My mother escaped.
I repeat the words over and over again, willing sense into them.
"Agent Starling, are you all right?" Agent Thrussell asks, his brows drawn together in concern.
"Yeah." It comes out in a squeak. "Yup." I try again and fail to sound unfazed. I flip my hair forward, twirling the edges around my fingers. "Yes, I'm fine."
There.
I sounded extremely convincing.
I step around the fallen tools and reach for my phone, which was lying on a pile of files a few moments ago. "Have you warned Edward?" I ask the attractive harbinger of doom.
"Who?" Agent Thrussell questions, his worry turning to surprise. How could he not know who Edward is? Agent Delicious’s ignorance can mean only one thing.
My dad has no idea she's escaped.
Earthquakes of dread go off along my spine as I search for my phone.
Where is the damn thing? The device might be smart, but it sure makes me feel dumb when I can't find it. I flip the documents over, moving around my work area, searching for the fucking piece of plastic that holds all of my precious information. It needs a pager or something so I can spot it easier in times of crisis.
"What are you doing?" Agent Thrussell asks. "Did you hear me? I'm here to get your expertise on Markov. No one knows her better than you do."
"Bah," I snort, shaking my head. "If only that were true," I grumble, still digging through all of my paperwork.
"I don't know what you're looking for, but perhaps if you were better organized, you could easily find your belongings."
Before I could threaten to pass equal judgment over him in his most personal space with a clever, snarky response, I spot my phone's skull case on a box of teeth I've been meaning to document.
"Ha! No need." I shrug, my hands still shaking. "It's exactly where I left it."
One of his eyebrows does the curvy thing again, his hazel eyes caught between annoyance and amusement. He opens his mouth to say something, but I silence him with a raised finger, full teacher mode activated.
I scroll through my contacts until I find my dad's number and click on it.
"What did I do to deserve such an unexpected call from my favorite daughter?" my dad asks by way of greeting. He might not be a nocturnal creature like me, but he adjusted his entire life to the nighttime when I was a kid. He's good like that.
And now I have to break insanely disturbing news to him.
"Dad, are you sitting down?"
"I don't like the sound of that, Spooky. What's happened?" His voice, usually sweet and gentle, takes on an edge.
"Mom escaped prison." I ignore Agent Thrussell's sharp inhale. I can deal with him as soon as my dad is safe. "I don't have any more details than that, but you need to follow the protocol I set up in case this happened. Do you remember what we talked about?"
"Oh." My dad's voice shakes. "She escaped?" he asks as if he isn't sure he heard me right the first time around.
Yup, I get it, Dad. This is about as fucked up as using a rusty blade to start an autopsy.
"Apparently." My eyes go to the agent who is now standing with his arms crossed, suspicion and fire in his eyes. What's his damage? "You need to pack a bag and go."
I wave my hand over to Agent Thrussell, who is now openly glaring at me. "When did she escape?" I ask the Norse-god lookalike. He shakes his head and nods toward my phone.
"Right," I snap at him. "Look, I know you guys dropped the ball by not calling Edward, but he needs to go someplace safe."
"If you could please hang up the phone and explain to me what is happening, that would be great."
"I have to make sure my dad is safe. She could go after him."
"Am I understanding this properly? You're Sveta Markov's daughter? You are the child of this generation's Elizabeth Bathory?"
I bristle at the description the media created for my mother based on the notorious woman of the sixteenth century, but with a deep inhale, I calm myself enough to glare at Agent Thrussell.
"I'd prefer it if you addressed me as Mila or Agent Starling." Agent Thrussell gives me a curt headshake, apparently as an apology. "When did she escape?" I make sure to enunciate every word clearly, hoping to sound as badass and annoyed as I feel. It's my instructor voice. Equal part bitch and boss. I like to think that I’m channeling Professor McGonagall.
"She vanished about thirty minutes ago. We have uniforms going to your father's house as we speak. I didn’t realize his name was Edward. I apologize for the confusion."
"That's nice, but I've got this under control." I turn my attention back to my father. "Dad, the protocol. Follow it. Contact me when you're safe."
"What are you going to do to protect yourself?" my father asks. "Like I've told you a million times before, you'd be her target. Not me. I'm too old."
I ignore his words. They hurt too much. For all we know, Dad is right.
"I'm a FUC agent, Dad. I'm fine."
"Okay, Spooky." He breathes unsteadily. "I love you."
"Love you, Dad. Be safe."
I don't even have time to push down on the End button before Agent Thrussell is on me like a vampire bat on a juicy calf. He closes the distance between us, his eyes digging into me as if I were a suspect, not a colleague.
"Is there a problem?" I bite, crossing my arms.
Holy bloodbag. I get why he is mad. It's not every day that you learn that an agent is the direct descendant of the century’s most infamous slaughterer. But still, he doesn't have to look at me like I committed the murders.
Also, if he could stand a bit farther away from me, I'd appreciate it. He smells too good, like sandalwood and freshly cut grass. I don't know whether to shove him away or maul his handsome face.
From this close, I can see the gold flecks in his hazel eyes, making me a bit loopy. Did I use chloroform today? That has to be it. There's no way I'm all woozy because of a dude.
Definitely not a man who makes the Hemsworth brothers look like silly little boys. The Viking look is so not my type.
Especially not one who invaded my lab with only the worst news ever.
"You're Markov's daughter?" Agent Thrussell's eyes take me in, no doubt looking for any outward sign that I am like my mother. That's a look I get a lot when people figure out whom I'm related to. "How is that even possible?" He sounds about as incredulous as if I’d just announced to him that the moon is made of Styrofoam.
"Well…" I sigh with a deep eye-roll. "When a mommy and a daddy love each other very much…" I begin.
"I get that, Agent Starling." He doesn't snap, exactly, but it's clear I'm pushing his buttons.
Deciding to play nice for now, I shrug. I have to tuck away my sass and focus on getting Mom back behind bars. If this delicious mancake is the one who has the information I need, I have to keep him on my side.
"I have my father's name. My mother kept her own because it was the name on her doctorate. It would have been too much of a hassle to change all of her practice documents when she got married. She's a Markov; I'm a Starling."
"Fine, but how are you the expert on her crimes?"
That's a fair question. From what I'm told, most people wouldn't have submerged themselves in every detail of every murder their mother committed.
Nope.
They would have been in denial or been too distraught to delve into the dark mind of a killer.
Me? I might have been only sixteen when she was caught, but I immediately needed to understand. Why, how, the woman who tucked me into bed and read me bedtime stories turned out to be such a monster.
"When I did my masters and Ph.D. in forensic anthropology and criminal psychopathology, I used my mother as my case study. I visited her in prison and played on the mother and daughter bond to get information out of her. She had no idea, of course, that I was using her."
It hurts to think of the deception I applied to get her to talk to me, but hey, the woman was lying to me most of my life. You know, sneaking around to kill people instead of going to PTA meetings.
Ugh.
If only that were true. She never missed one single teacher conference. And she was at every single science fair I ever entered, cheering me on as I beat out the other kids for first place.
She was a good mother. That's why it was so shocking when her secret life exploded. It was the last thing I expected.
After I found out who my mother really was, I had to do something to make right what she had done. I threw myself into my studies to offer some kind of peace to the families that mine had destroyed.
"That..." Agent Thrussell clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair, ruining his beautiful pompadour-stylized hair. "Yeah, that's... Well, let's just say I'm impressed. Now I need you to help me find her."
His tough-guy veneer slips very slightly, and there is a pleading in his eyes.
I get the fear.
We have to get her back behind bars. With hundreds of confirmed kills, my mother is way too dangerous to be out in the world.