“I feel like I touched a live wire, but I’m good,” he said, concern easing somewhat.

I pygahed again so I could deal with people who didn’t know about demons and lords and nefarious otherworldly plots. “Okay, let’s finish this and get out of here.” I willed myself to focus on the mundane aspects, moved to the open door of the semi. “Pellini,” I called. “Can we turn her?”

“Let Baxter get his pics,” Pellini said, giving a jerk of his head at the tech. “Boudreaux and I need to see too.”

I stepped back as the lanky crime scene tech swung easily into the truck, followed by Pellini and scrawny Boudreaux.

“Already got my pics of all this,” the tech said with an easy smile. “Just waitin’ for y’all to finish your looksee.”

“We’ve lookseed the front,” I told him. “Now we want to looksee the rest of her.”

His smile didn’t flicker at my acerbic tone. “Not a prob! C’mon, detective,” he said to Boudreaux. “Turn the princess here so I can do my shots.”

Boudreaux and Zack turned the woman over and settled her onto her stomach. Zack gently pulled her hair aside, showing the sigils that spread over her upper arms, back and buttocks, and down her legs to her calves. Beautiful and horrible. And only the barest trace of arcane residue now. Everything had coalesced for the trap and then dissipated.

Zack gave me a nod, confirming that it was safe for me to approach. I hated to do it but I pulled on gloves, crouched and carefully eased her legs apart, then shone a flashlight at her vagina and anus. “God damn it,” I breathed. The plastic of the flashlight creaked as my grip spasmed on it. It was hideously obvious she’d been raped and sodomized.

I closed her legs, stood. Pellini cursed under his breath, and when I glanced back at him I saw his eyes on the body, outrage and anger naked on his face.

“I will see these motherfuckers fry,” he muttered to himself. I gave him a slight nod. That was one thing we could totally agree on.

Pellini’s phone rang. He looked at the ID and headed out again.

My gaze skimmed over her as I looked beyond the sigils. No ligature marks. Bruising at her wrists, thighs, and breasts. Held down, not tied for the rape. Immobilized with either drugs or arcane power for the sigil cuts. No obvious sign of what killed her. Possibly blood loss, though I had a feeling the cause of death was arcane in nature.

Exhaling, I stepped back, tugged my gloves off. “Thanks for letting us have a look,” I told Boudreaux.

“Sure thing,” he said. “You’ll tell me or Pellini if you get anything, right?” His voice held an almost desperate edge. I actually felt a little sorry for him. He knew in his gut that this was way out of their league.

“Damn straight I will,” I replied with a firm nod as I lied through my teeth. Sorry, Boudreaux, but I don’t think you want most of what I might get.

I stepped out into the sunlight and hopped down from the trailer bed, feeling as if darkness sloughed away from me as I left the confines of the semi. Ryan and Zack climbed down, each giving sighs of relief that echoed my sentiments.

I disposed of my gloves in a biohazard bag, then walked over to Pellini as he tucked his phone away. “Thought we had an ID, but it didn’t pan out,” he told me then nodded toward the trailer. “Related to the Symbol Man?”

“It might be a copycat,” I told him honestly, “but I think you have a brand new flavor of sicko on your hands.”

“Lovely,” he muttered.

“Any other leads on the ID?” I asked.

He shook his head. “No match on prints. I’m checking missing persons and other channels. Still no clue where she was killed.”

“All right, we’ll work our angles as well. Thanks.” I moved to leave but the expectant look on Pellini’s face halted me.

“So, did you, uh, come up with . . . anything?” he asked, and I had the strangest impression he really did mean anything. That was a first. Pellini had never sought my input before. And especially not for anything with even a whiff of strange.

I gave him a guarded look. “Um. Well, we’re going to follow up on the—” I stopped short of saying sigils, “—patterns carved into her skin. I think those are significant.”

He surprised me by listening intently, giving a nod, and then writing down what I said in his notebook. No lie. I could read his oddly neat handwriting from where I stood. Gillian: patterns of cuts may be significant, will follow up.

Good grief. Had I come back to an alternate world version of Beaulac? I hid a smile at the thought.

“Doc will probably get right on this,” he said, referring to Dr. Lanza, the coroner’s office pathologist. “I’ll let you know as soon as he does.”

“I appreciate that.” I paused, gathering my thoughts. “This is a weird one, that’s for sure.”

He remained quiet for several seconds, then nodded. “Yeah.” For an instant it looked as if he wanted to ask me something. His face displayed an odd struggle as he grappled with some problem or issue, but then he shook his head and it was gone. “Yeah, weird,” he simply said, apparently deciding that, whatever the question, it was best left unasked.

“I’ll keep you posted on my end,” I said in an effort to cover the slightly awkward moment.

“Sure,” he said, then cleared his throat. “Thanks. You, uh, got the same cell number?”

“Yep, same number,” I said.

He fidgeted with his pen. “Hell, maybe we can grab a beer or something . . . sometime.”

I stared, stunned for a second before I managed to regain a semblance of composure. “Uh, my schedule’s pretty tight right now with the task force,” I lied. “But I’ll definitely keep it in mind.” I’d never grabbed a beer or done anything remotely resembling a casual-social-friendly thing with Pellini or Boudreaux. There’d been a shift of some sort in him, but with everything else going on, now wasn’t the time to start exploring it.

I abruptly realized it might have been a set up line for some insulting joke, and mentally braced myself for him to laugh it off with a not-so-veiled nasty remark or snide comment.

“Okay. Good,” he replied quickly, almost eagerly, which only increased my feeling of what the hell? “I’m always up for a beer,” he added. Then he coughed, shuffled his feet a bit as if abruptly embarrassed. “Anyway, uh, keep in touch.”

“Will do,” I managed, then forced a smile, turned, and walked quickly away, weirded out by more than just the dead body and Kara-trap. A friendly Pellini?

The fire had faded from my scars, but an annoying itch remained that no amount of physical scratching would relieve. I headed to Ryan’s car and waited for him and Zack to conclude whatever FBI stuff they needed to finish up. After a few minutes they joined me.

Ryan’s demeanor was somber. “That shit,” he jerked his head toward the truck trailer, “is so wrong.”

“On too many levels,” I agreed. The trap had been targeted at me, and it was a no-brainer to figure that the Mraztur knew I was back on Earth. After all, Kadir had been involved in sending me here. But how the hell had they sent word to Katashi’s people in time to have a trap set so quickly? I hadn’t left my property until this morning, so even surveillance on my house couldn’t explain it. Maybe one of Katashi’s people summoned a demon last night who told them? Certainly possible, though a lucky coincidence for them.

I scowled. Or not a lucky coincidence. While I was in the demon realm, Tessa and I had mailed letters back and forth via demon-messenger once a week or so. However, Katashi had lots of people working for him, including plenty of summoners, which meant the Mraztur could have a minor demon summoned every day to exchange messages. Anger rose again, but this time at myself. I should have anticipated something like this. Of course they’d have some means of frequent communication.

Score one for their team for setting the trap. Score one for me and my posse for foiling it. But score another for them for apparently having a better carrier-demon message system than us. Damn it.