Chapter Two
Witt had cleared the white picket fence and reached the front porch, gun out and at the ready, before Max had even moved. His cop reflexes worked overtime.
Max didn’t waste any time either, though she was hampered by the damn high heels and slim, split skirt. She was through the low gate and halfway up the walk when the screeching stopped. Her ears rang in the aftermath, and her feet rooted to the path. Up and down the street, people came out of their houses, mostly elderly women and children since the workday hadn’t ended.
The atmosphere turned deathly still. Silence screamed from inside the house. Before her, the door stood wide like the gaping mouth of some huge beast.
Vapors drifted out, weaving their way across the sun-heated concrete, then rising to scorch the tissues of her nostrils. Sweet yet fetid, like meat left out too long. She’d smelled it just two weeks ago, far worse and far stronger, yes, but the same scent. She’d never forget. It seeped down her throat until she could taste it and prickled her arms with goose bumps. The scent of death.
The scent of murder.
The girl appeared first, Witt close behind her and to the left, one hand on her elbow. Tears streaked her cheeks, but she’d stopped crying. In the late afternoon sun, her features were angular, gaunt, even ugly. Witt helped her down the stairs, guided her across the lawn to the gate at the side by the drive, and there they stood. Still holding onto her, he punched numbers one-handed into his cell phone.
Not a gun, a cell phone, that’s what he’d pulled out. Max almost laughed, lost her balance, and nearly fell to her knees.
Then the house started calling to her.
Maaaxx.
Sing-song. Hypnotic. Beckoning.
Maaaaxx.
She quaked in her spike-heeled shoes. Her heart raced. Her head pounded.
Maaaaaaxx.
She took two steps and stopped. The blue trim around the windows glowed. The glass panes pulsed. The door frame expanded. Contracted. As if the house lived and breathed. And it was calling her name.
Maaxx.
Two more steps, and she’d reached the first porch stair.
Maaaxx.
“One more move, Starr, and your ass is grass.” Witt’s voice boomed in her left ear. She jumped, skittered like a spider, back a full three feet.
She let out a long breath, as if she’d been holding it without realizing. She blinked, stared at Witt, and for the briefest moment, wasn’t sure how or why she even knew him.
“You okay, Max?” One hand on the girl’s arm, the other an extension of his cell phone, his blue eyes strained in Max’s direction.
“Fine.” Her voice cracked in the middle.
“Black-and-white’s on its way. Don’t go inside.”
She glanced at the white facade, wondering what the hell had happened. It was a house. No pulsing, no monster breathing, just a house. And that deadly smell. She hadn’t a single intention of going inside.
A crowd had formed at the edge of the property. Curious, almost excited whisperings teased her ears, but Max couldn’t make out the words.
A boy rode his skateboard back and forth along the road, the sound grating against her nerve endings.
The whoop-whoop of a siren filled the distant air.
A child laughed, a woman’s voice shushed.
“Keep back, give the boy some room,” an elderly lady’s words rang out. Her blue-gray hair glistened in the sunshine. She fanned her hands. “Go on, back, back,” the lady shooed, and the small gathering took a collective step away from the picket fence.
Witt turned back to his charge. A woman or a girl, Max couldn’t tell; she was ageless. Starvation wizened her face, hollowed her cheeks, pulled at the flesh beneath her eyes. The baggy shirt gaped at the neck, revealing sharp collarbones. The material hung on her slight body, making her chest appear concave. Sunlight shone through her thighs though she stood with her feet close together, knees resembling the knobs on a door.
With his big hand still on the girl, Witt leaned close, murmuring to her. Calming words, Max assumed. Why did he have to keep touching her? Max definitely did not like the idea of the man’s big hand—which she was extremely partial to—on that waif-like creature. Maybe he did that with all his witnesses. She tried to remember his reaction to her all those weeks ago, when that car had almost run her down. He’d yelled, that’s what he’d done. He’d called her an idiot, told her to keep her nose out of his investigation, told her ... so why the hell was he being so nice to that emaciated wretch?
Damn. She sounded like a pathetically jealous heroine in a romance novel. She was also absolutely dying for a cheeseburger with fries and a strawberry shake.
Her stomach growled.
Oh no. No, no, no. Please. Not again.