Page 18 of Only the Devil

The fluorescent light above us flickers again, casting her pale face in and out of shadow. I can see her pulse hammering in her throat, and when she finally speaks, her voice comes out in a whisper I have to strain to hear.

“There’s a...” She swallows hard, like the words are physically difficult to get out. “There’s a dead person.”

The words detonate with the force of a bomb.

Dead person.

My senses ring like there’s a five-alarm fire. Where’s the threat? Exits?

First, confirm what we’re dealing with.

Check the scene. Clear it.

I keep my voice calm, authoritative. “Touch nothing.”

Stumbling backward like she’s been holding herself upright through sheer willpower, I catch her elbow, steadying her while my eyes scan the corridor again. Still empty. Still quiet except for that damn AC and the flickering light that’s starting to feel ominous instead of just annoying.

I don’t have a gun, didn’t think I needed one. Figured having one might cause more issues if we got busted, but damn if my fingers don’t ache to wrap around my Glock.

I guide her a few steps away from the door, then move toward it myself. Every step feels deliberate, careful. In hostile territory, you never know if the first body is bait for an ambush.

I pause at the threshold of the door, cracked open about eighteen inches, listening. Nothing. No movement, no breathing, no sounds of life.

Then I push the door wider with my foot—same way she did, I’m guessing—and step inside.

And then I see her, toes up, a suit sprawled on the floor.

Dead bodies aren’t new to me, but the instinct to check for a pulse runs strong.

“We gotta call 911,” I say, stating the obvious.

My phone’s in my backpack, but I don’t immediately dig it out, as I can’t stop studying the scene. There’s no blood. Fingers curled over her abdomen, as if maybe she’d been in pain. I step forward to better see her head.

“We should go,” Daisy says.

“What?”

“She’s dead. We shouldn’t be here.”

“What?”

“Every office is locked. How do I explain finding her? I don’t work on this floor. What was I looking for? We need to go.”

Her voice strengthens with every word, and I see her point, but damn if leaving this woman on the floor doesn’t feel wrong. “Did you touch anything?”

“No.”

“What about the doorknob?”

“The door was cracked open. I pushed the door wider with my foot. Let’s go.”

She steps backward, gaze glued to the corpse sprawled before us. A touch of panic laces her words.

“Have you ever seen a dead person before?”

She’s out the door. I don’t repeat my question. I’m pretty damn sure I know the answer.

There’s no evidence of foul play. Whoever’s expecting this woman home tonight will call, looking for her. By tomorrow, someone will come by checking for her. There’s nothing to be gained by calling this in.