It wasn’t the constant barking that ripped nails across his nerves when he opened the door. Or even the
growl that followed on its tail. It was the deep, unnatural silence accompanied by a butcher store smell.

Matthew Smart grabbed his Glock nine millimeter from his waistband and shushed his dog. “Sit, Max.”
The tiny dachshund did as he was told, dropping to his quivering buttocks on the hard-wood floor. But
the growl vibrating in his throat didn’t soften. If anything it grew.

Matthew gave the room a quick look, ducking into the small restroom his clients used, and returned to
the office where his assistant, Cameron should have been typing up Matthew’s notes from the day
before.

No Cameron. No typing. And then there was that smell…

Max was up again, his tail wagging high and fast, a key to his aggressive mood. In case Matthew missed
the constant growling.

Matthew crept along the wall dividing the outer office from his inner sanctuary. His hands tightened
around his Glock. His office door was open a few inches. It had been closed and locked the night before
when he’d left.

The frosted glass in the door was splattered with something that had dried in trails down the glass.
Matthew’s nose twitched as he pushed on the door with his fingertips, hanging back as it creaked slowly
open. The elderly ceiling fan above his desk spun lazily overhead, giving off a soft click with each
rotation.

On the rug in front of the door was a mug. The contents of the mug formed a black stain on Matthew’s
inexpensive Oriental rug, painting jagged stripes over the interior of the door. A manila folder, its guts
spread across the rug alongside the spilled coffee, explained why the door was unlocked.

Matthew’s office was empty. But his gaze slipped quickly over the chaos that had once been his refuge.
The place had been tossed.

Max trotted through the door and Matthew started to call him back. But the little dog didn’t go far. He
sniffed the spilled coffee, dancing sideways through the detritus of Matthew’s professional life lying
broken and disheveled over the floor. Max’s short fringe of a tail whipped the air. His moist black nostrils
flared over the scattered papers, scenting them. He whined plaintively.

Matthew’s boots crunched over broken glass as he made a quick circuit of the office, finding it just as
empty as the outer office had been.

“Come on, Max.” There was one more room to search. Matthew’s palms were damp on the Glock as he
moved back through the outer office, heading toward the closed door on the back wall of the main room. He turned the knob with his fingertips, taking care not to touch the back of the knob where, if he
was really lucky, he’d be able to pull a fingerprint or two later.

The door stuck, swollen in its frame, and Matthew had to put his shoulder into it to wrench it open. The
stench that had greeted him when he’d entered Smart Investigations, Inc. punched him hard once the
supply room door was open. He staggered back a step, his stomach roiling.

Max gave a chirp of warning and Matthew lifted his Glock to chest height, allowing it to precede him
into the long, narrow room.

A moment later he lowered it again, swearing.

The room was empty except for the man sitting in the desk chair that should have been behind
Cameron’s desk. Purple faced with eyes bulging and several long bloody gashes decorating his arms and
legs, the man was clearly dead. He wouldn’t be attacking anybody. And whoever had tied the long scarf
around his throat and spun the desk chair until he choked to death was already gone.

Max gave a single bark and ran over to lick the tips of Cameron’s long fingers. The little dog’s tail wagged
in greeting for a beat and then drooped. He dropped to his haunches and gave a plaintive whine, finally
turning to look a question at Matthew.

Matthew scrubbed a hand over his jaw, his eyes filling with tears. “Aw, Cam. Who the hell did this to
you?”