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A hard knot formed in the pit of Francesca’s stomach. “No,” she said, shaking her head. She’d smelled death, hadn’t she? Yes. Maybe. Had she imagined it?

Spreading his arms wide, Butch appealed to the cops as if to say, See? She’s irrational.

“Stop it!” she snapped. “You know what happened here as well as I do.”

“And I’ve told the truth. But if you won’t believe me, come on. Let’s go take a look.”

He was too eager to prove himself. The knot in Francesca’s stomach grew bigger.

Investigator Finch caught Butch’s arm as he started off. “Why don’t we let Ms. Moretti do the showing?”

Butch didn’t appreciate being touched. His gaze lowered pointedly to Finch’s hand and a muscle flexed in his cheek. But as soon as Finch released him, he laughed and shrugged. “Fine by me. She likes to make herself comfortable on other people’s property.”

“Spare us the unnecessary commentary,” Jonah growled.

Butch seemed to notice him for the first time. Until that moment, he’d been looking only at Francesca—at least, when he wasn’t pandering to the cops. “Who are you?” he asked with apparent disdain.

Jonah coolly assessed Butch, as he might look at a man with whom he was about to step into the boxing ring. “Jonah Young.”

Butch’s eyes swept over Jonah as if taking note of his smaller but more defined body, assessing him in return. “A cop?”

“A consultant.”

“They bring in consultants for assault cases, do they?”

Jonah’s lips curved into a thin-lipped smile. “I’m not sure this is an assault case.”

That shut Butch up, told him that there might be at least one person present who wasn’t buying his act. When his nostrils flared, Francesca decided he didn’t like having a skeptic, any more than he liked being touched or having to suffer this influx of policemen. Still, he adjusted his expression and, if anything, broadened his insolent grin. “Well, you can always ask Investigator Hunsacker. I’ve given him and the rest of these boys access to the whole yard. They’ve poked through it all. If there was a body here, they would’ve found it.”

Hunsacker joined them just in time to confirm it. “That’s true.”

Francesca could feel Hunsacker’s support of Butch. Finch’s partner regretted being here. But she refused to let that shake her. She couldn’t imagine how Butch had sidestepped what should be coming to him, but…something wasn’t right.

“We appreciate your cooperation,” Finch said. Then he sent her a pleading look and straightened his tie. He was beginning to sweat, too. Small beads gathered on his forehead. She got the impression the weather wasn’t exclusively to blame. She felt a little dizzy, a little nauseous, herself. The only person in her corner seemed to be Jonah, and she guessed he was sticking by her out of guilt, or some crazy notion that doing so might redeem him for his actions of ten years ago.

Would she embarrass herself? Maybe. A mannequin, especially if it was covered and seen from such a distance, could easily be mistaken for a human. Plastic or wooden limbs would even explain the “rigor” she’d noted. But what about the stench? Hadn’t she smelled rotting flesh?

She couldn’t say for sure. She only knew she couldn’t have been wrong about the level of danger she’d sensed when Butch came after her. Just the memory of how he’d looked at her when she managed to lock him out of the car made her skin crawl. He’d wanted vengeance, pure and simple. And she believed he would’ve taken it.

The walk around the house and into the salvage yard seemed to drag on forever. With every step, tension hummed through her like the electricity passing through the high-voltage wires overhead. Butch’s wife carried their son. He and his family trailed behind her, along with Jonah, Finch, Hunsacker, the paramedic and his partner and the deputies. They formed quite a group and would provide quite an audience.

Butch’s confidence and swagger told her this wouldn’t end well, but she was stubborn enough to have to see for herself.

The dog was secured to his usual spot. As soon as they came into view, he barked and strained against the chain that held him as if he’d like to devour one of them, but Butch snapped a command for him to “shut his trap” and he did. He whined and danced instead of acting aggressive, but he watched with razor-sharp interest as they crossed in front of him.

The office where Francesca had hidden earlier wasn’t difficult to locate. Neither was the spot where she’d seen the body—because the body was still there. The sawhorses and pallets had been shoved to one side, making a path, but the tarp-covered figure remained.

Once again, she felt hesitant to approach. It looked so real. But this time she didn’t stop until she stood barely a foot away.

No scent of decay filled her nostrils, only the astringent smell of desert scrub, which grew between the wrecked car bodies and other odds and ends. She told herself this might mean April Bonner was still alive. But she didn’t really believe it.

Stepping forward, Butch pulled back the tarp, showing her exactly what he’d told her she’d see. A mannequin. “I keep it covered to protect it from the sun,” he explained.

Francesca had to squint against the glare of that sun, but now there was no mistaking what she was looking at. She’d jumped to the wrong conclusion earlier. Finding Janice Grey’s remains a year ago had set her up, made her think she’d solved April’s case the same way. But, obviously, this was very different….

Finch fondled his goatee, then dropped his hand. “I’m terribly sorry for the trouble we’ve caused you and your family,” he told Butch. “We’ll get out of here and let you return to whatever you’d be doing if you weren’t entertaining us. Ms. Moretti, shall we go?”

“I told you he was innocent!” Butch’s mother-in-law cried.

“And look what you did to his face!” his wife added. The dog braved a bark and, surrounded by so much animosity, Butch’s son began to cry. But, once again, the slight blond man seemed oddly detached from the whole scene. Did he know something he wasn’t saying? Possibly, but not necessarily. He attracted her attention simply because he was so…placid. “He attacked me,” she repeated, not taking a single step. Was she imagining it or was the color of the mannequin’s hair a little different from what she’d seen earlier?


Tags: Brenda Novak Dept 6 Hired Guns Thriller