“Sir, I’m with the FBI,” Javi said.“Come out with your hands up.You’re not in trouble.I just need to see you.”
There was tense silence for a second.Then the door to the…probably bathroom…opened and a stocky man in a baggy set of stained gray sweats stepped out into the hall.He was pale and shiny-sweaty, his lips cracked and dotted with blood where he’d worried at the dry skin.
Drugs?
“Who are you with?”he asked urgently.“Are you with them?Or with us?Let me see.Let me see your arms.”
Drugs.
Javi kept the gun up.“You can see my arms,” he said.
The man lifted his hand.He had a knife gripped in it, the blade slick with blood.
“I need to see yourarms,” he said.“Take your shirt off.Are you marked?Do you have the mark?”
Javi took a step forward, sliding his feet along the floor.“Why don’t we make a deal?”he said.“You put that down, and I’ll put this down.Then I can show you my arms.”
The man licked his lips.He took a step forward, body inclined as if he was going to do as he was asked.Then he threw the knife at Javi and bolted toward the back of the house.Javi slapped the knife out of the air, catching the blade on the side of his gun.It bounced off the wall and dropped into a stack of sour-smelling white bags.
Javi started after the intruder.He glanced to the side as he passed the open door and skidded to a halt, grabbing the jamb of the door with one hand to help break his momentum.
A woman slouched on the toilet, stripped down to shorts and a sports bra.She was covered with blood and bruises, her hair cut down to the scalp in chunks.
“Joel,” Javi said.Then, because it felt more appropriate, “Tracy.It’s me.It’s Javi.”
She didn’t respond; her head lolled back against the grimy white-painted sill of the low window.Javi glanced after the suspect and then back to her.Adrenaline twitched in his muscles, but—
“Shit,” he muttered as he backed up a step and went in to her.He pitched his voice to carry.“Witte!I’ve got Joel!Perp’s on the move!”
It wasn’t by the book, but they could pay that piper when the bill came due.He just had to hope Cloister heard him.Javi grabbed a towel from the rail, the cotton unpleasant and greasy against his fingers, and draped it over Joel’s body as he crouched next to her.
He cupped one hand around the back of her neck to support her head as he got his phone out.
“Tracy?”he said.“Hold on.Help’s on the way.”
She moved slightly, her lips sticking together as she tried to talk.Her arm twitched as she tried to raise her hand, but couldn’t.Bloody fingers just bumped Javi’s knee.
“They…they took him,” she slurred out, her voice mushy and somehow desperate at the same time.Javi slid her off the toilet and lowered her onto the floor, his hand between her skull and the tiles.Something back theregaveunder his fingers in a way that didn’t feel right.“Don’t… don’t fuck up again.”
Chapter Thirteen
Somethingsmashedinsidethehouse.
Cloister startled and knocked his head against the underside of the trunk.It wasn’t enough to hurt, but the back of his neck got hot with embarrassment.He let the liner drop over the spare tire and straightened up, giving Bon a firm look.
“You’d better not tell—”
The sound of raised voices from inside the house, content muffled but intensity clear, interrupted him before he could finish the sentence.Bon scrambled to her feet, dust layering her fur gray, and growled as she stared at the door.
Cloister reached for his gun.His fingers brushed soft denim and the creased cotton of his T-shirt instead of leather and rubber.The image of the last time he’d seen his service weapon, laid out in a tray like it was going on vacation as he signed it back over to Tancredi, flickered through his head.
That’s right.Still suspended.
He took a moment to work out whether he’d be more useful going—technically, he’d not be unarmed since he had Bon, but that could have…consequences—or calling for backup.
Before he could decide, he caught Javi’s voice, “Witte!…got Joel…’s on the move,’ and heard the back door slam.
“Shit,” Cloister ground out.“Bon,Hier.”
