A Tracker's Code

By Karen Avizur

The race to kill it before it kills again has begun.

Katherine and Reese are faced with their most terrifying case yet when a fae who has ventured into black magic starts preying on the children in Los Angeles.

Not surprisingly, Alexandra finds more trouble of her own at school, this time of the human variety. Teenagers don’t need to be parasapiens to make life difficult for their classmates. And as if navigating the social politics of high school isn’t difficult enough, Alexandra brings a killing to her mother’s attention when she has a vision - a vampire on the hunt for a wolf.

Then, Katherine is blindsided by a new case brought to her from someone from her past. Someone who doesn’t know her through friendship, but through blood. A cult of vampires is terrorizing the country, determined to let their appetite guide their path, and it’s up to the FBI to bring them down.

What will happen when Katherine’s past clashes with her present and threatens to disrupt her future?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Karen Avizur
• Release date: Nov 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215762325

Karen Avizur

Karen Avizur grew up on Long Island, New York and ended up in Orlando, Florida, with stops in Connecticut, West Virginia, and Los Angeles along the way. She's been writing stories since she was twelve years old. In those early days, she discovered it was impossible to keep up with her thoughts by writing longhand, and ended up borrowing a 7-pound laptop from her dad, quickly honing her typing skills. After graduating film school, Karen moved to Los Angeles, where she worked as a film editor for several years while also pursuing her writing. She now lives in Florida with her dogs Malcolm and Kaylee, and spends altogether too much time either scrolling through memes or with her nose in a book.

Book preview

A

TRACKER’S

CODE

BOOK 3 OF THE TRACKERS SERIES

Karen Avizur

A Tracker’s Code

Book 3 of The Trackers Series

Copyright © 2020 by Karen Avizur All rights reserved.

First Edition: September 2020

Cover and Formatting: Streetlight Graphics & Mark Hennessy-Barrett

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments,

or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you to James for your editing and Jeandri Nel for your beta reading, couldn’t have done this without you guys. Also, thank you to SOLitude Lake Management, for their blog post about Aquatic Biologist Bob Revolinski.

Table of Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 42

CHAPTER 43

CHAPTER 44

CHAPTER 45

CHAPTER 46

CHAPTER 47

CHAPTER 1

If he had known he was going to be murdered the next day, Lyle Bautista probably wouldn’t have stressed about staying up late reading a new book.

The book was the latest in an urban fantasy series and had just been released that day. It already had a solid 4.5-star rating on Amazon, just proving that the three long years Lyle and the rest of the fans had to wait had been worth it.

Lyle worked as a secretary in a law firm, which typically involved long hours. He was up at five in the morning and left for his commute by six, so he typically got to bed at a reasonable hour. But he couldn’t put down the book, and so ended up drifting off at close to 2 a.m. He’d done work on less sleep before, though, and knew he could do it again.

Snarling angrily at his alarm clock when it went off, he’d dragged himself out of bed and started the coffee maker. By the time he’d taken a shower, a fresh cup was waiting for him. He forced himself to get dressed first, so as not to burn his tongue gulping down the caffeine, and the first sip of the piping hot coffee was heavenly.

Lyle flinched when loud knocks at his door caught him by surprise, and he instinctively glanced at the clock on his stove, confused. Taking small sips of his coffee, refusing to put it down, Lyle headed to the front door. Coming! he called. He opened the door to see his sister, Susan. What are you doing here this early?

I wanted to catch you before work, she said quietly. Can I come in?

Lyle sighed and hesitated, but nodded, motioning to her. I have to leave in twenty minutes. He shut the door after her and turned to face her. So, what is it this time-

Susan blew something from her hand and, before he could register what it was, dust and dirt filled Lyle’s face. He gagged and shut his eyes, coughing, and his coffee mug slipped from his hand and crashed to the floor. Susan muttered something under her breath as she stared at him, her expression blank, her stance just the slightest bit tense.

Sus- Lyle dropped to the ground, clawing at his throat and rubbing his eyes, fruitlessly trying to get the filth out of them. Somehow, he felt it just sink deeper and deeper into him. He managed to open his eyes just briefly; his apartment blurred around him, and he caught the motion as Susan turned and left, shutting the door behind her.

Lyle felt his tongue thicken, his breathing becoming more difficult as he fumbled to his feet, staggering to his front door. Still coughing, retching, his chest heaving as he desperately tried to breathe past the obstructions, he managed to get into the hallway, collapsing again to the ground.

Hel- Lyle hacked out some of the dust. Help me, he rasped. Lurching toward his neighbor’s door, he slid down against it, pounding weakly. Help me…

CHAPTER 2

Allison Thatcher held her phone to her ear, playing the recording for what was probably the tenth time, sitting in the back seat of the dark green SUV as a social worker drove the car and a tracker sat shotgun.

"And Tobias just recently started turning. And he’s worried that his dad will hurt his little sister and brother when they start to turn…"

When she was brought in on this case, it was immediately apparent to Allison that the boy on the phone was Tobias. He’d attempted to distance himself, maybe hoping that if his father found out he’d told another child rather than called the police, he would be less angry. Not that that was relevant now, of course. Erik Durante wouldn’t be getting angry with anyone ever again.

The tracker in the car was Nick Pieper, an older man about fifty years of age. Unlike most other trackers, he worked alone, mostly on smaller cases. He was just a smidge under Allison’s height with a thick head of mostly grayed brown hair and had a manner of hidden strength about him. On the surface was a snarky, genial man, but she could tell he could throw down with the best. Most trackers had that air about them.

The CPS investigator was a woman Allison had met once before, on a similar case. Her name was Xiaoming Chiu and she’d been working for the organization as an investigator for about ten years. To Allison, the woman was a font of endless patience, able to handle the loudest screaming, swearing parent without even the slightest visible irritation. It was a mask, for sure, but it was a damn good one.

Xiaoming had gone to the Durante house with Ross, but when they found Erik’s body, the police had been called in to secure the crime scene and CSU went over it all. Erik’s body was now in a nearby morgue, waiting on an autopsy. Once the crime scene was released, they asked Allison if they could bring her in on the case. There was another werewolf pack in San Bernardino nearby, but Ontario fell under Los Angeles’s territory. The kids and their father were registered in the Los Angeles pack, but when Erik’s wife had passed, he’d gone off-grid and taken his kids with him. They hadn’t had a check-in with an Assistance Provider in years and there was actually a warrant out for Erik’s arrest.

Did CPS speak with any of Erik’s coworkers? Allison asked, continuing a series of inquiries she’d made as they continued their long journey along the 210 headed east.

A few, but apparently Erik was very private, spoke Xiaoming. They didn’t even know he had children.

Didn’t he work there for like five years? Allison asked, her eyes widening.

Apparently he seemed to constantly give off the impression he wasn’t interested in having a conversation, Xiaoming sighed. So, all his coworkers just left him alone.

Might’ve been the werewolf thing, Nick spoke up. Allison opened her mouth to express her annoyance at the generalization, but Nick continued. If he let his coworkers know he was a parasapien, he would’ve been interesting. They wouldn’t have let him drop into the background. People are nosy like that.

Allison closed her mouth and nodded once. Yeah, that actually makes sense.

And you said they’ve got family in Denver? Nick asked, turning to Xiaoming.

Two sets of grandparents, who have been concerned for years about the welfare of their grandchildren, and all of them are law-abiding citizens, she answered. But that’s it. Both Erik and his wife didn’t have siblings. And Tobias, if it was Tobias on the phone, didn’t mention a new wife or even a girlfriend, which isn’t surprising.

The long journey ended at a lengthy driveway, lined with gravel instead of asphalt, with tire tracks worn into it and weeds crushed down but perpetually growing. Arriving at the house, Allison got out and stretched, the wolf at the back of her mind appreciating that they were no longer constrained in a metal box. Crime scene tape that had been wrapped around the porch fluttered in the wind and the front door was shut, with an official PD seal on it.

Each of them put on gloves, hairnets, and booties. Then Nick took a folding knife from his pocket and sliced the seal, opening the door. Looking down, the scene of Erik’s death was apparent. The crime scene wouldn’t be cleaned for some time, since the investigation was ongoing. Blood’s mostly dried, but there is a lot of it, he stated. Happens with a shot through the heart, of course. Watch your step if you like your shoes. It stains something awful.

Allison grimaced as she walked around the expanse of blood and the three stood in the living room, the stench of decay having long since settled in. Did the police check out the kids’ bedrooms? she asked. Aside from their dad it seemed there was no sign of struggle, but did they pack things?

Like they were going on a vacation, Xiaoming replied with a nod. That’s one reason we were hopeful when calling the grandparents, but it’s been several days. The kids haven’t turned up en route to Denver, nor have they even called their grandparents.

All right, Allison said, scanning the living room. Well. Let’s get to work and find those kids.

CHAPTER 3

For all of the complaints she’d heard of the city’s faults, within her first few months there, Katherine Colebrook had decided Los Angeles was a great place to live. The consistency of beautiful weather was unbelievable, like the sun didn’t have much control over Earth as a whole but decided to focus much of its perfectionist tendencies toward LA. The diversity of its population in every form was staggering, which led to an awesome selection of restaurants. And it was practically like its own little country. Within driving distance were the most beautiful beaches, bustling downtown, areas with a small-town feel and shops that had been open for decades, and forests with camping spots galore.

That being said, some of the clichés that came with it could be irritating. There was a significant population of people that, if they weren’t on a reality show, they probably wanted to be. And had the drama for it. Katherine wasn’t in the film industry herself, but with crash courses from her colleagues and occasional overheard conversations she’d learned that like many industries, film was a culture all to its own, with a dozen subcultures. So, as she drove onto the lot of Fox Studios, she pulled all that information to the front of her mind.

Dressed like she had the day off, in a comfortable pair of jeans, a plain light-blue t-shirt, and a thin gray sweatshirt, Katherine took her driver’s license from her purse as she waited in line behind two other cars. Unwilling to be unarmed, she still had her everyday carry knives as well as an extra, but her gun was locked securely in the glove compartment. She wasn’t actually undercover; it was just easier for others to assume she belonged there. If anyone asked, she was just one of the writers hanging on set for the day, and the nature of the case that had brought her here meant a gun holster would have brought too much attention. However, her badge identifying her as a Special Agent of the FBI’s Tracker’s Division was still with her, as it was almost without exception; she’d just wrapped it in a thick rubber band to keep it from accidentally sliding out and shoved it down into her back-left jean pocket.

Security had been briefed on the presence of plainclothes FBI that day, and possibly for a few days after, just so any potential incidents wouldn’t be too much of a surprise. This was mostly a recon mission, so Katherine didn’t foresee any incidents. But if Katherine’s teenage daughter Alexandra was there, she would have quipped to her mother, What you plan on and what takes place ain’t ever exactly been similar.

Pulling up to the booth as the path in front of her cleared, she handed over her license. Katherine Colebrook, she spoke.

Thanks, the guard replied, taking the ID and turning back to his computer.

After being given a guest pass to be on the property and parking her car in the garage, she spotted a map on a nearby wall. She photographed it with her phone and then spent a minute giving it a thorough once-over. Once she was satisfied that she knew her way around, she headed to her destination.

Katherine’s boss, Special Agent in Charge Roger Jackson, had handed this case over to her with a description of a ‘recon and partial babysitting’ gig. Two celebrity pùcas, parasapiens that were part fae and had the ability to shapeshift and consume the life force of other living creatures, had been murdered. Iron alloy rounds straight to the heart. A note, which had been typed up and, aggravatingly, revealed very little to the forensics team after thorough examination, had been found at both scenes. It was a condemnation of the victim about half a page long and it concluded, Live like an animal, die like an animal. The motive concluded from the threatening letters was that they were an embarrassment to their kind. Which led them to think the killer was another pùca.

They had recently caught what might be considered a break in the case, but it wasn’t a clue to the identity of the killer so much as it was a potential victim. A team from the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit had gone over the threatening letters the murdered celebrities had received and decided to release them to the public, in the hopes that any other pùca celebrities (and there were actually quite a few) would take notice and have the people who collected their fan mail screen the letters. It wasn’t a favorite tactic of the FBI to spread information of a serial killer, but it had brought them another letter recipient and therefore a potential target – Lara Kenton.

An actress whose name Katherine had recognized at once, Lara was a pùca in her early thirties that did a lot of work as animals on films, usually transforming into dogs, or on special occasions, exotic animals. It was quite obviously much easier to have an animal that you know was going to do exactly what you needed on set, and it saved film crews tons of money. Unfortunately, it had put Lara in danger. The first victim had had her own reality TV show that manufactured its own drama, the second had used his abilities in his work as a magician, and Lana was morphing into animals to be entertainment for humans. And the killer disapproved.

The reason the case had been assigned to Katherine and her probationary agent Reese Johnson was mostly because Katherine was psychic. A serial killer that could look like anyone was a special kind of threat, and it was one that a psychic was uniquely equipped to handle. The plan was to get a lay of the land and of Lara’s life, since they had no idea when the killer would strike or if Lara even was the next target in line. Reese was already on set; he’d texted when he’d arrived at 6:30 a.m., having replaced one of the regular security guards who had been transferred to another building for the time being. Like Katherine, very few people knew Reese was there in his capacity as a tracker.

Glancing at her watch, which read 7:50 a.m., Katherine headed over to building four. Entering the building, she reached out mentally with her feelers and found Reese walking around the studio, which was more like a convention hall than what she’d pictured before arriving. Turning a corner, she slid her eyes over him, just letting her gaze meet his briefly to ensure he’d noticed she’d arrived before continuing on. The studio was full of energy and people running every which way in a sort of organized chaos.

Hey, Katherine spoke, waving down a young man with a headset. Wardrobe?

Through that door, straight down the hall, to your left, he replied, barely breaking stride.

As she walked through the set, following the directions given to her, Katherine passed by a large table of food that prompted her eyebrows to rise into her forehead and made her hungry, though she’d just had breakfast two hours earlier. Knocking on the open door, she saw a man with a few blouses in his arms speaking to the young woman she recognized as Lara Kenton. Ms. Kenton? she spoke, walking inside. She raised a hand in a gesture of hello. Katherine. We spoke on the phone yesterday?

Katherine noticed tension in the actress’ shoulders, some of which leaked away when she glanced over and smiled at Katherine. Hi! Thank you so much for coming, she said, walking over and shaking her hand. This whole thing has been a bit…rattling, to say the least. I feel better having you here.

Lara Kenton was a moderately attractive young woman, in Katherine’s opinion and to Hollywood standards, which said something about her straight away. As a pùca, she had the ability to appear however she wanted, but for a pùca to remain in her natural-born form made her more sapien than parasapien, so to speak. That being said, her hair was dark brown and sleek, perfectly matching her light brown skin and framing a roundish face and pretty smile.

Please, call me Katherine, she replied. Katherine normally stuck to Special Agent Colebrook, or just Colebrook, when on a case. But a situation like this, when a stranger walks in and you’re supposed to trust them to stay by your side all day to protect