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Like the hounds of hell were on her tail.
Maybe they were.
He stood still a moment longer, the quiet of the house settling back in around him, the echo of the door still hanging in the air.
Then he turned.
The mural filled the wall, color and life breaking through years of neglect. It was something extraordinary. Lying dormant, waiting. For the right moment. The right hands.
The right person.
His gaze lingered on it, but his thoughts didn’t stay there.
They tracked back to her.
To the sharp edges she carried, and the glimpses he got beneath her brittle exterior.
Softer. Quieter.
He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand over the back of his neck.
Whatever she was running from — it wasn’t small.
And whatever it was … she faced it every day.
Alone.
Maybe one day she’d let him in close enough to share the weight she carried.
19
Death
Felicity stomped up the cracked concrete pathway of the small clapboard house, unease tightening her chest with every step. Galina hadn’t put her trash out that morning — something the woman had done like clockwork for decades — and the sanitation worker called in a welfare check.
She mounted the steps, opened the screen, and pounded on the door. Barking erupted immediately, rapid-fire sounds blending into one frantic chorus. She strained to hear beyond the noise. No footsteps. No voice. Just the dogs hurling themselves at the door as though desperate for someone to let them out.
Her pulse ticked up. She knocked again, harder this time.
“Galina!” She waited a beat. “Hey! It’s me. Felicity. Open up.”
More barking.
Fucking hell.
She tried the handle. Locked. Then she remembered Galina’s spare key above the doorjamb. Reaching up, she found it exactly where the old woman had said it would be and unlocked the door. For once she was glad of Galina’s lax security. Felicity pushed the door open. “Galina? It’s Felicity.”
The three pugs launched themselves at her boots, bodies slamming into her with surprising force. Bug-eyed and furious, they snapped and barked, foam flecking their jowls.
“Easy,” she muttered, shifting sideways as one bounced off her shin and another lunged for her pant leg.
Then the smell hit — urine and feces.
And something worse.
Death.
Thick, unmistakable, announcing what she’d find.
