Viking by Daniel Hardman Read Free Book Online Page A

to call it... An enormous flying jellyfish thing. It looked like
a huge round blimp with tentacles.”
    Did it attack?
    “Not us. It came to check out the mining machine. Played with it like a toy.”
    Act aggressive?
    “Hard to say. It didn’t do anything all that violent—but then, cat and mouse games
usually look innocent until the cat gets bored.”
    So why do you think it left?
    “It dropped the miner like a hot potato when we flipped the floodlights on. Then its
belly puffed up like a balloon, and it took off. I think it was more startled than
scared; it’s hard to imagine real fear in anything that big.”
    You could be right. I’ll go back and take a look at your vike feed a little
later. These pufferbellies sound interesting.
    “Pufferbellies?”
    We don’t come up with fancy Latin names until we can fill in the taxonomy a bit
with DNA analysis.
    Rafa shrugged. “I guess that’s as good a name as any. Don’t know if I’d call them interesting , though.”
    Anyway, shall we go over the schedule? We’ve got a lot to do before the next
shift starts.

6
    The knock sounded terse and hollow and strangely loud against the counterpoint of
the twins’ happy chatter—the way it always sounded in Julie’s dream. Rafa glanced at
his wife, his expression maddeningly calm, and rolled smoothly to his feet when he saw
that she was up to her wrists in cookie dough.
    “I’ll go,” he said, dumping pumpkin guts into the kitchen incinerator and scooping
Kyrie onto his back. Lauren looked up from her own half-finished jack-o-lantern and
giggled as Rafa pretended to flick seeds on her. In the dream, that giggle was
hauntingly carefree and innocent. It broke Julie’s heart to remember it, made her
desperate to wake up. But the dream always swept her relentlessly along.
    “Rafael Orosco?” It was an unfamiliar voice, deep and businesslike.
    “Yes.”
    “I’m Agent Tearle from the FBI. This is my partner, Agent Gregory. We’re
investigating the death of Samantha Oberling. Could we ask you some questions?”
    Julie wanted to scream at Rafa to shut the door, to run for his life and hers. But
instead she froze, lonely dread settling like the mists of the chilly October fog
outside. Rafa had told her about the grisly car accident he’d seen the night before.
But a cold foreboding told her the FBI didn’t get involved with traffic problems. And
she’d noticed earlier that his bloodstained sweats were no longer crumpled on top of a
basket in the laundry room. She hadn’t washed them...
    She couldn’t think of any neighbors or acquaintances by the name they’d mentioned.
Did Rafa know the victim from the university? What connection could her little family
possibly have to a murder?
    From the front of the house there was a pregnant silence. When her husband spoke, he
sounded clipped and hostile.
    “Can I see your ID?”
    A moment later Julie heard a murmur and heavy footsteps sounding in the entryway.
She washed her hands and slid the cookie sheet into the oven, then followed a very
curious Lauren into the living room. Rafa was sitting with Kyrie on his lap, facing the
two officers. He was holding a pen and an official-looking form as if he were about to
sign something. He didn’t acknowledge her reassuring smile when she caught his eye, and
Julie felt resentment wash over her.
    Rafa knew something, was hiding something. He was getting ready to lie to the
officers, to her, to his children. In retrospect she could see it. Cruel to be
kind.
    One of the visitors was seated on the piano bench. Young and intense, he only nodded
curtly as Julie came into the room. The other stood and offered his hand. He was short
and muscular, with streaks of silver at his temples and a receding hairline. The heavy
jacket he was wearing bulged in several places.
    “Hello, ma’am. Are you Julie?”
    “Yes.” How did they know her name?
    “I’m Ray Gregory. We’d like to talk to you as well, when