Eva shivered. “It took three darts before he even slowed down. I don’t know what we’re going to do when he wakes up again.”

Interesting. “Anyone there with him?”

“Benito and his bum leg. Wallace is out on a job. It sounded like a regular one,” Eva added hurriedly, seeing my expression. “We’ve traded notes. Nobody’s seen anything like this.”

I nodded. “Care to come check out our first victim’s other address? I want to eyeball it, and if there’s anything there I’m going to have you two secure the scene while I go traipsing around following clues.”

“Sounds like a good time.” Avery grinned. “We were going to go to a movie but this is ever so much better.”

Oh, I’ll bet. “Bite your tongue. And give me your car keys.”

That wiped the grin off his face, and Eva sighed.

“You’re driving?” Avery dug in his jacket pocket, but slowly.

“We need to get there this century. Come on, Avery. I’ve never been in an accident in my life.”

“It’s not for lack of trying, I bet.” But Eva looked angelically innocent when I glanced at her. “Seriously, Jill. You’re not quite a menace, but you’re close.”

“Why does everyone feel the need to comment on my driving?” I held out my hand, Avery dropped his key ring in, and I motioned at them like a mother hen. “Come on, chickadees. Let’s get going—Mama’s in a hurry.”

The address on Ricardo’s food-handler’s permit was a trim little one-story bungalow on Vespers. The place looked nice enough, despite the dying lawn. Still, we live in the desert, and not many people have the patience or the funds to drench sun-dried dirt regularly enough to make it bloom.

But that kind of bothered me. The lawn was dying, not dead. I sat in the Jeep, eyeing the house, and Avery groaned.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Don’t be dramatic. You should take this beast in for a tune-up.” I unclipped my seat belt, still staring at the house. What’s wrong with this picture?

Sometimes looking at a scene is like that. Something doesn’t jell, and it takes a few moments to make everything snap together behind your eyes in a coherent picture. I’ve given up wondering if the way hunters turn psychic is the sorcery or the science of informed guessing, or both. It doesn’t matter. What matters is listening to that little tingling shock of wrongness as it hits right under the surface of conscious thought, and not ignoring it.

The hunter who ignores instinct is dead in the water.

“That was fun.” Eva burbled from the backseat. “Damn, Jill, you should rent out as a cabdriver.”

“People would drop dead of heart attacks.” Avery was looking a little green. And he was sweating a bit. “Jesus.”

“Come on, buck up.” Eva ruffled his hair, and Avery grinned, blushing. The slow grin got him a lot of female attention, but it seemed a bit softer now. An internal happiness, rather than an external show.

He looked like a man in love.

Now I’d officially seen everything. And a sharp pin lodged itself in my heart. I ignored it.

I studied the house some more. This really, really doesn’t feel right. Lawn dying, but it was a nice one until recently. Ricardo worked as a dishwasher; why would he list this as his address if he was on the edge of poverty? And why does it give me the heebies so bad?

The porch light wasn’t on, though that probably meant nothing. It doesn’t take a lawn a long time to yellow out here, especially in the autumn before the storms sweep up the river. But there was something else. The swirl of etheric energy over the whole place was congested, bruised. Strong negative emotion will do that, especially over time. But it’s only one of the things that will.

“Jill?” Eva, again. Avery knew better than to talk when I went quiet like this. So did Saul.

Saul. Christ. I wish I could go home.

But there’s never an excuse for leaving a job half-done. “Stay here.”

“You got it,” Avery said immediately. “Should we call anyone if anything, you know, happens?”

What, and have this place crawling with vulnerable people to protect? Still, he meant well. “No. If anything happens you should first drive away. Wait for me back at the precinct.”

“What exactly do you think is going to happen?” Eva shifted uneasily in her seat. Both of them smelled healthy, with the darker edge of clean brunettes and her light feminine spice. Now the edge of adrenaline and fear touched both distinct scents.

“Can’t tell yet.” I’m not even going to guess. “Just stay here.” I dropped Avery’s keys in his lap and slid out of the Jeep, slamming the door with a little more care than I used with my own cars.

Quit thinking about Saul. Focus on the work at hand.

I went up the cracked driveway. That was another thing—no car parked outside. They had a garage, but the recent oil stain on the concrete led to the conclusion that a car was missing. I wondered if it was our victim’s, discarded the question. It didn’t matter right now, wouldn’t until I figured out who belonged here—and who didn’t.

The windows were dead dark. It wasn’t early enough in the night for that, even though people in this neighborhood probably retired early. You had to work a full day to afford a house in today’s economy, and this was the sort of half-depressed area that would slide right over into outright welfare warzone in a heartbeat. All it would take is one little crack house.

The front door was tucked back a little, the walkway running up along a quarter of the garage’s length. My blue eye twitched and smarted a little; the concrete walk was littered with yellowing newspapers, rolled up and tossed higgledy-piggledy. Their delivery boy must’ve had a hell of a good arm.

Now I could see other rolled-up papers hiding in the straggled grass, hidden by the slight downward slope of the lawn. Whoever had been caring for the lawn had watered right over the top of them.

The place felt as deserted as a cheap haunted house the morning after Halloween.

I tapped on the front door with no real hope. Tapped again, toyed with the idea of ringing the doorbell.

The metal doorknob was cold under my fingers. A jolt of something went up my arm, the scar humming to itself greedily, a wet little pucker embedded in my flesh. I jiggled the knob, then twisted, and the wrong notes drowned out the whole fucking symphony.

The door was unlocked.

This is not going to end well. I ghosted the door open, listening hard. The scar listened too. I wished again for a fresh wristcuff to cover it up, drew a gun instead. Eased forward.

The house was soundless.

Well, not quite. There was a stealthy not-sound, a listening silence. I didn’t think it was just my imagination.

The smell hit me a breath after I stepped into the front hall. The place was bare, empty white walls and a dead blank television in the living room, set on a wooden crate. The venetian blinds were half-drawn, and the kitchen was empty too. A plate in the sink had congealed, a thick rubbery mass on its surface.

The reek was thick and rotten. If you’ve even once smelled death, you know what it’s like and how it clings in the nose, climbing down to pull the strings in your stomach.

The only question was, where were the bodies? There was no cellar, which is usually the first bet in a case like this. I turned down the hall, passed a bathroom, and headed for what was almost certainly two bedrooms, doors firmly closed.

Door number one, or door number two? Which should it be, Jillybean? Come on down, don’t be shy. My boots whispered along thin, cheap carpet. It was warm in here, but not overly so. The windows weren’t open, which meant there was air-conditioning—but it was set at an uncomfortably high temperature. Probably meant to save money.