Chapter 13
Bradford
“Told you it was bad.”
Turner’s voice is distant as I stand in the entryway of the pedophile’s Ridgecrest house, my normal scowl instantly deepening at the stark scent of death.
My eyes flick to the nice family portraits lining the walls, immaculate leather furniture around an ornate fireplace in the living room, and really, I guess in that way… Everything looks fine.
Well, except for the two corpses collapsed at odd angles under the entertainment center, their blood pooling on the faux fur of an area rug.
Oh, and the testicles a few feet away without a body attached.
And the blood splatter. Lots of it.
I frown at the shitshow. Who lost it? Turner? Cade? Both? Something about the scene is bothersome. It reeks of something manic, impulsive, but not blackout overkill.
“It’s bad.” Turner paces a trench into the laminate floors, hands wringing, his voice thin and wild as he tries to explain what the hell happened. “He just went off, Cal. I tried to slow him down, I swear, but—”
“Stop.” I keep my voice dead flat, not even a ripple of emotion. “I need eyes on the perimeter first. Why don’t you do that?”
Turner clamps his jaw and nods, relief and shame mixing in his face. He’s trying so goddamn hard to fix his mind, and this shit isn’t helping. He moves to the front window, splits the curtain with two fingers, and does a slow scan of the lawn and driveway.
Meanwhile, I step over the broken glass of a picture frame and look down at the first body. It’s a man in his fifties, thinning hair, open shirt to the navel, his chest crisscrossed with knife wounds. Not a clean job. But at least I can confirm it’s the target.
However, the second body…
Yikes. I grimace. A woman, early thirties, maybe a young trophy wife, is on her side, her hair fanned out over the laminate, throat opened so wide I can see the actual blue of her windpipe.
What the fuck is this.
I flex my hands, tight enough to make my knuckles burn. I already can assume whose handiwork this is, and I feel the heat building behind my eyes.
One, two, three, four, five. I take a deep breath, and let the anger settle into a cold little stone at the base of my spine. Fucking Cade.
And speaking of, Cade appears in the far corner of the room, leaning against the wall, his face, jeans, and shirt splattered with blood. He has the same expression as someone who just finished cleaning out a chicken coop—annoyed but satisfied, and already thinking about dinner.
He meets my gaze, and his mouth stretches into a grin. “Hey, Doc.”
He’s lucid, arrogant, and completely out of line.
I don’t say anything, flicking my eyes away.
I walk a slow circuit of the bodies, careful not to drag any of the blood with me.
The scene is so much worse than what was planned—what was paid for.
We were supposed to make it look like a robbery, in and out, simple headshot for the old man and maybe a sedative for the wife if she was home.
Instead, there’s arterial spray up the fucking wall and enough DNA on the floor to keep forensics labs busy for a very long time. Not a damn thing about this is clean.
And it’s the primetime clean up man who made the mess.
He’s not getting better. He’s getting worse.
Turner’s voice comes from the window. “Neighbor’s pulling in. Do you think—”
I raise my hand and he shuts up. “I need to know what happened here.” I lock eyes with Cade, who shrugs.
“He started it. And she was going to protect the chomo motherfucker.”
“Cut the shit,” I say, voice still level. “It wasn’t supposed to be a bloodbath. I don’t know why the hell you two can’t seem to stick to the list. You kill who’s on the list.” My voice strains.
“She recognized me,” Cade answers, as if that explains it all. “I didn’t think she would. But she did. She said I was the killer Marine from the news.”
“And your solution was to slit her throat?” I feel the control in my voice threaten to give way. “Really?”
Cade’s eyes go glassy for a moment, like he’s trying to remember the part of the plan where this ends differently. “I dunno. I snapped, I guess… You know what Knight always said—no loose ends and have a little fun.”
“Yeah, well,” I growl, stepping into his space with clenched fists. “Knight isn’t here. I am. And when I say a job needs to be clean, I mean clean, Kellan. And if Knight knew what the fuck that meant, you wouldn’t be here. He’d have taken care of the loose end.”
Turner moves back into the room, letting the curtain fall back. “You’re full of shit Cade. You—”
“You let the stupid fucker get the upper hand on you,” Cade interrupts, his tone bored as his eyes flick toward him. “So, you tried to choke him with the necktie. But you’re weak, Turner. You’re just some mentally broken, pathetic, washed-up old timer.”
“Nope,” my hand is hand is on Turner’s chest before he can make the full lunge across the room. I have no idea how the fuck my tone is staying calm, because I’d love to put a round in each of the problem children. “Go back to the window.” I lock eyes with Turner, quickly reading him for what he is.
Lucid.
He shakes his head, but obeys, muttering profanities under his breath. I step closer to Cade then. “This isn’t the Marines, and you’re not fucking deployed. We don’t get to leave a kill zone looking like Fallujah, got it?”
Cade’s smirk grows. “Whatever you say, Doc.”
And that’s the final straw.
I grab Cade by the collar and slam him back against the wall, hard enough to rattle a framed picture off its nail. “If you ever pull this shit again,” I hiss, “I’ll plant you right here next to them and send a photo to NCIS myself.”
Cade laughs, short and sharp. “You’re not the first to threaten me, old man.”
I dig my thumb into the nerve bundle just above his clavicle, and he gasps, the smile breaking into a snarl. “No,” I threaten, my face inches from his, “but I’ll be the last. You’re sloppy. You’re too fucking loud. You get off on the mess, and that’s how the fuck you got here in the first place.”
Cade’s eyes roll back in his head, as I tighten my grip, and I let him go cold for a few seconds, enough to give me the satisfaction of watching him slide to the floor unconscious.
I wipe someone’s blood off my hand onto my jeans and turn to Turner.
“Bag the bodies, bleach the surfaces, clear the cameras. Get moving.”
Turner nods and gets started. Meanwhile, Cade flexes his neck and rolls his shoulders, as he comes back to.
“You,” I kick his boot, “You better clean this up with the efficiency I know you’re capable of.”
“Whatever you say, Doc,” Cade peers up at me, voice singsong. “Good thing I like my pay in fun, not numbers.”
“Noted,” I deadpan. “I’ll count you as paid then.”
The men get moving, and I stand there, trying to process what the fuck I keep being handed. Turner is a handful. Cade feels like a goddamn landmine.
But it’s just a botched job. And I’ll be in trouble. But it’s fine.
I remove my cowboy hat and rake my fingers through my hair, reminding myself that I can handle this kind of shit. It’s my job. I’m good at my job.
However, as I move to help with the cleanup, my phone vibrates. I pause, digging it out and taking a look at the notification.
Molly: I blew a tire. HELP ME. It’s cold.
“You have to be fucking kidding me,” I groan, dropping the phone to my side.
“What’s that?” Turner looks up from where he’s standing over man’s body. “You good, boss?”
“Fatherly duties are calling,” I grimace, once again taking in the scene around me. “My daughter has a flat.”
“Go help her,” Cade speaks up, suddenly empathetic. “It’s too late for a lady to be out on the road.”
I purse my lips, hating the idea of abandoning this scene. “You two better not fuck this up.”
“We won’t,” Cade gives me a smile that has my stomach churning.
But also… My kid doesn’t need to be out this late alone.
Fuck. I let out a sigh. “Be efficient.”
“Got it, Doc,” Cade gives me a thumbs up. “I’m good at cleanup, remember?”
I give them both a weary look, and then give in. “Report back to me when you finish.” With that, I slip out of the house, leaving them there.
I mean, they can’t fuck it up any worse than they already have.
I compartmentalize it, as I climb into my truck, and then shift to dad mode. Except, it doesn’t come that easy this time. I feel my mental capacity waning.
And as I drive, I wonder if my daughter would even recognize me in a moment like this. Maybe I could convince her I get to be the one who keeps the monsters from wrecking the world. But fuck, playing with monsters is exhausting.
Especially when I know deep down, I am one, too.