“Doesn’t this look suspicious?” I whispered in Alex’s ear.
He held up a silencing hand and pulled his gun from the holster. I clapped a palm to my forehead, then grimaced at the sting from the broken glass. “I should have brought my gun. Or at least my Taser.”
Alex gave me a cursory look. “I think you’ve done enough.”
“What is that supposed to mean? If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t be here, possibly putting both our lives in dan ... Oh. I see what you mean.”
“Stay out here.” Alex gave me a gentle but firm push back.
“I’m not staying out here!” I said, pushing back against him. “The perp is probably out here just waiting to gut me!”
“Fine. Just stay quiet and close.”
I clung to Alex’s back as he walked silently from room to room. On the upper floor there was slightly more damage—pictures knocked from the wall, clothing torn and scattered on the floor, drawers left open.
“So? What do you think? Homicide? Special circumstances?”
Last year I had the opportunity to work with Alex to solve a case, so I was pretty well-versed in the police lingo.
Alex cocked an amused eyebrow, trying to keep the smile from his lips. “I thought we promised—no more CSI for you?”
I snarled, “Can we just focus on the case?”
“Okay. It’s obvious that the Hendersons are not here, but it’s not entirely obvious that this is a crime scene.”
I stomped my foot. “Crooked pictures! Broken glass! A smashed iPod. Add it all up, Alex, it spells duh. What more do you need? A gallon of blood? A note from the kidnapper?”
Alex shook his head slowly, his angelic, gentlemanly way of ignoring me, and stepped around me, poking his head into a gaudy bathroom with gold fixtures and cheetah print wallpaper. Then he rested his hand on the doorknob of the only closed door in the hall. I watched as his fingers curled around the knob in slow motion. My heart lurched, lodging itself squarely in my throat. I started to shake my head.
“I don’t think you should open that.”
Alex’s eyebrows disappeared under his bangs. “Why not? Did you hear something in there?”
I rubbed my arms, feeling the gooseflesh under my palms. “I have a bad feeling. Maybe we should wait for someone. Backup or something.”
Alex rolled his eyes and nudged the door open with his shoe, poking his head in.
“What do you see? Are they—”
I couldn’t finish my sentence as Alex’s coughing and retching cut me off. He doubled over, stumbling backward.
“Alex!”
He snapped the door shut before I could get a look inside and I rushed over to him, helping him settle onto the carpet, clapping his back as he coughed while tears streamed over his red cheeks.
“Are you crying?” I asked, huddling down. “What did you see?”
Alex’s eyes narrowed into an exasperated glare. “Couldn’t you smell that?”
I looked at the closed door, my palm closing over the knob. Alex backed away and used the back of one hand to rub his damp cheeks, the other hand clasped over his nose and mouth. He nodded—a sort of “go ahead and take your life into your own hands” look in his eyes—and I wrenched the door open a half inch. I sniffed at the tiny gap, looked over my shoulder at Alex, and shrugged.
“I don’t smell anything.”
Hand still pressed firmly over his mouth and nose, he inclined his head and gestured for me to go in. I did, pressing the door open farther, stepping into the dim room.
“Oh God,” I whispered.
The silent calm hung in the air like its own entity, oppressive and ominous. Thin shards of sunlight cut through the tears in the curtains, casting inappropriate cheery washes of light over the naked mattress, over the nightstand that was half crushed, its innards oozing out through splintered wood. My eyes immediately went to the bedclothes heaped on the floor—expensive jacquard silk and matching pillows with delicate fringe looked tramped on. These were torn and sodden with a brackish, viscous-looking liquid. The walls were stained with the same dark water; it colored the pale paint a sooty black. This time I slammed the door as I felt the bile rise in my throat.
I doubled over in the hallway and gasped, breathing in lungfuls of stale air.
“So what is that?” Alex wanted to know. “Toxic mold or something?”
I looked at him, dumbfounded, trying to work up enough saliva to unstick my jaws, to swallow down the burn in my mouth. I felt my eyes start to water, felt my nose start to run. All I could do was wag my head from side to side, my gaze fixed on the plush carpet under my feet.
“It’s blood.”
Alex let out something that was halfway between a snort and a chuckle. “Lawson, I may not be all that ... local ... but don’t forget, I’m a cop. I do know what blood looks like.”
“You don’t know what dragon blood looks like.”
Alex visibly paled and rubbed a palm over his chin.