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A KING SIZE BED WITH all the fixings was poised in the middle of the room like royalty. Black and gold pillows and shams marched across the headboard. A matching duvet veiled the mattress. Behind the headboard stood a floor lamp with glass flower petals lording over the bulbs. Copeland’s gun entered first. She followed. Easy steps around the room. She toed the closet door open. Empty.
Copeland’s trigger finger relaxed as she did a 360. Her eyes paused at the art on the wall. She stared at the painting and Mona Lisa stared right back. The gazing eyes made her skin crawl. She inched closer; her pistol aimed at Mona Lisa. One wrong move and Mona will be sporting a peep hole between the eyes, she was thinking and chuckled at the insane thought. Maybe it wasn’t insane. Mona Lisa’s gaze was intent. Her cop gut was churning. Mona was watching. She was worming closer for a microscopic view. And then she saw it.
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BILLY HAD VEERED RIGHT clearing his rooms with the ease of a vacuum cleaner traveling over a wooden floor. Nothing to see. Nothing to suck up. Bare walls, bare floors. He moved on. His hands were already sliding into his gloves. No errors. He would prove he was detective material. He stepped down two steps. No lights popped on, but they didn’t need to. His wide eyes were mesmerized. “Holy shit,” slid through his lips in a gasp.