by Jules Court
A ringing sounded in her ears. It grew more insistent as he kissed a line down her throat.
And then suddenly he was gone.
“Fuck.” He reached into his back pocket to pull out his ringing cell phone. “What?” he barked into it.
Without his strength holding her up, she nearly dropped to her knees. She braced herself against the wall.
When he paced away, speaking low into his phone, her brain clicked back on. She’d almost screwed someone she just met against the wall of a strip club. This wasn’t something she did. Not to mention that for those few scorching minutes, she’d completely forgotten about Sara.
She clenched her hands into fists. She owed Sara everything, but instead of looking out for her, she’d succumbed to her inner crazy. She should know better than to let that bitch off her chain. The last time she had, Sara had been the one who paid the price.
* * *
He walked away from temptation, his heart racing. His partner was on the other end of the line, but all Brian wanted to do was toss the cell to go screw his lead. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Since when was his cock running the show? He’d worked too hard to firebomb his career now.
“What’s up, Danny?” he asked.
“You been running?”
He took a breath and willed the adrenaline-laced lust racing through his body to knock it the fuck off. “I’m fine.”
He could almost hear Danny’s mental shrug before he said, “We may have found our girl.”
“Where?”
“Morgue.”
The words slammed Brian right in the gut. “How sure are we it’s her?”
“We aren’t. Body matches Sara Murphy’s description, but no ID on her.”
“Cause of death?”
“Drug overdose.”
“What about fingerprints? Sara’s got a record. She’ll be in the system.”
“No time. We need to get a family member to ID the body.”
Danny was right. The lab wouldn’t even open until Monday morning and no telling how long it would take to get results back. This wasn’t a television procedural where they could just montage their way to results.
Just steps away from him, Priya leaned against the wall, her expression cloaked by the night.
“I’m with her cousin,” he said to Danny. “Don’t do anything. I’ll call you back.”
Fuck. He didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to tell her that her cousin might be sporting a toe tag right now. He jammed his phone back in his pocket and walked back over to her.
“What is it?” she asked, obviously picking up on his dark mood.
He clenched his jaw before forcing the words out. “We might have found Sara.”
“Where is she? Which precinct?” She pulled out her phone. “I’m calling a friend from college who’s a lawyer. Hopefully she can meet her there.”
He reached out and covered her hand, preventing her from dialing. “We found a woman who matches Sara’s description dead of a drug overdose.”
She shook his hand off. “That’s not possible. Sara doesn’t do drugs.” Her voice held that bewildered tone he was all too familiar with. The first instinct was always to shut out the truth, as though denial ever changed anything.
“I’ve seen Sara’s record,” he said gently. “She’s been busted for possession.”
“That was from holding for her loser boyfriend.”
He didn’t challenge her beliefs. “Do you think you can identify the body?” he asked.
She squared her shoulders. “I’m a doctor. I’ve seen bodies before,” she said. “Besides, it’s not her.”
He released a silent hope out into the sultry air that she was right.
* * *
Priya started her car and stabbed the stereo button, silencing Beyoncé’s caterwauling.
Just one week ago, Sara had dropped in on Priya unannounced, clutching a cheap bottle of wine and singing at the top of her lungs about putting a ring on it. Within seconds of her arrival, she’d hooked her phone up to Priya’s speakers and blasted Beyoncé. Sara grabbed her and swung her about forcing laughter from her throat. They’d drunk terrible wine—Sara liked to choose her red wine by the cuteness of the label; that one sported a dog in a bowtie—and danced until Priya’s downstairs neighbor banged on the ceiling.
The sob gathered in her throat, but she forced it down because Sara was fine. She put her car into gear with only a little more force than necessary and followed Brian’s unmarked police car out of the parking lot. She drove in silence, keeping her focus on his taillights, not about what lay beyond. And not about what had just happened.
He pulled into the parking lot of Mass General, her hospital. She found a spot in the same row as him, pulled in, and killed her engine. She sat, hands still clenched on the steering wheel.
The knock on her window made her jump.
Brian opened her car door. “Ready?”
“Ready,” she said, but her knuckles were white on the steering wheel. She forced herself to unclench them.
Inside, they walked the hospital corridors without talking. Her sandals slapped against the linoleum floor. In the elevator, Brian stabbed the button for the basement. The Muzak piped into the elevator nagged at her. What was that? The elevator doors opened, and she was about to step out when she recognized the song. She froze.
Brian’s hand shot out, stopping the doors from shutting again. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” she said. “It’s just...” She trailed off. How to explain that Beyoncé was stalking her? “Never mind,” she said, and stepped forward.
At the entrance to the morgue stood a man with a badge clipped to his belt. Despite the August heat, he wore a long-sleeved button-down shirt and a tie. The edges of a tattoo peeked out from under the collar of his shirt.
“Priya, this is my partner, Detective Daniel Cruz,” Brian said. “Danny, Dr. Priya Shah, Sara Murphy’s cousin.”
Detective Cruz shot Brian a look she couldn’t read. Brian scowled back at him. But when he turned to her, his expression was gentle. “You can stand out here at the window to view the body, Dr. Shah,” he said.
“I’ve spent time with cadavers,” she said. That’s all this was. Just another cadaver.
She pushed open the door and the answering blast of arctic air pebbled her flesh. In the middle of the room stood a gurney holding a sheet-covered body. Her vision tunneled onto that sheet. She wanted to rip it off and leave it in place. At this moment, Sara existed simultaneously alive and dead. The Schrödinger’s Corpse.
She hadn’t even noticed the medical examiner. He might have greeted her, but all she heard was the blood rushing in her ears.
He stepped past her and pulled the sheet back exposing the face. “Jane Doe, approximately mid-to late-twenties, cause of death heroin overdose.”
The girl had long dark hair and a wide mouth. She must have been very pretty before the indignity of death. Priya let out a long shuddering breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding in and stepped back.
Both detectives were watching her with expectant looks on their faces.
“It’s not her.” The words came out in a shaky whisper. Odd because she shouldn’t be on the verge of tears. It wasn’t Sara, and it wasn’t as though she hadn’t been around death before, even a death so senseless and tragic as a young woman’s overdose. She wouldn’t be much of a doctor if any dead body made her cry.
She bolted past the detectives and out into the hall. She leaned back against one of the white walls and focused on her breathing. Just keep breathing.
Brian caught up with her almost immediately. “You okay?” he asked. His voice shouldn’t hold so much kindness.
She rubbed a hand over her eyes. “Just tired,” she said. “Overall cognitive fun
ction is impaired with sleep deprivation, including the ability to manage moods.”
“You can learn that from watching any toddler.”
She looked up at him with every intention of telling him they were done tonight because she was going home. Alone.
Instead, she found herself cradled in his embrace. She rested her head against his chest and mumbled into the cotton of his T-shirt, “You better not keep stalking me.”
His low chuckle rumbled across her skin. “I make no promises,” he said.
Chapter Four
Brian looked up over the top of Priya’s head straight into his partner’s disapproving eyes.
“Can we talk for a minute?” Danny asked.
At the sound of Danny’s voice, Priya sprang from Brian’s arms as though zapped with a cattle prod. “I’m just really, really tired,” she said.
“It’s okay,” Brian said. “Can you give me a minute to talk to my partner?”
“We don’t have anything left to say, unless you’re going tell me why you’re looking for Sara. I think I’ve earned it after playing Stand by Me with you.”
It was a testament to how off his game he was that he probably had a look of slack-jawed confusion on his mug. After a moment, he caught her reference. “‘Cause that movie was about looking at a dead body. Got it.” Behind him he could feel Danny’s silent exasperation coming at him in waves. “Just wait for me,” he told her.
“I’ll be upstairs in the waiting area outside the elevators,” she said. “If you don’t show up with answers, I’ll rip out your stitches.”
“Too late. They’re already out.”
“Then I’ll give you new ones.”
“First do no harm, Doctor.”
“Hippocrates never had to deal with you,” she said before marching down the hall, head high and dress swishing. He took a moment to admire the view.
The elevator doors shut behind her. Danny’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Quit playing grab ass before you blow our case.”
“She was upset, so I was just being nice.”
“First, you’re an asshole. And second, I remember her from the ER.”
“Shit.” Danny had been the one to take him to the hospital when he’d been knifed. Where the painkillers had lit him up like a sorority girl on spring break and he may have told Danny he was going to marry a doctor. “You can’t judge me on that. There’s a known link between red hair and tolerance to painkillers.”
Danny rolled his eyes.
“My head’s still in the game. Priya will lead us to Sara and she’ll probably be able to convince Sara to cooperate, too. Someone with Sara’s record isn’t going to trust the police.”
Danny rubbed the back of his neck. “We’re both tired. Why don’t we go home and sleep? We’ll hit it hard tomorrow. Maybe get Sully back in for questioning. Even with his lawyer, that guy’s enough of a weasel we might shake something out of him.”
“Agreed,” he said. Danny was right. This shooting had all the hallmarks of being gang-related, not personal. There might not be any other potential witnesses, but that didn’t mean no one knew anything.
He parted ways with Danny when they stepped out of the elevator. Danny made for the exit, but Brian turned for the waiting area where Priya sat on an uncomfortable-looking plastic chair. She stared down at her feet and her shoulders drooped. When she didn’t look up at his approach, he realized she’d fallen asleep. He tapped her lightly on the shoulder.
She came awake instantly. “What do we have? Vitals?” She shook her head. “Sorry, thought I was on call for a second.”
“When was the last time you slept?” The harsh fluorescent lights illuminated the dark circles under her eyes.
“Managed a few hours during my shift, but the last time I had a full eight must have been...what time is it now?”
He checked his watch. “Ten o’clock.”
“It’s still Friday?” He nodded. “Wednesday night, maybe? I can’t remember.”
So she’d been sleep-deprived and worried about her cousin and he’d jumped her behind a strip club. Real smooth. “Let me drive you home.”
“My car’s here.”
“I’ll give you a ride to get it tomorrow. You’re eyes are half-shut—it wouldn’t be safe to let you drive.”
“But what about Sara?” she asked just before her jaw cracked open into a giant yawn. She clapped a hand over her mouth.
“You can worry about Sara tomorrow. She obviously doesn’t want to be found tonight.”
“You promised to tell me what this was about.”
“I don’t remember those words coming out of my mouth.”
She glared at him. The effect was lost when her jaw cracked into another yawn.
“Not here,” he said. “I’ll tell you in the car.”
* * *
Fatigue settled upon Priya like an iron blanket. Everything jumbled together—fear, guilt and the powerful attraction to the cop in the driver’s seat. Just eight quality hours of sleep and she’d have herself under control again and ready to help Sara out of whatever jam she was in.
Brian’s car was spotless. Not a fast-food wrapper or coffee cup to be found, unlike hers. She really needed to take better care of herself. She should eat a vegetable that wasn’t a potato, maybe go for a jog, cut back to one pot of coffee a day...
Brian paused, about to turn the key in the ignition. “About what happened,” he said.
“Didn’t happen,” she said before he could start backpedaling. Sara was her priority and Priya needed to forget how it felt to be enclosed by his arms, his mouth on hers, brick wall rough against her back.
But instead of thanking her for sparing him the uncomfortable conversation, he gave her an almost comical look of outrage. “Of course it happened,” he said. “I’ve still got the stiff dick to prove it.”
“You really know how to sweep a girl off her feet, don’t you?”
“Standing up works just fine,” he said with a look that made her want to rub her thighs together, because she was twisted. “Fuck.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry, I’m doing it again. Adrenaline’s a hell of a drug.”
Of course he only kissed her because he was strung out from the fight. His saying it shouldn’t have stung so much. “Just drive,” she said. “The sooner we get away from each other, the better.”
He laughed and started the car. He pulled out of the parking lot and she hit the button to roll down the window, letting the hot night air fan her face.
“I’ve got the AC cranked. Should cool down in a minute,” he said. “Also, I was only trying to apologize.”
“You don’t have a lot of practice at that, do you?” She rolled the window back up, cutting off the city noises and the hum of the engine. Sealing them together in the darkened car.
“Not if I can help it,” he said. The glow of passing streetlights lit his smile.
“That’s good because you suck at it.” She held up a hand to cut off his rejoinder. She wasn’t here to trade barbs with him. “You’re also stalling,” she said. “Exactly how much trouble is Sara in?”
His smile faded. “She might be the witness to a murder.”
The silence built as she struggled to process his words. “That’s a lot of trouble,” she finally said.
He pulled up in front of her building, blocking the parked cars. “You can’t tell anyone about this.”
She gave a dazed nod.
“Is there anywhere else she might be? At her parents’?”
“I’ve already talked to my aunt. She’s not there.”
“Where does your aunt live?”
She was suddenly done. The last bit of gas in her tank had just been siphoned off. “You’re the police, you figure it out.” She got out of the ca
r and slammed the door shut.
He hopped out after her.
“Thanks for the lift, Detective,” she said. She turned her back and darted past the date-night couple walking out of the Italian restaurant. But he followed. “You don’t have to walk me to my door,” she said.
“My mother raised me right.”
She snorted. “More like you want to check my apartment without a warrant.”
“If you don’t know where Sara is, then what’s the problem of making sure she didn’t come here?”
“Don’t cop logic me,” she said, and put her key in the front door lock.
“Cop logic?”
“Like when cops ask, ‘If you’re not guilty, why do I need a warrant?’ Or, ‘If you don’t have anything to hide, then you should consent to this unconstitutional search.’” She pushed open the door.
“No more police procedurals for you,” he said, stepping into the vestibule after her.
She whirled around. “You’ll stand here and argue with me all night, won’t you?” she asked. His face was right in front of hers. Too close. She took a step back.
He gave a slow smile.
“Fine,” she said ungraciously.
She stomped up the four narrow flights of stairs, conscious of his presence behind her, probably staring at her ass. That part of her she needed to put a lid back on wanted to sway it provocatively and give him a show. She resisted that impulse and called it a win. She’d take any victory she could get right now.
When she reached her apartment and swung open the door, it was exactly as she’d left it—hot, messy and vacant. She scurried forward to scoop a dangling bra off the arm of her ugly plaid sofa.
Of course he waltzed in after her.
She walked the two steps to her overflowing laundry basket and dropped the bra on top. Laundromat was top on her list of tasks not getting done anytime soon. “See. Not here.”
“Do you have an air conditioner?”
