I gulp dry air. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m glad you asked.” He makes a soft sound of disapproval, as if he’d rather not be making this call. “I need a little something.”
“Do you happen to have a warrant for that something?”
“I have a lot of things.”
But no warrant. Ha.
“What’s in this for me?” I’m sharper than I intend to be. A human chopstick, patience frayed.
“I seem to remember you had a couple questions about your footage. Perhaps you’d like some answers.”
He didn’t offer me anything in return last time. He just came in and took.
“Miss Reeves, are you there?”
The compress feels sludgy and irritating; my palm has turned numb under the pressure I’ve unconsciously applied. I press harder, willing myself to speak. “Yes. Which files do you need? I still have your email address, so I can send them right over.”
“This particular piece of evidence will need to be handed over in person.” He chooses each word carefully. Takes his time. “Are you alone?”
“I am.” Adrenaline spurts through me, kissing heavy limbs awake.
“Good. I have to impress upon you the importance of confidentiality. If I suspect for a second that you’ve divulged this to anyone, our deal is void.”
“Understood.”
He clears his throat. “I’m assuming you have access to Aeron Lore’s apartment?”
“Of course. But why—”
“I need a DNA sample. Do you think you can collect a couple hairs for me, Miss Reeves? Or a toothbrush, if it won’t be missed.”
“Surely you already have his DNA on record.” I peel the compress back, peer beneath it at the sliver of dead white skin hanging beside orange-pink underflesh. Anything to make me sound less flustered than I am.
“Not Aeron’s. The sample I need is from Asher.”
Heat permeates the scratch with a salty sting. “What? Why?”
“Suffice to say I don’t think he’s Blood Honey,” the agent says dryly.
“I’m not doing it unless you tell me why.”
“It’s nothing to be concerned about. Really. I just have a couple questions that need answering, is all.”
“If you’d care to tell me them, perhaps I can answer them anyway.”
“I seem to remember you offering to help me in any way you could.” Something playful underscores his tone. He wants to placate me.
He can fuck off.
“Why do you want a sample from Aeron’s brother? What could he possibly have done?” And then I remember the Go Fund Me campaign with its throwaway nutjob insinuations; that isn’t his brother. It’s his SON.
The room dips a few degrees colder.
“Neither of us has time to run in circles. You want answers? Get me the sample, and get it quietly. The sooner the better.” He reels all this off like it’s his mother’s grocery list. “Do you think you can do this?”
“No,” I spit down the receiver, “I don’t.”
I hang up and throw the phone down, anger curling my free fingers into tight fists.
Three messages beep through instantaneously; two missed calls from Aeron followed a brief text from him, demanding that I check my email immediately. Bossypants, I type back, smiling faintly. His idea of an emergency is usually a cold coffee.
READ YOUR FUCKING EMAIL, comes the instant reply.
I’m not the only one on edge, it seems. If Aeron is agitated by the Blood Honey case, when he hears about Agent Chen’s new point of interest, he’ll be livid. But I need to save that for when I see him in person.
Again, my phone beeps.
READ IT. NOW.
Oh, for God’s sake.
So I open my inbox, and I flick through, and my gaze settles on a forward from Aeron’s personal email with the title Regarding the Blood Honey murders.
I read it. I read the attachment.
Strange alchemy in my belly. Rocks in my throat.
Vomit spurts hot across my shining glass desk.