The brunette federal agent was clad in a wide-collared beige overcoat that now hung open to reveal her petite figure hugged in an intriguing fashion by a shimmery, metallic-blue cocktail dress. Completing the ensemble, she wore matching satin high-heels and a splash of unpretentious silver jewelry. Her shoulder-length hair was elegantly styled, and her face had seen a very tasteful brush with a handful of cosmetics.
Ben let out a blatant, teasing wolf-whistle as he stopped and did a double take. “Whoa, the Feeb’s wearin’ girl clothes! Nice legs, Mandalay.”
“Watch it, Storm, or I’ll call your wife!” she warned jokingly.
“I’ll risk it, ‘cause I’m just dyin’ ta’ know where you’re hidin’ your Sig in that getup,” he returned with a grin, referring to her sidearm.
“I’m afraid that’s a government secret,” she quipped then smiled over at me. “Hi, Rowan. I see he’s got you involved in this one up to your eyeballs.”
“Heya, Constance,” I acknowledged. “I thought you were on some kind of security assignment?”
“Visiting dignitary,” she said, as she nodded and held the front of her overcoat open wide for a brief moment. “Just finished working the farewell party. A real Yawwwn if you know what I mean.” With a quick nod she canted her head toward me. “What’s your excuse?”
“Felicity’s grandparent’s anniversary party.”
“Watchin’ after a vip, huh,” Ben snorted the acronym as a word instead of spelling it out. “I would’a figured that for a Secret Service gig.”
“Normally it would be,” she answered with a sigh. “It’s a long story. Suffice it to say he’s gone, and I’m all yours now. Would you like to bring me up to speed? All I know is what you told Agent Bartlett and what’s been on the news. The only reason I knew you would be here is that I returned your call figuring I’d leave a voice mail and got a live person instead.”
Someone loudly cleared his throat nearby. Ben held up a finger to Constance and turned to the evidence technician. “Yeah, what’s up?”
“We’re all finished out here,” he said. “It’s all yours.”
“Get anything?” my friend asked.
“A few smudges on the sliding door. Nothing of any consequence. There’s a Bible out there, King James Version. Hardback, like you’d find in just about any bookstore. It’s bagged.”
“Was it marked in any way?” I questioned while pawing at the insistent itch on my forearm.
“Yeah,” the tech said with a nod as he referenced a sheaf of papers attached to a worn clipboard. “Plain Jane cardboard bookmark. Looks like a standard yellow hi-liter was used on a passage in the book of First Samuel. Chapter fifteen, verse twenty-three. For rebellion is…”
I interrupted and finished the passage for him. “…As the sin of witchcraft, and stubbornness is as iniquity and idolatry. Because thou hast rejected the word of the Lord, he hath also rejected thee from being king.”
“Yeah. That’s it,” he acknowledged, the paused and nodded toward my absently clawing hand. “Something wrong with your arm?”
“Trust me,” I answered. “You don’t really want to know.”
“Anything else?” Ben queried, cutting him off before he could comment.
“Well, the rope looks like regular utility clothesline you can get at any hardware store. We’re gonna check it out. The symbol on the door was spray-painted. We took samples. That’s about it.”
“Okay, thanks.” Ben gave the tech a quick pat on the shoulder. “Do me a favor, will ya? Check downstairs and see if the coroner is here yet. I wanna get this body moved as soon as possible. The uniforms can’t hold off those reporters down there for much longer, and we really don’t need ‘er showin’ up on the ten o’clock news.”
“Will do.”
“Thanks.”
The technicians were barely out the door when Ben turned to me with a concerned gaze. “What’s goin’ on with the arm? I thought it was all healed up.”
“It was,” I answered and began tugging off my coat. “But it started itching again earlier this evening.”
“Why do ya’ think that is?”
“Well, obviously I’m being told something. Maybe I was being warned about this murder.”
“Ahem.” Constance mimicked the earlier noise made by the tech to grab our attention. “You guys want to fill me in? What’s wrong with your arm, Rowan?”
“Show ‘er, white man,” Ben told me.
He held my coat and jacket for me after I wrestled out of them, and I proceeded to unbutton my cuff and roll back the shirtsleeve. There was no blood soaking through the fabric, so it apparently had not yet progressed as far as it had the last time.
Agent Mandalay stepped closer to have a look as I finished peeling back the material and turned my forearm upward to bring it into view. The faint pink scar of the original wound was barely visible as a pale outline against my brightly flushed skin. The flesh of my forearm was hot and already beginning to take on shades of purple and blue as the unseen force bruised me. On the surface of my arm was a raised circular welt encompassing a large X bisected by a large P.
“Christ, Rowan!” Constance exclaimed as she reached out and gingerly touched my arm. “How in the world did that happen?”
“You shoulda seen the first one,” Ben interjected.
“I think it’s a sign from the other side,” I told her as I reached up and started to dig my nails in for a blissful scratch.
“Don’t,” she admonished and grabbed my wrist. “You’ll just make it worse. What do you mean a sign from the other side? I thought you saw things in visions or something?”
“I do,” I explained. “But communication from an ethereal plane can take different forms. I think someone is trying to tell me something, and I just haven’t figured out what, so they are getting a little insistent.”
“Damn, Rowan,” she muttered. “You’re like something out of a horror movie.”
The door to the balcony was still hanging wide open, and the temperature inside the room was spiraling toward equilibrium with the frigid night. Outside, a thumping echo sounded rhythmically in the distance. I realized as we were standing there that I was beginning to shiver.
“Guys,” I said between teeth that were starting to chatter. “It’s getting a little on the chilly side. Mind if I put my coat back on?”
“Wait a minute,” Ben insisted. “Look at your arm again. Does it look a little strange to you?”
“I think that’s already been established, Storm,” Constance told him in a sardonic voice.
“No, I mean look at the symbol,” he huffed in exasperation and directed our gaze with his finger. “It’s like a twin image or somethin’.”
“Twin image?” I asked.
I was so intent on what Ben was trying to point out that I scarcely noticed that the reverberating clamor outside had grown louder.
“You ever seen a coin that’s been double-struck?” he asked. “Like that. One image overlappin’ the other.”
“He’s right,” Constance agreed. “Look.”
Upon closer inspection, I could see exactly what Ben was trying to say. The welts that formed the itching Monogram of Christ on my arm were offset slightly over another similar set. The blemish was carefully enjoined to scribe two circles encompassing a matched pair of X’s bisected by P’s.
“Whaddaya think that’s s’posed ta’ mean?” Ben queried.
I didn’t get a chance to answer him. Just as I opened my mouth to speak, a violent rush of wind and icy snow blasted through the open sliding door. Outside, amid a thunderous din, the light of a small sun was born into the chilled darkness.
CHAPTER 12
“Sonofabitch! Goddammit!” Ben exclaimed at the top of his lungs. “That’s gotta be Street!”
