by Vella Day
He placed a Manila envelope along with a smaller packet on the counter and walked around the entire perimeter of the lab, first checking the scanning machine, the scale and then the portable X-ray and said nothing the whole time nor asked any questions. In fact, he made no comments. What was going on?
While she enjoyed showing off her new digs, now wasn’t a good time. Her cat had needs. “Can I help you with something?”
“I’ve wanted to see what all the hoopla was regarding this place. Now I know why everyone at the department is gung ho about the new lab.”
“I can give a tour tomorrow if you’d like.” At the least, she could be friendly.
Then he checked her out from head to toe and smiled. “If I have time, sure.”
His clear eyes lightened, and she refused to address the tingling that shot up her body at the intimate look. “Are you here to see about the bodies we received today?” She lifted her chin a notch.
He squared his broad shoulders and sobered. “Yes. I’ve been working on a case involving the disappearance of some Seminole Indians, and I’m wondering if the men we sent over might be two of the eight I’ve been searching for.”
Her muscles tightened. “Eight Native Americans are missing?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“So many disappearances can’t be a coincidence. Are you thinking a hate crime is involved?”
“It’s too early to tell.” Detective Kinsey headed over to the coffin and peered in. “What did you do with them?”
She pointed across the room to the large pots inside the hooded maceration station. He appeared to be a no nonsense guy. If he could be forthright, so could she. “I’m cooking them.” She raised her brows daring him to grimace.
Instead of making a comment, he strode over to the station. If he lifted the clear Plexiglas hood, the escaped smell would fell even the most seasoned cop.
He gazed in, and spun back toward her. “Mind if I wait around to see if your men match mine?”
This man would only get in her way. It didn’t matter he looked like some sexy Florida rancher with his dark blond hair curled slightly at the nape of his neck—or that his rough cheek stubble and tanned skin made him appear as though he’d been outside riding all day. Given Tampa was nothing but urban sprawl, he couldn’t be a real cowboy, but the impression lingered, nonetheless.
“The bones won’t be ready until tomorrow at the earliest. Besides, I don’t know for sure if the men are Native American. I need time to study the skulls.” The last thing she wanted was to make a fool of herself in front her boss’ friend.
She hurried toward the door, pulled open the latch, and swept an arm toward the corridor. He might appear to be a gentleman, but when it came to the job, he’d probably be demanding, over-confident, and insensitive to the needs of the victims.
Okay, that wasn’t fair. He hadn’t done anything to deserve those labels, but the last two detectives she’d been around fit the bill.
He didn’t move. “Did you discover any distinguishing marks on the men?”
“I haven’t found anything to help me tell them apart, if that’s what you mean, other than the difference in the amount of hair and soft tissue present.”
“The families have been waiting for closure for as long as ten months.”
She slapped a free hand on her hip. “I just received the bodies.”
“I have a few more questions.” He picked up the large envelope from the counter, not even blinking at her outburst.
So much for a meaningful conversation. She let the door shut and marched up to him, invading his space. “What makes you think this case is any more important than the arson case I’ve been working on for the last month?” She didn’t need to let him know Phil told her this job needed to be her main concern.
His lips thinned. “I have two dental X-rays and one MRI from three of the families. If you’ll just take a look, maybe you’ll be able to tell me if one of your cadavers is one of my men.” He emptied the X-rays into his hand and offered them to her.
Did he say, his men? Okay. That changed her opinion of him a little. She stepped back. She liked a man who cared, a man who put his heart and soul into the job like she did. Maybe he wasn’t the typical law enforcement type like she’d first thought.
Logic sped ahead of emotion. If her two skeletons were among these eight missing men, she’d finish her identification process with time to spare. She’d be the first to admit she was excited to delve into the search, just not with Trevor Kinsey peering over her shoulder. His presence took up the whole room—all twelve hundred square feet of it.
She eased the medical data from his fingers and set the transparencies on the counter. “I was on my way out, but I promise I’ll give them my attention tomorrow.”
It was his turn to step too close. His body relaxed, and he tossed her a slightly crooked smile, complete with earth shattering dimples. “Sure you can’t examine them now?”
“It won’t do any good.” She’d be damned if she let him use his masculine appeal to get her to do his bidding. “Like I said, the skulls are still...” She couldn’t come up with another way to say it, so she merely nodded toward the large vats.
He cocked a brow. “Cooking? I know.”
“Yes.”
His shoulders stiffened. “Tomorrow then.” He took two steps toward the door.
Oh, what the hell. “Wait.” She didn’t want their time to end. She spent enough time cooped up alone in the lab.
He whipped around, his eyes wide. “Yes?” He closed the gap between them in less than a heartbeat.
She eased back. “Look, I know what it means to want something.” Like friends, success, mainstream treatment. “While I can’t compare the X-rays to the skulls yet, can you tell me a little about these men? Do you know their heights? Ages? Maybe that will help eliminate them.” During her preliminary study of the bones she’d estimated the two men’s biological profile.
Trevor rattled off the numbers for all eight, his eyes shining brighter with each description. Impressed he’d memorized every detail, she let out a breath.
The muscles in his shoulders bunched as he leaned forward. “Does that tell you anything?”
“Yes. When I first received the bones, I guesstimated the one in his thirties to be about five foot nine, and the older one three inches shorter.”
His warm eyes sparkled. “That fits.”
“It doesn’t prove my skeletons are your men.” A small laugh escaped at his naivety. “If only it were that easy.”
“I realize that, Dr. Romano.”
She couldn’t tell if he’d mocked her or if his comment had been tinged with sadness. Before she could get a read on his expression, he rotated around to the counter near the door, picked up the smaller envelope he’d placed there and spread out eight photos side by side. “Take a look at these.”
As she stepped next to him, his spicy cologne took her by surprise. She hadn’t expected a detective to wear such an enticing scent—strong, clean, and masculine.
“Dr. Romano? Is something wrong?”
This spacing out had to stop. Look at the pictures, Lara. “No.”
She dropped her gaze and angled the 4x6’s toward her. All appeared to be male Native Americans. Two stood next to children, three huddled beside women, and the last few were single shots. Make those blurry, single shots where the heads were either profiles, or tilted to the side. All useless for identification purposes.
He leaned in closer to her, and her breath caught. She forced herself to study the images and ignore the pressure building in her chest. Four were taken at a construction site and the rest were inside what appeared to be a large recreational room. “From their cheekbone structure and the slant to their forehead, I’d say they’re Seminole.”
“You nailed it.”
Lara’s stomach sickened. She pressed her eyes shut, not wanting to have a connection to these missing men.
Before they could discuss the case furthe
r, his cell rang. The ring tone was some piece of classical music she couldn’t identify. It wasn’t what she’d have guessed for such a macho man. She had stereotyped him too quickly. Shame on her.
He pulled the phone from his hip pocket and held up a finger. Given he mostly listened, she couldn’t get the gist of the conversation—not that she was eavesdropping or anything.
Twenty seconds later, he pocketed his cell and avoided meeting her gaze. “I have to leave. Let me know what you find out regarding the men. Okay?” He slid his business card on the counter.
“Sure, but I—”
Then he was gone, the door closing faster than usual.
She blew out a long, steady breath. “Goodbye to you too, Detective Kinsey.”
And here she thought he might want to match the men to her profile. Lara tucked her hair behind her ear trying to figure out if she’d said something wrong. Some unidentifiable and unpleasant emotion swirled in her belly. Her childhood therapist explained that labeling her anxieties would help her cope with the insular world. Fine. The sensation was either frustration at not having helped him or a deep yearning to work with someone. She’d grown up so alone, her dreams were made from the idea of being a part of a team. Classmates had laughed at her, teachers often became impatient, and when it came time to pick lab partners, no one wanted to work with her because she wasn’t cool enough for them.
Aw, hell. What did it matter? She had a job to do. Nothing got done by standing around.
Lara had planned to leave, but her need to help pushed her other priorities down a notch, so she slid on a fresh lab coat. If the X-rays and MRI he’d brought didn’t indicate the men had the right slant to the forehead, she might eliminate them. If the images did match her men, she’d win, he’d win.
She lifted the films and slapped the first X-ray on the light board. The man’s dental work showed he was missing the second and third premolar as well as one incisor. She opened the computer files of the digital images she’d shot of both skulls. The first one wasn’t a match, the second inconclusive, and a shard of disappointment stabbed her.
The next X-ray didn’t match either. Damn it. Lastly, she peered at the MRI. And froze.
2
Trevor drove like a bat out of hell to his parents’ house, his heart going faster than an AR-15 assault rifle spitting out rounds.
Damn cancer. The disease was robbing his father of his fun retirement years. How fair was that? The man survived twenty-five years dodging bullets as a cop only to be felled by some rogue cells.
His mom said Dad had lost his balance on his way to the kitchen table and had fallen. He’d seemed fine after he came to, but if cancer did end his dad’s life, Trevor would lose the one person who’d most guided his life, who’d taught him to live by his principles. After losing Claire, he wasn’t sure he could handle any more grief.
He passed two cars and wove around another. Shit. This traffic sucked. “Step on it, folks.” Since he wasn’t on police business, he refrained from using his lights, though he sure as hell was tempted.
Dad would be fine. Dad would be fine. He had to be.
The image of Dr. Romano replaced the unsettling image of his father. Could the timing of his mom’s call be any worse? In another minute, he bet he would have been able to convince the good doctor to examine the films. Her warm brown eyes had melted when she’d looked at the eight photos. If only he’d had time to discuss the men with her, he would have hooked her into being an ally.
He shook his head. How had a woman as attractive as Lara Romano ended up working with the dead? It must be her hearing loss that drew her to the cadavers. At least she wouldn’t have to hear to understand what the victims told her.
With her hair pulled loosely over her ears and braided down her back, her hearing aid was well hidden. If Phil hadn’t warned him of her disability, he might never have known. Not that it mattered to him if she needed mechanical help to hear. Hell, his best friend back in high school was born deaf, and he was the best football player in school history.
The turnoff to his parents’ street appeared out of nowhere, and Trevor whipped the wheel to the right and pulled into their driveway. He jumped out and sprinted to the front door. The porch light flickered. Crap. He’d promised his mom he’d replace the bulb, but never had. Tomorrow, for sure. Apparently, none of his three brothers had had time to cut the grass or trim the shrubs either. They all agreed their father shouldn’t have to worry about the outside maintenance. That’s what his sons were for.
He dragged the key from his pocket, shoved it in the door and rushed inside, hoping his mother had exaggerated the severity of the fall.
“Dad? Mom?” He ran into the kitchen and halted. His father was sitting on the floor drinking a cup of coffee, thumbing through the Tampa Tribune, while his mother sat next to him with her arm wrapped around his shoulder.
His mom stood. “You got here so fast!”
She wiped her hands on her old, flowered apron and gave him a hug and a kiss. He hugged her and squeezed, inhaling her familiar fruity perfume.
“I dropped what I was doing and came right over. You know family comes first.”
He slipped out of his mother’s embrace and stepped over to his dad. “You need a hand up?”
“The floor’s mighty comfy, but I guess a chair would be nicer.”
When his dad stretched out a hand and leaned forward, a small patch of blood showed on the yellow wallpaper behind his head.
A lump formed in Trevor’s throat. “You banged your head when you fell?”
His father waved a dismissive hand. “A small bump.”
“Small, hell.” Blood was serious.
Mom returned to the chair. “I bandaged his head.”
“Good.” Trevor figured a full lift would be easier on his dad’s body than jerking him to a standing position, so he placed his dad’s ceramic mug and newspaper on the table and wedged himself between his father and the wall. He threaded his arms under his father’s armpits, lifted him and gently lowered him onto the kitchen chair. “There you go. Can I get you anything?” Trevor stepped in front of him.
“No, I’m fine. I told your mother it was no big deal, but she insisted on calling you.”
“So tell me what happened?”
His father shook his head. “Nothing happened, really. One minute I was walking to the table and the next I was on the floor.” Dad wouldn’t meet his gaze. That wasn’t good.
“Your falling was not nothing, Herb.” His mom faced Trevor. “He said his stomach was upset from yesterday’s chemo, so he skipped lunch. That’s why his knees gave way. I told him not to move until you came. He’s still so weak.” His mom stood, hurried over to the oven, and pulled out a delicious smelling casserole and placed it on the table. “We should eat. Dinner’s ready.”
Apparently, neither wanted to discuss what really happened or what needed to be done next.
The table was set for three. He’d missed last Sunday’s family get together, which was as near to a mortal sin as one could get in his family.
“Chicken Parmesan?”
“Yes. Your favorite.”
He wasn’t sure why the special treatment, but he wasn’t about to complain. No one cooked like his mom. “Did you call Ethan or Harry about Dad’s fall?”
“I tried, but I couldn’t get a hold of them.”
Right after he’d received the disturbing call from Mom, he’d phoned both of them too. Same result. No answer.
Once they were seated, his mother pointed a fork at him. “So were the two men in the coffin a match to your Indians?”
“Native Americans.” He stopped eating and stared at her. “How the hell did you hear about that?”
“Don’t swear, Trevor.” She patted him on the hand. “Right after you left for that lab, Ethan called and told us he was named lead detective on the case since at least one of the men had been murdered. He would have told you himself if you’d stayed at the station.” From the width of her sm
ile, his mom was extra proud of her eldest son.
A stab of jealousy took him by surprise. It wasn’t because his brother had the chance to run the homicide investigation, but because Ethan would be working with Lara Romano, the tall, shapely brunette with the soft lips and remarkable eyes.
His cell rang, and he checked the caller ID. “It’s Ethan.” He punched the button. “You get the message about Dad?”
“Yes. How is he?”
Trevor gave a short description of the event, not wanting his parents to hear the worry in his voice. “Everything okay on your end?”
“That’s why I called. I need you back at the station if dad’s okay.”
“One of the missing Native American men was deaf?” Lara’s mother leaned back against the leather sofa and drank the rest of her scotch and water.
“Yes. I was looking at the MRI the detective had brought when I noticed a small fracture at his temple. I realized the man was deaf in that ear.”
“I’ve never seen you so excited before.”
“I’m happy I will to be a contributing member of a team.” A two-person team.
Her mother ran her French manicure on the rim of the empty glass. “So tell me about this detective who brought you the photos and X-Rays. What was his name again? Kinley?”
“Kinsey, with an s.” Lara knew better than to go down that road. Her mom’s main wish was for Lara to marry and produce a slew of grandchildren—ones without a hearing disability, naturally. Lara had a hard enough time today taking her mind off the man and didn’t need to have the discussion.
“You didn’t tell Detective Kinsey you were deaf, did you?”
She refrained from rolling her eyes. “I didn’t have to tell him. My boss did.”
“What a shame.” Her mom motioned for Lara to hide the wire behind her braid.
She wished her mother wouldn’t act as if every person would be instantly repulsed at the thought of her hearing impairment. “This isn’t about him, anyway. I’ve decided to talk to the deaf man’s family. I’m just not sure how to approach them.”
A small tic emerged around her father’s eye. “Isn’t that dangerous?”
