Read Online Matt Archer: Bloodlines (Matt Archer #4) by Kendra C. Highley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kendra C. Highley
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I couldn’t tell how,
or why.
“Poison,” Dad said, as if the question were printed above my
head. “Best I can tell. Hopefully a type with a sedative effect, so he didn’t
suffer.”
“They were buying kids on the black market,” I rasped, as a
deep, burning anger rose in my chest. “Is this why?”
“That would be my guess. This boy is Indian. A long way to
travel to end up dead here." For a moment the emotionless façade broke
down and a fleeting glimpse of all the anger I felt flashed across his face.
“We thought maybe they were buying them to use as slaves—that’s bad enough—but
human sacrifice? Because that’s what this is. They sacrificed this kid like a
lamb to whatever deity they worship.”
“Then killed each other?” I forced myself to keep examining
the gory scene, hoping I’d pick up enough to give Tink a running start at
deciphering what it all meant because nothing here made sense to me. Not one
damn thing.
“No. Based on the wounds, they killed themselves. Ritual
suicide. Again, points to a cult-type religion of some sort.”
“How long ago?”
“It’s been a few days.”
“But why? ” I came back to that question again and
again. “What’s the point of all this?”
“No idea, son.” He gave me a grim look and I was struck
again at how much I resembled him, right down to the cold-ass stare. Mike might
have taught me how to knot my shoelaces, but this man imprinted something
deeper on my genes. “Here’s the odd thing. There’s a gap.”
He pointed at a body-sized space between a dead man and
woman. Almost like another person should’ve been there.
“Did someone skip out?” I asked.
Now Dad smiled, and that scared me more than anything I’d
seen yet. He looked like a wolf, homing in on his prey. “Yes—Carrie. She was my
contact and she should be here. My guess, because of the empty space, is that
she started the ritual with everyone, then waited for all of them to slit their
throats before bolting.”
“But why would she do that?” How could someone just stand by
and let others kill a little boy then themselves?
“To avoid suspicion. You saw what they did to that
physicist. Carrie is playing a very dangerous game, and to our benefit. The
longer she can avoid detection, the more information I’ll get out of her.”
I noticed he didn’t mention that he’d eventually help her
escape the coven for her own safety, or that she was being brave. No, this
woman was a pawn in a bigger game—the one between Dad and Ann Smythe, the head
witch. Unease prickled at my scalp. I figured he’d be rational, logical and
cold. The ruthlessness surprised me a little.
By now, the smell of blood and death was making me
lightheaded. This was worse than any monster den I’d visited. Tink huddled in a
corner of my brain, seething, and her power had been steadily building—rather
than weakening—since we arrived. I had a feeling I’d go psycho if I didn’t get
out of here.
“I’m not feeling so hot. Think I’ll go for some air.”
Dad nodded. “Please ask Lanningham to come back. We should
take the boy with us. His family deserves the chance to bury him if we can find
out who he is.”
I paused in the doorway. “What about the rest of them?”
“I’ll finish with my pictures and take some samples. I’m
going to pull things out of that supply closet, too, and we’ll want to go
through the outer buildings, see if we can find any correspondence or records.
Maybe Carrie left me some clues or a message,” His expression was so cold, I
swore I could see ice crystals in the air. “After that, we burn the whole
compound to the ground.”
The reasonable part of me thought we should preserve it
somehow, save the evidence. The other ninety-five percent wondered if Dorland
had a spare flamethrower.
The less reasonable part won. “Can I help?”
“You deserve to be the one who throws the first match,” Dad
muttered, kneeling down to take a close up of one of the
or why.
“Poison,” Dad said, as if the question were printed above my
head. “Best I can tell. Hopefully a type with a sedative effect, so he didn’t
suffer.”
“They were buying kids on the black market,” I rasped, as a
deep, burning anger rose in my chest. “Is this why?”
“That would be my guess. This boy is Indian. A long way to
travel to end up dead here." For a moment the emotionless façade broke
down and a fleeting glimpse of all the anger I felt flashed across his face.
“We thought maybe they were buying them to use as slaves—that’s bad enough—but
human sacrifice? Because that’s what this is. They sacrificed this kid like a
lamb to whatever deity they worship.”
“Then killed each other?” I forced myself to keep examining
the gory scene, hoping I’d pick up enough to give Tink a running start at
deciphering what it all meant because nothing here made sense to me. Not one
damn thing.
“No. Based on the wounds, they killed themselves. Ritual
suicide. Again, points to a cult-type religion of some sort.”
“How long ago?”
“It’s been a few days.”
“But why? ” I came back to that question again and
again. “What’s the point of all this?”
“No idea, son.” He gave me a grim look and I was struck
again at how much I resembled him, right down to the cold-ass stare. Mike might
have taught me how to knot my shoelaces, but this man imprinted something
deeper on my genes. “Here’s the odd thing. There’s a gap.”
He pointed at a body-sized space between a dead man and
woman. Almost like another person should’ve been there.
“Did someone skip out?” I asked.
Now Dad smiled, and that scared me more than anything I’d
seen yet. He looked like a wolf, homing in on his prey. “Yes—Carrie. She was my
contact and she should be here. My guess, because of the empty space, is that
she started the ritual with everyone, then waited for all of them to slit their
throats before bolting.”
“But why would she do that?” How could someone just stand by
and let others kill a little boy then themselves?
“To avoid suspicion. You saw what they did to that
physicist. Carrie is playing a very dangerous game, and to our benefit. The
longer she can avoid detection, the more information I’ll get out of her.”
I noticed he didn’t mention that he’d eventually help her
escape the coven for her own safety, or that she was being brave. No, this
woman was a pawn in a bigger game—the one between Dad and Ann Smythe, the head
witch. Unease prickled at my scalp. I figured he’d be rational, logical and
cold. The ruthlessness surprised me a little.
By now, the smell of blood and death was making me
lightheaded. This was worse than any monster den I’d visited. Tink huddled in a
corner of my brain, seething, and her power had been steadily building—rather
than weakening—since we arrived. I had a feeling I’d go psycho if I didn’t get
out of here.
“I’m not feeling so hot. Think I’ll go for some air.”
Dad nodded. “Please ask Lanningham to come back. We should
take the boy with us. His family deserves the chance to bury him if we can find
out who he is.”
I paused in the doorway. “What about the rest of them?”
“I’ll finish with my pictures and take some samples. I’m
going to pull things out of that supply closet, too, and we’ll want to go
through the outer buildings, see if we can find any correspondence or records.
Maybe Carrie left me some clues or a message,” His expression was so cold, I
swore I could see ice crystals in the air. “After that, we burn the whole
compound to the ground.”
The reasonable part of me thought we should preserve it
somehow, save the evidence. The other ninety-five percent wondered if Dorland
had a spare flamethrower.
The less reasonable part won. “Can I help?”
“You deserve to be the one who throws the first match,” Dad
muttered, kneeling down to take a close up of one of the
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