Wolfsbane and Mistletoe Page 0,58

address."

"Three generations?" Lobison said.

"No children," Romanov said, answering what he'd meant rather than what he'd said. "The youngest of them was twenty-three. They evidently . . ." She hesitated, seeming to search for the correct word. "It appears that each generation evidently married early and had children very young."

In some distant part of his brain Lobison was relieved at the news, but it felt as if he had received it at a distance, one step removed from himself. He shook his head again, not in disbelief but in an attempt to shake off his disorientation. His stomach growled, loud enough for Romanov and the chief both to hear. That was nuts, he'd had a Pop All-Dark at the Lucky Wishbone just before they'd headed out, he couldn't possibly be hungry.

Romanov looked at him and he felt the weight of her considering gaze. He shook his head a third time, almost angrily. The scent of her perfume seemed to increase in intensity, so that he could smell nothing but her.

The chief took Lobison's demeanor as remorse over the slaughter. "I wouldn't weep any real tears one way or another," he said. "We found this." He held out a dented metal box. "Explosion blew it out one of the windows. Looks like trophies from all thirteen victims. Your partner's already ID'd some of them."

Lobison took the box automatically, looking inside it, recognizing a ponytail holder, an earring, a pitiful jumble of personal objects that held no meaning except to the loved ones left behind.

"One for the books," the chief said. "A whole family of serial killers. I put it in NCIC and the Feebs are practically pissing in their pants. They're sending up a profiler from Quantico on the red-eye. A whole family," he said again, marveling, and then brightened. "I guess the family that preys together stays together." He laughed at his own joke and elbowed Lobison. "'Preys together?' Get it?"

"Jesus," Lobison said again, only this time it was a whisper. "The guy who called. He was telling the truth. It was them."

"Damn straight it was," the chief said. "The way I see it, we're damn lucky that stray bullet caught the propane tank and fried the whole bunch of them. This way we've got the perpetrators of thirteen bloodthirsty murders dead to rights - " He laughed again. "And we don't even have to bring them to trial. Not to mention, you both get gold shields." He grinned. "It's the gift that keeps on giving, Sergeants. Merry Christmas." He looked over Lobison's shoulder. "Oh, crap."

"What?" Romanov followed his gaze. A Channel 2 truck was pulling into the yard.

"Who called us?" Lobison said. "Who tipped us off?"

"Who cares?" the chief said, straightening his tie. "I'll take these assholes for you." He winked at them. "You two head on home. Sleep in, come in late. Reports on my desk tomorrow by end of shift."

"Yes, sir," Romanov said.

The chief headed for the television crew, and Lobison registered the logo on the side of the van for the first time. "Shit," he said, and pulled out his cell. "I've got to call my family before this hits the news. They're always expecting to see me dead or dying on film at ten."

Romanov was amused. "Your family worries about you on the job?"

"You have no idea. Especially my brothers." He hit the speed dial and held the phone to his ear. "All six of them."

He didn't notice how still she went at his words. "You have six brothers?"

"Yep," he said grimly, "and it doesn't help that I'm the youngest."

Romanov drifted closer to him, too close. Her arm brushed his and that scent, floral deepening to musk, grew even stronger, to the point that he could smell nothing but her. Over the increasing roar in his ears he heard her say, almost dreamily, "You never told me you were a seventh son."

He forced a laugh, at the same time contriving to take a small step away from her. He was startled and embarrassed to find that he was abruptly, rudely, achingly hard. "Everyone bursts into song when I do, so I don't much. Hey. What're you doing?"

This as she reached for his cell phone and closed it. He sensed a presence at his shoulder and his head snapped around. A dark man in a very sharp suit that looked very much out of place on a back road in the Valley seemed to coalesce out of the forest. There was nothing in his appearance to alarm