Page 9 of Houston, We Have a Problem
I could really use someone like that right now.
Chapter Five
Darcy
October 20
When we pull up outsideof Houston’s duplex, my stomach is churning so badly that I’m pretty sure my first act in my new temporary home is going to be throwing up in the well-manicured bushes. Nothing says “welcome home” or “hi, I’m your new tenant” like a bit of puke. Thankfully, I was too nervous to eat breakfast this morning at the hotel, so there’s not a lot to lose if I do end up ralphing. Who decided to call it that, anyway? What did Ralph do to be equated with vomiting?
“Looks nice,” Jesse grunts, leaning over to peer at the house through my window. He doesn’t have much of an expression, which is par for the course with him. “Not what I expected.”
It’s exactly what I expected because I’ve spent the last several days memorizing the photos on the listing, just so I feel less anxious about staying in a new place. It may be temporary, but the fact that most of my possessions are packed in the truck behind us makes it feel far more permanent than that.
I turn to the man beside me and give him a wobbly smile. “Have I told you how glad I am that you’re here with me?”
His blank face cracks a little, lips lifting in the closest thing to a smile I’ve ever seen on him. I was more than shocked when Connor told me he was sending Jesse on this assignment as well, both for protection—the man is obnoxiously ripped, like a short-haired version of Jason Momoa, complete with some impressive tattoos—and for his talents with a makeup brush. Connor wants Tamlin to keep pushing things with Houston while I’m here, and I can’t become her without Jesse and his magic hands.
I tried once, but I ended up making myself look like a rodeo clown. I had never tried contouring until that day, and I’ll never try again.
“Well?” Jesse says, his gaze surprisingly soft as he looks at me. He told me as we packed up the truck back in St. Louis that he would follow my lead on this one, which basically means I’m his boss for the next month, or however long this takes. I’d love to get this over within a week or less, but knowing my luck, that is simply wishful thinking because I still think there’s nothing to find. Poor guy is going to be stuck with me instead of back home with his several cats.
Hopefully it’s not for long.
“I guess we should get our keys,” I say breathlessly. “Houston lives on the left side, and Sheryl said he’ll have the keys for us.” Apparently, Houston owns both halves of the duplex and has been renting out the other side for a year or so, up until he decided to try to sell the right side instead. I still haven’t been able to figure out why a professional athlete who makes twenty-five million dollars a year would choose a little duplex in the suburbs as his home of choice, but I can just add that to my long list of things I’m here to discover about baseball’s squeaky-clean pitcher.
“And we’re sure this is the right place?” Jesse asks, clearly feeling as uncertain about all of this as I am.
I take a deep breath. “Yep.” What I’m less sure about is Houston not recognizing me the moment he lays eyes on me. Granted, my own parents don’t know that I’m Tamlin, but they also hardly ever watch sports news. There’s no telling what a guy like Houston, who recognized Tamlin instantly from across the news tent, would pick up on. I’m Clark Kenting, AKA I just have to hope my normal Darcy self is so underwhelming that he wouldn’t in his wildest imaginings think Tamlin and I were the same person.
At the same time, I have to hope my normal Darcy self isn’tsounderwhelming that he doesn’t pay me any attention at all.
Jesse reaches over and grabs my hand, which I didn’t realize was trembling until his large fingers wrap around mine. “Hey, little sister,” he says, which is what he’s been calling me since my first day on the job. He’s looked out for me from the beginning, and I love him for it. “You got this. There’s no one who can step into the job like you do.”
“It’s the theater minor. They didn’t call me the Improv Queen for nothing.” I give him a weak smile. “I’m really glad you’re here, Jess.”
He gives me a squeeze in return. “I know.”
It’s just enough courage to get me out of the car and to Houston’s front door, but then I freeze with my fist in the air. “They didn’t actually call me the Improv Queen,” I whisper, back to being terrified.
Jesse chuckles. “I know.” Then he knocks on the door.
I stand there with my breath held in my lungs long enough that I start to feel dizzy, but the door doesn’t open. I force an exhale and knock again, louder than Jesse did.
Nothing.
“Maybe she told us the wrong side?” I say with a shrug. Jesse matches the gesture, and the two of us slip down the porch to the other door.
To my surprise—and maybe horror—the door is slightly ajar, faint classical music coming from somewhere inside. I peek inside to make sure the front room is empty rather than Houston’s living room, and then I give the door a nudge. It creaks open slowly. Ominously. Bare walls echo the music from wherever it’s originating, and the whole house seems dark and dim behind all of the closed blinds.
“Creepy,” Jesse says, and I don’t miss the excitement in his voice. Or the twinkle in his dark eyes.
I grimace. “Only you would think ‘Night on Bald Mountain’ blasting from an empty basement would be cool,” I whisper, giving him a shove forward. Not only does he get excited by the thought of alien invasions and hauntings, but he’s way bigger than me. If Connor sent him to New Mexico to protect me, I fully expect him to do his job.
Thankfully, he leads the way down the stairs as the nightmarish music grows louder around us. The room below is bathed in red light, which only seems to make Jesse even more excited. I grip the back of his shirt and take a ninja pose, as if that’s enough to save me from getting murdered the minute we hit the cement floor below.
When Jesse steps off to the side, I get my first look at the horror scene. It’s so much worse than I imagined, and my whole body goes on high alert. Forget the creepy music fromFantasia—the sight in front of me is the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen.
A man kneels on the cement, rubber gloves pulled up to his elbows and a scrub brush in his hands. Soapy water coats the floor, but it’s the red color that triggers my nausea again. It’s all over him too, in his hair, on his shirt, on hisface. Whoever taught this guy how to clean up blood did a poor job of it, or maybe we’ve just walked in on him cleaning up his latest kill as the music swells to the climax.
