Except if he's a reaper, I thought snippily. I motioned to the white weatherboard house a few doors down from where he'd parked. "Shall we proceed?"
"If you're intent on being all business, then I guess I have no choice." He stepped back and waved me forward. "Which does not mean I cannot enjoy the view from behind. Those jeans are fetchingly tight around your ass."
I snorted softly and just kept on walking. The picket gate creaked as I opened it, and the garden beyond was filled with ornamental grasses and purple flax plants rather than flowers—what I'd call a man's garden rather than a woman's.
I walked up the steps, scanning the entrance for some sort of doorbell. There was nothing, so I rapped my knuckles on the glass door.
Only when I did, it opened slightly. And the minute it did, I smelled the blood.
Fuck.
"The source of that," Jak said grimly, "is more than just a paper cut."
"Yeah." I pushed the door all the way open. Several rooms ran off the long central hallway, but the door at the far end was closed. The blood scent seemed to be coming from that direction—certainly there was nothing out of place in the hall itself.
"Should we go in or call the cops?" Jak said.
I glanced at him, eyebrow raised, and he grinned. "Okay, okay, we both know I want to go in and investigate, but I thought you might prefer to call the cops."
"Given that we don't know yet what we're dealing with, I think investigating is a better option."
His grin grew. "I've always loved the way your mind works. And the body isn't half bad, either."
"Umm, blood? Possible dead body and front-page article?" I reminded him.
"Oh, yeah. Right." He became all business in an instant.
I shook my head and stepped forward cautiously. Sunlight filtered through the open doorways on either side, crisscrossing the hall and lending the honey-colored floorboards a richness they might not otherwise have had. The first room was a living room, but there was nothing out of place in it, or in the two bedrooms that followed. Every room was as neat as a pin—there weren't even dust motes dancing in the sunbeams.