"Sizemore, Susan - Laws of the Blood 2 - Partners" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sizemore Susan)

She stood just inside the doorway, with Baker behind her.

Haven almost said, Lady, this isn't a detective agency. Then he remembered that, technically, it was. It was Baker's office. Baker was a retired cop, now a PI. It was also Baker's desk, which would make any missing-person problem the woman had Baker's business. But from the way Baker was looking at him, it wasn't. Ah, hell.

The first thing Haven did was put down the gun he'd picked up when the door opened unexpectedly. The woman hadn't seen the weapon he held just below the top of the desk, which was piled with books and papers. The second thing he did was save the file the way Baker had taught him and turn off the computer.

Then he waved Baker and the woman into Baker's office. Baker was some mixture of Native American, black, and Irish and said he got his stubbornness from all three. He was big and brown and bald and ugly but about as soft in the heart as he was hard everywhere else. Haven had liked the man even in the days when they'd been playing hide-and-seek across the Southwest. Baker had been intent on returning Haven to prison, Haven had tried to kill Baker a few times, but they'd put their differences aside in the service of a higher purpose long ago.

It was because of the reproving look Baker gave him that Haven stood when the woman came toward the desk. Baker'd been trying to civilize him, but Haven preferred to ignore the niceties most of the time. Being polite to a distraught woman seemed like a halfway sensible idea, though if Baker hadn't been there, Haven would have followed his first impulse and told her to get out.

Baker closed the door and leaned against it. The woman stopped in front of the desk and said, "My name is Brenda Novak, and I'm with the FBI." By the time he had the Glock pointed openly at her, she'd sat in the chair across from the desk. She looked at him steadily - at him, not the gun. The worry hadn't left her expression, but she wasn't worried about him. "I know who you were," she told him. "And I don't give a shit. I know - something - about what you do now, and that's why I need you to help me find my son."

"What do you know?" Haven asked. "Who told you?" How many was he going to have to kill to keep his secrets quiet? He glared at Baker. "I doubt you told her anything," he said to his partner.

"He didn't," Brenda Novak answered. "I found him." She spared a quick glance over her shoulder at Baker. "Not an easy task." She brought her attention back to Haven. "Easier than finding Danny, though. Searching for Danny has led me down some strange roads - and I'm an FBI profiler; I know strange intimately."

He'd read about profiling. It was like a kind of officially sanctioned ESP. The government had these people who looked at pictures of crime scenes and predicted what killers would do next and how to catch them. Crazy people got profiled. Haven wasn't crazy. He kept the gun aimed steadily on the woman and said nothing.

"I realize telling you about myself is dangerous," Novak went on. She shrugged. She had the manner of someone with nothing to lose. Jebel Haven understood the look of a spirit at the end of its resources. He knew you had to get there before you could get beyond it, into the realm where he lived. Or you got to the end of the road and you gave up and died. He didn't have any sympathy for the ones he'd known who'd given up. He didn't have much sympathy for those who'd died trying, either.

Baker crossed the room. He put his big, meaty hands on the back of the woman's chair. "Put the gun away, Jebel. We're going to listen to what the woman has to say. It's our kind of business," he added when Haven flicked his gaze to his partner's for a moment.

Haven wanted to think that if this was some sort of trap, Baker would have smelled it. He trusted Baker, and he hated trusting anyone. He didn't like it, but he sat. He put the gun down, but not away. He left it on the desktop, with his hand close to it. "What are you talking about?" he said to the woman.

"About finding my son," she said. "That's the only thing that interests me."

"You're with the FBI, and you have a missing son. Kidnapped?"

She nodded.

"The Bureau takes care of its own. Your kid's missing, your own people are looking for him."

She made one of those sounds that was a little like a laugh but without any amusement in it. She was a good-looking woman, fortysomething, worried, but keeping it together. "The Bureau does not really deal with "X-cases, Mr. Haven. We don't even use the term profiler in the department, though that is the common - well, the polite - term for what I do. I work for a conservative government bureaucracy. We do indeed take care of our own, but no one wants bad publicity. The Bureau would hang me and my son out to dry if he was caught."

"Caught?" Haven asked. "I thought you said he was kidnapped. Feds are responsible for kidnapping cases."

"Only if the victim's transported across state lines," Baker put in.

"There are federal rules and regulations about what the Bureau is allowed to investigate," Novak said. "I think my son has been kidnapped. I also think he is involved with a cult of murderers. If it were not for the fact that my son might have to face charges on several counts of murder, I would happily turn over my suppositions - I can't call anything I have proof - to the Federal Bureau of Investigation. And some of the conclusions I've come to lead me to believe..." She sighed.

"What I suppose - suspect - I don't even want to say out loud." She smiled grimly. "I do not believe in supernatural evil. I already know what the human race is capable of without any help from Satan. There are nut cults out there. They brainwash vulnerable young people. There are some people who use a delusional belief in unearthly evil to do any vicious thing they want. But my son... I don't want to believe that my son..."

"Is a serial killer?" Baker asked. He put his big hands on the woman's shoulders.

"I suspect he is involved with a serial killer." Her words came out in a sharp, distinct rush, but she didn't look like she quite believed what she said. Haven noticed that she didn't try to shake off Baker's comforting touch.

Haven had no interest in serial killers. "What do you mean by supernatural? What does that have to do with your son?"

And how do you know about your son's involvement, and what does that have to do with us, and how did you find out about us? He had a lot of questions for this woman, though he didn't want to ask them. He didn't get involved with people; he had other things to do. Baker took on PI work sometimes. That was okay, it helped keep him in contact with other cops without anybody asking funny questions, and it helped pay the bills. Baker didn't like it when Haven and Santini committed armed robbery in the name of the cause.