Unseen (Will Trent / Atlanta Series)

seconds. Five. Ten. Another roar of laughter came from the television. Weezy again. Then Lionel.
    Twenty seconds. Paul still hadn’t moved. He was like a statue.
    Lena quietly let out the breath she’d been holding. She inhaled again.
    Thirty-five seconds.
    Forty.
    Finally, Keith called, “Clear.”
    Paul’s hands lowered. Lena felt her lungs shake as she exhaled.
    “Do the second sweep,” she ordered, propping the shotgun against the counter so she could take off her helmet. There was a string of curses from below, but Lena didn’t care. Three dead men were in the house—a house that had been under twenty-four-hour surveillance. She’d spent a million bucks of the department’s money on this clusterfuck. She’d managed to rip open her scalp and bruise her nose. Her ass ached like a motherfucker. Her head was pounding. Meanwhile, Sid Waller was probably on a beach somewhere sipping a margarita and wondering which woman he was going to follow home and rape tonight.
    Lena looked down at her watch. The timer was still running. They’d been in the house four minutes and thirty-two seconds.
    “Shhh-it,” Lena drew out the word. She looked up at the ceiling. The bare rafters showed white specks of mold. A clump of plastic bags was shoved into a hole in the asphalt shingles. She heard heavy bootsteps in the next room as the rest of the team came in to see what had happened.
    Lena raised her voice so it would carry through the house, ordering, “We clear out of here A-SAP. This is an active crime scene.”
    DeShawn called back, “Branson’s on the way. Coroner’s thirty minutes out.”
    “Great,” she said. “The more the merrier.”
    Paul took off his helmet. He ran his hand through his sweaty hair. “You okay?”
    Lena shook her head, too angry to speak. This was supposed to change things. This was supposed to make everything better. The only goddamn thing she had in her life right now that was working was her job, and she’d managed to screw that up, too.
    She unstrapped the Velcro around her vest so she could breathe. Her shirt was stuck to her back. She knew her neck was covered with blood. This wouldn’t stop with Denise Branson. The chief would want answers. The brass would show up. Internal Affairs. Lena would need to call her husband to bring her a change of clothes so she didn’t look like she’d gotten her ass handed to her while they chewed her out. Not that Jared was answering her calls. Not that he probably even thought of himself as her husband anymore.
    Lena covered her face with her hands. Shook her head. She had to get her shit together. She couldn’t fall apart now.
    “I’ll back you up with Branson,” Paul said. “Whatever you need.”
    Lena dropped her hands. “I need to know why that door was braced.”
    Paul’s brow furrowed again. She could see he hadn’t thought that far into it.
    Lena said, “You butcher three guys and you get the hell out. You don’t stick around inside the house. You don’t barricade the basement.” She indicated the door. “Look at the edge of the wood—somebody pounded it in.” Lena wiped away the sweat pooling on her brow. The house was like a kiln. “Goddamn it. Branson’s probably gonna bust me down to patrol for this.”
    “You and Jared can ride together.”
    “Go to hell.”
    “Hey.” Paul put his Glock on the counter. His hand was on her arm, then her face. He smiled at her, trying to make everything okay.
    Lena pulled away from him. She stamped her boot on the floor so they’d hear her in the basement. “Cabello? McVale? What’s taking so long down there?”
    “Found some money!” Keith called back. “We’re rich!”
    “Thank God.” Lena headed toward the basement. “Please let it be a million dollars.” A drug seizure like that would at least pay for all the overtime.
    She told Paul, “Get everybody out of the house. Tell CSU they’re gonna need to bring lights. I want to talk to the coroner when he gets here.”
    He gave her a curt salute. “Yes, boss.”
    Lena took her Maglite out of her pants pocket as she headed downstairs. She searched the wall for a light switch as she reached the bottom landing. The electrical panel was open. She could see old fuses plugged into slots. She tapped a few, but nothing happened.
    As predicted, the basement had been chopped into tiny rooms. The beam of Lena’s flashlight picked up buckling, cheap paneling, and busted-open bags of trash that had been tossed down the stairs.