Page 75 of Always Murder

At the roll-up door, I caught up to him.(I was a bit winded; Bobby was not.)

“Dash—”

“I know, I know,” I said miserably.“Please yell at me later when we’re both alive and safe.”

He gave me an unreadable look.I was sure the deputy part of him wanted to order me back to the Pilot.The boyfriend part of him, on the other hand, probably knew how well that would work.Finally, he said, “I need you to stay behind me.Shout if you see something.”

I nodded.I still couldn’t seem to get enough air into my lungs, and my stomach was starting to roll.

“Wait for me to say clear.”

I nodded again.

He took a few quick breaths.His expression changed, and it was like I wasn’t there anymore, and it was like he wasn’t there anymore either—he was all focus.With a suddenness that took me off guard, he darted through the open door.

I waited for a gunshot.

I waited for a scream.

That moment lasted forever.

And then Bobby said, “Clear.”His voice was rough, almost angry.But I thought that was the adrenaline more than anything.

Inside, the warehouse looked how I remembered it—the high, exposed rafters, the metal shelving that dominated the back of the building, the acres of polished concrete.It was so quiet that the buzzing of the industrial lights overhead seemed to settle into my jawbone.On our last visit, the space had been relatively warmer than the outside, but today, it felt just as cold.Maybe because everyone had gone home, or maybe because someone had left the roll-up door open.The smell of cardboard and plywood still hung in the air, but with something else now: gunpowder.

Bobby directed a questioning look at me, and I pointed to the door on the far side of the warehouse.“That leads into the offices,” I whispered.I slid my finger to point at the racks of shelving.“The door to Luz’s office is back there.”

Nodding, Bobby eased forward.Our sneakers were silent on the sealed concrete, and somehow, the buzzing of the lights seemed even louder.

Then something pinged.

It took my brain half a second to recognize that the sound had come from the metal roof.I remembered our last visit, and the conversation I’d overheard about birds getting into the warehouse.I realized I was clutching Bobby’s arm in a death grip.With an attempt at a smile, I relaxed my fingers.Bobby’s head cocked in another silent question, so I gave him a thumbs up.Then I decided I was going to have someone cut off my thumbs so I never did that again.

Bobby must have decided he was in too deep, because he started forward again.Instead of making our way toward the office, though, as Millie and I had on our last visit, Bobby cut across the warehouse on a strange, meandering path.We walked to a pallet loaded with boxes.Then we angled toward a conveyor belt.Then Bobby moved toward a stack of packing materials.We were halfway to the rows of shelving before I understood he was moving tactically, from one piece of cover to another.The point was to get us across the warehouse without ever exposing ourselves to gunfire.Bobby’s shoulders were set in a hard line, and he had his hand on his gun, but he hadn’t drawn it.I wasn’t entirely sure about that decision.If it had been me, I would have had my gun in my hand.I would have been waving it around, covering all the angles.And I probably would have fired off a few warning shots out of pure nerves.(Which was why nobody in their right mind would ever give me a gun.)

An engine rumbled to life back among the shelves.

I grabbed Bobby again.

One of us—I’m not going to say who—said a few more of those we-are-not-happy-elves words.

“Babe,” Bobby whispered.

“I know, I know.”I pried my hand loose.“It won’t happen again.”

The sound of the engine changed, and rubber squeaked.Then a long, shrill, metallic sound came from deeper among the shelves.

“Forklift,” Bobby whispered.

I nodded.

Metal screeched again, and even though I wasn’t a warehouse expert (is that a thing?), I could tell that this sound was…wrong.It was too loud, and it went on too long, and it had a strained, forced quality.I opened my mouth to ask what Bobby thought was happening, and then another gunshot rang out.

The sound was so much louder inside the warehouse.Bobby reacted automatically, grabbing the back of my neck and forcing me down behind the stack of packing materials.I was nose-to-nose with foam peanuts, unable to see anything, and Bobby’s hold on me was painfully tight.

Another shot.

And then—of all things—a door slammed.

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