Blood of Gemini

Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Of course Ramirez was waiting for me when I got home, leaning against his police cruiser with his legs crossed. I gritted my teeth, hoping he hadn’t violated any laws while zigzagging through the back streets of Phoenix. One of the perks of being a cop, I huffed to myself, biting my tongue in the process.

Ramirez smirked as he took in my sour welcome. “We hadn’t finished our discussion or our picnic, for that matter.”

“Winslow Clark makes for bad conversation, not to mention, poor digestion.” Ramirez chuckled, forcing me to c**k my head to one side. “I hardly think this is the appropriate time for your amusement, Detective.”

“I didn’t say it was.” He continued to peruse my expression, lingering on my body language before frowning. “So we’re reverting back to ‘Detective’ now, are we?”

I shifted under the weight of his scrutiny. “I don’t make the rules, Detective, I just roll with them as they come.”

“Says the girl hell-bent on going after a killer by herself.”

I was irritated he had my number and managed to get my goat at the same time. Baaah. “I’d hardly be alone.”

Ramirez snorted. “Oh yeah, drag your best friend and canine into it. That’s worked out well for you in the past.”

I didn’t appreciate his haughty tone and threw a few less than ladylike adjectives out before adding, “If memory serves, we managed all right.”

Immune to my colorful language, Ramirez shook his head. “And nearly got yourselves killed in the process. Next time, you may not be so lucky. Before you go bounding off like a woman obsessed, I suggest you give that some serious thought.”

“I’ll take your suggestions under advisement.” Ramirez scowled but kept his thoughts and own bounty of adjectives to himself. “In the meantime, I’d still like to know how Clark managed to worm his miserable way out of round-the-clock monitoring in a facility supposedly locked down like the Loop 101 during rush hour.” He nodded, noting my sarcasm was a special gift reserved for the Feds. There had been no love lost where they were concerned.

“And I would have gladly shared what I had learned, had you not shoved me off and stormed away.” Summoning every ounce of maturity I could muster, I responded by sticking my tongue out. “Now that you’ve had your moment, can we go inside and finish our conversation?”

“Hmph...I don’t suppose you’d have any of those sandwiches left, would you?”

Ramirez laughed and shook his head. “You’d have to ask Nicoh about that.”

I looked at the massive canine, who was more interested in snapping at flies than the humans who had the audacity to ignore his presence. Catching one—a fly, not a human—he smacked his lips before moving on to the next.

Disgusted, I stomped into the house. “Never mind, I wasn’t really that hungry anyway.”

I offered Ramirez a beer but he declined, an indication the recent call had not only brought bad news, it had placed him back on duty. It also meant the longer he lingered around babysitting me, the more time it gave Clark to plot his evil deeds, so I gestured for him to begin.

Ramirez scruffed the back of his head, a gesture that suggested he was revisiting the information he’d received, if not editing it for my benefit. “Details are sketchy at best, though I’m sure they’re trying to keep things close to the vest while they investigate. Initial rumblings point to an inside job.”

“Ya think?” My tone might have come out a bit snottier than I’d intended but it mirrored my emotions.

Ramirez ignored it and continued, “In the meantime, they are supplying pertinent information to the appropriate agencies, but warning them to keep it under wraps from the media to prevent the public from panicking. Or impeding their ability to track his movements.”

I grunted, unimpressed by the sparse details the Feds had collected to this point. It had been nearly three weeks since they’d misplaced Clark. Given all the state, local, foreign and probably extraterrestrial resources they had at their disposal, I would have expected something more promising than he was probably somewhere in the state of Arizona.

Granted, it was a fairly large state but a fifty-mile radius would have been nice. I’m pretty sure my roommate, best friend and news hound extraordinaire, Leah Campbell, would have nailed down his geo-coordinates in a quarter of the time...unless... I looked at Ramirez and tried to gauge his BS meter. When his face revealed nothing, l should have remembered he was a skilled poker player.

“So they’ve got nothing. Clark could be on my doorstep in two weeks, two days...or two minutes.” Ramirez’s silence provided my answer. Even without the benefit of their fancy technology and vast network of resources, I could have told them one thing was certain.

Clark would come.

Ramirez and I had nothing more to discuss, so I thanked him for the well-intentioned afternoon and saw him on his not-so-merry way before placing two quick calls. The first was to Leah, my partner-in-crime, urging her to come home when she could and the other to an acquaintance the two of us had met months earlier while trying to identify my twin sister Victoria’s killer.

A former bureau chief with the Chicago Tribune twenty-plus years earlier, Mort Daniels had made more than a pet project of the field of genetic engineering. Specifically, projects related to the top two research facilities at the time: Alcore and GenTech. Alison Anders, a research assistant at Alcore, had been our biological mother and Martin Singer, a geneticist for Alcore’s primary competitor, GenTech, our father. Had being the operative word in both cases.

Martin had also worked with another scientist, Theodore Winslow, on a human cloning project GenTech had tagged as Gemini, until they’d had a falling out. Quite literally. The result of that fallout had cost my biological parents their lives. But despite their deaths, Theodore held onto his grudge, ingraining his own share of entitlement—and revenge—into his son.

Though Leah and I hadn’t known at the time, Mort Daniels’ history lesson would soon place us on a collision course with that son, who had changed his name to Winslow Clark. The play on his father’s name was intentional, as was murdering my sister and leaving her body in a dumpster behind my house at his father’s behest. Now Clark was making his second run at doing the same to me. I intended to thwart his attempt, but needed to locate him first. Even though Mort had retired from the newspaper several years earlier—choosing to spend his days tending to his yard in Ahwatukee—Leah and I agreed, if anyone could get a line on Clark, Mort was our guy.

The elderly gentleman answered his phone after two rings and once we exchanged pleasantries, I dove into the purpose of my call. Once finished, my leg bounced in anticipation as I awaited his response.

“Clark didn’t just walk out of a maximum security facility, pat the guard on the arm, thank him for an enchanting visit and disappear off into the sunset—in this case, the Valley of the Sun—he had help. Powerful help.”

“The Feds think there was an inside connection. By ‘powerful help’ are we talking about prison staff…or the warden? Clark’s shrink? Both?”

“Maybe.” The way he drew it out told me he wasn’t convinced. “I’d like to check on a few things. Mind if I get back to you in the morning?”

Despite my disappointment, I managed a courteous and even gracious response before ending the connection. As I stared at the cell phone in my hand, l contemplated the probability his efforts would yield the results I needed in time.

Clark was like a tsunami, a horrific monster that thrived on obliterating the unsuspecting innocents in its path. But unlike those who fell victim to its unforgiving, callous devastation, I had the benefit of anticipation. And knowledge. And while that advantage would mean looking into the monster’s eyes as he mowed me down and choked out my final breath, I also had the benefit of something more. I was no victim. Nor was l innocent.

When I went down, I was taking the monster straight to Hell with me.