vision. His eyes narrowed. He was the one who’d brought Ardeth along, and given what she did for a living, odds were very good that the LVMPD at least wanted to have a chat with her. He couldn’t let that happen to her—
wouldn’t
let that happen to her. Majowski would leave her the hell alone, or else. “
I’m
her ID, and that’s all you—”
Majowski held up his hands. “Jesus, relax. I’m kidding, man.”
“Oh.” Well, didn’t he feel stupid. And what had possessed him—other than the beast, of course—that he’d been so irritated and defensive in the first place? No, he didn’t want her getting taken in for questioning, but only because he needed her help and it would be an inconvenience. “Sorry.”
Majowski glanced at Ardeth, then back at him. “No problem. I guess I forget sometimes, cop humor doesn’t always translate.”
“I thought it was funny,” Ardeth said.
“You would.” Speare shot her a look; she smiled back at him, one of those smiles so innocent it had to be hiding something.
He’d analyze that later, too. They had work to do. “So where’s the body?”
“Over here.” Majowski turned, motioning for them to follow him. Which they did, though as soon as they passed Majowski’s car the body was visible, a crumpled heap of what had once been humanity, discarded on the ground like a shed snakeskin.
Except snakeskins were supposed to be limbless. Human bodies weren’t. That made it even more disturbing that the corpse at their feet was devoid of both legs and his left arm. Speare thought at first that he’d been cut in half, but when they reached the corpse he saw that the legs had been carefully removed at the hip joints, leaving hideous cavities.
Ardeth gave a sharp gasp. Instinctively he reached for her but caught himself before his arm circled her to draw her close. She wouldn’t appreciate that, at least he didn’t think she would. Not with Majowski there watching. Maybe not even
without
him there watching. He turned the gesture into something less, into a gentle rub and squeeze of her shoulder. When she glanced at him her eyes glistened with tears; her obvious determination not to shed them made something inside him twist.
He quickly looked away. It was less uncomfortable to look at the dead body at his feet, to feel its emptiness instead of the odd resounding pang of his own, and to try to figure out who it was—who it had been—instead of trying to figure out what the hell was going on with himself.
“Who is it?” he asked, ready to focus on something.
“Frank Mercer,” Ardeth said, in a small, shaky voice. “Jesus.”
Speare’s surprise was probably plain on his face, just as Majowski’s was. Majowski spoke first, though. “You know him?”
She nodded. “We’ve met. We know a lot of the same people. He’s a friend of Nielsen’s—he was a friend of Nielsen’s.” Her eyes stayed fixed on the body as she spoke.
So the dead man was friends with the guy who might have been involved in the theft or sale—or both—of a demon-sword. Had Frank known about it? Had he been involved, too?
He’d ask Ardeth about that when they got back in the car. Majowski didn’t need to know everything, especially not when that “everything” might put the cop in even more danger than he was already.
Well, best to get it over with. He knelt beside the body and pulled out his phone to snap a few photos. “So how did you know he was here? Did somebody call it in, or—”
“Excuse me.” Ardeth’s small, tight voice cut him off; before he could look up—almost before she’d even finished saying the words—she’d turned away and started walking. Both men watched her stride away, with her arms wrapped around her chest and her chin down so her hair fell forward. Speare noticed the rigidity of her back, the stiffness of her steps, and that irritating little twinge in his chest returned. Had he eaten something bad, or something? Was this some new game the
wouldn’t
let that happen to her. Majowski would leave her the hell alone, or else. “
I’m
her ID, and that’s all you—”
Majowski held up his hands. “Jesus, relax. I’m kidding, man.”
“Oh.” Well, didn’t he feel stupid. And what had possessed him—other than the beast, of course—that he’d been so irritated and defensive in the first place? No, he didn’t want her getting taken in for questioning, but only because he needed her help and it would be an inconvenience. “Sorry.”
Majowski glanced at Ardeth, then back at him. “No problem. I guess I forget sometimes, cop humor doesn’t always translate.”
“I thought it was funny,” Ardeth said.
“You would.” Speare shot her a look; she smiled back at him, one of those smiles so innocent it had to be hiding something.
He’d analyze that later, too. They had work to do. “So where’s the body?”
“Over here.” Majowski turned, motioning for them to follow him. Which they did, though as soon as they passed Majowski’s car the body was visible, a crumpled heap of what had once been humanity, discarded on the ground like a shed snakeskin.
Except snakeskins were supposed to be limbless. Human bodies weren’t. That made it even more disturbing that the corpse at their feet was devoid of both legs and his left arm. Speare thought at first that he’d been cut in half, but when they reached the corpse he saw that the legs had been carefully removed at the hip joints, leaving hideous cavities.
Ardeth gave a sharp gasp. Instinctively he reached for her but caught himself before his arm circled her to draw her close. She wouldn’t appreciate that, at least he didn’t think she would. Not with Majowski there watching. Maybe not even
without
him there watching. He turned the gesture into something less, into a gentle rub and squeeze of her shoulder. When she glanced at him her eyes glistened with tears; her obvious determination not to shed them made something inside him twist.
He quickly looked away. It was less uncomfortable to look at the dead body at his feet, to feel its emptiness instead of the odd resounding pang of his own, and to try to figure out who it was—who it had been—instead of trying to figure out what the hell was going on with himself.
“Who is it?” he asked, ready to focus on something.
“Frank Mercer,” Ardeth said, in a small, shaky voice. “Jesus.”
Speare’s surprise was probably plain on his face, just as Majowski’s was. Majowski spoke first, though. “You know him?”
She nodded. “We’ve met. We know a lot of the same people. He’s a friend of Nielsen’s—he was a friend of Nielsen’s.” Her eyes stayed fixed on the body as she spoke.
So the dead man was friends with the guy who might have been involved in the theft or sale—or both—of a demon-sword. Had Frank known about it? Had he been involved, too?
He’d ask Ardeth about that when they got back in the car. Majowski didn’t need to know everything, especially not when that “everything” might put the cop in even more danger than he was already.
Well, best to get it over with. He knelt beside the body and pulled out his phone to snap a few photos. “So how did you know he was here? Did somebody call it in, or—”
“Excuse me.” Ardeth’s small, tight voice cut him off; before he could look up—almost before she’d even finished saying the words—she’d turned away and started walking. Both men watched her stride away, with her arms wrapped around her chest and her chin down so her hair fell forward. Speare noticed the rigidity of her back, the stiffness of her steps, and that irritating little twinge in his chest returned. Had he eaten something bad, or something? Was this some new game the
Similar Books
