The reports under the “Dark Angel” tab dated back eight years, but then stopped a few years ago. Some of the reports hadn’t been O’Brian’s, but they all had one thing in common. Every report was of an attack on a citizen where a vigilante had intervened. Though said in different ways, each victim had claimed that one second the thief had been on them, and the next it was as if they’d disappeared. One woman had gone on to say that she was sure it was Batman who had protected her.
Reece reclined on the hard mattress of the cheap hotel room his agency had reserved. Whatever happened to the plush accommodations he’d seen in the movies? James Bond had never stayed in a fleabag hotel. Apparently holding a license to kill didn’t mean the same as it used to.
He stared up at the water and smoke-stained ceiling, wondering how the incidents connected. Fourteen years ago, this supposed Dark Angel protected an eight-year-old girl. Six years later, he saves others, but then disappears until the Tobin Bridge event, nearly three years after the last report.
Reece logged into Massachusetts’ police database, courtesy of his boss’ security clearance. After a rudimentary search, he returned a few situations where a vigilante had stepped in to help a civilian in the last eight years. However, none of those incidents included any mention of supernatural occurrences as the others had. Maybe that was why O’Brian had left them out. Again, he thought about what a waste it was that O’Brian was dead.
Clicking through the crime reports, he ran across a slew of homicides in the last couple of months. No mention of a vigilante stepping in, but the crimes in of themselves were interesting. Every corpse had been torn in pieces. The ME’s report had used torn for a reason, he was certain. Sawed, ripped to shreds by an animal, axed, hammered, and pulled apart by two cars—that wasn’t a pretty sight, even if the dude was a drug dealer—were all terms Reece was accustomed to from his investigations in Miami and South America. But he’d never run across the term torn.
Reece clicked on the images from the medical examiner’s office, zooming in the screen to get a better look. Torn was the correct word. Pieces of flesh and muscle hung from the appendages, indicating the body had in fact been torn apart.
Had the Dark Angel in fact gone dark? Could Derrick Ashton have finally had enough with society and instead of helping, decided to punish?
Chapter Thirty-two
Michael sat across from Rebecca at the sushi restaurant they always ate at when he came to see her for information.
She twirled a lock of her short hair as she leaned toward him. “I deleted all of O’Brian’s computer files, Michael, but I can’t find the hard copies, and I know he kept them,” Rebecca said.
“So you think the same guy took them?”
Rebecca bobbed her head. She was so cute, not nearly as intimidating as some creatus women. Her decision to cut her hair in the short bob had surprised him though. She already looked so young. She’d only been home from school for a couple of years, but she was a genius when it came to computers. He’d had Rebecca earmarked for a position in Boston’s PD immediately. It wasn’t hard to do. The man who’d interviewed her for the position had fallen in love with her looks, and her mind was sharp. All she needed was a position where she had access to a computer, and she could get Michael anything in the state. Of course, he had intentions of getting her to a government office in Washington, but at thirty-seven—twenty-seven to the rest of the world—she barely looked as if she were drinking age. So he had a few years to mold her.
Rebecca took a bite of her tuna, careful to scrape off the rice. “I also tracked down the guy who recorded Kristina’s free dive off the Tobin, but he doesn’t have another copy.”
Michael cocked his head. “He gave the original to O’Brian, right?”
“Uh-uh,” she said, taking a sip of her water. “He’d given him a copy, since he had material he needed on it. When I told him we lost the copy and needed another, he said he’d gladly give us another disc, but he’d already told O’Brian that someone else from the department had taken his only copy. He said if he gets it back, he’ll call me.”
“Do you think he was telling the truth?” Michael asked.
She shrugged. “Why would he lie? He’s the one who came to the PD and offered it to O’Brian in the first place.”
Michael bit down on his lip and glanced around the restaurant. Derrick always complained about everyone else doing things to screw up, and here he’d screwed up twice. And now, as always, Michael had to clean up behind him. Derrick had thought that no one would believe a little girl’s claim of seeing a “dark angel”, and yet, O’Brian had held onto the report for fourteen years. “You got the copies for me?”
Rebecca dug in her briefcase. “Yep. All of them.”
“All? I thought there were only two,” Michael questioned.
“When I searched his computer, I found more reports filed under “dark angel”; I assumed you’d want them all.”
Michael smiled, and if he weren’t mistaken, pint-sized Rebecca gave him a little wiggle. He was flattered, but she wasn’t his type. And she was too young. Granted, she was only twelve years his junior, but—who was he kidding? He’d never had a type. Until Victoria came on the market, that is. Now, his days and nights were inundated with thoughts of her. And clearly, Jonas wanted her too. So after waiting years for Derrick to make up his mind, Jonas strolls back into town and makes a pass at her. Michael had decided not to mention to his brother about Vic and Jonas’ pow-wow last night, as he certainly didn’t need to add any additional fuel to Derrick’s animosity against Jonas. At first he’d been overjoyed when he watched Victoria fend off Jonas’ advances, but the moment Jonas had turned to leave, she’d bolted after him.
He did have to be thankful to Jonas for one thing, though; he’d told her that both of them had liked her since high school, so maybe she wouldn’t be blindsided when he confronted her.
“Michael?”
Michael lifted his head to see Rebecca’s eyes as they bore into his. “I’m sorry, what?” He’d heard her speak, but had lost total focus on the issue at hand as his mind battled with how to approach Victoria. All of a sudden, he felt as though he were out of time, realizing if he didn’t do something quickly, he’d lose her forever.
Rebecca batted her long black eyelashes over her liquid-ink eyes that reminded him of a fawn in their innocence. “I asked if you’d like to meet me after work.”
“Oh.” He gulped, not wanting to offend such a pretty little thing. If he couldn’t get Victoria’s attention, perhaps Rebecca could be his type. He flashed a sideways smile, the one his mother always told him would get him his way. “I can’t tonight. Raincheck?”
She chewed on the tip of her nail as she stood up. “Sure. Let me know if you need anything else.” She tromped off, obviously knowing he had no intention of taking her up on her proposal. There weren’t many secrets within the family. If Derrick and Jonas had known he was in love with Victoria, more than likely everyone did.
Michael threw a fifty on the bill and left the restaurant. He had one more stop to make before he did anything else.
Before exiting his Dodge Charger, Michael grabbed his ID from the glove box. Though technically he was a medical doctor by degree, he’d stepped away from the profession, seeing a need elsewhere within the family. Derrick was skeptical at first, but he’d realized in this day and age, they needed his expertise. In the last twelve years, Michael had situated creatus in high-level positions around the globe. So if anything ever got out of control, a couple clicks of a mouse, and the evidence would disappear.