out material, looking underneath pictures, and searching for slim rips in the seams of bound books for secreting small items. Nothing. Even the baseboards were intact.
A thorough study of her yearbook gifted multiple shots of the popular duo taking part in the usual high school antics. Beaming kids awaiting a bright future. One stood out from the others. Mary’s thin, but curvy frame settled against Jason’s lanky body revealed the comfort they took from each other. He appeared to be stroking her fall of gorgeous dark hair—a beautiful young girl matched with a handsome boy. The perfect couple. He ran his thumb over her smiling face.
“Talk to me, Mary,” he whispered. “What happened to you?”
He set the yearbook back inside the box and retrieved the letters. It didn’t take him long to realize all were from her mother and sister while she languished in the eastern school and awaited freedom. He found her remorseful for the fateful decision to battle Erin.
What he expected to discover never appeared. No ominous correspondence from a stone-cold killer lurked within. Box repacked to the order he found it, he set it on the shelf and returned to the bedroom.
After confirming nothing under the bed or of note within the large bureau, Max searched the night tables. Tissue boxes, TV guide, wrapped lozenges, and a few anniversary cards with small hearts drawn below their names was all that met him. Stumped again. He was almost relieved to answer his ringing phone.
“Browning.”
“Max. I have a new one for you.”
Crap. “I’m handling something, Fletcher. Give it to Harold.”
“Can’t. He’s across town. Freeway shooting.”
“What about Dickens?”
“Nope. Man ran over several pedestrians at a restaurant two minutes after the driver grabbed his parking spot. You’re the closest.”
“Goddamn, what the hell’s going on?”
“It’s the fucking heat. Fries people’s brains,” Fletcher offered and followed with a grunt.
“No doubt. Hold up a sec.” Max refrained from engaging the speaker. The last thing Jason needed to overhear were descriptions of more carnage. He set his notepad on the nightstand, squatted next to the bed, and squashed the cell to his ear with his shoulder. Awkward, but it offered a chance to shove his hand under the mattress to check for hidden items. “Go.”
“Small jewelry store over on Lyle.” He rattled off the name and address. “Three dead and messy. Serious knife play. Perp took off on foot. We’re running the neighborhood. Two witnesses left unharmed. Happened within the last ten minutes.”
“Give me a little bit to finish up here. Press is clogging the road too. Go ahead and let the coroner in for photos if they beat me there. Don’t move anything.”
“Understood.”
Max finished jotting down his notes, slipped the phone into his pocket, and started to rise. He dropped back to one knee, yanked his pen light, and lit up the area between the bedframe and nightstand.
“You’ve got to be shitting me.”
Chapter 7
On a hard grunt, Max shoved the nightstand to the side and ran his finger over a quarter-sized scorch mark close to the leg of the headboard. He at once realized it wasn’t one of the natural wood knots scattered across the wall. It didn’t swirl as much as blast outward. His mind kicked into “find the reality” mode.
One of the kids playing with Mary’s lighter or a candle toppling over during a romantic romp took front and center explanation. He noticed small dings, scratches, and scuffs on the paneling, but they were nothing outside the normal wear and tear of every household in America. This one stood out in its oddness. He started to rise, yet everything inside of him screamed to stand down.
“This is stupid, Browning.”
Max captured an image of the odd anomaly and shoved the phone back inside his pocket.
“You’re losing it. Fucking losing it.”
Just as fast as the chastisement, his eyes narrowed, and he focused on the peculiar scorch with a new perspective.
Well, shit. You’re getting slow, old man.
He leaped to his feet and scanned the room.
“Has Preston Sinclair been inside here?” he whispered. “How else would he know to ask about a mark?” Max’s heart started up a wild thump as he paced the room.
“Could he be the outside link for Adler? Is this how he recruits his followers? Are they playing with me now? But why?” All he was sure about was the phone call he planned to make when he returned to the office.
Head shaking at the strange turn of events, Max readjusted the nightstand and left the bedroom with a disquieted sensation owning his gut. By the time he reached the kitchen, he confirmed his decision not to mention it to Jason. It was all speculation at this point, and the poor guy had enough on his shoulders. Max noticed the plate missing from the table, and so was Jason. He found him in the living room, peeking out the window and releasing a soft whistle.
“Damn, it looks like they’re multiplying.”
“Are they in the yard?”
“Not mine, but the next-door neighbors. Both sides and halfway up. Look at this shit. They’re even standing in Sheila’s flowerbeds. Asses.”
“Driveways blocked?”
“Yes.”
Max tapped seven on his phone. “Sean, I’m at Jason Galesh’s house. Send two squads out here to clear the cul-de-sac of reporters. Street’s turned into a damn circus. Have them tell the horde a trespassing and possible destruction of property call came in so everyone must go. Hold up.” He approached the window and took a few snaps of the encroachers.
“Sent you some proof. Yeah, put a barrier at the end of the street. If they want to stick around, they’ll have to line up down the block or walk into fast traffic to get a bead on the house…Yes, the heavy-duty ones. ID verification of homeowners required to allow access. I’m hoping the crews grow bored and find someone else to pester…Thanks. Later.” He looked up to find a puzzled expression rocking Jason’s puss.
“What? Something else happen?”
“No, why are you doing this for us?”
Max relaxed his shoulders and softened his voice. “You don’t deserve any of this fallout from Mary’s actions. Running interference is the least I can do. I need to leave, though. Got another call. The units should arrive in fifteen. You good?”
“Yeah, if they don’t bust down the door next. Did you find what you needed?”
“Nothing of hers stuck out as abnormal. I won’t give up, though. I appreciate you letting me look around.”
“No problem. Thank you.”
Max hesitated at the door and turned to catch Jason’s worried eyes. “I want to pass on some advice. You open for it?”
“Sure.”
“Attorney’s will bombard you to offer protection.”
“Protect me?”
“Yes, the families of the victims will have similar visits. They’ll convince them to go after the grocery store for compensation. Odds it will include you too.”
Gray eyes widened. “Me?”
“Yeah, they’ll want to turn their grief into vindication. Most times, they get to face a perpetrator in court, listen to the evidence, and hear a sentence handed down. Not in this case, so their frustration will only grow. You’ll be Mary’s substitute. Expect civil suits.”
Jason’s