Nightshades Read Online Free Page A

where they met Lucius Tymer, the high-level SAC in charge of the care and keeping of the Bureau’s most famous prisoner. When Alex was a teenager Tymer had been a notorious Bureau cowboy, someone his mother had to call on the carpet at least once a month. As he got older—Tymer was a couple months shy of fifty—he’d drifted away from insubordination and taken an interest in oddities: female serial killers, complex international kidnappings, and yes, reports of otherworldly creatures who had abilities beyond normal humans. By the time Ambrose was captured, Tymer had already spent a couple of years looking into these sightings. He’d volunteered to run the first, D.C.-based BPI pod, the one devoted specifically to Ambrose’s confinement and study. Alex suspected Tymer would be studying shades right up until retirement—unless, God forbid, something even weirder came along.
    Tymer was a collector: His primary interest was the acquisition of anomalies. With that in mind, he’d made a point to keep tabs on the career of Alex McKenna, the legacy agent. When Alex got on the phone with him, Tymer had already heard about the promotion, despite it being less than five hours old, and he readily agreed to let the newly minted SAC visit Ambrose later that evening—though he balked at letting Chase Eddy join Alex during the interrogation. “We rarely allow more than one person in front of him at a time,” Tymer explained. “We don’t feed him as often as he’d like, so when there’s extra blood around he gets overstimulated, like a toddler in a candy store. Makes it hard for him to focus on the questions.” There was a pause, and then the senior agent added, “We always keep two spotters at the end of the hall, though, staring right at you for any signs of compulsion. I’ll act as one, and Eddy can join me.”
    Tymer was waiting for them at the first checkpoint, a broad-shouldered black man of average height, a little more rotund than Alex remembered, although it had been a couple of years. He had a scar on his throat and several more on his hands and forearms, defensive wounds from various street-level battles during his early years with the FBI. Tymer was a bit vain about the scars—the man had a reputation for going around in rolled-up shirtsleeves even in the dead of winter. “Alex,” he said warmly. “Good to see you again, my boy. Congratulations on the promotion.”
    “Thank you, sir.” Alex shook his hand and gestured to Chase. “You’ve met Agent Eddy, I believe? He’s going to be my number two in Chicago.”
    “Right, of course.” Tymer, who appeared to be just noticing the other agent’s existence, shook Chase’s hand as well. “I’m glad you boys could stop by before you take off. Gives me a chance to show off the little we’ve learned.”
    “We’re anxious to see if he can shed any light on the situation in Chicago, sir,” Alex said, just to remind Tymer that this wasn’t a tourist visit.
    “Right, right.” Tymer eyed him. “You got papers or something to show him?”
    Alex nodded and held up a file folder. “Stuff from Chicago. We’re hoping he’ll detect a pattern.”
    Tymer held out his hand, and Alex gave him the folder. He flipped through it, removing several staples and a paper clip from the group of photos. He sighed heavily as he handed it back. “Well, those should get his motor running. We’ll deal with it, though. I know the kind of pressure you’re facing.” Alex nodded and thanked him. The other BPI agents might have seen him as a dead man walking, but none of them wanted to be the guy who made things harder for the new agent in charge of the Chicago debacle.
    Tymer led Alex and Chase through the first, general security check, the same one used by all building visitors. Then all three men moved toward a nondescript stairway that led to the basement—or what was known in-house as Camp Vamp. At the bottom of the stairway was a second checkpoint, which appeared to be a