Dead Silence (The Body Finder 4)

Chelsea ducked out from under Violet’s arm. “Yeah . . . whatever she says.” She wiggled her brows, and her butt, on her way to her car.

“Right . . .” Rafe drawled, not bothering to sound convinced. “And you just happen to be going to see the same band we saw the other night.”

“What, and you think we need you two tagging along in case we get into trouble?” She managed to add a fair amount of cynicism to her voice as she glowered at each of them in turn.

“We think,” Jay said, sounding considerably more reasonable, and far less flip than Rafe, “that it couldn’t hurt to stick together. Especially since we have no idea what we could be walking into.”

Violet shrugged. “I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s probably no different than the other club.”

“Oh, and you did great down there,” Rafe interrupted. “You practically made a pass at the bouncer.”

“What?” Violet sputtered, as Jay raised an eyebrow at her, begging for an explanation. “I did not! I was just being friendly. Besides, he seemed . . . nice.”

Jay just shook his head as Rafe shot back, “Yeah, I’m sure he was thinking the same thing about you. Such a nice little girl.”

Violet glared at him as Chelsea shouted from over the top of her car. “All right, ladies, stop your bickering and get in. We don’t have all night. Show starts in t-minus-thirty. Don’t wanna be late, do we?”

It wasn’t as far to Tacoma as it had been to Seattle, and they were there in plenty of time. The area was dirtier than the place in Seattle, though. A little scarier, Violet couldn’t help thinking. The crowd out front didn’t seem to be in a huge hurry to get inside, and there was still a short line, but there were also several people who were just milling around, talking and smoking. More than a few homeless people camped out in nearby doorways.

Suddenly Violet wasn’t so sorry that Rafe and Jay had crashed her plans. Maybe a little backup wasn’t such a bad idea.

After they circled the block several times, Chelsea finally managed to squeeze her car into a space that may or may not have been legal, and they made their way past a row of decayed storefronts . . . businesses like nail salons, a liquor store, a place for check cashing and payday loans, and a smoke shop. It had a seedy feel to it, and Violet grew jumpier and less confident about her decision to be here, with each step she took.

Chelsea, on the other hand, grew bolder and more confident, as if the clothing itself had infused her with a new jolt of courage. “What d’ya think we’ll find? You think the killer will be there? You think someone in the band knows something?” Her voice dropped as she hooked her arm through Violet’s. “What do you do when you find them?” And then her eyes widened as a new possibility dawned on her. “You don’t carry a gun, do you? Can you . . . arrest someone?”

Violet shoved her, laughing now. “Of course I can’t. I’m not a cop, Chels. I call the police, just like anyone else.”

Jay scoffed. “Yeah, because that’s what you always do, right, Vi? You’d never go after a killer on your own.”

He was right of course. She had been foolish enough to chase echoes—or imprints rather—before. And she probably would be again. No matter how hard Dr. Lee had tried, no matter how many warnings Sara had given her, she just couldn’t seem to stop herself.

“You’ve done that?” Chelsea gasped, but it wasn’t the kind of gasp that said she was shocked and appalled. It was more like she was impressed. Like she had a newfound respect for her friend.

“Not on purpose,” Violet answered, hoping to defuse the situation . . . and the attention.

When they reached the entrance, Violet fished out her ID and her hand was stamped. Since the person at the door had two different kinds of stamps, Violet guessed that hers was the one that marked her as underage, limiting her selections at the bar. Fair enough, she realized. It wasn’t like she’d been planning on drinking anyway.

Before they went in, Jay stopped her, his hand firm and warm as it closed over hers, pulling her back a step. The worry in his face drew her back another.

“What?” she asked.

“Just . . . don’t do anything stupid, ’kay, Vi?”

She looked at him, at his serious expression. At the T-shirt he wore that wasn’t black and the jeans that weren’t ripped or held up at his waist with a spiked belt. He didn’t belong in a place like this or, really, with a girl like her, one who was always dragging him into sticky situations. Yet here he was. And the creases etched across his forehead said it all.

She smiled. “Don’t be an ass-hat.” But her words were quiet and reassuring, and she leaned up to press the lightest kiss against his lips as she stared into his eyes. “That’s why you’re here, right? To keep me out of trouble.”

He shook his head, surrendering to the fact that she wasn’t going to listen to him, no matter how hard he tried. And then he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and dragged her through the door. “You’re hopeless, you know that?”

Inside, the music was already playing, and Violet recognized the song from the other night—the same opening band.

“Not really what I expected,” Chelsea shouted as she surveyed the tall ceilings and the wide-open space that lacked any real sense of décor. It had a cold, industrial feel, with exposed metal heating ducts and concrete walls that were probably some shade of gray or tan or taupe when the lights were on. Right now, however, everything was black, except when the strobe lights flashed.