locking it.