Psychobyte Read Online Free Page B

Protected.
     
    Mitch placed a plate of scrambled eggs in front of me and a fork in my hand. Orange juice, coffee and eggs. Breakfast.
    The radio announced traffic building up on the Beltway. I pushed the eggs around my plate. Mitch talked about the day ahead of him. Meetings, contracts, tenders, and all the things he was working to resolve before our wedding and honeymoon.
    “You’re quiet,” he commented, refilling his coffee. “And slow. You’re usually on your second cup by now.” He replaced the pot and ate more eggs.
    I pushed another forkful of eggs around my plate.
    Mitch looked up from his breakfast. “Not into eggs today? I could make you some toast?”
    “I’m not very hungry.”
    Everything stopped. I saw my words flashing neon pink, orange, and green, as they hung over the table. Mitch lowered his fork, letting it rest on the edge of his plate. I watched him thinking. The words slipped from the still air and splashed into my OJ and coffee.
    He smiled.
    Life began again.
    “I’m not surprised. You’re working too hard.” His gentle tone tugged at my heart. “Eat a little?”
    I forked scrambled eggs into my mouth and willed them down my throat. Counting in my head to distract myself and not touching the juice or coffee. That really would be pushing my luck. In less than twenty-four hours coffee had gone from being my drink of choice to a roasted bean concoction from the devil himself.
    Mitch touched my hand. “What you said this morning – was the nicest thing you’ve ever said.”
    I grinned. “Yeah, I kinda got that from your, ah, reaction.”
    “And she’s back ...” he said with a laugh.
    “And she’s gotta catch a killer.” I stood up. Breakfast settled.
    “Take care out there today,” Mitch said, hugging me tight.
    I wished I could stay wrapped in his embrace or take his hug with me. Tears threatened.
    What on earth?
     

Five
    Burning Bridges
    Another bathroom and a new, yet familiar crime scene; neither of those things ideal. My mind skipped over the lifeless body of the latest victim. My eyes scanned the room. The great start to the day overshadowed by death. Stepping back to the doorway, I made a call.
    “We’ve got another crime scene,” I said as Kurt answered his phone.
    “Same?”
    “Yes.”
    “Send me the address and I’m on my way.”
    I texted the address to Sam, Lee and Kurt. Meanwhile, Serena Sorensen needed someone to talk to. Dropping my pack on the floor, I crouched down by her head.
    “I’m sorry this how your life ended, Serena.” She said nothing. “I’ll need your help to find the person who did this.”
    Serena didn’t make a miraculous recovery to aid me in my quest. Her cloudy eyes stared at the shower wall and gave nothing away. I scrunched lower until our heads were level and looked around the room. A small piece of white poking out from the woven cane of the laundry hamper alerted me to a possible note. I stood up, with care. Not feeling a hundred percent I knew that standing up too fast wouldn’t help. The thought of having to explain how I contaminated a crime scene was less than appealing. From my pack, I took an evidence bag and pair of disposable forceps. With care, I extracted the piece of folded paper from the weave.
    Same writing as on the previous note at the last crime scene. ‘It wasn’t easy.’
    Bagging the note, I hoped that meant she fought back. A quick visual inspection of her arms didn’t show defensive wounds; two fingernails were broken and jagged. No water on that hand. Chances are DNA might be under the broken fingernails. Using a larger paper evidence bag, I slipped it over her hand, securing it at the wrist with paper tape.
    “Serena, I’m going to leave you for a little bit,” I said. “Try not to dislodge that bag, yeah?”
    Probably a good thing she didn’t respond.
    A police officer waited by the front door of the apartment. “Ma’am?”
    “Secure the scene, officer. No one but FBI goes inside the