Highborn Read online

  “All right,” she said.

  Redmond scowled at her as he brought out a pair of steel handcuffs. He pulled her arms around to her back and snapped the cuffs around her wrists before the other man reholstered his revolver. With a detective on either side of her, Brynna was led none too gently to an unmarked police car parked outside. “You have the right to remain silent,” Detective Redmond told her in a rigid voice. Then he kept on talking, droning about courts and the law and more things she paid no attention to as he opened the door and his partner guided her into the automobile’s back compartment. The door closed and locked, leaving her feeling trapped if not vulnerable; the windows were tinted, so at least she wasn’t on display inside a glass bowl. It was more comfortable than Brynna had expected, and having her hands restrained behind her back bothered her not a bit. She was limber enough to easily wriggle her backside and legs through and get her wrists to the front, but ultimately she decided that wouldn’t be a good idea; she’d swatted that detective harder than she’d intended. She could see him favoring a wrist that was showing a deep bruise along one side. Clearly, hurting him hadn’t been a good move on her part.

  With traffic, it took almost forty-five minutes to get to the Criminal Courthouse, a big, multistory gray building that the street signs noted was at 26th and California. The front of the structure on California Avenue had eight stone columns, and while Brynna thought they were poor copies of ancient Grecian architecture, they did give it an imposing façade.

  Inside, the place was crowded and noisy, filled with uniformed and plainclothes policemen and criminals of all kinds. It was fascinating, the sight and scents of so many different aspects of humanity, all jammed into a relatively small space and with one group—the law enforcers—trying to maintain control over the other. While a lot of the people seemed to be in a hurry, Redmond and his partner were not: they took their time about getting her seated at a table in a room surrounded by windows, then uncuffed her and left her there for several hours as she wondered what the next step in her arrest would be.

  When Detective Redmond finally came back, he was alone. He settled himself on a chair across from her and pulled out a pen and a notebook, then looked at her expectantly. “Name?”

  “Brynna,” she said promptly. Cooperation seemed like a good thing.

  He sighed. “Last name?”

  Brynna sat back. Last name? Damn, she should have expected this—almost all the humans used them now. “Malak,” she blurted. The Arabic word for angel was the first thing that came to mind.

  “Malak,” Redmond repeated, then spelled it out loud and waited for her confirmation that he was correct. “Address?”

  This was going to be a lot harder than she’d thought. If she tried to make something up, he’d find out. “I … don’t have one,” she answered. “I just got here.”

  “Where did you come from?”

  Crap, it was just getting worse. “You wouldn’t know it.”

  Redmond tapped his pen impatiently. “Just give me the address.”

  “Caina,” she said after a moment of indecision. He scowled, and she added quickly, “1224 Maple Street.” It sounded fake even as she said it, but it was too late to take it back. “It’s down south, very … out of the way.”

  “Down south,” Redmond repeated. “Where down south? Georgia? Florida? Tennessee? Where?”

  “Georgia,” Brynna said.

  He glanced at her as he was writing. “You don’t look like the Southern-girl type.”

  “Appearances can be deceiving.”

  “Uh-huh.” He stared at her for a long time without speaking, but she only stared back. “You know, I could charge you with assaulting a police officer and leaving the scene of a crime.”

  Brynna resisted the urge to point out that she’d only slapped him on the wrist. Sarcasm was probably not the way to go. Instead she said, “But I didn’t commit the crime. I didn’t even know there was a crime.” His look of surprise made her instantly realize her mistake—of course it was a crime to kill someone. This was Earth, not Hell, and everyone would know that. “I mean, I knew there was a crime, obviously, but I didn’t do it, so I didn’t know I was supposed to stay.” She hoped that would somehow cancel out her blunder, but the expression on the detective’s face said otherwise. If only propriety came to her as easily as words.

  Finally he leaned forward. “Let me explain something, Ms. Malak. This is the fifth shooting like this, where some poor sucker—and they’ve come in all ages—seems to be just minding his or her own business, and kablaam!” He slammed his fist on the table, but Brynna didn’t even flinch. “Shot in the head, right out of the blue. No reason, no motive, no connection between the victims.”

  Brynna opened her mouth to ask if five was a lot, then wisely shut it.

  “One was a middle-aged homeless woman, another was a fourteen-year-old boy going home from a soccer game.” He glared at her. “One was a science professor about to retire, another was a secretary at an advertising firm. And the only thing they have in common is that they were all killed by the same gun.” Redmond half stood and leaned across the table. “And here you are, the closest thing to a witness that we’ve had, standing right in front of the latest victim. But you don’t have an address here in the city, and I’d bet my next paycheck you don’t have any identification. In fact, I’d bet you don’t have a driver’s license or even a social security card. Do you?”

  All Brynna could do was look at him. “I don’t drive.”

  “And a social security number ? How have you held a job without one?”

  “Well, I’ve never really worked …” Her voice trailed off.

  Redmond stood up so quickly that his chair toppled over behind him, but he didn’t seem to notice as he made a sharp gesture toward the two-way glass. “I’ve had enough of your bullshit,” he said roughly. “You don’t have any identification, you don’t have a local address. A man dies right in front of you, and you have this screwed-up attitude like it’s no big deal. Maybe a night or two in lockup will put you a little more on the cooperative side.” By the time he’d finished speaking, two female police officers had come into the room and taken a position on each side of her.

  “I don’t know what you want me to cooperate about,” she countered. “I didn’t kill Toby, and I don’t … know who did.”

  Redmond had already turned his back to her, but he picked up instantly on her hesitation. He spun and pushed his face close to hers. “You saw something, didn’t you? Something or someone. And out of all these killings, you are the only one who did. So why don’t you help us out, huh?”

  She wasn’t sure why, but Brynna wasn’t ready to talk about the killer or the fact that she’d followed him back to what was mostly likely his apartment building. She might need this information to help herself, and giving it out to this cop could change everything, could put her into the public eye in a way that would be devastatingly unsafe. She shook her head. “No. I can’t.”

  “You’re lying,” Redmond said flatly. He jerked his head at the uniformed women. “Take her to booking. For now, just make it a twenty-four-hour hold.”

  Brynna didn’t bother watching Detective Redmond as he walked out. In another moment, the two officers had rehandcuffed her and were leading her out. She was more interested in the next twenty-four hours. Did he think she would be frightened? That was ridiculous—it was such a short period of time, not even a twitch of her eyelid in the passage that had been her existence. It had been a long time since she’d been on Earth, and she’d already decided that being in the belly of this building was a safe enough place. Like being in the belly of a whale, protected from the sharks circling in the dangerous waters of the outside sea. Spending the next day here would, Brynna believed, go a long way toward bringing her up-to-date on part of the culture that modern mankind had developed.

  “MAYBE THIS WILL MAKE her more cooperative,” Eran Redmond said as he and Sathi watched Brynna Malak being led away by two police
women, both of whom were considerably shorter than their prisoner.

  “Perhaps,” his partner agreed.

  Redmond turned to look at him. “You don’t sound convinced.”

  Still watching as Brynna and her escorts disappeared around a corner, Sathi crossed his arms. “There is something … strange about that woman,” he finally noted. “I can’t quite figure it out.”

  “She’s very attractive,” Redmond said without thinking. When his friend sent him a wry glance, Redmond shrugged. “Come on, it’s not like you didn’t notice, too.”

  “I did,” Sathi admitted. “But I think it would be a grave mistake to do anything about it.”

  “Yeah,” Redmond said. He pushed open the main door and headed out to the parking lot and their waiting car. His face darkened and he couldn’t keep a hint of bitterness from edging out with his words. “It always is.”

  A corner of Sathi’s mouth lifted. “In your love life, that does seem to be the unfortunate truth, my friend. But in this instance …” He didn’t finish.

  Redmond started to prod him, then decided not to. It wouldn’t do any good to put Sathi on the spot when Redmond had a feeling the man couldn’t explain himself. Just as Redmond himself couldn’t explain that even though his partner had never finished what he was saying about Brynna Malak, Redmond knew exactly what he was talking about. To start with, there was the obvious: A cop never, ever hooked up with someone involved in a case. Redmond couldn’t think of any faster way to screwed-up, and although anyone with a brain would say it was a no-brainer, he’d seen plenty of good cops take their careers right into the crapper by doing just that. He didn’t need any personal education on it, thank you very much. He already had enough of a family history to know what the flipside of being one of the good guys could get you.

  But as Sathi had noted, there was, indeed, something about Brynna Malak.

  Setting his jaw, Eran forced away his thoughts of her as he climbed into his car and went about the rest of his day.

  Three

  The two policewomen took Brynna to a lower level, then through a locked door where there were four holding cells fronted by a long hallway. The cells weren’t particularly large, each only about fifteen by fifteen feet, with an exposed metal toilet in a back corner. The fronts and sides of each cell were made of steel bars. A layer of steel mesh woven between the sides gave the occupants something to lean against without being grabbed by someone else from behind. The back wall was dirty gray and covered in stains and graffiti, and the air stank of urine and unwashed flesh.

  A female guard sat on a chair by the entry door, occasionally glancing at the occupants with a bored but experience-sharp gaze. Her belt was laden with tools and weapons, including a stun gun and a long billy club with a well-worn handle and scarred surface. Once the handcuffs were removed, Brynna was shoved inside one of the center cells and promptly forgotten. The two cops left and the guard never tried to talk to her. Brynna didn’t have anything to say anyway.

  The short benches along each wall were taken and there was nowhere else to sit besides the dirty floor. Brynna was used to being looked at, so the stares of the other women—desire mixed with appraisal—didn’t bother her. She settled against the back wall on the right side, where she could observe her cellmates as well as the women in the holding area next to her. It was an unsavory group, and more than a few of them knew each other. Brynna watched all of them, drinking in the different accents, languages, and personalities, soaking up as much as she could in such a restricted situation.

  “You don’t look like a whore.” The woman who moved to stand next to her was short but sturdily built. Her hair was a flat, dyed black that showed lighter roots, and her heavy eye makeup was smudged. She was wearing a red vinyl miniskirt and her muscular legs looked out of place above spike high heels that were a not-quite-matching scarlet. Across the backside of the too-tight skirt, the word Candy was stitched in flowery pink script. Glimpsed from a cruising car, little Candy—if that was really her name—might look eighteen, but up close her face showed her to be more like forty. Brynna figured the woman was actually in her late twenties, weak willed and already thoroughly corrupted. It wasn’t surprising she was attracted to Brynna. “So what’re you in here for?”

  Brynna barely gave her a glance. “I guess they don’t like me.”

  Candy’s mouth twisted at the unspoken rejection. “I get it. A smart-ass.”

  Brynna finally looked at her. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

  “Hey, I’m just trying to be friendly!” Candy’s voice rose enough to make a couple of the other women look her way. She stepped closer to where Brynna was seated. Predictably, the guard ignored all of them.

  “I’m not looking for friends,” Brynna retorted. “And if I was, I wouldn’t pick you.”

  “Well, just fuck you, then!” Candy’s face flushed. “You snotty-ass bitch, just who the hell do you think you are?” When Brynna didn’t bother to answer, Candy bent forward slightly. “I oughta teach you a lesson, that’s what I oughta do. You stupid cunt, you don’t know nothing about nothing.”

  “Go away,” Brynna finally said. All she wanted to do was sit and watch the interaction among the others. She didn’t want to be a part of anything, she certainly didn’t want to have a conversation with this twit, and she was starting to get annoyed.

  “Fuck you,” Candy said again. She drew one foot back and aimed a kick at Brynna’s leg.

  Bad idea.

  Brynna caught Candy’s ankle long before the pointy toe of her shoe connected with anything. She was going to dump the woman on her backside, then decided that wouldn’t be a good idea—it would cause a ruckus and get the guard’s attention. Any police presence in the holding cells would affect the behavior of the women. Since she wanted to see how things happened on their own, it was better to keep the guard out of it. Of course, the issue with Candy itself was just another lesson in how humans treated one another. Rather than take the little prostitute to the ground, Brynna used one hand to simply pin her foot to the floor.

  Candy grunted and wobbled on her other foot, trying to maintain her balance. “Hey, let go!” She scowled, not understanding how Brynna was able to hold her. She hopped slightly, trying to get into a better position. “Bitch!”

  Brynna sighed, then pressed harder. There was a faint crack as the arched part of the woman’s shoe broke and flattened against the floor. Candy gasped in pain and tried futilely to jerk her foot free. Brynna sent a dark glance in Candy’s direction. “Of all the people in here, I’m the one you least want to fuck with,” Brynna said in a low voice. “Go away.”

  “Fine,” Candy spat. “What ever.” This time when she pulled, Brynna let her go. Candy tripped backward, then stomped off to another corner in the holding cell, although her attempt to look haughty was made comical by her lopsided, broken-shoed gait. Every now and then she’d shoot a poisonous glance in Brynna’s direction, but at least she’d learned to keep her distance.

  The hours passed, measured unceasingly by a clock on the wall opposite the holding cells. For some, the time obviously went more slowly. Brynna watched in amusement as a few of the better-dressed prostitutes repeatedly banged on the bars and called out to the guard, who was very good at ignoring nearly everything and got up only to open the holding cell door when necessary. Various cops came and went, sometimes bringing someone new, occasionally selecting someone for release or whatever other fate awaited them. Once in a great while the guard would push a tray laden with flimsy plastic cups of water—no food—into each holding cell. Listening to the prisoners’ constant loud complaints, Brynna thought they should count their blessings. Five hundred years ago being taken away by a prison guard had been a guaranteed death sentence, and the suffering endured before the killing itself had been unspeakable.

  Midnight came and went, then another round of cops came in, this time steering in front of them a terrified-looking girl who probably wasn’t yet out of her teens. Her
blond hair was long and tangled and her face and hands were dirty. Brynna could see clean spots on her cheeks where tears had washed away the grime. “Please,” the girl kept saying to the two stone-faced officers. “This is all just a big mistake. If you’d just get my dad on the phone, he’ll straighten it all out. I just—”

  “Daddy’s not home,” one of them said coldly. “Spend the night in here and see how you like it.”

  “But—”

  “Save it.”

  The guard pulled the door open and one of the cops pushed the girl inside the holding cell. She stumbled against one of the older prostitutes, a thin Hispanic with leathery skin and unreadable dark eyes. “Watch where you’re going, dumb shit,” she snapped and gave the girl a hard shove. The hooker pulled on the straps of her dirty tank top like she was straightening a major wardrobe mishap.

  “S-Sorry.” The teenager backed away and looked around. Her eyes were slightly wild but Brynna could see her fighting to stay calm. “Sorry.” She turned to plead with the cops again, but they were disappearing through the exit door at the far end of the hallway. She hung on the bars for a moment, then wisely decided it was a better idea not to have her back to the other occupants.

  “Well, ain’t you just a pretty little thing.” The Latina sidled up to the newcomer, then reached out and fingered some of the light-colored hair spilling down the girl’s back. “I’d make a lot of points with my man for turning you out.” She gave the girl a sly, tobacco-stained smile, then let her thin fingers drop to the teen’s shoulder. “What’s your name, chica? You and me, we’ll hook up once we get out of here. What do you say?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” The teenager stepped sideways to get out of reach, then shook her head. A look of horror skittered across her features before she could disguise it.