Oh, and the testicles a few feet away without a body attached.
And the blood splatter. Lots of it.
I frown at the shitshow.Who lost it? Turner? Cade? Both?Something about the scene is bothersome. It reeks of something manic, impulsive, but not blackout overkill.
“It’s bad.” Turner paces a trench into the laminate floors, hands wringing, his voice thin and wild as he tries to explain what the hell happened. “He just went off, Cal. I tried to slow him down, I swear, but?—”
“Stop.” I keep my voice dead flat, not even a ripple of emotion. “I need eyes on the perimeter first. Why don’t you do that?”
Turner clamps his jaw and nods, relief and shame mixing in his face. He’s trying so goddamn hard to fix his mind, andthisshit isn’t helping. He moves to the front window, splits the curtain with two fingers, and does a slow scan of the lawn and driveway.
Meanwhile, I step over the broken glass of a picture frame and look down at the first body. It’s a man in his fifties, thinning hair, open shirt to the navel, his chest crisscrossed with knife wounds. Not a clean job. But at least I can confirm it’s the target.
However, the second body…
Yikes.I grimace. A woman, early thirties, maybe a young trophy wife, is on her side, her hair fanned out over the laminate, throat opened so wide I can see the actual blue of her windpipe.
What the fuck is this.
I flex my hands, tight enough to make my knuckles burn. I already can assume whose handiwork this is, and I feel the heat building behind my eyes.
One, two, three, four, five.I take a deep breath, and let the anger settle into a cold little stone at the base of my spine.Fucking Cade.
And speaking of, Cade appears in the far corner of the room, leaning against the wall, his face, jeans, and shirt splattered with blood. He has the same expression as someone who just finished cleaning out a chicken coop—annoyed but satisfied, and already thinking about dinner.
He meets my gaze, and his mouth stretches into a grin. “Hey, Doc.”
He’s lucid, arrogant, and completely out of line.
I don’t say anything, flicking my eyes away. I walk a slow circuit of the bodies, careful not to drag any of the blood withme. The scene is so much worse than what was planned—what was paid for. We were supposed to make it look like a robbery, in and out, simple headshot for the old man and maybe a sedative for the wife if she was home.
Instead, there’s arterial spray up the fucking wall and enough DNA on the floor to keep forensics labs busy for a very long time. Not a damn thing about this is clean.
And it’s the primetime clean up man who made the mess.
He’s not getting better. He’s getting worse.
Turner’s voice comes from the window. “Neighbor’s pulling in. Do you think?—”
I raise my hand and he shuts up. “I need to know what happened here.” I lock eyes with Cade, who shrugs.
“He started it. Andshewas going to protect the chomo motherfucker.”
“Cut the shit,” I say, voice still level. “It wasn’t supposed to be a bloodbath. I don’t know why the hell you two can’t seem to stick to thelist.You kill who’son the list.” My voice strains.
“She recognized me,” Cade answers, as if that explains it all. “I didn’t think she would. But she did. She said I was the killer Marine from the news.”
“And your solution was to slit her throat?” I feel the control in my voice threaten to give way. “Really?”
Cade’s eyes go glassy for a moment, like he’s trying to remember the part of the plan where this ends differently. “I dunno. I snapped, I guess… You know what Knight always said—no loose ends and have a little fun.”
“Yeah, well,” I growl, stepping into his space with clenched fists. “Knightisn’t here. I am. And when I say a job needs to be clean, I meanclean, Kellan. And if Knight knew what the fuck that meant,youwouldn’t be here. He’d have taken care of theloose end.”
Turner moves back into the room, letting the curtain fall back. “You’re full of shit Cade. You?—”
“You let the stupid fucker get the upper hand on you,” Cade interrupts, his tone bored as his eyes flick toward him. “So, you tried to choke him with the necktie. But you’re weak, Turner. You’re just some mentally broken, pathetic, washed-up old timer.”
“Nope,” my hand is hand is on Turner’s chest before he can make the full lunge across the room. I have no idea how the fuck my tone is staying calm, because I’d love to put a round in each of the problem children.“Go back to the window.” I lock eyes with Turner, quickly reading him for what he is.
