Dust Up With The Detective. Danica Winters

she was outside the range of his light. Her foot struck something, and it sent her tumbling. Her shoulder connected with the floor, mud kicking up into her face and splattering over her light, dimming its brilliance as her helmet rolled away.

      “Dang it.” Her wrist throbbed where she’d tried to catch herself as she fell. She sat up and tried to wipe the dirt off her face, but the slick mud only smeared over her skin.

      She should have been more careful. She should have paid more attention, but all she could think about was Jeremy...his lips...the way his body felt as it pressed against hers.

      Blake grabbed her hard hat and wiped the dirt from its lamp. As the light brightened, it caught on something metal, sending a reflection against the far wall of the cave. She turned to find the object. There, at her feet, were the legs of a man.

      The body was slumped forward and slightly to the side, propped against a rock. All of his clothes were in place, and if his skin wasn’t gray and mottled, it was almost as if he could have simply fallen asleep. His feet were crossed loosely at the ankles, indicating that at the time of death he had been standing—she’d once heard it was because the left side of the brain shut down first and it caused the person’s legs to cross as they fell, but whether it was that or simply inertia, she couldn’t be sure. Yet, only those who were standing at the time of death fell as Robert had.

      “Jeremy, stop,” she called down the tunnel, but it was too late. Jeremy stepped into the light.

      “Oh, my God,” he whispered, looking down at the body. He moved his light, shining it on the man’s face.

      His skin was pale, mottled to the point of gray—the color of death. His eyes were open, but they were opaque and unseeing.

      “Robert...” Jeremy illuminated the side of his brother’s head.

      There was a streak of dried, congealed blood down the side of his face and neck. His jacket was stained red and brown, and a pool of blood had settled and dried in his lap.

      A gun was on the ground by his left hand. Next to the gun was a single spent casing.

      One shot, one kill.

      Jeremy dropped down to his knees as he stared at the man.

      “Jeremy, you should go,” she said. “I can take it from here.”

      “My brother...” Jeremy started, stunned. “This is my brother.”

      “I know. And he’s always going to be your brother, but right now this is a crime scene.”