his phone from his pocket, nodding quickly and then scrolling through his contacts. He half-turned in the universal gesture of phone etiquette and held the device to his ear as he peered across the flashing police vehicles beneath the darkening sky.
A few moments passed, and then Adele heard a quiet, clipped voice on the other end.
“Hey, Amy,” Agent Carter said, quickly, “look… No, no—it’s not about that.” His cheeks went red. “I’m calling about a case,” he muttered. Then, his eyes shifting to John and back, and shielding his phone with a shoulder again, he muttered, “Fine—I had a good time too. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay. I’m calling about the blood type. Is that in yet?”
Another pause, and Agent Carter nodded quickly. “Thanks—yeah, thanks. I’m with them now. I’ll tell them. Great job.”
He clicked the phone and looked up, his cheeks still tinged red. He glanced from Adele to John and said, in a clipped tone, “You were right, Agent Sharp. The blood types are a match. All of them are AB negative. From the victims in Germany, France, and also here.”
“AB negative,” said Adele, her eyebrows flinching at a sudden pulse of excitement. “Let me guess; that’s rare.”
Agent Carter dipped his head quickly. “Sounded like it. But another thing—all of the people were donors.”
Adele was already turning though, looking at John. “We need to bring Agent Grant in on this. Carter, follow us!” Then she began moving back toward her parked car, her hand slipping into her pocket to pull her own phone. Gravel crunched beneath her feet and skittered onto lawn grass as she moved past the rows of cops.
“We need to look for donors in the same area, Sam. John… those numbers—the two at the bottom. What were they?”
Agent Renee rattled off, “1956 and 1958.”
“Good.” She reached their parked car and turned fully to Carter now. “I don’t care if it is off-hours or not. I need your people to run a search.”
Carter hesitated. “Like I said… it’s office politics and all, but the lead for this week won’t do any more off-hours. It’s this whole thing from last month—fourteen-hour days and—”
“Carter, I don’t care!” Adele said, shouting at him now. A couple of the officers nearby glanced over, watching them. Adele didn’t bother to lower her voice. “Someone’s going to die, probably tonight if you don’t get this done.”
Carter hesitated. “Normally… Normally they would—it’s like I said, though. The data team has been refusing—”
Adele rubbed at her temples. “Fine—you do it then. Can you do that?”
Carter winced. “I’ll need to go back to the office.”
“That’s all right. I’ll put you in contact with Lumen Relief. Ms. Jayne, she’s with Interpol, will most likely be able to make the connection, seeing as they operate in Europe too. You’ll need to coordinate with them.”
“And… all right,” Carter said, swallowing and trying to keep up. “What exactly am I looking for?”
Adele exhaled, nodding, closing her eyes to focus. “I need you to find anyone born in the years 1956 through 1958 in the local area. But cast a wide net—include counties two over if you have to. I also need you to make sure they’re AB negative.”
“Oh—okay,” Carter said, wincing. “Ummm… Should I do that now?”
“Carter, you should’ve done that five minutes ago.”
The agent quickly nodded and gestured toward John. “Keys?” he said, wincing.
Agent Renee tossed the car keys to Carter and stood, watching as the young man scrambled into the front seat, did a fifteen-point turn to try to move out from behind another SUV, and then sped onto the road, lights flashing, pulling away and down the road.
Adele sighed, watching him go.
John frowned. He pointed one finger in the opposite direction of the car. “Isn’t San Francisco that way?” he asked.
Adele nodded wearily. She watched as Carter reached the end of the road, then came to a screeching stop. He backed up, turned the vehicle, and came breezing past the other way, his eyes fixed determinedly on the road, refusing to look toward his captive audience, his cheeks tinged red through the open front window.
“How long of a drive back to the office?” John asked, muttering.
Adele shook her head. “An hour—too long.”
“So we wait? Hope Carter can figure it out?”
Adele looked up at the darkening sky and massaged the back of her neck. “It is what it is,” she said, softly. “Hopefully our killer waits until nightfall to strike.”
Evening had already inserted itself across the horizon.
John glanced to Adele. “Work hours are almost done, yes? The roads