"Anyone there?" he called.
Silence answered. He squinted at the darkness ahead, working to make out details, differentiate shape from shadow. Wishing for Sarah's acute sense of smell and hearing. He called out once more. Again, without answer.
Wondering at the wisdom of what he was about to do, he eased his grip slightly. The dog charged forward. Or tried to. He held her back, forcing her to proceed slowly, giving his eyes time to adjust to the dark.
As they reached the middle point of the alley, she angled right. Her growl deepened. Hunter drew back on the leash, struggling to hold her. The dog's muscles bunched and rippled as she fought him, digging in with each step.
Produce crates, he saw. A stack of them sent askew. From the Piggly Wiggly around front. And tipped trash barrels, discarded bakery and deli items spewing out into the alleyway. Sarah began to bark. Not a high, shrill bark of excitement, but a fierce one. Deep, threatening.
"Sarah," he chided, "all this over a little spoiled chow?" He bent and thumped her side. "Or is the possum or coon that made this mess still hanging around?"
The sound of his voice did little to comfort her. As he moved to straighten, something peeking out from under the pile of crates and boxes caught his eye.
An animal's tail. No wonder Sarah was going bonkers. The creature that caused this messed had gotten itself trapped under one of the tipped crates. It could be hurt, maybe dead.
He glanced around, looking for something he could use to move the crates. No way was he about to use his hand. Cornered creatures defended themselves ferociously. Especially when hurt.
He spotted a broom propped in the opposite doorway. He retrieved it, then wedged its handle through the crate's wooden slats and tipped it up. His stomach rose to his throat. He took a step backward, Sarah's frenzied barking ringing in his ears.
Not an animal's tail. Human hair.
The woman it belonged to stared up at him, face screwed into a death howl.
CHAPTER 13
Hunter stumbled backward, dragging Sarah with him. Bending, he propped his hands on his knees and dragged in deep breaths. Steady, Stevens. Don't throw up. Dear God, don't-
The image of the woman filled his head. He squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in another lungful of oxygen. A woman…Jesus… What to do? What-
Make certain she's dead. Call the cops.
Hunter expelled a long breath and straightened slowly. He turned his gaze toward the woman. She hadn't moved. She stared fixedly at him, mouth stretched into that horrible scream.
He hadn't a doubt she was dead. And that her death had been excruciating. But still, he should check her pulse. Shouldn't he? Wasn't that what they always did in the movies and on TV? That or fall completely apart.
Not an option, Stevens. He shortened his hold on Sarah's lead and inched closer. Carefully, he moved a couple of the toppled crates, revealing the woman's arm.
Sometime before she'd died, she'd polished her fingernails a bright, bloody red. Now, the contrast between the red polish and the fish-belly white of her skin affected him like a shouted obscenity.
Hunter moved closer. He circled his fingers around the woman's wrist. She was cold. Her skin spongy to the touch.
No pulse. Not even a flutter.
He yanked his hand back, instinctively wiping it against his blue jeans, and straightened.
Get the cops. His dad. Or Matt.
They were all around the corner. At Phillip's wake.
He considered his choices and decided he could notify them as quickly on foot as he could by calling the department. Decision made, he started forward at a run. As if sensing his urgency, Sarah stayed by his side. They cleared the alley, making the block to Gallagher's in less than three minutes.
He took the front steps two at a time, ordered Sarah to stay and burst through Gallagher's front door. Danny Gallagher stood just inside the door. His eyes widened. "Hunter, what-"
"Where are they?"
Danny pointed. "Number one, but-"
Hunter darted forward, not waiting for him to finish. He spotted his family the moment he entered the room. They stood in a tight clutch.
Stevens clan against the world. Minus one, of course.
He strode forward; the crowd parted silently for him. Conversations ceased. Expressions registered surprise. Then excitement. They expected a scene. They wanted one.
He could liven things up, all right. Just not for the reason they thought.
Hunter saw the moment his family became aware of his pres-ence. They turned. Their gazes settled on him. Matt frowned; Buddy's eyebrows shot up even as his stance altered subtly, becoming defensive. Preparing for battle. His mother looked particularly pale, her eyes wide, alarmed. Cherry averted her gaze when he looked at her.
As American as apple pie and Prozac.
Damn them all.
"Dad," he said, not bothering with a greeting, "we need to talk."
Matt stepped forward, fists clenched. "You picked a hell of a time for one of your confrontations. Get out of here before Avery-"
"Back off," Hunter snapped. "This is an emergency, Dad. We need to speak privately."
"It'll have to keep, son. Tonight I'm honoring my best friend."
Hunter leaned toward him. He lowered his voice. "There's been a murder. Think that'll keep?"
From behind him came the sound of a sharply drawn breath. He turned. Avery had come up behind them, that she'd heard was obvious by her distraught expression.
She shifted her gaze from him to his dad, then Matt. "What's going on?"
Hunter held out a hand. "I'm sorry, Avery. I didn't mean to involve you in this."
Matt stepped between them. "Let's take this outside." Hunter was happy to oblige. He followed his father and brother out front. Sarah thumped her tail against the porch when she saw him.
The two men faced him. Matt spoke first. "This better not be your idea of a sick-"
"Joke? I wish it was."
Quickly, Hunter explained, starting with Sarah pawing at the door and finishing with checking the woman's pulse.
Buddy and Matt exchanged glances, then met his eyes once more. Buddy took the lead. "Are you certain the woman was murdered?"
Hunter hesitated. He wasn't, he realized. She could have been a street person. Or someone who worked at one of the businesses on the alley. She could have had a heart attack, fallen into the crates, causing them to topple.
He pictured those ruby-colored nails and his relief died. Street people didn't get manicures. The businesses lining the alley all closed at five; if the woman worked in one of those businesses, wouldn't a loved one be looking for her by now? Wouldn't they think to check the alley?
Still, the woman could have died of natural causes.
"Hunter?"
He blinked, refocusing on his father. "I just assumed…because she was dead, in the alley…"
"Show us where she is."
Hunter did, leading the men to the spot. As he passed his door he could hear the puppies crying and stopped to put Sarah in. His dad and brother continued without him.
"Son of a bitch. Shit."
"Oh, goddamn."
They'd found her. Their brief responses expressed volumes.
Hunter made his way up the alley. He hung back a few feet, keeping his gaze averted as the other two men carefully shifted the crates to get a better look at the victim. He listened to their dialogue.
"This woman did not die of natural causes."
"No shit."
"Oh man, she's torn up bad."
That had come from Matt; he sounded weird, more than shaken. As if someone had a hold on his vocal cords and was squeezing. Hard.
"Slow down," his father warned. "We don't know what happened. We have to be careful not to destroy any evidence."
Hunter glanced at his brother. He saw him nod at his father's advice. Saw him trying to pull himself together. Saw the moment he got a grip on himself.
"Look, she's propped up on the right-" Matt squatted and peered closely at the corpse. "But no lividity on her left side."