Beyond the couch was a narrow kitchen, barely big enough for one person to navigate, and a small eat-in dinette with a rickety table and two chairs covered in junk mail and empty take-out boxes. A door to the left of the living room was cracked open, revealing the end of a bed, the rumpled covers spilled half onto the floor. The scent of blood radiated from the bedroom, and lurking beneath the rich coppery fragrance was a trace of sweat and cigarette smoke that I’d come to associate with Johnson.
If the extensiveness of his stink was anything to go by, he’d spent a lot of time here. Once I had picked it out from the other scents, it was almost like a thread that I could see weaving back and forth across the room. I could all but see the path he had followed in front of the window, leaving trails of cigarette ash in his wake as his no-nonsense shoes wore a faint furrow in the dingy carpet. Given the amount of time he’d spent in Shoup’s apartment I had to wonder if he’d somehow been targeting me long before Samson escaped from prison, or if I’d just happened to be a handy victim. Had I conveniently fallen into his lap when any wolf would have done?
I raised a shaking arm towards the bedroom. “She’s in there.”
Holbrook turned to see me standing in the doorway, one foot inching over the threshold. “I thought I told you to stay outside.”
“I am outside,” I replied, pulling my foot back from the doorway to validate my response. “Not that it matters. I told you no one’s in here except her cat.” As if to emphasize my point, a small ball of ginger fur chose that moment to burst out from under the couch, streaking into the kitchen where it hunkered down next to the stove and hissed at us. Except for Loki, most cats don’t like me much. I think they can sense the wolf inside and recognize her for the dangerous predator she is.
Letting out a long, slow breath Holbrook rolled his shoulders and resettled his grip on the Glock. “Don’t. Move,” he instructed, taking several slow steps towards the bedroom door.
Rolling my eyes at his dramatics, I remained by the door and fought to hide my irritation when Hill eased into the room. The two agents made a slow sweep of the apartment, checking every inch to make sure that it was empty. My suspicions about the fate of Shoup were confirmed when Holbrook emerged from the bedroom, barking orders into the cell phone pressed to his ear. Holbrook and Hill had both slipped their guns back into their holsters, their tension gone, replaced by solemnity now that they were dealing with a corpse.
I would have enjoyed feeling smug if my vindication wasn’t dependent on the dead woman sprawled out on the bed in the other room. Even though she’d likely been crazier than a sack full of angry pixies to be tangled up with Johnson, that didn’t mean she’d deserved being butchered and left to rot in that depressing apartment. No one deserved that.
Well, maybe except for Samson. And Johnson. And Chrismer.
While Holbrook rallied the troops and Hill went outside to coordinate with his partner, I took the opportunity to venture into the apartment and do a little snooping. I knew enough from watching hours of CSI to avoid touching anything, and didn’t doubt that Santos would hang my ass out to dry if I contaminated the scene, but I had to satisfy my curiosity. I needed to know why these people wanted me dead.
Standing in the middle of the living room, making sure I wasn’t in danger of brushing up against anything, I started looking over the random clutter littered across the coffee table. A momentary spike of guilt stabbed into my gut as I perused the woman’s life with cold detachment, but I quickly dismissed it.
It’s not like she’s going to get pissed at me for being nosy.
At first glance it looked like the coffee table was just covered in more junk mail, dirty coffee cups, and several air fresheners that were responsible for the choking scent permeating the hallway outside. I was about to go investigate the kitchen and its hissing occupant when something caught my eye among the old pizza ads and past due credit card statements. Hesitating, I glanced over my shoulder to make sure that Holbrook was preoccupied before I plucked the salmon colored flyer from underneath a dog eared copy of the National Enquirer. The venomous words swam in front of my eyes as a cold shiver raced down my spine.