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  BLOOD OF GEMINI

  Mischievous Malamute Mystery Series Book 3

  Harley Christensen

  Copyright © 2015 Harley Christensen

  * * *

  Cover Photo:

  Copyright Yaroslav Pavlov | Dreamstime

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  For Maxine

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  About Harley

  Other Books By Harley

  Connect with Harley

  Prologue

  It was a perfect day for a picnic. One of those lazy southwestern days where the sun warms your shoulders as the gentle breeze lulls you to sleep. Ramirez had selected a remote location where the only sound was from a nearby fountain that burbled as plumes of water danced to a synchronized but silent symphony.

  A blanket had been carefully smoothed across an even patch of ground. On top he had meticulously arranged a simple but mouth-watering meal. Even Nicoh was happily gnawing on a gargantuan-sized dog bone. Peanut butter-flavored, of course.

  Ramirez laughed, tugging on a long strand of my hair as I moaned over the first bite of peanut butter and pickle sandwich he’d made, just for me. It was only after I’d polished off one half and was well into the second I realized he’d been watching me.

  “What?” I mumbled, my mouth still partially full as I self-consciously batted the tip of my nose. “Do not tell me I’ve had peanut butter on my face this entire time.” When he chuckled and shook his head, I added, “Okay, you’re awed by my freakish, yet masterful sandwich-eating abilities?”

  Once again, he shook his head. “Just trying to decide something.”

  Intrigued, I gently placed the sandwich on its wax paper wrapper. “Um…you and your poker buddies aren’t going to start placing bets on how many of these babies I can put away, are you? Because I’ll have you know, I have a very important professional reputation to uphold.”

  His voice was quiet when he replied, his eyes searching mine, “I was just wondering if you thought you could ever like me as much as you do those sandwiches.” A smile tugged the corner of his mouth but there was a hint of seriousness in his eyes. And a question.

  “Well…” I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, “these are pretty good sandwiches.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “And you did make them.”

  “I did.”

  “I suppose…in time…I could like you both equally.”

  “Equally, as in fifty-fifty?”

  “I might be able to manage that.”

  “Oh?”

  “There’s just one thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Don’t think you can ply me with sandwiches to improve your odds.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He leaned closer, smiling.

  I placed a hand firmly on his chest. “I wasn’t done yet.”

  “Oh? Sorry. What else?”

  “Don’t ever think about sharing your sandwiches with anyone but me.”

  “It’s a deal.” Our lips met just as his phone buzzed, causing us both to shift back in surprise.

  “Better get that.” I started to reach for the remainder of the sandwich.

  Ramirez smiled. “Still aren’t sure about that fifty-fifty, are you?” Before I could answer, he stood and moved a short distance away to take the call.

  “What are you looking at?” I grumbled at Nicoh, whose tongue flopped lazily as he zeroed in on my sandwich. Having missed his opportunity, he emitted his own rumble before crossing his paws, continuing his destruction of the monster bone.

  Ramirez returned moments later, his happy mood gone.

  “What?” I struggled to get out, nearly choking in the process. “What is it?”

  “That was my contact with the FBI.”

  “Okay…”

  “Winslow Clark escaped. Three weeks ago.”

  Horror washed over me as I digested the news. “Is he…is he coming to get me?”

  He shook his head, looking me straight in the eye. “Worse. They believe he’s already here.”

  Couldn’t a peanut butter and pickle sandwich ever just be a peanut butter and pickle sandwich? I groaned as Nicoh engulfed the rest of my half in one noisy bite.

  Nope. Life is never that simple.

  Chapter One

  “AJ, did you hear what I said?”

  Oh, I’d heard him. Right up to the point he’d told me the monster who had killed my parents and sister was on the beeline express to yours truly—provided he hadn’t already trained his sharp little eyes on me. I placed my bet on the latter. Clark was antsy to finish the job he’d failed to complete months earlier—to witness my last breath as he ended my existence in this world.

  One might wonder what would make a twenty-something photographer so enticing. With Clark, it was all about exacting a revenge long overdue, though I had been responsible for no part. And yet, like my insatiable need for the elusive peanut butter and pickle concoction, Clark’s need was rooted in the execution—the completion—of his mission. So he’d returned to destroy me.

  Rather than serve myself up as a sitting duck or waste time formulating a response for Ramirez, I bid farewell to the picnic I’d barely started to share with the hunky detective. It only added to the irony that my ninety-eight pound Alaskan Malamute had already had his way with it. I hastily collected the remains; then bitterly snatched his dog bone and tossed it into my bag. I wasn’t in the mood to talk about Clark or his current whereabouts, much less his agenda for me. All I cared about was getting out of the park and safely to my home.

  Mind you, I had no intention of hiding from him. I simply needed time alone. Time to think. Perhaps I should have been frightened out of my gourd and maybe if I was honest with myself, somewhere deep down I was…frightened. For the moment, I had eclipsed the fear and replaced it with something far more visceral—rage.

  It was not an emotion I revered but it was hard to forget the mark Clark had left in the wake of his previous visit. After killing my loved ones, he’d terrorized me and kidnapped my best friend. And now he had the audacity to return. I smirked, my lips forming a vicious snarl. This time, Clark had another thing coming. I wasn’t going down without a fight and he sure as heck wouldn’t be leaving with what he’d returned for…if he left at all.

  Ramirez didn’t need to be a mind reader or a detective to register my mood, or my intentions. “Let us—and the Feds—handle this, AJ. I promise, we’ll get him,” he yelled at my back after I’d rebuked his attempt to grab my arm.

  I stormed on, muttering to myself, “That line’s been overplayed, Detective.”

  Camouflaged by a crop
of trees, he observed their heated interaction. Once the cop returned from taking his phone call, their conversation had taken on a strained, agitated vibe, almost forcing him to smile.

  Almost.

  After all these years, he was one step closer to getting what he wanted. What he deserved. He wasn’t about to get sidetracked now. Arianna had enjoyed her peace for long enough.

  He looked at the old, tattered photograph—a memory of what had been—promises of what could have been. Tracing the silhouettes with his thumb ignited emotions he’d long tucked away. He shook his head, setting the memories free. The past couldn’t be altered or reversed, but the present and the future—that he could control.

  And this time, no one—not even Arianna Jackson—would stop him.

  Chapter Two

  Of course Ramirez was waiting for me when I got home, leaning against his police cruiser with his legs crossed. I gritted my teeth, hoping he hadn’t violated any laws while zigzagging through the back streets of Phoenix. One of the perks of being a cop, I huffed to myself, biting my tongue in the process.

  Ramirez smirked as he took in my sour welcome. “We hadn’t finished our discussion or our picnic, for that matter.”

  “Winslow Clark makes for bad conversation, not to mention, poor digestion.” Ramirez chuckled, forcing me to cock my head to one side. “I hardly think this is the appropriate time for your amusement, Detective.”

  “I didn’t say it was.” He continued to peruse my expression, lingering on my body language before frowning. “So we’re reverting back to ‘Detective’ now, are we?”

  I shifted under the weight of his scrutiny. “I don’t make the rules, Detective, I just roll with them as they come.”

  “Says the girl hell-bent on going after a killer by herself.”

  I was irritated he had my number and managed to get my goat at the same time. Baaah. “I’d hardly be alone.”

  Ramirez snorted. “Oh yeah, drag your best friend and canine into it. That’s worked out well for you in the past.”

  I didn’t appreciate his haughty tone and threw a few less than ladylike adjectives out before adding, “If memory serves, we managed all right.”

  Immune to my colorful language, Ramirez shook his head. “And nearly got yourselves killed in the process. Next time, you may not be so lucky. Before you go bounding off like a woman obsessed, I suggest you give that some serious thought.”

  “I’ll take your suggestions under advisement.” Ramirez scowled but kept his thoughts and own bounty of adjectives to himself. “In the meantime, I’d still like to know how Clark managed to worm his miserable way out of round-the-clock monitoring in a facility supposedly locked down like the Loop 101 during rush hour.” He nodded, noting my sarcasm was a special gift reserved for the Feds. There had been no love lost where they were concerned.

  “And I would have gladly shared what I had learned, had you not shoved me off and stormed away.” Summoning every ounce of maturity I could muster, I responded by sticking my tongue out. “Now that you’ve had your moment, can we go inside and finish our conversation?”

  “Hmph...I don’t suppose you’d have any of those sandwiches left, would you?”

  Ramirez laughed and shook his head. “You’d have to ask Nicoh about that.”

  I looked at the massive canine, who was more interested in snapping at flies than the humans who had the audacity to ignore his presence. Catching one—a fly, not a human—he smacked his lips before moving on to the next.

  Disgusted, I stomped into the house. “Never mind, I wasn’t really that hungry anyway.”

  I offered Ramirez a beer but he declined, an indication the recent call had not only brought bad news, it had placed him back on duty. It also meant the longer he lingered around babysitting me, the more time it gave Clark to plot his evil deeds, so I gestured for him to begin.

  Ramirez scruffed the back of his head, a gesture that suggested he was revisiting the information he’d received, if not editing it for my benefit. “Details are sketchy at best, though I’m sure they’re trying to keep things close to the vest while they investigate. Initial rumblings point to an inside job.”

  “Ya think?” My tone might have come out a bit snottier than I’d intended but it mirrored my emotions.

  Ramirez ignored it and continued, “In the meantime, they are supplying pertinent information to the appropriate agencies, but warning them to keep it under wraps from the media to prevent the public from panicking. Or impeding their ability to track his movements.”

  I grunted, unimpressed by the sparse details the Feds had collected to this point. It had been nearly three weeks since they’d misplaced Clark. Given all the state, local, foreign and probably extraterrestrial resources they had at their disposal, I would have expected something more promising than he was probably somewhere in the state of Arizona.

  Granted, it was a fairly large state but a fifty-mile radius would have been nice. I’m pretty sure my roommate, best friend and news hound extraordinaire, Leah Campbell, would have nailed down his geo-coordinates in a quarter of the time...unless... I looked at Ramirez and tried to gauge his BS meter. When his face revealed nothing, l should have remembered he was a skilled poker player.

  “So they’ve got nothing. Clark could be on my doorstep in two weeks, two days...or two minutes.” Ramirez’s silence provided my answer. Even without the benefit of their fancy technology and vast network of resources, I could have told them one thing was certain.

  Clark would come.

  Ramirez and I had nothing more to discuss, so I thanked him for the well-intentioned afternoon and saw him on his not-so-merry way before placing two quick calls. The first was to Leah, my partner-in-crime, urging her to come home when she could and the other to an acquaintance the two of us had met months earlier while trying to identify my twin sister Victoria’s killer.

  A former bureau chief with the Chicago Tribune twenty-plus years earlier, Mort Daniels had made more than a pet project of the field of genetic engineering. Specifically, projects related to the top two research facilities at the time: Alcore and GenTech. Alison Anders, a research assistant at Alcore, had been our biological mother and Martin Singer, a geneticist for Alcore’s primary competitor, GenTech, our father. Had being the operative word in both cases.

  Martin had also worked with another scientist, Theodore Winslow, on a human cloning project GenTech had tagged as Gemini, until they’d had a falling out. Quite literally. The result of that fallout had cost my biological parents their lives. But despite their deaths, Theodore held onto his grudge, ingraining his own share of entitlement—and revenge—into his son.

  Though Leah and I hadn’t known at the time, Mort Daniels’ history lesson would soon place us on a collision course with that son, who had changed his name to Winslow Clark. The play on his father’s name was intentional, as was murdering my sister and leaving her body in a dumpster behind my house at his father’s behest. Now Clark was making his second run at doing the same to me. I intended to thwart his attempt, but needed to locate him first. Even though Mort had retired from the newspaper several years earlier—choosing to spend his days tending to his yard in Ahwatukee—Leah and I agreed, if anyone could get a line on Clark, Mort was our guy.

  The elderly gentleman answered his phone after two rings and once we exchanged pleasantries, I dove into the purpose of my call. Once finished, my leg bounced in anticipation as I awaited his response.

  “Clark didn’t just walk out of a maximum security facility, pat the guard on the arm, thank him for an enchanting visit and disappear off into the sunset—in this case, the Valley of the Sun—he had help. Powerful help.”

  “The Feds think there was an inside connection. By ‘powerful help’ are we talking about prison staff…or the warden? Clark’s shrink? Both?”

  “Maybe.” The way he drew it out told me he wasn’t convinced. “I’d like to check on a few things. Mind if I get back to you in the morning?”

  Despite my
disappointment, I managed a courteous and even gracious response before ending the connection. As I stared at the cell phone in my hand, l contemplated the probability his efforts would yield the results I needed in time.

  Clark was like a tsunami, a horrific monster that thrived on obliterating the unsuspecting innocents in its path. But unlike those who fell victim to its unforgiving, callous devastation, I had the benefit of anticipation. And knowledge. And while that advantage would mean looking into the monster’s eyes as he mowed me down and choked out my final breath, I also had the benefit of something more. I was no victim. Nor was l innocent.

  When I went down, I was taking the monster straight to Hell with me.

  Chapter Three

  Not even the sight of Leah’s spiky blonde locks bobbing from side to side improved my mood as I watched her jamming to the tunes filtering through her headphones while she belted out her own rendition of “Crazy Train.” Fitting, I mused.

  “Whaassup buttercup?” she drawled, taking in my bemused expression.

  “Besides the fact you’re butchering a classic, you mean? Perhaps you should consider lip-synching. Silently.”

  My best friend slowly removed the headphones and put her hands up in surrender. “Whoa. What’s the matter with you? Someone replace your Lucky Charms with Shredded Wheat? Wait—Nicoh didn’t eat all my Nutty Bars again, did he? If that furball so much as—”