Page 141 of The Grave Artist
The cruisers belonged to two local LA County Sheriff’s deputies. They had exited their vehicles and were crouching behind them for cover.
WTF?
“Who’s shooting?” Carmen called out. There’d been no reports of gunfire.
“No one, ma’am,” one of them said. “But we heard the subject is a bad actor and figured he was barricaded inside because his car’s still here. We were waiting for backup so we can secure the perimeter before going in.”
The officers were following procedure. But neither of them had a sister trapped inside with a killer.
Without another word, Carmen drew her Glock and charged toward the house, calling over her shoulder, “Heron, you stay here!”
The first officer stood from his crouched position and shouted for her to wait. Then, a moment later, she heard their boots thudding up the steps of the old, shabby wood-frame structure.
Inside, she scanned the musty place, shelves filled with porcelain figurines, souvenir plates on stands, doilies and, inexplicably, old slasher movies on DVD. A lot of them. The deputies had decided to forgo protocol to back her up and were clearing the rooms as they made their way through the house, as Carmen did the same.
She broke from the kitchen into a study, called, “Clear. Main floor study.” She turned and was not surprised to see that Heron had, yet again, disobeyed her orders. “We’re not secure. Wait outside like I told you. Call Mouse. I want more backup.”
He had just turned when a man’s voice called out from a doorway in the kitchen. One of the deputies. “Found her! She’s in the basement.” A pause. “And you better hurry. There’s a problem.”
Carmen barreled down the stairs so fast she lost her footing and nearly fell on the bare cement floor. She fought to regain balance as her mind conjured horrific images of her sister on the brink of death.
Finally steadying herself, she saw Selina bound to a rickety office chair that tilted at a bizarre angle—one wheel was missing.
Selina lifted her head and blinked. She was alive. And without any apparent cuts or contusions.
Carmen lurched forward, desperate to free her sister from the duct tape securing her wrists to the arms of the chair. Carmen grabbed the SOG tactical knife clipped inside her waistband and flicked out the blade one handed.
“Hold still, mija,” she said, and began slicing through the thick silver tape with the serrated steel edge.
As she worked to free her sister, an offensive—and unmistakable—odor drew her attention. Suddenly she grasped the nature of the “problem” the officer had mentioned.
Garr must have opened the valve to the natural gas line that fed the dryer or water heater. The unique stench of sulfur-tinged odorant filled the room.
Was she about to rescue her sister only to have the whole house blow them all to smithereens?
“Everyone, out,” she shouted to the others. No one else needed to die.
“Think I’ll stay.”
She glanced up to see Heron, who had disregarded her orders to wait outside. Again. He began using his knife—with which he’d nearly amputated Tristan Kane’s digits—to saw through the tape binding Selina’s legs.
Both officers stayed put as well, and were working to smash open the door to the backyard, using only wooden planks. The door was metal, and using iron or steel tools risked a spark that would set off the gas.
Carmen decided to submit the cops for a commendation and reserve the ass-chewing for Heron.
“You’ll be out in a second,” she muttered to her sister as she cut the last strip of tape on her arms as Heron did the same for her ankles. Together they helped Selina up and pushed out the back door moments after the deputies had managed to bash it open.
Selina was unsteady on her feet at first, gaining momentum as they ran across the yard to be sure they were out of the potential blast radius.
When they finally stopped, one of the cops bent over, hands on his knees, sucking wind. “That asshole was going to gas her to death.”
“Or blow the place,” his partner said. “There’s probably a pilot light on the water heater. When the gas got to that ... kaboom!”
His final word reverberated through Carmen’s mind like a death knell.
Kaboom.
The end of her little sister’s life. The end of their family. The end of her world.
