The closer they got, the better he could distinguish the voices coming from inside: Luke Gelman, another male, and a female. The strangers’ voices were agitated, while Luke sounded placating. George glanced at Andi, whose body language conveyed how little choice they had and how it was better to get it over with.
CHAPTER 4
NEW TERRITORY
Andi steeled himself when George reached for the door handle. The room behind it was filled with enough tension to make him choke. It was an unhealthy mixture of repressed sexual desire, pure rage, the wish for dominance, a fatalism on Luke’s part that spoke of an early retirement plan, and an overflow of testosterone paired with a massive case of PMS. Andi was heavily opposed to using gender stereotypes. In his opinion, people didn’t need them to be insufferable idiots, but he’d been in the vicinity of women suffering from severe hormonal imbalance too often to dismiss, downplay, or ignore the signs. It never ceased to amaze him how blasé society was when it came to the struggles half the population faced on a regular basis. Agent DeCapristo had a major problem with her progesterone/estrogen levels, which cut her some minor slack for the next few days until Andi could decide if her behavior was solely based on her body’s whims or if her personality had a rightful part. In his experience, the hormones often emphasized character traits already there. However, often the women in question were perfectly capable of reining them in when their body wasn’t conspiring against them.
The chief, on the other hand, was all irritated male righteousness, his high levels of testosterone directly linked to the spikes in his adrenaline. It was hormones as well, strictly speaking, but Andi knew this was the kind that could be controlled—if the man in question was inclined to do so.
Chief Savalle, Agent DeCapristo, and Luke Gelman turned toward the door when George opened it after a short knock, not waiting to be asked in. They entered, and his partner closed the door from the curious glances thrown at them from the bullpen. The detectives were mostly wondering exactly who they were and why they were here, no malice involved—yet. Andi looked at the chief and agent, as always, a little shocked when he first saw a person with his own eyes and not through the senses of his tiny spies. The dichotomy of the information he received was blaring, reminding him how blobs always relied on visuals to judge. It was such an unconscious thing to do, gathering the info, then forming an opinion. Colorful hair in a mohawk, piercings everywhere, ripped clothes? Punk. Unemployed. A burden to society. Riding a motorbike, wearing leather, having a beard, tattoos? Biker. Criminal. Dangerous. A threat to society. A gorgeous woman with long dark hair in a cascading ponytail, huge hazel eyes, and full, pouty lips? Perfect marriage material. Can’t do anything wrong.
At the moment, Agent DeCapristo was also a dangerous mix of hormones and temper, to be treated like a free-range bull in a field. With extreme caution. Luckily for him, George had already picked up on it, not necessarily the hormonal situation, but he had lived with a dominant female for a long time and knew the signs.
In addition to being gorgeous to look at, Agent DeCapristo was also slender, with enough muscle definition to tell people not to mess with her. The light hazel of her eyes was currently burning with rage.
Chief Savalle was lean, about six feet, with short red hair and a smattering of freckles on his nose and cheeks, making him look like the friendly man next door and not the overly dominant creature the arthropods had shown him.
Both looked at them with barely contained annoyance, not a good sign for their future working relationship. Andi was insanely glad to have George with him, who would no doubt take care of the situation without leaving nothing but scorched earth behind, the way it would be if Andi were on his own. Before things could get too awkward—not that Andi would have minded, awkward usually meant silence, which was always a plus in his book—Luke ended the stare-off between DeCapristo, the chief, and George.
“Chief Savalle, Agent DeCapristo, these are detectives George Donovan and Andrew Hayes. They’re the experts I’ve told you about. Andi, George, this is Chief Timothy Savalle and Agent Susannah DeCapristo.”
George held out his hand with a smile, the one reserved for people he didn’t really want to meet but had no choice, greeting first the agent then the chief. If Andi were interested in social interactions at all, he might have had fun with the puzzle of who to address first. The chief, as the resident alpha, so to speak? Agent DeCapristo, because she came from the more powerful governmental branch? Or could that insinuate that she got greeted first because she was a woman, which could have been offensive? Before meeting George, these kinds of thoughts would never have occurred to Andi. He would have kept the introductions to a general nod for everybody present, no physical contact, everybody would have known he was an asshole, problem solved. He still didn’t like being touched if it wasn’t George, so he did just nod, nicely establishing the good cop/bad cop routine from the start. One significant positive of having a partner—he could now pull this specific scenario and be himself without listening to lectures about appropriate police behavior later.
The quickening of two heartbeats—the chief’s and the agent’s—told him George had done everything right while he had successfully raised irritation. Nothing new then.
“Chief Savalle, Agent DeCapristo, it’s a pleasure meeting you. Hopefully, Detective Hayes and I can help solve your current problem.”
No offering of first names and a very deliberate choice of words pertaining to the case. George was setting clear parameters, which told Andi even louder than his pheromone levels that his partner had evaluated the situation and come to the same conclusion as he.
Apparently, neither Savalle nor DeCapristo were slouches when it came to detecting an underlying reprimand. Both bristled. The chief’s cheeks got an infusion of red while the agent’s adrenaline levels spiked even more. She was gearing up for a fight.
“You did tell us about them, Agent Gelman, though you were rather vague on what exactly they’re experts in. As far as I can tell, they’re just another pair of detectives, probably as incompetent as the ones the chief had investigating the murders of Judge Dunhill and Trevor Asten.”
And the gloves were off. Chief Savalle was bristling with righteous anger, the electric field surrounding his body crackling so badly the pill bugs behind the skirting were practically vibrating out of their chitin shells. Luke was only too happy to leave the whole mess to George and Andi, his stress levels going down considerably as he visibly and internally retreated from the battlefield by taking a few steps toward the window. Before the chief could start with his own rant, George smoothly intercepted. To an outsider, he didn’t seem to be perturbed at all, giving both Savalle and DeCapristo a bland smile Andi had categorized under ‘serial killer with fuse burning’. It was reserved for people who annoyed George so severely he wouldn’t mind feeding them to the zombies should the apocalypse ever happen.
“I can understand how you might be concerned, Agent DeCapristo, seeing as we’re going to be the deciding factor here, but let me assure you we will investigate your claim with all the seriousness it deserves. As for you, Chief Savalle, I’m sure the detectives working on the judge’s case have done their due diligence, seeing as it was a retired servant of the public who died so tragically.”
Both Savalle and DeCapristo opened and closed their mouths several times. Andi was proud of his partner. With a few well-placed words, he had reminded the agent who would have the last word about there even being a case—Andi wasn’t completely sure how much weight their ruling would have if she decided to be stubborn about it, but it would definitely be another hurdle she had to jump should they decide the judge’s death wasn’t worth the time and resources—and he told the chief that if he hadn’t handled the case with the seriousness it deserved, he would be in trouble. The chief recuperated faster than DeCapristo and nodded at them.
“Of course, my detectives have done all they could to make sure the judge’s death was nothing more than a tragic accident. I have the file here, as well as the coroner’s reports about the other seven insect-related incidents we’ve had in the past months, starting in July last year. After Agent DeCapristo had come to this precinct, I had them brought here to see if there could be a pattern.” The way he emphasized the word could made it clear how he felt about the whole thing. “Feel free to take them all with you, and of course, the detectives won’t mind talking to you should you have any questions.”
DeCapristo shot Savalle a scalding look under which lesser men would have crumbled, Andi had no doubt. The chief, though, was so ramped up on testosterone and adrenaline that he didn’t even seem to notice. Andi didn’t believe a word about the detectives not minding talking to them. If some strange detectives came barging into the Charleston PD, demanding to see the files for one of his cases to determine if he had done solid work, he would be incensed. He only hoped that the file as well as the reports were thorough enough, and they wouldn’t have to talk to the detectives. Most probably, George would want to do it anyway, but that was a problem for later.
“Thank you so much, Chief Savalle.” George took the file with a nod and a polite smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Now, if you would excuse us, my partner and I came here immediately to meet with you. I hope it’s okay with you if we check into our hotel and go over the file and reports. First thing tomorrow, we’re going to inspect the places where the deaths occurred. If you need to reach us before we’re done with our investigation, please feel free to call me or Detective Hayes.” George handed DeCapristo and then Savalle their cards. Andi very much hoped neither would bother them anytime soon. He also knew it would be a miracle if they didn’t get a call from both before this day had ended. Another thing to look forward to. After a round of stiff goodbyes from Chief Savalle, Agent DeCapristo, and Luke Gelman, they left the Spartanburg precinct to find their hotel, a Best Western on Mobile Drive.
Traffic was reasonable, and they reached their destination within twenty minutes. The check-in went without a hitch, and the hotel room wasn’t too overrun by creepy crawlers. They had gotten a bit of a look when the receptionist, a woman in her late fifties, had handed them the keycards, but it was nothing Andi wasn’t used to. She had been more curious than hostile, no doubt wondering what an attractive man like George saw in somebody like Andi. During the serial killer case a few months ago, Sandra Mescew compared Andi to a fictional character named John Constantine, a supernatural detective who didn’t suffer fools lightly. Andi looked him up and couldn’t argue with Sandra. There was a certain similarity between the two, not just in looks but in attitude as well. George had laughed and said he preferred Andi’s brand of crazy, and that was that.
Since George was busy unpacking—his man was meticulous when it came to clothing, a trait Andi understood well when it came to George’s things because everything he owned was either new or so well-cared for it appeared to be new—Andi grabbed the file on Judge Dunhill and the reports about the arthropod related deaths before he sat down on one of the two queen beds.
The world tipped and shockwaves went through his bodies, so many, fresh food, delicious skin cells shedding on the bed, not yet in reach, he had to wait, pressure, so many of them, bustling inside the mattress, he was one of them, all of them, sensing himself through their reception, telling him he was reasonably healthy, his skin a little too dry, the organic soaps and shampoo George insisted on were delicious, no superficial, acidic stench or taste on him, no, he was hungry, his mind shattered into thousand directions, he was a male depositing his spermatophore somewhere in the mattress, he was the female picking it up, he was the larva hatching from already fertilized eggs, crawling around with only six legs, he was the Nymph, now with eight legs, already greatly resembling the adults, he was devouring whatever he found, munching on dead skin cells and dust particles, his entire focus on growing and reproducing, the sudden pressure on the mattress a nuisance his tiny bodies could easily compensate, the flood of new impressions unbalancing him, feeling his own weight while being the weight, sensing his body’s shape through their senses, overlaying that picture with what he knew from his daily looks in the mirror, it all blurred, the picture too sharp for his limited brain space, too much information, too non-sensical, who was he if not them, but if he was them, then what was that blob on the mattress, he fell, and fell, deeper into the fabric, tiny threads building the jungle in which he now lived, wasn’t he supposed to be in a room, no, this was the room, he needed to lay his eggs, he?—
“Andi?” George’s voice pried him back from the mini cosmos of mite life, back into the room and the world of the blobs, where everything was different, yet the same, if only he broke it down to the smallest components. George was looking at him with that expression of mild worry paired with curiosity.
“It’s fine, just got sucked in by the mites.” Andi patted the dark blue throw on the bed that matched the blue pattern on the gray wall-to-wall carpet, which was another paradise for the mites and in need of a steam-clean in the near future.
George shuddered. “How many?”
“A healthy colony.”
