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“Are Perry and … Steve back?”
“Got back yesterday.” Burnett cut Chase a quick glance. “And there will be no trouble, got that?”
As long as Steve stayed away from Della, Chase had no problem. “I hear you.”
“You had best do more than hear,” Burnett warned. “At the first hint of trouble you’ll be house hunting. Steve is my student. You are an unwanted boarder.”
Chase gripped his jaw to keep from smarting off.
After a few more steps, Burnett added, “And since you don’t seem interested in sleeping tonight, why don’t you go with me to interview the weres?”
Chase recalled his other appointment. He figured he’d missed that window of opportunity. Tomorrow.
“Sure.”
* * *
“No!” The scream, her mom’s scream, had Della jackknifing out of bed at seven that morning. Had she dreamed it? Must have, right? She fell back on her bed.
It had been three in the morning when she’d gotten a text from Burnett saying they were still waiting for permission to move the weres to the FRU offices. It had been four when Della let go of her anger and the memory of being so close to Chase and let slumber pull her in. The scream echoed again. She popped back up and yanked open her bedroom door, flying down the stairs in two seconds flat.
It was her mom.
“What’s wrong?” Della yelled, flashing into the kitchen and into the room’s icy temperature. The distinct cold was a dead ringer for the … dead.
Her mom stood in front of the table, her hands knuckled around the back of a wooden chair. Her gaze locked on … Della’s heart stopped. There sitting at the table was Mrs. Chi, her throat gaping open, exposing an Adam’s apple and veins and some other nasty stuff.
Was that how she’d died? Someone had sliced her throat? Della’s own throat hurt.
She swallowed back her gag reflex and looked at her mom. Something was terribly wrong. And it wasn’t just Mrs. Chi’s throat. It was … it was … How the hell could her mom see Mrs. Chi?
“What … is it?” Della pushed out the three-word sentence, telling herself she’d simply misunderstood. Her mom wasn’t seeing the ghost. Could she?
“Mrs. Chi,” her mom muttered, terror and tears in her eyes.
Holy shit! Her mom could see Mrs. Chi. How was that even possible? Maybe this was a dream. She pinched her leg. It hurt. This wasn’t a nightmare.
“Don’t look at her.” Della pulled her mom’s shoulders around so she’d face Della and not the dead woman.
Her mom blinked at Della as if confused. “They didn’t show her. They just said…”
That’s when Della realized that behind the table and behind Mrs. Chi’s bloody body, was a television. On the screen, a news reporter stood in front of the Chis’ store, recounting the horror that had taken place last night. Della’s chest burned again at the injustice of it.
She cut her eyes toward Mrs. Chi. So sorry.
Taking a deep breath, so cold her lungs were in danger of getting frost bitten, she tried to stop the panic from building. Stopping it wasn’t easy, not when Mrs. Chi looked down at her blood-stained blouse in puzzlement. She lifted her head, exposing her sliced throat again, and her eyes met Della’s. What happened?
Footsteps sounded behind her. “What’s wrong?” came her father’s panicked voice.
“The news.” Her mom, tears making her eyes shine, motioned to the television. “Mr. and Mrs. Chi were found murdered in their shop last night. That poor, poor couple. Who could do something like that?”
Murdered? The elderly woman shot up from the chair, and a … a bloody basketball rolled across the kitchen’s white tile floor, leaving a bloody streak until it bounced against her father’s bare feet.
Of course he didn’t feel it. Didn’t see it. This was for Della’s eyes only. Lucky her! Not. What the hell was Mrs. Chi doing with a basketball?
Mrs. Chi walked in front of Della. Her slanted eyes filled with puzzlement. Where’s my husband? Where did he go?
Chills ran down Della’s arms.
