Maybe Clay had been wrong. Perhaps Espinoza had paid a visit to Jimmy’s compound looking for the man she knew as Gilbert and spooked them all into hiding. Of course, they’d fear Las Moscas finding out they were behind the double-cross more than they’d fear the law.
She hoisted herself up, curling her legs beneath her. As her eyes adjusted to the low light in the great room, she detected movement.
She held her breath, freezing in place, every muscle clenched into stillness. Then her breath hitched in her throat and her eyes widened to take in the sight of Clay bending over the dead body of Jimmy.
Chapter Eleven
April gasped, throwing out her hand to keep her balance and hitting the door, her ring scraping the glass.
Clay’s head jerked up. He leveled his gun at her.
She staggered to her feet, waving her arms above her head. With her heart beating a mile a minute, she grabbed the handle of the slider.
Clay made a wide berth around Jimmy on the floor and yanked open the door. He reached through the space and dragged her inside. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“What the hell are you doing here? You killed Jimmy?” She shook off his hand and covered her mouth. “This is bad. This is so bad.”
“Just stop.” He pressed a finger against her lips. “I didn’t kill Jimmy. He was dead when I got here.”
Her relief caused the blood to rush to her head, and she pressed her fingertips against her temple. “Oh my God. H-how did he die?”
“Someone stabbed him to death.”
She poked her head around Clay’s frame and took in the saturation of blood on the Persian carpet, giving Jimmy a halo in death that he certainly never had in life.
“Is there anyone else here? Dead or alive?” She hoped there were no live ones...dead ones, either.
“There’s no one here. I could see in an instant the house was deserted, so I slipped inside. As soon as I entered this room, I could smell the blood.” Clay’s nostrils flared.
April sniffed the air and then wished she hadn’t. Once you smelled that odor of liquid metal, you couldn’t get it out of your head—or your mouth.
She ran her tongue over her teeth. “Is there any sign of a struggle throughout the house? Any sign of Adam?”
“No Adam. Struggle?” He cranked his head from side to side. “I don’t see it.”
“Las Moscas.” She clasped her hands in front of her, twisting her fingers. “They must’ve found out Jimmy was the one who sent those mules and then took care of business, but where are the others? Jimmy always had an entourage.”
“Maybe Las Moscas took care of them, too, and their bodies are elsewhere. Maybe some of them convinced Las Moscas they didn’t know about the betrayal, and the cartel took them back into the fold.”
“Where’s Adam, Clay?” She rubbed the goose bumps from her arms. “Now I’m more worried than ever. At least Adam had a relationship with Jimmy. If Adam did take that flash drive and gave it back to Jimmy, Jimmy might show some mercy. But Las Moscas? They don’t show mercy, do they?”
“No.” He holstered the gun that had been dangling at his side all this time. “We need to talk to Kenzie to get a clearer picture of what went down at your apartment. We’ll leave this mess to the police. When Espinoza comes looking for Jesus or Gilbert or whatever he’s calling himself, it’s going to lead him to Jimmy Verdugo and it’ll be up to the Albuquerque PD to process this crime scene.”
She clutched the neckline of her shirt. “We need to get rid of our fingerprints.”
“I’ve been doing that.” He pointed at the sliding glass door. “Let’s take care of those—yours and mine—on the door and be careful not to touch anything else, not that your prints won’t be in this house.”
“They will be, along with dozens of others. Jimmy had people coming in and out of this house all the time.”
“But at least your prints don’t have to be anywhere near the crime scene.” Clay bunched up his black T-shirt in his hand and wiped down the handle of the sliding glass door, inside and out. “Did you touch the glass?”
“No.” Her gaze darted to Jimmy on the floor, his head turned to the side, his handsome face in profile. “Clay, did you see a murder weapon?”
“Nothing.” He slid the door closed and flicked the lock.
“There’s so much blood on the floor. How do you know he was stabbed instead of shot?”
“He was like this when I came into the room—on his back. I didn’t see any wounds, so I nudged him up and saw the carnage on his back and neck, slashing wounds that ripped his clothing. Also—” he aimed a toe at Jimmy’s chest “—there’s no exit wound. A bullet would’ve exited out his front.”
She swallowed. “But no knife.”
“Not that I can see. Las Moscas must’ve sent someone Jimmy knew for him to turn his back on the guy.” He ran a hand up her arm. “I’m sorry. This must bring back memories of your mother and that other crime scene. Let’s get out of here.”
“Not yet.” She scanned the familiar room where nothing seemed out of place except the owner’s body on the floor. “I want to make sure Jimmy doesn’t have any pictures of me around the house. The police may make the connection between me and Jimmy soon enough, but I don’t have to make it easy for them, do I?”
“In my search of the house, I found it devoid of any personal touches. Who knows if he really owns it? Who knows if his name is really Jimmy Verdugo? I’m sure you already know, a search on that name doesn’t return much.”
“His entire life could’ve been a fake.” She shivered and clenched her teeth against the
