Free Rogue Angel 53: Bathed in Blood by Alex Archer

to say much—it was, after all, an active investigation—but she didn’t think her knowing the cause of death would impede that investigation. His overt hostility had seemed...unusual.
    As though he had something to hide.
    She watched Petrova turn the corner at the end of the hall and then glanced back at the doors to the morgue.
    Before she could talk herself out of it, she pushed them open and stepped inside.

9
    Annja discovered there wasn’t much difference between a Slovakian morgue and an American one. She saw the same stark lighting, the same white tiles, the same row of flat metal tables with the floor drains positioned underneath. The refrigeration drawers were situated along the back wall, and a darkened office loomed to her right. Two of the tables contained sheet-covered bodies, but otherwise the room was empty.
    Annja breathed a sigh of relief.
    There was no telling when Petrova, or anyone else for that matter, might be back. The smart thing would have been to turn around and get the heck out of there before she was discovered; she didn’t think Petrova would take kindly to her trespassing. But if she’d intended to do the smart thing she wouldn’t be here in the first place.
    She crossed the room to stand next to the examination tables. A white sheet covered the form on the first table, but by its sheer size Annja suspected it wasn’t the woman she was looking for.
    Still, best not to leave anything to chance, she told herself as she reached up and lifted the edge of the sheet, revealing the thickly jowled face of a man in his early fifties with a bullet hole just above his left eye.
    She put the sheet neatly back in place and moved to the next table. This time, when she pulled the covering back, she found herself staring into the face of the woman she’d worked so hard to rescue the night before.
    She pulled the sheet a little lower, revealing a large Y-shaped incision that started at the top of each shoulder and descended along the center of the woman’s chest, indicating that the body had already undergone an autopsy. Now all she needed to do was find the results.
    She checked the end of the table, hoping she’d find the file hanging there waiting for review, but struck out. She was going to have to look around, and the office was the obvious starting place.
    When she tried the door, however, she discovered it locked.
    Good thing I’ve got a key, she told herself with a grin.
    With just a thought she summoned her sword from the otherwhere. It sprang into existence, ready for action, a broadsword with a hilt that felt as if it were made to fit her hand alone. She was overcome by the sense that she’d been born to wield this blade. Not for the first time, she found herself wondering if Joan of Arc had felt that way when the weapon was in her hands.
    The clock is ticking, she reminded herself.
    Placing the tip of the blade in the crack between the door and the jamb, Annja bore down on the weapon with as much force as she could muster, driving it between the two, and then she gave it a hearty twist.
    The old lock gave with an audible crack.
    She paused, waiting to see if the sound had attracted any attention. When no one came to investigate, she stepped into the room and turned on the lights, releasing her sword back into the otherwhere at the same time.
    There wasn’t much to see. A battle-scarred desk and high-back swivel chair sat in the center of the small room. Behind them, against the far well, was a row of dark green filing cabinets.
    The top of Petrova’s desk looked like a cyclone had hit it. Papers and files were lying in haphazard piles amid half-empty coffee cups and an ashtray full of cigarette butts. A phone must have been buried under there somewhere, because Annja could see the cord running to the wall.
    She stepped over to the filing cabinets and pulled open the closest drawer. A quick glance showed that all the files inside were arranged alphabetically by last name. She checked for