Still blood.
“Acknowledged,” Javi said.“Finish the sweep.”
He padded over to the hall cupboard and pulled it open.The muzzle of his gun tracked with his eyes as he searched the small, dark space.It was the usual clutter that migrated to any space that could be shut off from view—coats, a vacuum cleaner, brush and pan, matched hiking boots pushed to the back as reality outpaced good intentions.
“Closet clear,” he said.
His voice overlapped with Cloister’s steady, “Kitchen clear.”
The kitchen door opened, and Bourneville shot out.Her nose was to the ground as she cast back and forth down the hall, then lifted briefly as she glanced around and headed toward the hall.
Cloister followed behind her, gun held up close to his chest.
“Garden’s clear,” he said.“No sign of forced entry, but she left her phone in there.”
Javi pushed a door open into an office and gave it a quick once-over before he declared it…
“Clear,” he said.“Could it be her personal phone?”
Cloister shrugged.“Looked like yours,” he said.“It had missed calls from your office.”
Javi filed that away to deal with later.Bourneville suddenly stopped outside a door and barked.She raked at the door with one foot, then dropped her head to snuffle at the crack along the bottom while her tail wagged enthusiastically.
“Hier,” Cloister said.
Bourneville backed up from the door reluctantly and then turned back on herself to lope back to Cloister’s side.She tucked herself into his shadow, her paws coming down in time with his feet as they approached the door.
Javi let them take point.There was a glory-hound part of him that chafed at that, but you didn’t bring a K-9 to sweep and not utilize the shock and awe factor of an agitated dog on any possible intruder.He held up his fingers in a mute count for Cloister as he reached for the door.
Three.He closed his hand around the handle.Two.The catch clicked softly as he gently pressed down.
“Go.”
He pushed the door open to a dark, close cave of a room.Cloister went in in that familiar, relaxed knee prowl, his gun tracking back and forth across the room.He stopped mid-turn, weight balanced on the balls of his feet, and dropped one hand to tap Bourneville on the shoulders.She folded herself down to the ground, her nose on her paws, and still visibly strung wire-tight.
“We have a juvenile on site,” Cloister said, his voice still steady despite the undercurrent of tension.“Unresponsive but breathing.”
Javi felt his stomach clench.
So the boyfriend-now-husband had come with a child.Not a dog.
Javi followed Cloister into the room.The dim light that filtered in from the hall picked out piles of mostly folded clothes, a stack of plushies shoved behind a chair, and a twin bed with a stack of blankets dumped on top of it.One skinny, freckled arm hung out over the side of the mattress.Fingers stained with something dark brushed the floor.
They were breathing, ragged and labored.
Javi crossed the room quickly to put his hand on the kid’s shoulder through the blanket.
“FBI,” he said.“You OK?Can you tell me your name?”
The only response was a rattling gasp.Javi quickly holstered his gun as he glanced over at Cloister and gave the quick order for him to open the windows.Cloister padded over and yanked them open to let daylight in.
At the same time, Javi pulled the blankets back.The whiff of BO that emerged with it had a smoky, skunky under-note.As the light hit them, the kid in the bed made a strangled noise as they cringed back, one arm up to cover their eyes.
“The fuc…,” they slurred out, before a bloodshot eye registered Javi through their spread fingers.Alarm flashed over their face, and they reached up to pop a bright green silicone earplug out of their ear.“Who the fuck are you?!What are you doing in my room?Get the fuck out!”
They scrambled back over the bed and kicked out with a bare, bony foot at Javi.The blankets went with them.
“Daaaa-aadd,” they yelled.“Tracy!Wha’ the–”
