Excerpt Three

We went south along Piestewa Freeway, then east on Thomas before pulling up to a  squat, one-level, concrete-block building covered in white stucco. Someone  thought the stucco made a good canvas—the side of the building had graffiti plastered all over it. Every cop in Arizona must have heard the call, because the scene teemed with activity.

Jared had the door open before he put the car in park. “Don’t move,” he
ordered.

Screw that. I hopped out and rode his heels to the front door. A blinking red sign indicated the establishment was a gentlemen’s club. The sign anchored the yellow police tape that draped around the crime scene. The double doors to the lounge area stood wide open, held in place by two bar stools. Jared stopped suddenly and I collided with his back.

He turned around and favored me with a heavy sigh. “Stay,” he barked.

I heeled, but not before I got a peek inside. A headless corpse rested against a stage, his torso upright, his neck a coagulated waterfall of blood. A staging area had been set up to preserve the evidence. From the doorway, I could see the stain on the floor where his life had run dry. The rusty smell of blood reminded me of Iraq. The image didn’t exactly whisk me away to a blissful oasis. I no longer wished to venture inside.
 
Jared motioned to a uniformed cop. “You. Walk her back to the car and make sure she stays put.”

 To me, he said, “Behave. It’s my ass on the line.”

This drew a few curious stares from the officers within earshot. Their faces went blank when they realized who had spoken.

 Jared might have my vote for Prom King, but Mr. Congeniality is off the table.