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“Yes, sir,” Worthington whispered.
Grant let his light fall to the man’s chest. The sight before him sent a holt of horror through his veins. Backing away, he stumbled, his breath catching in his throat. Christopher Metcalfe lay lifeless, a knife protruding grotesquely from his chest. The image seared into Grant’s mind, disbelief and horror washing over him in a chilling wave.
He’d been brought directly to the scene of a murder. His knees wobbled as his stomach clenched. His mind desperately tried to determine if he’d touched anything. Could they tie him to this? Was this another setup?
“He’s dead.” Grant gasped as he aimed the camera at the man again. “He’s dead, Worthington.”
“Shall I call the police, sir?”
Grant’s mind raced. It was the right thing to do, but his tenuous relationship with the police made him reluctant. If they found him here with the body, they’d surely arrest him. The last thing he needed was another arrest.
“No, not yet. I think I should get out of here first. But I want to take a quick look around for some clues.”
“Clues, sir? What do you expect to find?”
“I don’t know. Was it Metcalfe who called me here and someone killed him to stop him from talking or is this a setup?”
“Perhaps, sir, you should leave immediately.”
Grant wiped a handkerchief from his pocket and approached the body. “I’ll be quick. I need to see if he has anything on him.”
He shifted to the desk, tugging open the drawers. They were all empty.
“Damn it,” he said with a sigh.
He eyed the body, bile rising into his throat. His nose wrinkled as he leaned closer and rifled through the man’s pockets. His spirits lifted as his fingers, through the handkerchief, hit a solid object.
“I found something,” Grant said, his voice betraying his excitement. He tugged the object from the man’s pocket. “It’s his phone and a scrap of paper. This could give us some clues.” He shoved the paper into his pocket as he focused on the phone.
“Perhaps you should–”
“Shh, I heard something,” Grant hissed as he hurried to click off his flashlight and retreat into a dark corner.
Quiet footsteps approached him. He swallowed hard, readying his weapon in case the killer had returned. Instead, several police officers swarmed the room a moment later. Chaos erupted as they spotted the body before the flare of their flashlights landed on Grant.
“Hands up, drop the weapon!” the lead officer shouted.
“I’m innocent,” Grant protested, his voice laced with urgency. “I received a call that led me here. I found him like this, I swear. I was just looking for clues.”
“Hands up, drop your weapon now!”
Grant swallowed hard as he laid the gun on the ground and raised his hands in the air, a cell phone in each.
“Get down on your knees, drop the phones, and put your hands on your head.”
Grant bobbed his head up and down as he lowered himself to his knees, laid the cell phones next to the gun, and put his hands behind his head.
One of the officers rushed forward and tugged his hands behind his back into handcuffs. Grant shook his head as they hauled him to his feet. “You’re going to the station under suspicion of murder. Let’s go.”
He desperately hoped Worthington had already called Mitchell. But even if he had, as they shoved him into the back of a squad car, he worried about what this would do to Julia. Yet another murder. Yet another dead end. Would they ever get out of this? And if they did, would Julia still be at his side?
CHAPTER 8
JULIA
Julia gripped the door handle as the engine roared into another curve. Her stomach somersaulted as Sierra urged more speed from the vehicle.
“Slow down, Sierra. You’re driving way too fast.”
