Perfectly Dead by Michael A. Stackpole

Chapter 1

Miracle Dunn had braced herself for a blast of heat, but temperatures in Phoenix had moderated in late October. The bright, early-morning sunlight blinded her. Having grown up primarily back east and predominantly further north, she found the broad sky and lack of tall buildings surprising. She wanted to attribute her sense of dislocation to having caught very little sleep on the jet out from New York, but she'd had a sense that things were strange even before the jet taxied and soared.

She paused at the bottom of the private jet's stairs and slipped a pair of sunglasses from her back-pack. "There, that's better."

Her partner, Fyn, loomed over her. He'd pulled on mirrored, Underarmor wrap-around sunglasses since before the plane's hatch had opened. Tall and strongly-built, he shouldered a pack which she suspected weighed as much as she did. He carried it effortlessly.

He gave her a quick grin. "You'll want a hat and lots of sunscreen."

"With any luck we won't be here that long."

He grunted as she straightened up. "If this was an easy case, we wouldn't be here."

"True."

Six hours earlier a call awakened her. Half-asleep she'd grabbed her mission pack and hailed a cab. Finding one at four AM New York time hadn't been too hard. It took her across town to the heliport by the river. From there a Homeland Security Services helicopter whisked Fyn and her to Teeterboro, New Jersey where they caught a private jet to Phoenix. Neither of them knew why they'd been summoned and though Fyn was virtually impossible to read, Miracle thought she'd caught some apprehension radiating off him.

A man climbed out of a black Hummer and started across the concrete expanse of Phoenix's commuter airport. Slender, with thinning brown hair, the man wore dark aviator sunglasses, a black three-piece suit, white shirt and narrow black tie. He also wore cowboy boots, black again, but that was the only thing that set him apart from other HSS agents. Including us.

He gave them a curt nod as he approached. Even that courtesy seemed to demand a great effort. He offered his hand. "Agent Fyn, Agent Dunn, I'm Harry McDonald, Special Agent in Charge of Team Diamondback. I appreciate you coming out."

Fyn's hand swallowed the other man's. Miracle found McDonald's grip to be firm and very dry. As they shook hands, she noticed he wore a black elastic wristband with a gold star as part of the design. Strictly non-regulation, but common enough.

Fyn said nothing as they headed toward the Hummer, leaving it to her to carry the conversation. "Agent McDonald, we didn't get any briefing docs before we flew out. We have no idea why we're here."

"I know. I wanted you to see it in situ before you try to make sense of it. It isn't far."

She exchanged a glance with Fyn. He shrugged and opened the front passenger door for her. He tossed his gear in the back, then took her pack from her as they strapped in.

McDonald slid behind the wheel. "I know this mysterious crap doesn't sit well, but please trust me."

Miracle smiled. "Your bracelet. Son? Daughter? I'm sorry for your loss."

"Brother, actually. IED outside Basra." McDonald started the SUV, then glanced at her. "I'm surprised you don't wear one, for your sister."

"I would, but mine got bagged as evidence in a case. Won't get it back until the trial."

"There's irony for you." McDonald came out of the airport on 44th Street and headed north. "One thing I can tell you about this case is we have a jurisdictional nightmare. Body was found in South Scottsdale, so we have the local cops, and the Maricopa County Sheriff's department involved."