Zack leaned back against one of the metal desks. “Davis Sharp’s name came up in the case we’re working on. I don’t see how it could have a connection to what you’re working, but I’ll see if we can get clearance to share what we have with you, in case it does.”
“I appreciate that,” I said. “You never know what’ll turn out to be important.”
“Are you sure it’s not some sort of naturally occurring thing?” Ryan asked. “Maybe it’s not something sinister at all.”
“No, I’m not sure,” I replied honestly, “but I find it hard to believe.” I looked back to Zack. “Kinda like I find it hard to believe that you actually go out in public with that hair.”
“You never used to be so cruel, Kara.” Zack made a comically tragic face. “You’ve obviously been spending too much time with Ryan.”
“No fair!” Ryan said with a laugh. “She summons demons, yet I’m the bad guy?”
“Hey, at least the demons don’t hate me,” I teased in retort.
Zack seemed to tense. “What do you mean by that, Kara?”
I hesitated, for some reason feeling that I’d be tattling on Ryan if I spoke about what happened during the summoning. But Ryan didn’t seem to care. “She let me watch a summoning of a reyza,” he explained. “Big fucker by the name of Kehlirik—who seemed to pretty much hate me on sight. Called me a krakkahl or some shit like that.”
“Kiraknikahl,” I corrected, but my eyes were on Zack. He hadn’t moved or twitched or reacted at all to what Ryan said—remaining so still and expressionless that I had the eerie impression that he was fighting not to react.
Then Zack grinned and it was gone. “See? It’s true, Ryan. Everyone hates you. Even the demons.”
Ryan gave a dramatic sigh. “And here I was planning to treat you two to dinner.”
“That’s a good start,” I said with an approving smile. “But I’m not sitting at the same table with him.” I jerked my chin toward Zack and his orange-tipped hair. “That is, not unless he wears a hat.”
“So very cruel,” Zack moaned. But he opened the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet and pulled out a baseball cap that had FBI in large gold letters across the front. He tugged it on and looked to me for approval. “Better?”
“Much. Now, let’s go before Ryan changes his mind about paying.”
I exited the small building with the two agents following. “Where are we going? We should probably take separate cars since I—” I broke off, going still as an odd nauseating sensation shimmered past me.
“Did you feel that?” I said after a few seconds. I hadn’t missed that the two agents had gone still and silent as well.
“I did,” Ryan replied, as Zack nodded agreement. “What was it?”
“Dunno. It’s arcane, but—” I stopped again, feeling as if something had slithered by. There was a strange hint of menace to it, but nothing I could put a finger on. I shifted into othersight, slowly scanning the parking lot, but the enhanced perception merely intensified the feel of nasty. “It’s dangerous,” I whispered, shifting back to normal sight.
“We should go,” Zack murmured, hand on his gun. “Kara, get in your car. We’ll wait until you’re in. Get on the road and we’ll call you to arrange where we’re going.”
I didn’t need any convincing. I walked quickly to my car and slid in, locking the doors immediately. I pulled out of the parking lot, glancing back to see that Ryan and Zack were getting into their car with similar dispatch. About a minute later, my cell phone rang.
“Any idea what that was?” Ryan asked.
“Not a clue,” I admitted. “I couldn’t pinpoint anything, so it might have been some sort of random wash of potency. But it was skeeving me out, so I’m totally cool with running away.”
“Same here. Look, I’ll have to give you a rain check on the free meal. Zack got a call about this Galloway case and needs to take care of some things.”
“Not a problem,” I said. “But, please, do one thing for me?”
“Yes?”
“Take Zack to a hairdresser first.”
I SCOWLED AT MY REFLECTION IN THE FULL-LENGTH mirror in my bedroom. Brian Roth’s funeral was in an hour, and my dress blue uniform hung on me like an oversize sack. My choice of attire for the funeral yesterday had been easy—dress like a detective. But this was a funeral for a fellow officer, which meant that everyone—from the chief on down—would be dusting off the dress blues. Until this moment, though, I hadn’t realized quite how much weight I’d lost, thanks to the too-stressed-to-eat diet that I’d been on for the last few months. On the one hand, I was elated that the insistent little pudge at my belly was gone. Flat stomach! Hooray! However, the idea of buying a whole new wardrobe was nowhere near as pleasant. Not on a cop’s salary.