Incubus Dreams - Laurell K. Hamilton [347]
I expected them to use one of those big metal rams, but they didn’t. Ms. Conroy had paid extra for a solid metal door with a lock that made it true security. All that looking at specs of the building and interviewing people had paid off. They put a small explosive charge on the lock and blew it.
The flash bang grenade went first, then in we went in the wake of the stunning noise and blinding light. When the searing light faded, the only light came from the sweeps of the men’s flashlights mounted to their guns. Then it was chaos. Not the chaos of a fight, because no one was in the first room, but the chaos of trying to shuffle behind the shield and not trip or trip someone else. They shuffled as a unit, but it was so quick, like running inside a shell of bodies. While you’re doing what amounts to dancing or gymnastics as a unit, you’re also searching the dark, keeping track of the gun in your hand, and looking for something to shoot at.
Thanks to the briefing, I knew the layout of this condo almost better than my own house. The big empty living room, the small enclosed kitchen, the hallway beyond with the guest bathroom left and the guest room right. It was a straightforward layout, thank God.
Hudson spoke in the mike in my ear, a whisper even with me standing right behind him with my hand touching his back, “Mendez, Derry, kitchen.” They peeled off wordlessly, the back of our little conga line lighter. Jung moved up, and I felt his hand against my back. Nice to know I wasn’t the only one who needed a steadying hand.
Radio in my ear: “Vic, female, not Morgan.” I think it was Derry.
“Vamp bites.”
“Yes.”
“Blake, check it out.”
I stumbled, made Jung stumble, we were like dominoes. I remembered to press my button. “What?”
“Check out the body.”
I could have argued but there was no time. I knew he was doing it to get rid of me. Maybe I really had slowed them down, but he was definitely getting me out of the way before the main shit hit the fan.
I peeled off like they had shown me and went for the kitchen. I followed his order, even though I didn’t agree. I went to check out the body, because the sergeant had told me to. Damn it.
I double-timed it to the kitchen, because if I hurried, I might still get to trail in for the main fight. Light shown through the louvered door of the kitchen. I smelled the blood before I touched the door.
Light washed over me, then dimmed, as my eyes adjusted. Derry was heading for the door as I was coming in. Hudson’s voice, sounding strained but clear, hit the radio: “Stay with Blake until she’s checked the body.” Radio silence.
Derry’s shoulders slumped, saying he was disappointed, but he didn’t argue.
Derry just moved up with me, rifle still at the ready. I went with him, though I pointed my shotgun a little to one side. The room wasn’t that wide, and I just wasn’t sure there was enough room for all of us pointing guns in, without risking crossing someone’s body. One of my goals tonight was not to do that.
I knew some of what we’d find, because I could smell it. Not just the blood, old blood, but that meaty, fluid smell, and a stale whiff of sex. Male sex. It helped me steel myself for what I was about to see.
She lay spread-eagle on the small four-seater table. Her legs had folded over the edge of the table, and her groin was splayed in a line for the door, so the view was painfully clear. She’d been raped, and for that much damage, probably not just with someone’s body. Or at least not just with a penis. I was glad when I could look away. She was wearing what looked like a silver sequined bikini, but she had pantyhose on under it. Though I might not have realized that if the clothes on her lower body hadn’t been ripped away. The pantyhose told me she was a stripper from this side of the river. The laws on the books in St. Louis for strippers are odd. Jean-Claude’s club gets around