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First, there were two empty boxes of condoms. One ofthem was what she assumed must be a bulk purchase, containing forty-eight. The other thing that grabbed her attention was the crumpled-up grocery bag shoved into the side. She wasn’t one hundred percent certain, but she thought she saw the plunger end of a syringe sticking out. She reached in and, careful to only touch the grocery bag, pulled the entire thing out. In doing so, two syringes fell from the bag. When she had the bag out, and on the ground, she saw four more syringes inside, along with two spoons. One of the spoons was slightly bent and burned at the scoop end.
As soon as she made this revelation, the woman inside let out one final shout—this one tinged with just a bit of pain—before there was a slight commotion. She heard the murmur of an excited voice and then the muffled sounds of hurried movement.
She’d been involved in enough of these situations to know what was going on. Someone had rushed into the back to tell someone else that they had unwanted company. And in this case, that unwanted company was Jack.
Not good…she thought.
And not even bothering to think just what sort of danger it might put her in, Rachel raced around to the front of the house to make sure Jack was okay, leaving her grisly discovery behind.
CHAPTERTHIRTEEN
The man that answered the door after Jack answered looked tired and sick. He held himself up against the doorframe and peered out with irritation sketched into his face. He wore a beard that was badly in need of a trim, and his face was thin and hollow.
“Yeah?” he asked. “Who the hell are you?”
Jack wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting to find at this house, but this wasn’t it. Slowly, he grabbed his ID and showed it to the man. “Agent Jack Rivers,” he said. “FBI.”
The man smiled as if someone had just told him a particularly good joke.“FBI?”
“Yes. I’m looking for a man named Seth Redman.”
“Oh. He… well… he’s a little tied up at the moment.”
“Well, it’s quite important that I speak to him.” The longer he looked at the man, the surer Jack became that he was stoned out of his mind.
“Well, I can send him out there when he’s done.”
Jack was about to askwhat’s he doing?But then, looking over the stoned man’s shoulder, Jack got a peek into the house. He saw part of a hallway immediately to the left and the entrance to what he assumed was a den or sitting area of some kind. He saw a woman sitting on the floor, dressed in nothing but a bra. Sitting on a table behind her was a handgun—an old-school revolver.
“What’s going on in here?” Jack asked.
“I’ll send Seth out when he’s—”
It was rare that instinct took Jack over so quickly, but there were so many different pieces to this puzzle that were making his internal alarms go off. He moved forward, pushed by the man. The man cried out, and when he stumbled forward to retaliate, Jack pulled the edge of his jacket back to show his holstered Glock.
“I don’t want to pull it, but I will. Step aside, please.”
The man did, his eyes now wide as he stared at Jack’s sidearm.
“Now, where is Seth Redman?”
“In… in the back.”
“Okay. Stay right there, sir. Right against the wall.”
The man nodded and pressed himself against the wall. Jack cautiously stepped into the house. Right away, he could tell that it smelled of body odor and marijuana. A large den area sat to the right. A scarred kitchen table sat in the center. Several ashtrays held remnants of cigarettes and tightly rolled joints. There were a few packs of playing cards scattered around, as well as various gambling chips. He also saw a piece of glass that was lightly powdered and hazy—a surefire sign that it had been used for cocaine.
Jack then turned his attention to the hallway as he closed the door behind him. He started down the hallway and saw that the partially nude woman had noticed him. She made no attempt to cover herself. She looked at him skeptically as he entered the room.
“Where are your clothes?” Jack asked.
“Somewhere in the back.”
“Maybe you should go get them.”
She adjusted the strap on her bra and gave him a stern look, almost daring him to make her. Jack decided to ignore her and instead turned his attention to the table sitting just off the entrance, pressed against the wall—the one he’d seen a portion of from the doorway. He couldn’t quite tell what sort of handgun was sitting on it. It was quite old, but the box of shells beside it helped him figure it out. He was pretty sure it was a standard Smith and Wesson Model 29. Both the gun and the bullets were sitting almost haphazardly on the table as if they were no more harmless than a sandwich and a glass of tea.
He turned to the woman to ask whom the gun belonged to but was interrupted by moaning noises coming from the back of the house. It was a woman, and it sounded like she was in the throes of some exceptional lovemaking.
