Then an altogether different aroma burrowed up our noses, reminding me of the times Daddy opened packages of ground beef for grilling hamburger patties. It was metallic and raw. It smelled like a nosebleed tasted.
“Vee.” I dug my heels into the soft, loamy soil. “I don’t think we should—”
That’s as far as I got. We rounded a corner and saw…it.
The scene.
The death.
The mutilation.
A big, bearded man stood over a wooden block. Atop that block was the body of a pig. And the meat cleaver in the man’s hand flashed in the light dappling through the trees as he brought the blade down on the beast with a resoundingthwack!
Years later I learned La Grande Boucherie des Cajuns celebrates the Cajun tradition of communal hog butchering. But at the time, I was transfixed by the sight of that pig’s lifeless black eyes and all that blood. It spilled over the side of the butcher block, staining the man’s shoes and soaking into the ground.
The smell of that day stuck with me, imprinted itself on my olfactory nerves. I’ve never mistaken the scent of blood since. Not that night in the swamp with Dean unmoving and heavy atop me. Not last night after what Sullivan forced Luc to do.
And not now.
“Cash!” His name is ripped from the back of my throat by the force of my fear.
I scan the room. Searching. Searching. Then I see him, and the floor beneath my feet drops away. My heart follows it in a lightning-fast descent. And the coffee cup slips from my hand to explode against the sanded wood planks.
I’m not sure how I make it to his side. Maybe I flew here. But I’m instantly down on my knees, reaching a shaky hand toward him.
He’s faceup on the floor, still in last night’s clothes. His arms and legs are akimbo. But it’s the blood that has me transfixed.
There’s so much of it.Toomuch of it.
Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead!
I touch his cheek, beyond relieved to find it warm.
Carefully turning his head, I get a look at the gash that’s causing all the trouble. It’s deep, reaching from the top arch of his eyebrow all the way to the raised scar above his temple. It oozes sluggishly, slowly adding to the pool already collected around his head like a macabre halo.
“Come on, Cash.” I pinch his cheek. “Wake up.”
Not a whimper. Not a groan.
I can barely breathe as I press two fingers to the side of his neck, and then I fall onto my butt in relief when I feel the solid thud of his heart.
“Oh, thank you, Lord!”
My gaze snags on the big silver picture frame I gave him for Christmas. It’s lying three feet away. One corner is covered in blood, and the glass is splintered into a spider web of glinting shards.
Obviously, that was the weapon. But why? How? Who would do this?Scarlet?
“Cash?” I say again, gently shaking his shoulder.
He moans softly, but his eyes remain shut.
Automatically reaching into my pocket, I come up empty-handed.Gah!No cell phone thanks to the drunk from last night.
Jumping up, I race for the door. Then I skid to a stop when a flash of black on the mantel snags my attention.
Cash’s cell phone!
Lunging for it, I swallow a scream of frustration when the security screen lights up. What the heck would he choose for a combination? His birthday? Nada. Luc’s birthday? Again, no joy. My birthday? Still nothing.
