Blood in the Ozarks

19. Lynda Blackwood

Before I even had a chance to sober up, to sleep, to even think about what the fuck just happened between Tommy and I, the callus door that had snapped in my face suddenly reopened.

"Ellery," Tommy bellowed into the single room. "Get out here. Quick."

Panic raced through my veins as I shot up from the bed. I grabbed my gun and raced to the door in only a bra. Weapon first, decency later.

Ortega held himself flush against the door as I charged into the hallway. But I stopped the moment I crossed the threshold.

Blood. There was so much blood. Drops of it. Streaks of it. Pools of it.

A woman's body laid in the middle of the hall directly in front of my hotel door. She was face down and a mop of blonde hair with deep black roots shot out in every direction, the ends clumped together with sprays of blood that had yet to dry. From the amount of blood underneath her, I knew when we flipped her over that her stomach would be nothing but a massive hole. Just like I knew the front of her shirt which was now torn to shreds was once bedazzled with the name of a bar.

The woman on the floor was Lynda Blackwood.

Ortega stood stoically beside me as my mouth gaped and my eyes tried to make sense of all the carnage before us. Then suddenly, I doubled over holding my hand against my mouth forcing back a queasy, dry heave. The last thing we needed was to add my vomit to the crime scene.

Slowly, I righted myself and swiped at the tears that had welled in the corner of my eyes.

"You good, Ross?"

That was the most comfort I was going to get from Ortega for the time being. No gentle touches or soft words for the woman who'd spurned him.

"I'm fine," I said, matching his even tone. "Now, what the hell happened?"

"Can't say. I was with you."

We didn't hear a scream or a yelp. But there was no doubt she'd been slaughtered in the few minutes Ortega and I were in my room. Which meant we had likely been followed. My grip on my gun tightened.

"It's not an ambush," Ortega said with his hand on his own gun. "But it's definitely a message. Someone knows you were asking about fiend business."

"And they aren't happy about it," I agreed. "You think this was done by one of their own?"

He shrugged, but his muscles remained tense.

Gingerly, I moved around the body trying as much as I could not to step in any blood. When I got past the main carnage to clean carpet, I turned to make my way down the hallway.

"Where are you going?" Ortega called out gruffly.

I pivoted to face him. "To check the stairwell and tell the front desk that we have to lock down the hotel."

"Are you going to tell them dressed like that?"

My skin prickled with sudden cold at the reminder I was only wearing a bra and jeans.

Rolling his eyes, Ortega tossed his jacket to me.

I caught the smooth leather bundle and quickly shrugged on the jacket. As I zipped up the front, my body eased into the oversized warmth of the interior and a faint woodsy musk lapped at my nose.

Fully covered, I returned to my mission and jogged down the hall and into the stairwell.

I kept my gun in both hands, ready if needed as I descended the stairs. The chamber was quiet and there were no signs of blood or other bodies. They may have used the elevator. But if so that meant they had to enter from the front of the building.