“Cipi what are you doing?” Dominic comes around the side of the truck.
Wrapping my fingers around the handle, the door gives at the slightest pull. “It’s not locked.”
“Wait,” Dominic calls but I’m already climbing inside.
Moving around the passenger seat, I step into the center aisle that leads into the sleeper bed.
“Wow, it is very roomy in here…” My voice trails off as a horrific sight meets my gaze.
Dominic throws open the passenger door and climbs inside. “Cipi, I told you to wait for me.”
I grab his arm and point. His eyes grow wide.
Lying sprawled across the mattress is Rafael Longo.
He’s dead.
Glazed unblinking eyes stare at the ceiling as a circle of red protrudes from his gray shirt. Blood soaks into the cotton, then spreads outward.
“Fuck.” Dominic puts his gun back into his shoulder holster. “They got to him first.”
“Someone must have known we were onto him.” I take a step closer and look at stains on the shirt and bed. “The blood looks fresh.”
“I guarantee they shot him with a silencer.” Dominic growls. “Don’t touch anything.” He pulls out his phone, presses a button, then holds it to his ear.
A shiver runs through me. I had been shot with a silencer and if things had turned out differently I could’ve been in the same predicament as Rafael.
Placing my hands on my knees I bend down slightly to look at him. The trucker is in his late sixties, with white hair and a wrinkled face. His open hand has large calluses, while the other is hidden under the blanket spread haphazardly across him. The bulge beneath it makes me think he’s holding something.
I glance back at Dominic to make sure he’s not watching me. His back is turned to me and he’s looking through the driver area while talking on the phone.
Lifting up the blanket slightly, I see something clutched in his cold dead fingers.
A raven feather.
The Marconi’s strike again. But how?
A long bruise is slowly appearing on the side of Rafael’s face. Scratch marks highlight his hands. He must have put up astruggle before he died. Gently I pry open his hands and let the feather fall to the floor.
“The cops are on their way.” Dominic turns around and I point to the feather on the floor. “Figures,” he scoffs.
“Do you have a plastic bag?” I ask.
“What for?”
“To bag the feather, maybe your contact from the agency can analyze it for fingerprints.”
Dominic stares at it. “It’s possible but it might be tricky due to the feather’s texture. But it’s possible. I’ll wait for the cops to get here and see if they think it’s worthwhile. I can’t tamper with a crime scene.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course you can’t.” I should have taken the feather myself.
Frustration fills me as I stare at Rafael’s lifeless body.
“Back to square one,” I groan. “Fuck.”
I hate feeling like a sitting duck.
Chapter fifteen
