Page 53 of Rafe’s Future

“This isn’t good,” she murmured low, her beautiful face scrunching as the unpleasant smell grew stronger.

The apartment was eerily quiet as they made their way inside. At first glance, the place looked like any other cheap rental in this part of Charlotte. Stained carpet. Dingy wallpaper. A sagging recliner facing a crookedly mounted flatscreen.

But as they passed the jutting portion of wall to their right, the plaid couch—and Lionel “Bulldog” James’ body—came into full view.

Son of a⁠—

He was dead. Dark, dried blood surrounded a small hole in the center of his forehead. From the body’s position, Rafe could only assume the man had been looking in the eyes of his killer the moment he died.

He lifted a fist and silently ordered Lena and Apollo to search the rest of the rooms. It didn’t take long to clear the two-bedroom space. A short moment later, the three reconvened in the area separating the living room from the apartment’s tiny kitchen.

“We’re all clear,” Rafe relayed to the others as they kept watch from their assigned posts. “But someone already beat us to the punch.”

“Bulldog’s dead?” Falcon’s voice was the first to come through.

“Affirmative,” he immediately confirmed. “Hold your positions. We’re going to look around for anything useful, and then we’re out.” His hand fell to his side as he turned to Apollo and Lena. “Search thoroughly but with care.”

The pair split off to begin their search, donning disposable gloves as they walked.

Alone again, Rafe’s attention immediately returned to Lionel James. He took in the macabre scene with his highly trained gaze.

The deceased man had been sitting on the couch when he was shot. The positioning of the body and the blood splatter on the cushion and wall behind him all but proved as much. Rafe glanced right, to the end table pressed against the couch’s curved arm.

A black remote sat seemingly undisturbed. The TV was dark, and because the killer would have little reason to touch it on his or her way out, Rafe assumed it had been off at the time of the shooting.

If you weren’t watching TV, what were you doing?

He lowered his gaze to the small, oval coffee table that had clearly seen better days. On one end were a slightly crumpled fast-food bag and a disposable cup with a lid and straw. A small stack of mail had been haphazardly tossed in the center.

A few inches from the mail were a set of keys. Beside those, a small Amazon delivery box had been opened and left empty. The one thing Rafe didn’t see⁠—

Where is his phone?

He went over to the body. Wearing his own gloves, he began looking through Bulldog’s pockets. Rafe found the man’s wallet, lip balm, and an old receipt. And still, no phone.

It has to be here somewhere.

He’d barely begun checking the rest of the living room when Lena and Apollo reappeared from the narrow hall.

“We finished searching the back rooms,” Lena announced, holstering the pistol at her hip. “Nothing useful that we could see.”

“You didn’t find a phone?”

They both shook their heads.

Apollo glanced toward the other room from over his shoulder. “You check the kitchen?”

“Not yet.”

“I’ve got it.” Lena spun on her heels and began marching that way.

Rafe and Apollo watched silently as the woman went to work digging through drawers and cabinets. Lena even went so far as to check the microwave, refrigerator, and oven.

“Maybe the killer took it,” Apollo muttered low.

Lena opened a tin canister with the word “Coffee” embossed on the front in shiny black letters. Rafe watched and waited as she reached a hand inside. Her eyes flew to Rafe’s a beat later.

“Bingo.” She pulled a plastic baggie from the canister. A black phone was secured inside. “Looks like a burner.”