The cadets absolutely hate the fact that the class is so early, but I appreciate the hell out of the Academy's director, Alyce Cooper, for scheduling it then. It works out perfectly for nocturnals like me, and the cadets who are non-nocturnals get the benefit of having their brains jostled early in the morning. It’s a good experience for life as a FUC agent.
"I'm going to put you away for now," I tell the bones, "but that doesn't mean I'll forget you. I'll find your identity and give it back to you." With gentle hands, I start putting the remains away.
"Agent Starling." My name spoken in a loud, deep baritone voice makes me squeak in surprise.
Echoing bloodbag!
I whip around to see who has invaded my lab. It's too late in the evening to be one of my students stopping by. My office hours ended a while ago. I flip up my magnifying glasses, settling them on the top of my head. They slide into my hair, pining the long red streaks back.
Oh, sweet mother of Thor. Who is that?
"Do you think you could put a stop to that racket?" The stranger gestures to the air, no doubt meaning the song currently blaring from the lab's speakers. But that's only because I'm completely distracted by the huge blond god standing in my lab. My skin feels hot and flushed as I dig around through the pile of cases. Do they have to make remotes so small? Sure, I can find a hairline fracture in a bone, but remotes? Forget it.
“Ha!” I shout in victory, finding the damn thing and pressing pause on one of my favorite songs.
My instant attraction to the stranger takes me by surprise because Tall, Gold, and Muscular is nothing like my usual type. Even though he's wearing a black thermal long-sleeved shirt and a pair of beige cargo pants, his muscles seem to be rippling like some kind of insane optical illusion. I even start to wonder what it would be like to run my fingers through his short, cropped beard. It looks soft, and my fingers itch to confirm my very scientific hypothesis.
"Thanks." His voice is a sexy rumble that reminds me of rumpled up sheets and long, steamy showers.
"Not a fan of Cradle of Rot?" I bat my eyelashes, playing innocent. He sure doesn't look like someone who would even know that Cradle of Rot is only one of the best death metal bands in the world. This man might be a walking sex dream, but he is as straight-edged as a scalpel blade. It’s written on every molecule of his insane body.
"No, I can’t say I am," he answers, eying me in what can only be described as pure shock. It's okay. I'm used to that look. I come by it honestly. "How can you think when that is on?" he asks, furrowing his brow in complete consternation.
"It helps me clear my head for one," I reply. "And secondly, this is my lab, so no one dares to question my tastes in music. Especially not random dudes."
I'm taunting him again for his dig at my favorite band. And because he is making my heart pitter-patter.
Unacceptable.
Truth is, if he has found himself in my lab, he was given clearance by Director Cooper to be in here. A special pass is needed to get through the three different security doors that lead down to the sub-basement.
"Right." He pulls out a badge from his back pocket, making his biceps bulge.
I can't help the way my eyes track the veins running along the corded muscles. There's a lot of healthy, delicious blood running through him, and I can't stop myself from noticing.
"I'm Agent Thrussell with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I'm the point agent between FUC and the RCMP. But that's not really why I'm here right now. We require your expertise on Sveta Markov. She's escaped from prison."
The tray of instruments I'm holding clatters to the floor in the loudest, most unpleasant clang. The sound rattles in my head as I blink at him, trying to make sense of his words.
Impossible. She couldn't have escaped.
Judging by the frown on his handsome face and the tension in his beautifully wide shoulders, Agent Thrussell is telling the truth.
My mother, the most prolific serial killer of the century, has flown the roost.
2
Mila
My mother escaped.
I repeat the words over and over again, willing sense into them.
"Agent Starling, are you all right?" Agent Thrussell asks, his brows drawn together in concern.
"Yeah." It comes out in a squeak. "Yup." I try again and fail to sound unfazed. I flip my hair forward, twirling the edges around my fingers. "Yes, I'm fine."
There.
I sounded extremely convincing.
I step around the fallen tools and reach for my phone, which was lying on a pile of files a few moments ago. "Have you warned Edward?" I ask the attractive harbinger of doom.
"Who?" Agent Thrussell questions, his worry turning to surprise. How could he not know who Edward is? Agent Delicious’s ignorance can mean only one thing.
My dad has no idea she's escaped.
Earthquakes of dread go off along my spine as I search for my phone.
Where is the damn thing? The device might be smart, but it sure makes me feel dumb when I can't find it. I flip the documents over, moving around my work area, searching for the fucking piece of plastic that holds all of my precious information. It needs a pager or something so I can spot it easier in times of crisis.
"What are you doing?" Agent Thrussell asks. "Did you hear me? I'm here to get your expertise on Markov. No one knows her better than you do."
"Bah," I snort, shaking my head. "If only that were
