Touched (The Marnie Baranuik Files) Read Free Page A

purse.”
    “Find that hard to believe,” Batten replied. His attitude made me want to put him in a head lock, so I eye-rolled my focus back to Chapel.
    “If you came here to ask me what a revenant needs a girl's head for, Agent Chapel, you wasted the drive. I don't know.”
    “We're not profiling a human being.” Batten edged forward in his chair. “The why doesn't matter. The laws are clear on vampire crimes.”
    “Revenant,” I corrected stubbornly.
    “We find it, we stake it.”
    “There's no we.” I made a gloved fist on the desk. “You find him, you stake him. Butchering men was never part of my job description.”
    His knuckles whitened on the corner of my desk. “They're not men.”
    Chapel cleared his throat; the noise was soft and polite, yet succeeded in withering Batten and I like two schoolyard scrappers caught by a teacher. I wilted back into my chair. Batten went to the window to finger apart the wood slats of the blinds and peer out across the front yard, where their black SUV in the driveway practically screamed federal law enforcement. Hail continued to strike the glass in front of his unreadable face.
    “We don't believe it's the primary scene,” Chapel continued. “Draining someone isn't a silent crime and takes time. This alley is in a high traffic spot in lower downtown Denver. She would have called out for help.”
    “Not necessarily,” I told him. “If the revenant was over a century dead, he may have been able to override her attempts to scream with mind control. Some develop it, some don't.”
    “Has yours?” Batten said without turning around.
    My already taut shoulders tightened a notch, the desire to spin-kick the holy shit out of him quelled only by the fact that I can't kick without falling on my ass. Also, there was the probability that Kill-Notch would grab my foot en route to his face and snap it in half.
    “It's conceivable that she sat there in silence while he drained her,” I said.
    “Maybe you can't help us,” Batten conceded, returning to claim space up against my desk as he got in my face. “But is there any way I can pry your stubborn ass out of this little log mausoleum here to try?”
    Shit. Don't look at his zipper don't look at his zipper…
    Amazingly, my eyes obeyed and met his with a cool steadiness I didn't feel; I was fine until I realized memories of our enthusiastic sex were written all over his face, subtle but unmistakable, a hot glint in his eye meant only for me. My self-control jerked off-balance like a high heel on a patch of ice. Mental clutzery, my specialty. I was forced to swallow hard, broadcasting the direction of my thoughts. One corner of his lips twitched into a knowing curve. He returned to his chair, leaning back, knees open in invitation. Point: Batten.
    I forced my eyes on the last picture; grossing myself out helped. This photo captured the slight headless body plus a set of women's long legs. Instant recognition sucker-punched me: Michael Kors wedges, opaque nylons on shapely calves, silver ankle bracelet with dangly charms. Silver bells. I knew the clappers tinkled with every step she took.
    I slapped the folder closed and shot it back across the desk in Batten's direction. It spilled onto the floor in a fan of photographic gore.
    “You don't need me.” I heard my voice tremor and forced it out evenly. “Time for you to go.”
    Chapel scrambled to gather up his pictures. “Is there something…?”
    “Sorry, Gary,” I clipped. “You have to leave. Now.”
    Batten stood. “Marnie—”
    “Get out!” I shouted, bolting up. My chair clattered to the floor. If I was pyrokinetic, Mark Batten would be a pile of ash in a second. He opened his mouth, and there wasn't any way I could hear him say my name again without bursting into tears. “Are you fucking deaf? Get the hell out of my house!”
    “Too right,” a crisp British voice agreed from the office doorway. “I should think that will not be an issue, now that I am