There was silence on the other end, and Mark wondered if she was as reluctant to hang up as he was. When Lily had mentioned calling Jessie, he couldn't help the thrill of anticipation that shot through him. He'd have a reason to call her…to hear her voice again.
Jessie sighed, her breath loud in his ear. "I wish I could help you more, but as long as your gift has to remain a secret, there's nothing more I can do. Can you call Jim with this? Would he be able to help?"
Mark tossed the pencil onto the desk. "I thought about calling him, but this isn't exactly a national crisis. I'm pretty sure it would fall under the jurisdiction of local law enforcement-and you know my history with Chicago P.D."
"But he's still heading up the FBI office, right?"
"Yes, that's true."
"Just because he's CIA doesn't mean he can't act in the capacity of FBI. Give him a call. It couldn't hurt."
"I don't know."
"Listen Mark, I know you still don't like talking to the guy. I get that. But you agreed to keep him informed if you see anything that could be a threat."
"Yes, I did, but not garden variety threats, it's meant for national security threats." He slid the top photo to the side, and studied the next one of the girl strung up on the cross. "As horrible as this is, it's not a national threat."
"National threat or not, you should tell him because you could be in danger trying to stop this. You are an asset now. His asset. It's his job to keep you safe."
"He'll just tell me not to save the girl." He had come to respect Jim despite their rocky history where the other man had been head of the CIA team who had interrogated Mark for over a year. "He'll say it's not worth the risk."
"In a way he's right, you know. You could potentially save thousands if there is ever a repeat of 9/11, but if something happens to you…"
He blew out a breath in exasperation. "So you think I should just let her die? Is that what you're saying?"
"No, I'm just saying that you should get some help."
It was useless. At an impasse, Mark ended the awkward moment. "I'll think about it. And Jess, thanks again."
"You're welcome. Just don't let on where you got the cult info, or I'll…I'll…"
Mark grinned, recognizing her playful tone. "You'll what?"
"You won't have to worry about the cult because I'll crucify you myself."
Mark laughed."Thanks. I owe you one."
"You're damn right you do. More than one." Her voice softened. "And Mark? Stay safe, okay?"
CHAPTER TWO
The first warehouse Mark checked later in the evening was dark and locked up tight. It didn't look like anything could happen there anyway. At least, not in the time frame Mark had figured out. It was already eight-twenty and if a ritual was planned, it would have to get going pretty soon if it was going to happen tonight. If only he had a name. Why couldn't the dream have provided some clue as to who the girl was? Sighing, Mark pulled out his flashlight and checked the photos. He still had hopes that maybe, somehow, they had changed. Unfortunately, he still found grisly pictures of the soon to be dead girl.
The night was dark with heavy clouds scuttling across the sky and a cold, damp wind whistled through the alley. Mark hunched into his jacket and shoved his hands into the pockets as he hurried to the next address on his list. Approaching the building, he paused when he heard muffled voices, laughter and a popping noise float through a broken window. He peeked between the shards of glass and spotted a small group gathered around a burning trash can. The men passed a bottle around.
Mark turned back and leaned against the wall, willing his racing heart to slow to a normal tempo. He hadn't even known how keyed up he was until that moment. Obviously, this wasn't the right warehouse either. It was just a few homeless guys seeking shelter from the weather. He pushed away from the wall and headed back towards the street and his last address. His foot kicked a bottle, sending it clattering across the pavement, the sound loud in the stillness.
"Hey! Who's out there?" The voice was deep and rough.
He turned towards the door of the warehouse and saw a shadow moving towards him. As he spun to flee, his right foot hit a patch of something slippery and slid from beneath him. His knee cracked hard against the pavement and he fell onto his side, teeth clenched in pain as he rolled to a sitting position. Breathing deeply, Mark pulled his knee into his chest, rocking back and forth while the pain slowly abated. Damn. It hurt like a sonofabitch.
"You all right, man?"
Mark looked up to find one of the men from the warehouse leaning over him. His hair was matted and greasy and his clothes could probably walk away on their own, but the weathered face wore a look of concern. Mark relaxed slightly. Wincing, he nodded. "Yeah. I just slipped." Gingerly, he stretched his leg out and decided that it was in working order.
"Whatchya doin' out here?" The man held out a hand and Mark grasped it as the guy hauled Mark to his feet.
"Thanks. I was just…just looking to take some photos. I'm a photographer and need something edgy for a magazine cover."
Looking Mark up and down, the man said, "Where's your camera?"
Mark hesitated a second. "I left it in my car around the corner. I didn't want to lug it around until I found a good site."
"Sure you did, buddy. Listen, this ain't a very good place for a guy like you to be wanderin' around at night."
Mark stiffened, not sure if he'd been insulted or not. "A guy like me?"
The man laughed, his teeth flashing gray in the faint light. "Yeah. You look like a doctor or lawyer or somethin'. And some folks in this part of town don't like your kind."
"I…I'm not a doctor or a lawy…look, I have a studio in the River North area. I'm just a photographer."
"And you came all the way out here to take some pictures?" He raised an eyebrow as he took a swig from his bottle then offered it to Mark.
"Uh, no, but thanks for the offer."
Shrugging, the guy took another pull.
Mark began backing slowly away. Time was wasting. "Well, seeing as how the full moon is hidden by the clouds, guess I might have to try another night." Mark didn't buy his own story and from the look on the other man's face, he didn't either.
"Do what you want, but while you're taking your pictures, steer clear of that warehouse across the street. There's some strange shit going on in there."
Mark whipped his head around. He strained to see the warehouse the man spoke of. "Strange…shit?"
"Yeah, the last few nights, we've heard chanting, screams and some creepy yowling."
His mind raced. That was the warehouse. "Thanks, I'll keep your advice in mind."
The man cleared his throat and spat before answering, "You do that."
Mark crept around the corner of the building and found an entrance. The door hung askew and creaked in the wind. He paused before entering. Maybe he should just call the police. But he shook off that plan. So far, he had nothing to tell them and with his lack of credibility with the Chicago PD, he doubted they would jump into action on his say so alone. He worried he might already be too late. Mark shook his head, trying to dispel the negative thought. Somehow, he would find a way to save the young woman.
Stepping over the threshold, he found himself in what he thought might be an office. It was pitch black, but he sensed walls instead of a large cavernous space like a warehouse. He shuffled his feet carefully, his hands held out before him as he tried to navigate in the darkness. Soon, his eyes grew accustomed to the lack of light, and he picked out dark shapes that appeared to be desks and chairs.