J.R. Ward the Black Dagger Brotherhood Novels 1-4 - J. R. Ward [318]
He went around the side of the house and down to the street where there was a Ford Explorer parked at the curb.
“Bella was, for them, a lucky mistake, and they came back tonight to finish the job by getting Mary. V, I want you to run this car’s plates, okay?” Butch eyed the sky. Light snow flurries were coming down. “With this shit falling, the integrity of the outdoor scenes is disintegrating, but I think we know what we can from the exteriors. Let me go through the SUV while you boys clean up the bodies of those lessers. I don’t need to tell you to take anything you can off them, wallets, BlackBerrys, cell phones. Give it all to V when he comes back so he can take the stuff to the Pit. And stay out of both houses until I clear the scenes.”
As the brothers got to work, Butch went through the Explorer with a fine-toothed comb. By the time he was finished, the vampires had finished poofing the lessers.
“SUV’s clean as a whistle, but it’s registered to a guy named Ustead.” He handed the registration card to Phury. “Probably a false identity, but would one of you boys check out the address anyway? I’m heading back to Bella’s to finish up there.”
Tohr checked his watch. “We’ll check this Ustead’s place out, then go do our civilian sweeps. Unless you need help?”
“No, it’s better if I go it alone.”
The brother paused. “What about some cover, cop? Because the lessers might show up again. None of the ones here got away, but when those boys don’t check in, some of their buddies could come back for a look-see.”
“I can handle myself.” He took out his gun and checked it. “But I spent my clip. Can I borrow another?”
Phury held out a Beretta. “Take this and start fresh.”
And Tohr wouldn’t leave until Butch accepted one of his Glocks as well.
Tucking one gun into his holster and keeping the other in his hand, Butch took off across the meadow at a jog. His body was primed and pumped, and he covered the distance in no time at all, barely breaking a sweat. As he ran, his mind was sharp as the night air, churning over lists of things to follow up on and theories about where Bella might have been taken.
As he ran up to the back of the farmhouse, he caught a flash of movement inside. He flattened against the wall next to the broken French door and eased the Beretta’s safety off. From inside the kitchen there was the sound of crunching glass, like popcorn on a stove. Someone was walking around. Someone big.
Butch waited until whoever it was got closer; then he jumped into the doorway, aiming the gun at chest level.
“It’s just me, cop,” Z muttered.
Butch swung the muzzle to the ceiling. “Christ, I could have shot you.”
But Z didn’t seem to care that he’d almost been plugged. He just leaned down and fished around some dish shards with his fingertip.
Butch took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves. He wasn’t going to ask Zsadist to leave. There was no point in getting into an argument with him, and besides, the brother was acting totally weird, kind of like he was in a stupor. The dead calm in him was eerie as hell.
Z picked something off the floor.
“What is it?” Butch asked.
“Nothing.”
“Try not to disturb the scene, okay?”
As Butch looked around, he cursed to himself. He wanted his old partner from the force, José. He wanted his whole Homicide team. He wanted his CSI folks back in the lab.
He allowed himself a couple seconds of black frustration and then got to work. Starting at the busted French doors, he was prepared to go through every inch of the house, even if it took him until dawn.
Mary brought out another round of Alka-Seltzer from the bathroom. Rhage was lying on their bed, breathing slowly, more than a little green around the gills.
After he drank the stuff, he looked up at her. His face