Free Generation 18: The Spook Squad 2 by Keri Arthur Page A

been opened.
    “We’ll track him down, see if he saw anything.” He frowned and studied the corpse for several seconds. “Someone must have seen the killer leave this time. If she left in human form, she would have had blood all over her.”
    “Has anyone checked the restrooms?”
    “You up to it?” The trembling in her hands had definitely eased and color was back in her cheeks.
    She nodded and walked from the room. He squatted next to the body again. It didn’t make any sense. The killer had been so careful up until now, so why do this? And why accelerate the time frame? He scanned the room to check if they’d missed anything, but there was nothing he could see. He swore softly and thrust a hand through his hair as he pushed to his feet. They needed to catch this psycho before he or she killed again, and yet there was nothing—absolutely nothing—here that could help them.
    His wristcom beeped. “Yes?” he said, scanning the room yet again.
    “Think you’d better come down to the restroom.”
    Sam’s voice was devoid of all inflection, giving no hint as to what she’d found. “On my way.”
    He made his way over to the main door. O’Neal stared at his com-unit, viewing the security tapes.
    “Anything?” Gabriel said.
    O’Neal shook his head. “Nothing yet.”
    “Did anyone check the restrooms either on this floor or on the floors above and below?”
    “No, sir. Not yet.”
    Slack as well as dumb. Gabriel shook his head, took off his plastic glove and dumped it in the nearby bin. Then he headed down the hall to the restrooms. Sam was waiting outside the ladies’—which could have meant their killer was a female, as the presence of Heat at the last crime scene seemed to imply. Or maybe it was simply a case of the ladies’ room being closer.
    “What did you find?” he said, the moment he saw her.
    “A few spots of blood splattered across the mirror. A bloodstained sweater wrapped in plastic and stuffed deep into the trash can.” She pushed the door open and entered. Her movements were still slow, but becoming steadier.
    He could only shake his head in amazement. She shouldn’t even be alive, for Christ’s sake, and here she was, walking and talking almost normally. Whatever race she was, it was a damn strong one.
    “So our murderer came down here to clean up?”
    “It would appear so.”
    The trash can’s cabinet door stood ajar. The plastic bag was easy enough to see, wedged about halfway down. A CSM hovered nearby, light flashing to indicate it was recording.
    He put on fresh gloves, reached into the bin and grabbed the plastic bag, holding it by two fingers in an effort not to foul whatever prints might be available. Blood smeared the plastic inside and out.
    “Military green,” she murmured. “Available in any disposal store.”
    “Yes.” He tapped his wristcom and called O’Neal, instructing the young detective to bring the crime kit down. Then he glanced back at her. “Where are the blood spots?”
    She pointed to an arc of five microscopic spots. Maybe the murderer had flicked her hair, spraying droplets across the mirror, but how had Sam spotted them?
He
could barely see them, and his hawk-sharpened senses were more attuned to things like this.
    “The murderer is desperate.” Sam stared at the spots, her expression becoming distant once again. “She knows we’re closing in. She needs to get the job finished. Needs to fulfill promises made.”
    Her voice was as distant as her expression. He’d seen this type of thing before—the SIU employed several psychics who could read the emotions that lingered in otherwise empty rooms. But Sam had been tested repeatedly for psychic gifts, and she had repeatedly come up negative. That is, until she reached the SIU, where she’d registered as a neutral—a feat that should have been impossible.
    Finley had said that it implied her abilities were so strong that she was able to void all the tests done on her.
    “What promises?” He