“And one of them equals a hundred of us.” Maybe more. The VrK introduced so many unknown variables.
“You think numbers can stop a bomb?”
“Do you think Mah are isolated to Manitoba?”
Max gave Laura a confused look.
“Varu fertility rates are low, but their genetics are dominant. That means we have no way of knowing what percentage of our population isn’t human. Grey has already established connections in every branch of the military, government, and trade system.
“If we start a fight, he’ll distribute the VrK, and we might find out the individuals with their finger on the trigger aren’t on our side.”
Max paled.
“We’re better off letting Isaiah take care of Nash and not kicking the hornet’s nest.”
A trail of blood fanned out across the counter, marking the path of the cur’s trajectory from the moment it lost its head to where it smashed the window over the sink. Its fur had painted a thicker trail as it slid off the counter and onto the floor.
Footprints left behind by Dr. Dante turned, then blurred as if he’d slipped. No friction lines interrupted the arc, an unavoidable result unless there was enough speed.
And even the best-trained Warden couldn’t move that fast.
Silver glinted in the darker shadow cast by a garbage can. A meat cleaver sat wedged between the gap behind it, with the handle jutting out.
“I’ve arranged a meeting in Jamestown, Tennessee,” Max said.
Laura gave him her attention.
“I want you to be there.”
“And the nature of this meeting?”
“You’ll know when you attend.”
Whennotif.
“I have a lot on my plate right now. How important is it for me to be present?”
“I’d say it’s life-or-death.”
“That important?”
“Very.” Max nodded at the remains of the cur. “I’ll let you get back to work.” He left the way he came, leaving Laura alone with the remains of the animal. When his footsteps faded, she shined her light on the cleaver behind the garbage can.
The tool of a butcher against a monster made to kill, and somehow the cleaver had won. If there’d been more than one cur, Laura doubted the battle would have had the same outcome.
Laura retraced her steps through the house, stopping beside a heavy oak table in the dining area. Plaster, glass, stuffing from the couch, glass from the aquarium, brass, and springs from the smashed grandfather clock surrounded it.
An untouched structure amid the destruction of an F5 twister.
Coffee cup, empty box of cookies, a bottle of water, notebook, and eye drops, arranged in two rows with a laptop-sized blank space between them.
The charger was still plugged into the wall.
She walked into the living room.
Shards from the picture window lay on the floor amid the splinters of a coffee table, the only major interruption amid the fan of transparent daggers.
Blood droplets dotted the hardwood and rug. A handprint marked where Dr. Dante had pushed himself to his feet. An action resulting in slide marks from his shoes that scraped debris into a line.
There wasn’t nearly as much blood painting the glass as Laura expected. She inspected the window then returned to the remnants covering the floor. The distribution pattern confirmed the impact was from the outside, but there were gaps between several pieces with blood along the edge and no splatter between them. Something that would have happened if there’d been a shard covered in more blood from slicing through Dr. Dante’s skin and breaking into smaller pieces when it hit the floor. Pieces carefully removed.
Blood samples from Dr. Dante, tissue from the cur, and his computer.
Whoever had taken the items had to be looking for something.
But what?