Hell & High Water (THIRDS 1)

What just happened? Something he’d said must have struck a chord with Sloane, and a part of Dex felt guilty for his words. Maybe he needed to cut the guy some slack and not expect miracles so soon into their partnership. Dex jumped down, rifle in hand, and with renewed determination, jogged to catch up to Sloane who was waiting silently for him in front of the French Gothic style mansion. They were on a street lined with pretty trees, spotless sidewalks, multimillion dollar homes, and luxurious apartments just around the corner from the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

The Ortiz mansion was impressive, from its limestone façade to its intricate iron gates protecting the heavy wooden front doors, but more impressive than the multimillion dollar mansion was Sloane opening one side of the iron gates for him.

With a nod of thanks, Dex stepped inside, telling himself he was going to try harder. Patience wasn’t one of his virtues, but he was going to have to learn. It was time for a different approach. One he hoped would lead to them getting along better and hopefully not to Dex being used as a scratching post.

Chapter 5

SLOANE DISLIKED Dex. Really disliked him.

The rookie’s words were still ringing in his ears as they made their way through the grand foyer of the mansion. As much as he hated to admit it, Dex was right. Another reason to dislike him. The list was growing by the minute. Despite what Dex believed, Sloane had seen a therapist, a THIRDS-appointed one, the same one the rest of his team had been forced to see after the incident. It had been a slippery slope, but Sloane managed to say all the right things to get himself cleared for duty. Afterward, he did his best to prolong facing the painful truth—that Gabe was gone.

His chest ached and the back of his eyes stung, but he quickly pulled himself together. For a long time, he’d managed to avoid the harsh reality. It had been easy while Gabe’s position remained open. Every time a new partner was assigned, reality threatened to chip away at the tremulous delusion he had creat

ed for himself. Of course Gabe was gone. He’d simply put off accepting it for as long as he could, until the thought no longer threatened to cripple him. He’d been terrified about facing his grief, of what it would do to him if he allowed himself to give into it. Only Ash knew his fears, what it could mean for Sloane. When Sloane had finally given in, it had been frightening, but he’d pulled through. By no means had he completely healed, but at least it no longer felt like an open festering wound.

Beside him, his new partner was pensive, and Sloane felt a pang of guilt. Dex had been right about Sloane placing blame on him, punishing him for being placed in Gabe’s position. Under different circumstances, it would have been one hell of a promotion for the ex-HPF officer.

Sloane told himself he would have to make more of an effort to make this partnership work, no matter how much he disliked it. The sooner he accepted things could no longer be as they once were, the better it would be for all of them. The two of them would be spending a lot of time together. Did he really want to spend that time arguing with the guy? Their job was difficult enough as it was without him making it more difficult.

They made their way through the opulent home decorated in hues of blues, reds, and gold, everything designed in a neo-French Renaissance style, from the walls adorned with large oil paintings in antique gold frames to the molded and sculpted staircase. Beneath their boots, the extravagant carpet swallowed their footsteps, and the silk curtains hanging from the expansive archways brushed against the rough cotton fabric of their uniforms. In each room, a crystal chandelier glittered above their heads. No one looked more out of place than they did.

The home was crawling with their squad’s Recon agents, all twenty by the looks of it. The agents were busy taking statements from the guests, some of whom were in tears, while others looked affronted that they were even being questioned. Considering how many rooms the place had, this was going to take a while. In his helmet, Sloane received the confirmation he’d been awaiting from Ash.

“House and perimeter are clear.”

“Copy that.” Sloane removed his helmet and clipped the straps to the back of his vest, Dex doing the same.

Dex whispered at him. “I didn’t know charities paid so well.”

“They don’t. Ortiz was already wealthy before he took over HumaniTherians United.” They went up two flights of stairs to Ortiz’s office where Hudson and Nina were crouched over the body. The office was as opulent as the rest of the house, rich mahogany and glass-cased shelving units around the room, with a fancy drink cart in one corner and a couple of leather wingback chairs. Everything looked pristine and in its place, except for Ortiz lying in a pool of his own blood. Sloane received a nod in greeting from Hudson and Nina as they approached; all around them CS agents were busy sweeping the place.

“What have we got?”

Hudson got to his feet. “Mr. Hector Ortiz, Chairman of HumaniTherians United. His body was discovered by his wife around noon. According to her statement, he’d been mingling with guests all morning, but when she went to make introductions to newly arrived guests, she couldn’t find him. She figured he had snuck off to do some work as he had a habit of doing. Came up here and found him dead.”

“And you’re sure we’re dealing with the same perp?” Sloane studied the corpse. Ortiz lay with his throat torn, like the previous victims.

“We’re certain it’s the same killer, but there’s something bothering us about this one.”

“Oh?”

Nina pointed down to the victim’s neck, and Sloane crouched down for a better look, Dex following his lead. “See here? There’s a small tear where the claw hooked the victim’s neck and pulled, but the movement wasn’t carried through. It’s as if he was quickly released. Like maybe the victim moved unexpectedly.”

Dex cocked his head to one side, studying the tears. “That makes sense. If someone was trying to slash his throat, wouldn’t he try to get away?”

“Not if he didn’t know he was going to be attacked. The movement suggests he was turning when he was struck. Something might have spooked the attacker, who quickly regained his objective and struck again, only the second swipe was successful, tearing the throat and allowing the victim to bleed to death.”

“What’s the strange part?” Sloane’s concern regarding this case was steadily increasing. Something wasn’t adding up. He stood to face Hudson, whose troubled expression mirrored his own feelings on this.

“The depth of the tears and the direction of blood spatter indicate the strength behind the swipe was far weaker than that of your average Felid, unlike with the previous victims.”

Sloane considered that. “Is it possible the victim fought back and injured his attacker?” It was a long shot. Hudson dashed his hopes with a shake of his head.

“There are no traces of fur or skin under his fingernails, no hairs on his clothing, and the evidence suggests it’s likely that all the blood is his, but we need to get it all back to the lab to confirm. So far, CS agents are having trouble finding any evidence the attacker was even here other than poor Mr. Ortiz. My theory—and this is only a theory until we can properly examine him—is that the last two victims were smaller than the attacker, whereas Ortiz was bigger.”

Sloane frowned. “I don’t see how that would make a difference.”

“Exactly,” Hudson replied. “I hate to say this, lads, but there’s an awful lot not making sense here.”