Page 18 of Taken for Granite
“They were murdered,” she said with a hiss.
Tas crouched down at the nearest body. He brushed his fingers across the body where the odor of burnt gunpowder was strongest, finding the features of a human face. They were shot in the head. “This was an execution.”
He stood, wings fluttering with unease. The scene wasn’t correct. The door had been forced, which implied haste and sloppiness, but the cold implementation of the slayings spoke to a professional. Or a team of professionals.
“Is there a rose?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“Yes. Under Mickey’s, oh god, under his body. How did you know that? Smell?”
“Your employer stole from the wrong people. They do not take lightly to having their property stolen.” The Rose Syndicate’s team acted in haste. Perhaps the local American agents were not as tidy as the ones in London. “Agent Rhododendron will have words for this. She detests sloppy work and gets quite cross.”
Usually, a cross Agent Rhododendron resulted in some sort of deprivation for Tas: food, water, sleep, sight. Her favorite torture had been to give him a luxury, like books, and take it away.
Boredom hurt Tas worse than any form of pain.
“The people who put you in that crate? They did this,” Juniper said.
Tas nodded, pleased that the female put the pieces together quickly without him explaining. “I am sorry about your young. Which one is she? I will collect her and we will go.”
“You don’t understand. Chloe’s not here.”
7
Juniper
What. The. Actual. Fuck.
Juniper needed to think. She needed to breathe.
Blood and brains decorated the back of the leather couch.
She needed to not barf.
The singing reality show Chloe liked played way too loudly, crowding her thoughts. Her sister had been here, watching The Talent, just as she would’ve done had she been at home.
Chloe’s hot pink headphones sat in the empty space on the couch, between two very dead men.
Perhaps notjustlike home.
The middle of the couch was, thankfully, clean. Hopefully, that meant Chloe kept all her blood and brains in their original container.
Oh god.
She couldn’t stop the gag reflex. Acid burned at the back of her throat as her stomach revolted. For one appalling moment, she tried to swallow it back down, then keep it in with her hands.
The contents of her stomach emptied onto the beige carpeting, mostly coffee and her half-digested dinner. Disgusting. The bitter taste clung to her tongue despite how she scraped at it.
A warm hand rubbed her back. “Do not fight your instinct.”
God, this was humiliating and gross. So gross.
Another wave took her. She bent over and braced her hands on her thighs. When the last of the heaving subsided, the gargoyle withdrew his soothing touch.
“Did you touch anything?” Tas asked.
“Bit late for that now. Why?”
“I am operating under the assumption that the police still collect fingerprints at the scene of a crime. I touched the door handle, which will need to be cleaned.”
