Page 21 of Girl, Reborn

‘You’re the boss, boss.’

Ella flashed him a grin. ‘Duly noted. Nowgive me a boost, Hawkins. Time's a-wasting.’

He laced his fingers together and bracedhimself against the gate. Ella stepped into the makeshift stirrup, grabbingonto his shoulders for balance. The rasp of his stubble was electric againsther palms.

‘On three,’ she said. ‘One, two–’

Luca heaved and Ella pushed off, launchingherself up and over in one smooth motion. She caught the top of the gate andswung her legs over, dropping lightly to the manicured grass on the other side.The shock traveled up her bones, but she stuck the landing in a way that’d makeher old gymnast teacher proud.

'Alley-oop,' she called back, dusting herhands on her trousers. 'Your turn.'

Luca backed up a few steps, then took arunning leap at the gate. Those long legs eating up the distance like it wasnothing. He grabbed the top and heaved himself over in one powerful surge. Ellaabsolutely did not stop to appreciate the flex of his shoulders, because shewas a professional.

He landed beside her with a thump thenstraightened up. ‘And the other kids laughed when I took ballet.’

‘Well, who’s laughing now?’

Luca surveyed his new environment andsaid, ‘Toledo certainly was. Look at this place.’

Ella took in the backyard, fingersinstinctively hovering millimeters from her holster. The place was a humdinger.The pool dominated the yard; a sunken kidney of glassy turquoise so pristine itlooked almost fake. It was ringed with a poured concrete patio dotted withhigh-end outdoor furniture – chaise lounges, glass-topped tables, a massivestainless steel grill that probably had its own zip code.

But what caught Ella's eye was the poolhouse squatting at the far end, a miniature version of the main domicile.Stucco walls, red roof, picture windows black and lifeless.

She jerked her chin towards it. ‘What doyou think? Secret love shack?’

Luca tried the handle on the door leadinginto the house but it was locked. ‘Only one way to find out, and getting in themain house is out of the question.’

They picked their way around the pool,alert for any sign of life. Ella's hand hovered over her holster, not quitetouching but ready to draw at a moment's notice. The door to the pool house wasajar, just a crack. Ella nudged it open with her toe, peering into the cooldimness within. It wasn't much more than a single room, barely big enough forthe daybed shoved against one wall and the mini-fridge humming in the corner.

Luca moved past her, eyes scanning thewalls, the floor. What were they looking for? A dropped wallet? A matchbook? Ahandkerchief with the killer’s name stitched into the fabric?

But the room offered up no clues, nosmoking gun. Just dust motes dancing in the slanted bars of light and the fainttang of chlorine hanging in the air.

‘Definitely not a love shack,’ Luca said.

They did one last sweep of the room butcame up empty. No bloodstains, no boot prints. Just a sad little bonus spacefor a man who already had too much.

They stepped back into the punishingsunlight, temporarily blinded. Ella raised a hand to shield her eyes andsquinted at the pool. The surface glimmered placidly, not so much as a ripplemarring its mirror-like sheen.

‘This pool,’ Ella said. ‘It’s beensanitized within an inch of its life.’

‘And it’s got a filter system, stillrunning,’ Luca pointed. ‘Only thing we're liable to find is an errant Band-Aidor a'

Then Luca’s head whipped around, towardsthe sliding glass door he’d tried to prize open before heading to the poolhouse.

‘You hear that?’

‘Hear what?’

Ella went still, straining her senses. Atfirst there was nothing but the buzz of cicadas and the low hum of central air,but then – there. The creak of hinges, the soft shush of rubber soles on tile.

A sudden, sharp snap behind them – a lockdislodging, a heel scuffing a tiled floor. They whirled as one, hands flying toholsters.

The back door gaped wide, a rectangle ofcool, shadowed dark. And framed in that void, trembling like a baby deer fromnose to toes – a woman. Not a witness, and sure as hell not a ring of angryfarmers here to clear up any evidence. She was young, mid-twenties at most,with dark hair scraped back into a severe bun and a pinched expression. Latina,if Ella had to guess, with the kind of bone structure that spoke of indigenousancestors.

And she was wearing a starched blueuniform with ‘Purely Spotless Inc.’ stitched over the breast pocket.

The woman stopped short at the sight ofthem, eyes going wide. Her hands flew up in an instinctive gesture ofsurrender. ‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’

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