had just shared. The twisting features stopped, not into a look of anger or surprise or hate as she’d expected, but one of comprehension.
“I knew there was something about you, but I had no idea.”
“I am afraid there are a lot of things you do not know about me.”
20
Detective Angela Petersen still couldn’t believe she’d agreed to go out to dinner with Dyllon. She knew better than to get too close to the locals. Yet, here she was, sitting across from him in a low-lit restaurant at a cozy table meant for two.
She tried to keep her gaze on the menu, but every once in awhile, she’d look up and catch him staring at her. The flame from the votive candle reflected in his sea-blue eyes and emphasized the definition of his cheekbones.
Angela set her menu down. “When I agreed to dinner, I assumed it was to discuss the case.”
“It is,” Dyllon replied indifferently.
A waiter appeared wearing a tux and carrying a bottle of expensive Merlot, which he presented to Dyllon before opening it and showing the captain the cork. Dyllon nodded and the attendant poured a small sample into the glass. After swirling the red liquid, Dyllon tasted it. He placed the glass back on the table, and the server topped his off, and filled hers as well.
“Then what’s all this about?” Angela pointed her finger at his black suit, which made her feel completely underdressed, in a grey angora sweater and a pair of jeans. “And that?” she asked, swishing her hand to the side at the dining room, where all the tables only contained couples on dates, all in suits and dresses.
Dyllon shrugged. “The food here is great.”
“This is a little above and beyond.”
“Look. We’ve been working together for…what…close to three weeks. Every night you go back to the motel, alone. I thought it’d be a nice change for you.”
“Why would you care?”
He blinked. “Because, whether you like it or not, we’re working together. Don’t you ever go out with people you work with at The Center?”
It was Angela’s turn to blink. “No,” she said, as if the fact should be obvious.
“How do you work efficiently without camaraderie?”
“Much like here. I’m head of security. When I give an order, it’s followed.”
Dyllon gave her an empty look as a different waiter came and took their orders. When they were alone again, Angela leaned forward and said, “I just don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
“I’m not getting any ideas.” He collapsed against the back of his chair. “I’m tired. You’re tired. We both needed a break. So just enjoy. I was only taking you out as a friendly gesture.”
The corner of her mouth drew back. Life away from The Center certainly was different. Time for socializing was limited back home. So, maybe…“Friends?” she said.
“That’s it.”
Angela relaxed. “I’m still Detective Petersen.”
“You can still call me Dyllon.”
She smiled. “Touche.”
“Now, since we’ve ordered, and you’re somewhat more…relaxed than usual. I have some news.” Dyllon pulled out a brown file he had hidden in his lap and handed it to Angela.
Interest piqued, she leaned forward. “What’s this?”
“Open it.”
Angela flipped to the first page, titled SUPPLIES, with a list of dates in one column and items in another. She glanced over office supplies, personal effects, lists of groceries, and medical necessities. “What?”
“Keep reading.”
Turning to the next page, she saw much of the same type of ordering with Davis’ signature scrawled at the bottom. “The park ranger?”
Pleased with himself, Dyllon folded his arms over his chest. “Seems he’s been doing some excessive ordering. Not much. You’ve got quite the nose, Detective. Seems Davis might be an appropriate suspect.” Dyllon held out his hand. “May I?”
Angela returned the folder and he put it sideways on the table.
“A lot of effort went into how carefully these orders were placed. An order for extra blankets, a year ago. And look here,” Dyllon said, pointing to a longer list, “an abundance of medical supplies just last month.” He flipped through to another page. “Two years ago, too.” He leaned back with a smug look.
Flabbergasted, she stared at him. “And he was never questioned?”
“Why would they? His ordering might’ve been more than needed, but not often enough to arouse suspicion. A few extra boxes of bandages, two extra bottles of aspirin. Rangers often overstock so they don’t have to drive hours into town every week. Plus, the time between each order.” He shrugged.
“I knew it,” Angela said, anger in her voice. She placed her hands on the edge of the table and pushed her seat back.
“Where are you going?”
“He needs to be questioned.”
Dyllon held up his hands. “Wait.”
“What?” she snapped.
“What do you think will happen if you question him now?”
Sighing, Angela leaned back in her chair. “Enlighten me.”
A brow rose. “He’ll lie.”
“I have ways of making people talk.”
“Do they always work?”
She wanted to say “yes,” she could be very persuasive, but the truth was that it seldom worked. It seemed the Renegades and members of the Resistance were extremely loyal. “Sometimes.”
“It’s your call, Detective, but I think we should watch him. Maybe he’ll lead us to their camp.”
Of course Dyllon was right; it’d be better to wait. Angela hoped the doctor would see things their way. She fished her cell from her bag, saying, “I have to report our progress.”
“Of course.”
Aalexis stood against the far wall in the rectangular, soundproof room, directly behind seven rifles. The long muzzles pointed toward the front of the room, but none were sighted on the black-silhouetted target hanging from a long cable. The alignments were off by a few degrees.
Dr. George Hirch held no doubt she’d be successful. Aalexis’ deadly ability lay concealed by platinum-blond hair cascading over her shoulders in beautiful ringlets and a cherub face, even if her facade remained as devoid of expression as her eyes.
George pushed the intercom button. “When I give the signal.”
“Yes,
He checked the monitors one more time, then flipped the switch. A red light inside the room flashed, right before all seven rifles fired in sequence. In a blinding flare and seven loud pops, it was over. Whiffs of smoke extended from the muzzles and dissipated, and the sound of gunfire echoed into nothingness. Clicking sounded as the target moved toward the doctor’s booth.
As expected, every shot drilled right through the head. Seven distinct punctures in a perfect circle.
Aalexis was toying with him.
George glanced at the faux angel. His daughter remained statue-like, as if the experiment bored her. As if nothing challenged her anymore.
Still, she was a sight to behold. A beautiful sight. A memory Dr. Hirch would retain of how powerful his
