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She made her way to the back door, knocked loudly again, and as she did the door swung inward.
Really?
The front door locked tight, the back door completely unlatched.
She felt more than a second’s misgiving, her heart knocking slightly, but she ignored it.
“Careful, Kris,”Jay’s voice, which had been silent for a while, now warned her.
She slipped his gun from her pocket.
“Hello?” she called again. “Anybody home?” Nerves tight as piano wires, she stepped into the kitchen. Lit only by the over-stove light and filled with the aroma of tangy herbs and fish, the dim room was quiet. A pot of some kind of stew sat under the lights and a bottle of wine stood open on the island, a full glass near the stove.
This was wrong.
So wrong.
She reached for her phone just as she saw the blood. Thick and red and smeared on the marble of the floor.
She froze.
“Get out! Get out now!”Jay’s voice was clanging in her ears.“Call the cops!”
But what if someone was hurt? From the amount of blood, it seemed that someone had been horribly wounded.
“Hamilton Cooke’s a doctor! He can handle it. And if not, his wife will. She’s pretty damned efficient.”Jay’s voice seemed to reverberate through the house. “Call the damned cops, Kristi, and get the hell out. Now!”
She took one step toward the door when she heard the moan. Low. Almost unworldly. Emanating from the pantry.
Oh. Jesus.
Hardly daring to breathe, her weapon now fully drawn, she eased over the bloody marks to the pantry and tipped the door open with the nose of her gun.
“Oh, God,” she whispered as the door opened and light spilled into the dark interior. On the floor beneath the shelves of neatly stacked boxes of cereal, rice, oatmeal, and cans of tomato paste and diet cola, were two bodies. Lying almost entwined, blood thick and smeared on the floor and some of the cabinets.
Kristi’s stomach clenched as she recognized Reggie Cooke, lying in a thick, red pool of blood. She was staring fixedly, but a gurgling sound passed through her bloody lips and her left hand twitched.
Still alive!
But not for long.
Kristi saw the color fading from Reggie’s face, a curse Kristi had lived with. She could see the life bleed out of a person as they lay dying.
“No,” she said. “Hang in there!” But already she was looking at the second body. This time she did wretch, felt bile burn up her throat. She swallowed against the sour taste and stared at Hamilton Cooke, who lay near his wife. He was already dead, his white polo shirt soaked and stained, his tan slacks dark with the blood that had drained from the gaping wounds to his torso and crotch. His eyes were open, his mouth rounded, his face set in an expression of shock.
“Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God,” Kristi said.
Kristi yanked her phone from her pocket and, still holding the gun with one hand, started to plug in 9-1-1 as she knelt beside Reggie. “I’ll get help,” she whispered, knowing in her heart of hearts it was too late for the lawyer. “Stay with me. You just stay with me.”
At that moment the door to the pantry swung wide.
The operator answered. “9-1-1. What is your emergency?”
A shadow stretched suddenly across the interior of the pantry, blocking the light from the kitchen.
“Too late!” a deep voice said.
Before Kristi could raise her weapon, Aldo Lucerno kicked it hard.
