A Broken Bone (Widow's Island #6) - Melinda Leigh Page 0,1

she said.

The wind shifted, and the faint but distinct odor of decomposition hit Tessa’s nostrils.

Logan sniffed. “Smell that?”

“Something could have crawled into the basement and died.” Tessa glanced at a narrow window set low in the foundation. The odor was too foul to be fresh death. “Whatever it is, it didn’t die today.” And therefore was likely unrelated to today’s disturbance.

But the hairs on the back of Tessa’s neck quivered.

Was someone in the house with that smell—someone who was armed? If a shooter was inside, she didn’t want them to have advance notice of their movements.

She leaned close to Logan’s ear and whispered, “Let’s go around back.”

They crept through damp knee-high weeds and grass in the side yard until they reached the rear of the house. Vines slithered up the foundation, and paint peeled from clapboards like bark on a birch trunk. Tessa peered around the corner. The property backed up to woods. She turned to scan the building. A narrow covered porch extended across the back of the structure.

Tessa walked closer. Something scraped, like wood shifting. Tessa and Logan both startled.

Shoulder to shoulder, they approached the bungalow. Unlike the front porch, which had looked rotted, the back porch and steps had clearly been replaced more recently.

“The steps look newer.” She tested the bottom step with her weight. It felt solid. She went up the stairs one by one until she reached the top. Logan followed. They split up and flanked the back door. Tessa peered through the glass panes in the top half of the door. Cracks, dirt, and cobwebs obscured the view. “I can’t see anything.”

She tried the doorknob. Unlocked, it turned in her hand. Hinges squeaked as she pushed it open.

The kitchen floor was covered in empty beer cans and fast-food containers. In the center, someone had set up a card table. A couple of folding chairs were tucked under it. A few empty bottles of cheap liquor sat in a row along one wall, and cigarettes had been ground out on the tile floor. Had someone—maybe kids—been using the vacant house to party?

She could see through a doorway into what seemed to be a family room. More trash was strewed throughout. She cleared the slice of the room that was visible, then peered around the doorframe to see more. Doorways were choke points in a search. She moved through it quickly, stepping to the left corner and clearing the rest of the room. Logan followed, stepping right.

She checked a closet—empty—and they went through a doorway one at a time into an adjoining living room. Again, they worked as a team. Tessa swept left while Logan went right.

“Clear.” Tessa swept her weapon from corner to corner.

A quarter of the room had been cleaned up. Tessa spotted a sleeping bag but no occupant. The living room was open to the foyer—and the giant hole.

“It looks like someone has been squatting here,” she said in a low voice. “Maybe he or she went through the floor.”

“This is a prime spot for it.” Logan glanced up at the ceiling. “The roof leaked, and the floor rotted near the front door.”

A moan sounded from what seemed like the basement. But they had to clear the first floor before moving downstairs.

They moved forward toward another choke point, a hallway that opened off the living room. Four doorways lined the corridor. The two bedrooms and single bath were empty. Tessa opened the last door. A set of stairs led down into a dank and dirty basement.

Tessa didn’t like it, not one bit.

As the officer with training, she went first.

Stairways were called fatal funnels for a reason. Once she and Logan started down, there would be no cover and no concealment. She went down with sure movements, keeping her back to the wall and quickly clearing each visible slice of the room before moving to the next step. Three-quarters of the way down the stairs, wood clunked, and fabric rustled.

Another human groan floated up to them. “Who’s there?” The voice from the basement was female.

Tessa froze. “Sheriff’s department.”

“Thank God,” the woman said. “I need help. I fell through the floor.”

The cracks hadn’t been gunshots but the sound of the porch boards breaking.

The voice was familiar. Tessa knew this woman. “Patsy? Patsy Taylor?” Patsy was Deputy Bruce Taylor’s mother, visiting from Oregon.

“Yes,” Patsy said.

“Bruce’s mom?” Logan asked.

Tessa nodded. “Patsy, are you alone?”

“Yes,” she said.

Tessa followed protocol and cleared the remainder of the basement. She was on the bottom step when she caught sight of Patsy