Page 51 of Mission: Possible

"Sure."

The three men stared at me before they exchanged looks, shaking their heads and refocusing their eyes on the house.

"Why don't I just knock on the door?" I asked, before adding, "which was what I intended to do until things got weird because of you three."

"Actually, that's a good idea," said Solomon.

"Are you kidding? You're sending Lexi to knock on the door of a getaway driver for a van full of armed men?"

"There was a woman too," I reminded him. "Do you know of any female bank robbers?"

Maddox's eyebrows drew together as he shook his head. "I'm sure that makes things much less dangerous. She'll ask the color of your nail polish before she shoots you in the head."

"I'm not going to knock, wait until they answer and ask whomever it is if they ever drove a getaway vehicle! There's a direct view into the living room from the front stoop. I'll take a peek, knock and pretend to be asking the neighbors to sign a petition. You can take a photo of whomever answers the door before they slam it in my face," I said, pointing to the camera resting across Solomon's lap. "You can even mic me for extra points."

"I don't have a mic kit in the car but everything else works," said Solomon.

"One of us should go," persisted Maddox.

"You have FBI etched into your forehead," I said. "Solomon and Delgado would scare the living crap out of the homeowner. I'm wearing nice heels, so I'm the least obvious."

"Which is exactly why I hired you," said Solomon, smiling again. He reached into the door pocket and pulled out a clipboard and a sheaf of paper, which he handed to me. "Go and do your perky thing."

"Yes, boss."

Maddox sighed.

I hopped out of the car and Solomon called our colleagues at the rear of the house to alert them to my presence. Slightly emboldened by the wine, I walked down the street, aware that at least three pairs of eyes were fastened on me as I reached the house. The brisk air gave me the shivers and I hurried up the steps, raising my hand to knock before I leaned toward the window, getting a solid view of the living room. My fist froze before it ever hit the wood.

A man lay face down on the floor and the mottled pattern of the carpet couldn't absorb the blood pooling around his still body fast enough.

Chapter Eleven

"You just found him like that?"

I lifted my eyebrows at Jord, resisting the urge to check the nearest mirror to see if I raised them in a sufficiently scathing manner. "I sure as hell didn't put the bullet in him," I said.

We stood on the sidewalk, a short distance from the house, while two uniformed officers unrolled a reel of yellow crime tape and cordoned off the house and yard. Since they arrived, sirens blaring, the neighborhood seemed to stir, the quiet houses now full of sticky beaks, peeking out from behind half-closed drapes. A few people even strolled into their yards, crossing their arms as they looked on with unabashed interest.

"How long has he been dead?" asked Solomon. He stood by my side, his arm close enough that his body heat radiated into mine. It crossed my mind to hold his hand but I was too aware of how many people would think I was a “weak, little woman”struggling to cope with the sight of a dead body. If only they knew! Screw them! What did I care? It was cold and I just found a corpse. I slipped my hand into Solomon's, twining my fingers with his. His fingers closed around mine, his thumb brushing over mine reassuringly.

"He's stiff as a board. The ME can give a more accurate hour but my guess? Some time last night," said Jord.

"What makes you think that?" asked Solomon.

"Apart from the rigor mortis, there are remains of takeout in the kitchen. No breakfast items."

"Was his bed slept in?" I asked, since the dead man's food choices weren't a definitive timeline. Neither was bed but it would support Jord's theory.

"Hard to say. He wasn't much of a housekeeper."

"How many plates for the takeout?" asked Solomon.

"He ate from the container. One fork. Before you ask, yes, I recognized where it came from and I'll be confirming the time of delivery shortly. That'll narrow the window of death while we wait. Excuse me." Jord stepped away as one of the uniformed officers called his name, beckoning him over.

"Why did you want to know how many plates there were?" I asked.

"If he had company for dinner, the same person might have shot him. If they were sloppy, they could have left DNA evidence behind on a fork or a drinking glass. If he were dining alone, maybe he wasn't close to any of the bank crew. Regardless, someone shot him and he wasn't expecting it," said Solomon.