Save Your Breath (Morgan Dane #6) - Melinda Leigh Page 0,80

caught up with him. “Where are you going?”

Sharp didn’t break pace. “Joe is hard of hearing. Maybe he’s working out back and didn’t hear us.”

“Sharp!” Lance called out but was ignored. He grabbed for Sharp’s arm.

Sharp spun. “I know we’re trespassing. I don’t care. If there’s any chance in hell that Olivia is here, I’m going to find her.”

Torn, Lance shook his head. “You’re going to get yourself shot, and then who will find her?”

“What would you do if Morgan were missing?”

Lance would break every law in the world without regret. It must have showed on his face.

“I thought so.” Sharp whirled around.

Behind the house, a wire enclosure surrounded a chicken coop. From inside, chickens clucked. Standing on the ramp that led into the coop, a big red rooster gave them the stink eye. A few goats grazed on the lawn. As they walked across the grass, the goats trotted a few feet away and settled down to graze again.

Lance felt eyes on him. Either they were being watched or he was imagining it. He moved a few feet away, so they presented separate targets. There was no cover as they crossed the open space between the rear of the house and the outbuildings.

He was torn between calling out for the homeowner and sneaking around. Clearly, Sharp preferred not to issue any warnings. Sharp paused at the entrance to a barn. The door stood open and Lance followed Sharp inside and shone his flashlight around. Inside a large pen, four cows raised their heads. Hay hung from their mouths. A second pen held a few pigs. One squealed, the high-pitched sound raising the hairs on the back of Lance’s neck. The barn smelled better than he would have expected. The pens appeared clean, and the doors suggested the animals had access to outdoor areas as well.

“Well, he’s not in here.” Sharp headed for the door.

Lance followed him outside. The temperature had dropped, and the air was a chilly forty-five degrees for September. There were two more outbuildings. They walked to the second: a metal-roofed structure. The wooden door was closed, but Lance detected a familiar metallic smell.

Blood.

Sharp sniffed and nodded. “I smell it too.”

It was the smell of death. But no decomp spoiled the air.

A fresh kill.

Sharp drew his weapon. Lance did the same, then stood beside the door so as not to form a target in the center of the doorway. His heartbeat accelerated, and his stomach soured.

But from the odor, what he expected to find wasn’t danger—but death.

Sharp knocked. “Mr. Franklin, are you in there?”

Silence greeted them.

Sharp used his shirtsleeve to open the door. They went through the opening like a well-drilled team, sweeping their weapons across the room from corner to corner. The corners were empty.

It was colder inside. In the center of the space, a shrouded figure dangled from a wooden stand. It was tightly wrapped in white cloth, as if a spider had wrapped its prey in silk.

A workbench lined one wall. Lance took a step closer to the body, onto the plastic sheeting that covered the concrete floor. Blood congealed in spots and small puddles.

Sharp was breathing hard. Lance could hear his lungs heaving from several feet away. The color drained from his face, leaving him the gray-white of the concrete under their feet.

“No. It can’t be.” His voice was half plea, half groan.

Lance approached the body. Several metal buckets were arranged around it. Two were filled with ice. Cold air wafted from them. The third metal bucket sat to one side. He glanced into it, and his belly flip-flopped.

Blood.

Lance said, “It looks too big to be Olivia.”

But it could be Joe Franklin.

Sharp made a noise that could have been agreement, or retching. Then he leaned over, rested his hands on his thighs, and wheezed. “Please.”

He needed to know.

Lance moved toward the body. Something about the shape was eerily wrong. He reached out and worked the white cloth from around the top of the body. Then he lifted its edge.

“It’s a hoof.” Lance quickly moved to the bottom of the body and unwrapped it.

A pig’s head stared back at him.

Relief nearly toppled him. Lance staggered backward. “Shit. A dead pig.”

“Pig?” Sharp raised his eyes and stared at the pig’s head for a full minute, the truth slowly sinking in. The color began to return to his face. He exhaled, the stress leaving his body with his breath.

Lance replaced the cloth around the pig’s head. He knew little about slaughtering animals but had seen hunters