was still more than an hour away.
“Oh, damn.”
Standing to her right, Adrian nodded. Tall, athletic and given to grinning, he sported a grim smile now as he said, “Yup, I’d say that about sums it up.”
They, along with Jorge, found themselves looking down at the body that lay facedown in the middle of a flattened rug. The floor covering had long since lost any hint of an actual color. Its present hue was a combination of over a decade’s worth of stains and dirt. At the moment, its most prominent color was provided by the pool of blood slowly darkening as it was drying. The blood, until recently, had been part of Clyde Petrie’s limited supply.
The county’s only witness against Miguel Mendoza was dead.
Moments earlier, on Delene’s order, Jorge had applied his considerable bulk to the front door, taking it down after several quick raps went unreplied. It had made Delene somewhat uneasy that there hadn’t been the sound of scurrying on the other side of the door to indicate the quick disposal of drugs or some other illegal contraband. That was when she’d given Jorge the signal for a quick entry.
They’d stumbled over Clyde’s body the second they’d gained admittance.
The heat was on, causing the ripening smell of death to take possession of the single-room unit. Taking a breath to steel herself off, Delene leaned over and checked Clyde’s neck for a pulse just in case he’d managed to continue his lucky streak. His luck had apparently run out when he needed it most. There was no pulse.
“Looks like Mendoza got to him first,” Jorge surmised. He loosened his collar. Despite the open door, it felt stuffy in the room.
She got to her feet, ignoring the hand the large man offered her. Not because of any disdain she felt, because she didn’t. She got along as well as could be expected with the two men. They were pleasant and decent. But she was stubbornly determined to do everything for herself and accept no help unless she absolutely had to. The less dependent she was on anyone, the safer she was. That meant building no bridges, forging no relationships beyond the office.
As far as coworkers went, both Adrian and Jorge were good men. They were both likable, both married and Jorge had two kids with one on the way. And more importantly, they didn’t look down on her for being a female in what could be easily thought of as a man’s world. They treated her like a person and she was grateful for that. But not grateful enough to think of either man as a friend.
She sighed, shaking her head. Thinking of the waste. Clyde had been safer in jail than in the place he called home.
“Looks like,” she agreed. The logical conclusion was that Miguel Mendoza, the former gang member who’d risen up to become a drug lord of some consequence, had eliminated their star witness.
But Delene knew nothing was ever so crystal clear.
If it was, she would still be in Colorado.
Taking her cell phone out of her hip pocket, she dialed the number that would connect her to their liaison in the police department. As it rang, she looked at the body on the floor. Clyde Petrie was no longer her concern. Technically.
“You’ve just got to get a bigger car.”
The words were grunted out as Troy Cavanaugh, the last of Brian Cavanaugh’s sons to make detective, folded his six-foot-three frame into the vehicle he swore was a subcompact. It wasn’t the first time he’d made the complaint to Kara Ward, the homicide detective the department had paired him with almost immediately after awarding him his gold shield.
As before, Kara sniffed at his words. The vehicle was a perfect fit for her, but then, she was only five-one in her bare feet. As far as he was concerned, that wasn’t even people-sized. She could have just as easily ridden around in a toy car. But he needed something with space, and Kara’s car was cutting off the circulation to the lower half of his body.
Kara gave him a look that said beggars had no right to be choosers—or complainers.
“Either that or a partner who can’t pass as a float in the Thanksgiving Day parade,” the woman quipped. She watched as he struggled to buckle up. “Not my fault you didn’t have the good sense to know when you should stop growing.”
Troy shook his head. Or attempted to. The car wasn’t much on head room, either. The one he normally rode in—the one he drove—was currently in the shop after a rather damaging encounter with a fire hydrant. Said encounter was the result of the tail end of a high-speed chase with a man suspected of killing his pregnant girlfriend to keep her from talking to his wife. The chase had ended in the man’s apprehension as well as the wrecked car and a substantial repair bill—both for the car and the fire hydrant.
All this had happened yesterday and Troy hadn’t gotten a chance to get a replacement. When the call had come in this morning, taking him away from a rather pleasant dream, he’d had no choice but to agree to have Kara come pick him up. Something he’d regretted the moment he’d hung up the phone.
Finally he managed to get the metal end of the seat belt into the slot. There was a stitch in his side.
“I’m going to the car rental agency after work,” he announced, trying to sit straight. It was a futile attempt. “Get a real vehicle instead of a clown car.”
Kara glanced toward him. “Keep this up and I won’t let you have the can opener you’ll need to get out of this one when we get to the motel.”
Taking a corner sharply, she laughed at the stifled curse coming from the passenger side. A minute later, they were pulling up into the parking lot of the motel. Kara smoothly parked her pride and joy next to a large white van with blue and green lettering across the side. The sign proclaimed it to be a crime scene investigation vehicle for the city of Aurora.
Bracing one hand on the dashboard and one on the roof of the compact, Troy managed to extract himself from the torturous vehicle, although it wasn’t easy. His partner hadn’t left all that much space for him on his side. Straightening, he fixed his jacket.
“Looks like the CSI people got here ahead of us,” he noted.
Kara laughed shortly as she closed her door. “Easy to see how you earned your shield.”
One of four siblings with seven cousins, most of whom were older, Troy had learned early on to roll with the punches and take things lightly. It was the key to survival. He grinned at Kara as they made their way to the motel room.
“What’s up, Kara? Your hot-and-heavy date decide to hog the covers?”
She frowned as she gave him a dirty look. “None of your business what my hot-and-heavy date did with the covers.” The next moment she offered a somewhat lukewarm apology. “Sorry, Cavanaugh. Didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“Yeah, you did.” As he spoke, he looked around at the area. Light was uncharitable to the motel, exposing all its dingy, dirty little secrets. “But that’s okay. I’ve got a sister who’s pretty much as even-tempered as you are. Rolls right off my back.”
Kara snorted. “Remind me to send condolences to your sister.”
“Funny—” Troy opened the door to the motel room and moved back to let Kara enter first “—I was thinking the same
