Sense of Evil - Kay Hooper [59]
She came abruptly to her feet. “Oh, Christ.”
“You know, for a gas station, this is a huge building.” Mallory's voice echoed.
They were in the rear area, which was divided into at least three separate rooms, all apparently cavernous; the one they were presently exploring had a concrete floor and high windows so dirty they admitted almost no light. Rusted pieces and parts from old cars still hung on hooks and racks on the cinder-block walls, and piles of junk lay everywhere.
Every time Mallory moved the beam of her flashlight, it seemed to catch something metallic and glare back at her, like something springing out of the shadows.
Unsettling.
“Tell me about it. I'm guessing it didn't start out life as a gas station.” Hollis pointed her flashlight into a dark corner and jumped when an unexpectedly shiny chrome bumper glinted brightly. “Jesus.”
Mallory jumped in the same instant, but in her case it was because something skittered across her foot. “Shit. I hate rats, but I hope that's what just ran across my foot.”
Hollis didn't care for rats herself, but she was standing before what looked like a solid steel door that held her interest at the moment. The door was padlocked. “Never mind the rats. Take a look at this.”
Mallory joined her. “I can't never mind rats. I hate rats. And I'm going to throw these shoes away. Yuck.” Her flashlight beam joined Hollis's. “Is that a new lock?”
“I'd say so. Hold on a minute.” She juggled her flashlight briefly before tucking it under her arm as she dug into the waist pack she was wearing. She put on a pair of latex gloves, then produced a small, zippered leather case.
Mallory watched with interest. “Burglar's tools? You didn't bring those out at Jamie's playhouse.”
“I didn't have to, you had the locksmith's tools.” Hollis smiled suddenly. “I've been hoping there'd be an opportunity for me to try out my lock-picking skills. They haven't been field-tested yet.” She selected a couple of tools and bent to begin working on the lock.
“You learned this at Quantico?”
“From Bishop. It's sort of fascinating which skills he determines to be most important to a new agent. Handling a gun without shooting myself in the foot and with reasonable accuracy—check. Being able to use a form of autohypnosis and biofeedback to focus and concentrate—check. Ability to talk to the dead—a major plus. Being able to pick various and sundry locks—check. Or, at least, so I hope.”
Mallory laughed under her breath. “You know, I'd really like to meet this Bishop of yours. He sounds like a very interesting man.”
“He certainly is. Damn. Shine your light right here, will you?”
Mallory complied.
“Wait—I think—” There was a soft click, and Hollis opened the padlock with a flourish. “Ta-da. What do you know, I can do this. I wasn't at all sure I could.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” She put away the tools, then had to put her shoulder against the door to push it inward. And the moment it was open a few inches Hollis immediately stepped back. “Oh, shit.”
The two women looked at each other, and Mallory said, “I haven't had the misfortune to stumble across a decomposing human corpse, but I'm guessing that's what one would smell like. Please tell me I'm wrong.”
Breathing through her mouth, Hollis said, “I'm pretty sure that's what it is. Part of the training I got was a visit to the body farm—where students and forensics specialists study decomposition. It's not an odor you easily forget.”
Mallory stared at the partially open door. “I'm not looking forward to seeing what's inside there.”
“No, me either.” Hollis eyed her. “Want to wait and call in reinforcements?”
“No. No, dammit. With a padlocked door and that smell, there's obviously nothing dangerous in there. Nothing alive, I mean. We have to open the door and look, make sure it's not some dead animal in there. Then call it in.”
Hollis braced herself mentally and emotionally—and did her best to shore up her psychic shields. Then she and Mallory shouldered the door all the way open and stepped inside.
“Jesus,” Mallory whispered.