Josh Lanyon - The Mermaid Murders

The hole in the ceiling above him—the floor above him—the whatever-it-was above him—was about twenty feet up. He was not going to be able to jump or climb out that way—even assuming the remaining floor would support such an effort.

“What are you doing?” Kennedy sounded alarmed again.

“I’m just going to…”

“You’re out of visual range. Come back to where I can see you. Don’t move around down there. The basement is flooded. This entire structure is compromised.”

Ya think?

He peered at what he could see of his surroundings and made the discovery that he was sloshing around what had probably been some kind of a storage room. No windows. One wall was lined with shelves crowded with grimy jars containing murky substances. Wooden crates were stacked against the opposite wall. Then more shelves, these stocked with…skulls. Animal skulls, but skulls.

As Jason stared, he noticed a snake crawling its way through the eye of one of the skulls.

Yes. An actual live snake. Not a natural history exhibit.

“Is the girl okay?” he called, never taking his gaze from the snake. He was relieved that he sounded pretty normal. For a guy trapped in a flooded basement full of skulls and snakes.

“She’s alive. Jason, move back to where I can see you.”

“I think there’s a stairway on the east wall.”

“Jason, listen to me. Help is on the way. You need to remain where I can see you.”

Was the flashlight down here somewhere? Jason took a couple of slurpy steps, peering into the cold and slimy water. The sun slid away again and the room plunged back into opacity.

Jason drew a sharp breath. No, he really could not do this.

“Jason—”

“I want to try the stairway. I’ll keep yelling Marco, and you yell Polo. So you know I’m okay, and I can tell how far from you I am.”

“Are you—? And what if you’re not okay? How am I supposed to get to you?”

“Marco.”

“West, you’re beginning to piss me off.”

“Marco.”

“At the least we should be using radio voice procedure.”

“Marco to Kennedy. Over.”

Kennedy snapped, “Polo.”

Jason grinned and reached out, feeling his way across the room. Even a few feet from the hole in the ceiling it was difficult to make out anything in the room.

Just don’t let me reach out and touch a snake .

He didn’t like anything about this. Splashing blindly around a half-flooded cellar was a bad idea. But he was worried about Kennedy still crouched up there on top of a floor that was about to come down. Kennedy didn’t want to leave his partner, which Jason appreciated, but…

Anyway, although he would never admit this, Jason was simply too freaked out to stay put. This flooded room triggered every primal fear lurking in the back of his brain. The dark, the wet, the smell of death and decay…

“Marco.”

“Polo.”

Kennedy’s voice was farther away now, and Jason was almost entirely in darkness. He reached out and felt the railing of the staircase. It felt reasonably stable, all things being relative.

“Polo?” Kennedy called sharply.

“Sorry. Yep. I found the stairs.”

The sun coyly, briefly, slipped into view. Yes, he had found the stairs and just climbing out of the water was a relief. He kept thinking about falling over bodies floating in the water. The graveyard was a mile away, and there were no bodies bobbing in the green water surrounding him. It did look like there might be a couple of shark skeletons lying beneath the surface.

Shark skeletons were definitely better than human skeletons.

Yes, there were definitely bones in the water. Would shark cartilage last as long as human bone?

He squelched up the rickety case.

“I’m at the top of the stairs. Can you hear me?”

“You’re at the top of the stairs. Can you get out?”

“The door’s locked.” Jason jiggled the round doorknob. Definitely locked. He felt over the door’s peeling surface, picking up splinters as he went. “I might be able to…”

“What? I can’t hear you.”

He rammed his shoulder against the door. Which was unbelievably stupid, not least because it was his bad shoulder. He reeled back against the railing, cursing quietly, rubbing his shoulder.

Kennedy was yelling again.

“Okay!” Jason managed.

“What’s happening down there?”

“Nothing.”

“ Nothing ?”

Jason laughed unsteadily. “I mean, everything’s under control.” He took two careful steps back, lightly bracing himself against the railing, and launched a kick with all his strength at where he reckoned the doorjamb was. He had a split-second to wonder if he was going to break his foot on the wall.

The wood gave a satisfying crunching sound.

Kennedy was yelling.

Jason ignored him. He stepped back and delivered another strong kick. The door flew back and hit the wall behind it. Watery daylight poured down, revealing a window and another staircase.

“I’m out!”

“What?”

“The door is open. There’s a window above, and I can see more stairs. I’m coming up.”

This time Kennedy didn’t answer, and Jason thought he knew why. He could hear the distant wail of approaching sirens.

Chapter Sixteen

“Why would he leave her alive?” Jason asked.

Kennedy shook his head. His expression was closed.

They were in the bathroom of Kennedy’s motel room. Jason sat uncomfortably on the side of the tub while Kennedy liberally doused him with hydrogen peroxide and antiseptic cream. Jason could have done it himself. He was good at looking after himself. In fact, he had declined the on-scene attentions of the paramedics—until Kennedy had ordered him not to be a complete dumbass. Since Jason prided himself on not being a dumbass, partial or complete, he had submitted to being checked for concussion and, once given a conditional all-clear, had headed back to the motel for a very long, very hot shower.

He’d have fallen into bed at that point, but Kennedy had pounded on his door and insisted on this first-aid routine. The truth was, concussion or not, Jason still felt weirdly shaky and chilled. Shock, according to Kennedy. An idea Jason had brushed off, but he couldn’t deny that there was something sort of comforting about relinquishing himself to Kennedy’s gruff care.

Actually, Kennedy was surprisingly careful, lightly smearing white antiseptic cream over Jason’s knuckles.

He answered Jason’s question. “Whatever his reasons, she’s out of his hands now.”

Candy had been airlifted out of Rexford—it turned out it was easier to fly in than drive in—and transported to a hospital in Boston where she was currently sedated and under guard.

“It doesn’t fit the profile, right? We didn’t interrupt him. He had her for over twenty-four hours. And during that time he didn’t sexually assault her. He didn’t harm her in any way. Other than abduct her and leave her in that—” Jason had to pause for another of those huge, nervous yawns that kept interrupting him.

“There may be other time constraints we’re not aware of,” Kennedy said.

“He actually had more time because no one even knew Candy was missing for nearly twenty-four hours.”

“That’s a hell of a bruise on your shoulder.”

“I walked into the door.”

“Hm.” Kennedy dabbed a blob of Neosporin on a cut on Jason’s neck and neatly applied a Band-Aid. “I hope you’re up to date on your tetanus shots.”

Jason looked up and smiled. To his astonishment, Kennedy leaned in and covered his mouth with his own.

He hadn’t been expecting it, so the kiss landed on Jason’s open and startled mouth. It was an odd kiss—maybe Kennedy had surprised himself as much as Jason—not hungry and hard, but not quite as light and sociable as perhaps Kennedy had intended.