Chapter 16
The house is dark and hot when we enter, drenched in the deafening silence of a thousand memories. They’re worn into the carpet when we step into the hallway, painted on the walls as we walk down it to his office at the far end of the house.
I remember this place, but it’s like a dream being here again. I don’t belong in this sacred house. It’s too peaceful for a man like me.
“Wait a second,” Donovan says, freezing suddenly.
I stop, looking over to him. “What is it?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know, but something isn’t right.”
I lower my voice to a whisper. “Red Hitters?”
He shakes his head. “Something else. Someone has been here already.”
I frown, but I trust his judgement. Donovan has broken into more houses than either of us can count. He’s been doing this type of thing for decades, and in that time, he’s built up a wicked intuition.
If he says something isn’t right, then something most definitely isn’t right.
Donovan pulls his gun, nodding down the hallway toward Dimitri’s office. “Do you smell it? Something sour.”
I close my eyes for a moment, turning my nose up and sniffing the humid air. There is something sour, but it’s more than that. Any old house can have a sour smell after being left abandoned for a few days, but this goes beyond sour. It’s a bit musky, like body odor.
I sniff myself, double checking I haven’t dragged in the unpleasant smell.
Donovan looks like he wants to laugh, but he knows the situation is precarious. Now isn’t the time for humor.
“Smells like a person,” I whisper. “You think they’re still here?”
“Could be,” he replies, narrowing his eyes. “Let’s check the rest of the house first for signs of a prior break-in. Then, we’ll have a better idea of what we’re dealing with.”
I nod, turning on my heels and head back down the hallway toward the living room. From there, we sweep the first floor thoroughly on the way to the front door. The musky scent grows stronger, but then it’s replaced by the earth smell of the outdoors.
“There it is,” Donovan mutters as we arrive at the front door.
The floor is covered in glass from one of the side windows. There’s blood on it, too, but it’s not very fresh. Probably a few days old.
“Amateur work,” Donovan says, shaking his head at the mess.
“So, not the Red Hitters?”
“No,” he replies, looking up at me. “Probably some crack head or something. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was asleep in one of the rooms. I’m just surprised nobody in the neighborhood has reported it.”
I hold up my finger. “Ah, but perhaps they did and the police ignored it because they assumed it was related to the Red Hitters.”
“That’s a good point. We’d better be careful, though, because I’ve dealt with some pretty dangerous addicts in my life. If they’re willing to break into Dimitri’s house, they might also be willing to do harm to us.”
I pull my gun, checking that there’s a round in the chamber. “I’m ready if you are.”
“Born ready,” he mutters with a smirk.
We turn around and head back toward the office, keeping our eyes and ears open for any sign of the intruder. If we’re lucky, they’ve already left, but there’s a solid chance they’re still hanging around somewhere in the house. It’s a big place with several floors, so there’s plenty of places for them to hide.
We might not even run into them even if they are here, though, because our only goal is to get the research documents from Dimitri’s office.
As much as I hate that someone has desecrated his house like this, we don’t have time to weed them out and give them the punishment they deserve. We’ve been here too long already.
The air is tense and heavy again as we head to Dimitri’s office. The carpet makes our footsteps silent, but every breath I take sounds far too loud. I start to get this awful feeling in the pit of my stomach, like this whole thing is a trap, but I ignore it as my hand wraps around the doorknob to the office.
I glance at Donovan and nod, turning it and opening the door.
My finger twitches next to the trigger of my gun, but when Donovan flashes a light inside, it’s obvious nobody is in the office.
It’s not a large space, maybe a hundred square feet total, and most of the floor space is consumed by tables and a long desk. There’s a safe sitting under the desk, but it feels almost too obvious.
“Take the safe out and let’s bring it to the car. I’ll strip the hard drives from the computer and bring those as well,” I say, pointing to the desk.
Donovan pulls a lock pick out of his jacket, twirling it in the dim light. “I can pick it now, if you want.”
“Could be rigged,” I caution. “Better to bring it back and have our explosives team take a look at it.”
He chuckles, tucking the pick back into his pocket. “I was about to get my face blown off.”
“You might be more handsome that way,” I joke.
He curses at me in Russian, then we both laugh, pilfering through the office in search for anything that will bring us closer to knowing Dimitri’s progress with Project G. We can’t afford to miss anything.
After a few minutes of collecting hard drives and figuring out how to move the safe without sawing through the desk, we stumble out of Dimitri’s office. Donovan carries the safe in his arms and I have half a dozen hard drives, files, and a few books stacked up in my arms.
Just as we’re about to reach the end of the hallway, though, a figure steps into view.
“Hey, you’re in my house,” a scrawny man wearing nothing more than a pair of dirty boxers says.
“Crack heads,” Donovan whispers, shaking his head. “Doesn’t look like much a threat, though.”
I clear my throat, walking up to the skinny man with every intention of kicking him through the wall if he comes at me. There isn’t an ounce of sympathy in my body for him. If we were at anyone else’s house, maybe I’d take pity on him for his unfortunate circumstances, but this is Dimitri’s house. This motherfucker isn’t getting sympathy from me.
“If you don’t leave within the next five seconds, I’m going to break every bone in your frail little body,” I growl, looking down at him with pure contempt.
The man pulls his head back so hard he has to take a step to keep from falling on his ass. “Oh, shit. Are you the mafia or something?”
“Do I look like it?” I ask with a devilish grin.
He nods. “My buddy got mixed up with those folks and he got his hands cut off. Can’t even jerk off no more.”
“Well, you wouldn’t want that to happen to you, would you?”
He shakes his head, his mouth hanging open. “No sir.”
“Then get the fuck out,” I growl, raising my voice so he knows I’m not going to tell him again. He has already tested my patience enough.
“Shit, I’m gone,” he yelps, jumping toward the back door and running out into the yard.
Donovan sighs, walking up to me as I stand in the hallway, silent rage coursing through my body with every beat of my heart.
“Let’s go,” he says softly.
I grit my teeth. “Right. Let’s fucking go.”