I lost sight of her when she rounded the corner, and a second later, something scraped the interior of the back door.
“The door’s padlocked from the inside,” she called, and I probably wouldn’t have heard her if not for the open kitchen window. “Whoever this guy was, hereallydidn’t want anyone getting in.”
“Or out, evidently.”
“Yeah.” Her voice sounded strained. “I’m gonna have to open a window for you instead.”
Before I could reply, her footsteps echoed to the left, and I followed from outside the house.
Something clattered to the floor.
“What was that?” I called through the thick back door.
“Sorry!” Abby whisper-shouted as she appeared behind a grimy bedroom window.
“I thought you went in first toavoidvandalism.”
She unlocked the glass pane and slid it open. “This place is a wreck. There’s crap everywhere.”
“What happened to your gloves?” I asked as I climbed through the window.
She shrugged, and a long red ringlet fell over her left shoulder. “They won’t stay on.”
I swallowed another growl. “You’re supposed to be helping this investigation, not hindering it.”
“We’re in, aren’t we?”
“Yes, and now your scent is all over the windowsill.” I leaned forward to sniff the metal latches. “And on the locks too.”
“Sorry.” And she truly looked remorseful. No, she lookedguilty, as if she’d committed a much bigger breach than a little scent transference. Maybe she was serious about her training after all.
“This is why you need some experience before you start investigating crime scenes. Just be more careful next time.”
“I swear.” Abby shoved her hands in her pockets and glanced at the bedroom door. “But it may be a little late for that in the kitchen. And the living room. Also the bathroom.”
“What?” I sidestepped her and walked through the house, sniffing furniture and walls. Her scent was everywhere except the second bedroom. Even worse, so was Robyn’s, thanks to the jacket Abby wore.
“How thehelldid you have time to touch the whole damn house in five minutes?” I demanded on my way out of the bathroom. “You contaminated the entire scene!”
I glanced around the living room, ready to give her hell, but Abby was gone.
“Ab—”
A sharp cry sliced through my anger.
“Abby!” Terror ignited my veins like a river of fire, and I raced through the small house, glancing through every doorway. The rooms were all empty. Abby didn’t answer.
On my frantic rush for the back door, I noticed that the cellar stood open at the end of the hall.Damn it!“Abby!”
I ran through the doorway and down the rickety stairs. Her scent was on the doorjamb and the stair rail, along with those of at least half a dozen humans. Blood had been dripped on nearly every step, but the scent was dull. It had been dry for days, at least. Maybe weeks. “Abby!”
Theoverwhelmingscent of blood hit me halfway down the stairs. It was mostly old and mostly shifter. Specifically, stray. And it had come frommanysources.
I found her around the corner from the staircase, frozen in shock. Her pulse was racing, but she looked uninjured. There was no one else in the cellar, but it had clearly seen frequent, recent use.
Against one wall stood a scarred wooden table, ringed with an obviously hand-carved groove all the way around the edge. The table was stained with old blood and still sticky with fresh blood. To the right stood another, slightly cleaner table covered in barbaric-looking tools. Lined up against one wall were several fleshless, cougar-shaped mannequins.
But none of that was the source of Abby’s fear.
