Malfunction, page 4
Oh God, she was almost drooling. Not good. She snapped upright and took a step back. “Thanks,” she muttered.
“And this is Sergeant Farrell, who will be heading up the investigation.”
So they had already appointed someone—the sergeant with the pretty eyes. She was tempted to tell them to piss off. If she wasn’t needed, she didn’t want to waste her time. Though it wasn’t as if she had anything better to do. And she didn’t want to go back to sleep. Rico had told her a little of the situation on the walk to the shuttle, and things weren’t going well for the fleet. They hadn’t found anywhere even vaguely capable of supporting human life. They were running out of time, and most of the fleet was falling apart. Except for the Trakis Two, which still had supplies and spare parts for a while to come. Probably mainly due to the fact that most of the crews had never been awakened. Rico kept the conscious staff to a minimum and, by all accounts, did most of the work himself. She supposed it prevented him from getting bored, and it wasn’t as if he needed to sleep. Or eat…much. She didn’t want to contemplate what—or rather who—Rico had been eating.
The sergeant was holding out his hand toward her. Again. But she kept her distance—he looked pretty tasty, too, and she could do without the temptation—and shoved her claws deeper into her pockets, her mind scrambling for something intelligent to say. “Sorry, Sergeant, I have a skin condition. I’d hate you to catch something.” Totally lame.
He dropped his hand to his side and grinned. “No worries. And call me Logan if we’re going to be partners.”
“Katia.”
He was tall, long and lean, just the way she’d always liked them. Before she’d decided men were more trouble than they were worth. With dark blond hair cut military short, high cheekbones, and a big nose. Nice lips that were smiling at her. All in all, a very agreeable package.
But it took more than a pretty face to impress her.
Didn’t it?
He cocked his head to one side and looked her up and down—okay, mostly down; she was well over a foot shorter than he was—his lips twitching. “You know,” he said, “you’re not quite what I was expecting.”
She snorted. “Don’t tell me—you thought I’d be bigger.”
“Something like that.”
She looked around. Rico hadn’t given her any time to explore the Trakis Two, just taken her straight to the place where they kept the shuttles—the docking bay. She needed to get used to the spaceship terminology. Even so, compared to the Trakis Two, which had positively sparkled, this place had a…shabby tone.
The lights flickered off and on again. What was with that?
“Is there a problem?” she asked. Something she should be worried about, like the ship was going to implode on them any moment?
“A glitch,” Layla said. “Nothing to worry about. I’m so glad you’re here to help Logan. We really need to clear this up, though I’m sure you’ll find out that it’s nothing bad.”
Thirty dead people sounded pretty bad to her. She reckoned Layla was something of an optimist. But she was saved from answering as her cat chose that moment to make another bid for freedom. Scratching and clawing.
“Shit, that freaking hurts,” she muttered, rubbing at her belly.
“Are you all right?” Layla touched her arm, and she had to bite back a growl.
Taking a few deep breaths, she forced a tight smile. “I’m fine. Just a minor side effect from the cryo.”
“Oh, you poor thing. They can be horrible. I was the same.”
Somehow, Katia doubted that. She couldn’t imagine the beautiful Layla with anything so ugly as furry fingers and fangs.
“Have you had something to eat?” Layla asked. “That usually helps.”
At the mention of food, her stomach rumbled, and she eyed up Layla, hungrily. But no, she didn’t eat people—it was one of her personal rules. And it would hardly get the investigation of to a good start. All the same, eating something sounded like an excellent idea. “Lead the way.”
She let them walk ahead, both tall, both good looking, and both perfectly groomed. It was a good thing she’d given up comparing herself to others years ago; otherwise she might be feeling a little inadequate right now. It had taken her a long time to feel comfortable in her own skin, but she’d finally gotten there.
She took the opportunity to take a peek at her hands—still furry. She shoved them back in her pockets.
They finally stopped at an open door, and Layla waved her into a large room mostly filled by a big metal table with seating for about thirty. The galley, she presumed.
Logan nodded to the table and held out a chair for her. A gentleman. She sat down and waited while he took the seat opposite. She studied him; he was very easy on the eyes. He looked to be somewhere in his thirties. And while he appeared quite pleasant, she couldn’t get a feel for him. He wasn’t giving anything away.
He returned her gaze. “So what sort of detective are you, Katia?”
“Nine years in homicide with the London Metropolitan Police.”
“You don’t look old enough.”
She didn’t take offense, because he was right. She’d stopped aging when she was nineteen. And that was a long time ago; she had a few years on Sergeant Farrell, she was guessing. But really, she was hardly going to get into explanations about that. “Believe me, I’m old enough. Good genes.”
“Mexican?” he asked.
“How did you guess? My father was from Mexico City, but my mother is half English, half Russian. What about you?”
“I grew up in the States. Other than that, I have no clue.”
“And what sort of detective are you, sergeant?”
“Not a detective at all. I spent five years in the Investigator’s Unit in the military police.”
A soldier rather than a detective—hence the uniform. But maybe he was the best they could do.
Layla placed a bowl of some sort of stew and a spoon in front of her then took the chair next to Logan, and they both sat watching her. The smell wafted up, and her stomach rumbled again. She curled her hands into her thighs under the table, felt the prick of claws, and stared at the spoon then the food. So near and yet so far.
Not fair.
How the hell was this supposed to work?
“Dig in,” Layla said.
Her mouth flooded with saliva. Oh God, she wanted that food. Inside her, her cat screeched—she wanted the food as well.
Then the lights went out.
Yay.
She scrabbled for the spoon, her claws clumsy, picked it up, dropped it so it clattered onto the floor.
Agh!
What the hell? The lights could come on any moment. No time to waste. Needs must…
She plunged her face to the bowl and sucked up the stew, swallowing without chewing. Until the bowl was empty. She licked it clean. Inside, her cat sighed and went quiet.
She was wiping her face on her sleeve as the lights came back on.
Logan looked at her then at the empty bowl, one eyebrow raised. “You have stew on your nose,” he said.
Without thinking, she raised her hand then stopped halfway to her face. But the hand was back to normal, fur and claws gone. Katia slumped into her seat, the tension oozing from her muscles. Whew.
“More stew?” Layla asked.
“Yes, please.”
Layla took the empty bowl and replaced it with a full one and a new spoon.
Katia picked it up and ate the second bowl slowly, and delicately, while Logan looked on from across the table, an amused smile on his face.
Then she sat back, replete.
She felt almost human. Just not quite.
Chapter Five
Time to get herself up to speed. Katia hadn’t had a chance to look at the information Rico had given her relating to the case. She’d been too busy trying to hold it together on the way over here.
Now she delved into the black satchel Rico had handed her. It contained a file and a laptop and a comm unit that she strapped to her wrist. She dug a little deeper and found a silver flask—more whiskey? That might come in useful. And a handful of some sort of protein bars. Maybe Rico had known that food helped with the side effects but had forgotten to mention it.
She pulled out the file, laid it on the table, and opened it to the first page. She was still wearing the dark glasses, but she was pretty sure her eyes had returned to normal, and she was fed up of the semi-darkness, so she took them off. No one screamed, so she guessed she was okay.
“Paper,” Layla said. “How quaint.”
“The captain is an old-fashioned guy.” She bit back a smile at the thought of how Rico would react to that comment. “Just give me a moment to catch up.”
She scanned the contents quickly. There wasn’t a lot of information there, though it was immediately clear that this wasn’t going to be a typical homicide investigation. Even without the happening-in-space side of things.
It was more like a cold case. But she’d solved a few of those in her time.
She pulled out the laptop and opened it up. She needed to set up a murder book to record what they knew and what they needed to know.
Victims would be a good place to start, but Rico’s file didn’t even have names, only cryotube numbers. That would be the first thing. Who were the victims? She made a note.
She glanced up to find them still watching her. “I don’t suppose there’s coffee?”
“I’m sorry,” Layla replied. “We haven’t had coffee in centuries.”
That was a bummer. Maybe Rico had coffee. “Right, so the facts. Four days ago, a routine systems audit was carried out by the engineers on the Trakis One. Fleet wide, which I gather is something that happens regularly.”
“Yes,” Layla said. “The ships take it in turns. Once a year.”
“So not a one-off but not that often. What sort of proportion of the cryotubes are checked?”
“About 5 percent.”
“So just good luck that the malfunctions were picked up.”
“Or bad luck,” Logan said.
“Or bad luck.” If someone was trying to hide a murder. But she was finding it hard to get her head around the idea of foul play. What was the motive? What would anyone get out of killing a group of people in cryotubes? Nothing she could see. Though she’d covered enough serial killer cases to be aware that their minds hardly worked the same as normal people. “So three tubes were found. Not only had the tubes malfunctioned, but also the alarm and the emergency life support systems. How likely is that?” She addressed the question to Layla.
“Unlikely. Or so we believed.” She gave a small shrug. “But the systems are getting old. So who knows?”
“The victims apparently awoke then died of asphyxiation when they couldn’t get out and the life support systems failed.” Not nice.
“Isn’t there supposed to be a release mechanism in the cryotubes?” Logan asked. “I’m sure I remember from the orientation. They can be opened from the inside.”
“The release mechanisms malfunctioned as well,” Layla said.
Yet another coincidence? Katia didn’t believe in coincidences. Certainly not this many all happening at once. “According to the report, the tubes were grouped together.” In the file, there was a plan of the cryotube room on the Trakis Two. Three tubes marked with red crosses showed the locations. She studied the plan, found where her own cryotube had been positioned. On the opposite side of the room. “They’re consecutive numbers, but I don’t have any names next to them.”
“You should be able to pull that from the central database,” Layla said. “I’ll contact the tech guys and let them know you want to talk to them.”
“Thank you.”
“So do we start by visiting the Trakis Two?” Logan asked.
Rico had said keep them away from the Trakis Two. And she could see his point. Though she didn’t want to be too obvious about that. “No,” she said.
“No?”
“I think we should start at the beginning.”
Time to look at the timeline. She flicked to the next page. It listed out the other malfunctions they had identified since the first had come to light. There was nothing listed for the Trakis One. Was that significant? “The deaths on the Trakis Two were actually the fifth ‘malfunction’ to occur. That was two years ago. Chronologically speaking, the first was on the Trakis Three. Again, three tubes, consecutive numbers. Happened a little over five years ago.” She stabbed her finger onto the page. “I think we should start there.” She looked up to see how the other two were reacting.
Logan shrugged. “If you think that’s best. You’re the expert.”
She was starting to warm to Logan. He’d clearly had a lot of training in following orders. Probably institutionalized and used to taking the route of least resistance.
Layla, on the other hand, was frowning… Trouble coming. “Why not go to the most recent first?”
That was the Trakis Seven. The deaths there happened only weeks ago. She could live with that, but she’d prefer to see where it all started first.
“Because, in my experience with serial killers, the first victim, or group of victims, is often the most significant. Almost always, there is some link with the murderer. The victim is someone they knew. Maybe even someone they saw on a daily basis.”
“Hardly likely to be the case in this instance,” Logan drawled. “The victims were fast asleep, locked in their cryotubes for nearly five hundred years before they died.”
Good point. But she didn’t want him to get big-headed.
“You really think this is a serial killer?” Layla asked, her tone reeking of disbelief. “I don’t think the captain is going to like that.”
Like I give a toss. “Perhaps not, but we have to be sure.” Right now, she was on the fence. She couldn’t see a motive, but there were way too many coincidences. Hopefully, once they identified the victims, it might cast some light on what the motive could be. “And until we prove otherwise, I think we need to assume foul play.” She smiled. Best not to give them too much chance to disagree. “That’s decided, then. We start on the Trakis Three.”
“I’m afraid I won’t be coming with you,” Layla said. “I’ve been ordered to assist but only on board the Trakis One. While you’re here, I’ll give you any help I can, and if you have any questions on the working of the ship or my research, then feel free to call on me. Otherwise I have my own duties. Which I must get back to now.” She got to her feet, hesitated, then gave Logan a smile and patted his arm. “Keep me informed. And I hope I see you before you leave for the Trakis Three. Comm me if you have a spare moment. I’d love to talk some more.”
Katia waited until Layla had left the room and then turned her attention to the man opposite. “I think she likes you,” she said. “And you know, you could do worse. She’s beautiful, intelligent, and nice.”
He raised a brow. “She is a very nice lady.” Then he gave her a wink. “But not my type.”
Katia rolled her eyes. He was flirting with her. Obviously, she was supposed to ask what his type was and he would say—a grumpy werecat with terrible table manners and furry fingers.
Yeah right. Never going to happen.
Maybe it was time to set out a few ground rules. “Well, just so we’re clear, I don’t mix business with pleasure.” Actually, she didn’t mix anything with pleasure. Sort of sad. When had she turned into such a miserable bitch?
He smirked, and she had the weirdest feeling she had issued him with something of a challenge.
“Noted,” he said.
“Good. Then let’s go solve a murder…or thirty.”
Chapter Six
Logan stood in the center of the cabin and looked around. The place was pathologically neat. The bed perfectly made. Nothing on the desk that might give a hint as to Caldwell’s thoughts prior to exploding.
Detective Mendoza had suggested they inspect the security officer’s cabin. In case he’d actually discovered anything useful during his investigation and left notes about it conveniently waiting for them to find.
But so far, she was letting him do the work, while she leaned against the open doorway, eating some sort of protein bar she had pulled out of her bag. She caught him watching her and pulled a face. “Hey, I like to eat.”
He had no clue where she put it, then. She was tiny, though if he looked closer, she was nicely shaped, with full breasts pushing at the tank top she wore beneath the torn flannel shirt. What the hell had happened there? He wasn’t sure whether it was a fashion statement or the result of a scuffle with a lion.
“Eyes up, soldier,” she snapped.
He shifted his gaze to her face and gave her a wink.
She rolled her eyes.
She was pretty rather than beautiful, with a small, heart-shaped face, full lips, high cheekbones, and dark, arched brows. Her eyes, now she’d taken off the dark glasses, were her most striking feature, bright green and fringed with thick black lashes. She raised an eyebrow.
“Just wondering where you put all that food,” he said.
“I have a fast metabolism. If I don’t eat, I get snarky. Or so I’ve been told.”
The lights flashed off, then on again, and she blinked. “You know, I’m glad they woke me up before the ships fell apart.”
So was he. He felt curiously optimistic. And he was going to fly in a goddamned shuttle with a pretty woman. Even if she’d categorically said she was not having sex with him—it wasn’t as though he had asked.
She strolled into the cabin. “Stand aside, soldier.”
He moved to the side—there wasn’t a lot of room. She stood for a moment, a small frown pulling her brows together, then started to systematically search. She stripped the bed, ran her hands under the mattress, opened the wardrobe. Caldwell didn’t have too many clothes, but she rifled through all the pockets then knelt down, examined the floor. A door opposite where he stood opened into a small bathroom, and she checked there next. As she came out, she gave a small shake of her head. “Absolutely nothing. Not that I expected anything, but you never know.”
