“Nice guy,” Faye said.
“Yes.” Hunter kept his voice level, even though his gut ached. “Stay out here, Faye. I’ll be back in a minute.”
She pulled her arm free. “No. I’m acting as a psychologist on this case. Maybe seeing the crime scene will be helpful.”
Maybe? Not in a million years. She’d experienced too much violence as a young girl, and he knew for a fact she’d never seen a crime scene like this one. When her patient had killed himself, she hadn’t been informed until a week later, so she hadn’t witnessed the scene. He wasn’t going to let her be haunted by this. “There’s no need for you to see anything.” Or smell the blood or experience the hollow air left by recent death. “We’ll tell youwhat happened.”
Her face screwed up as if she was going to argue with him, something she’d always done well.
He waved the sheriff back over. “Hey, sheriff. This is our shrink, and she’s not cleared for crime scenes. Put her in the back of a squad car if you need to.” Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked into the store, ready to take the heat from her later. At the moment, his head hurt, his gut ached, and he probably had blue balls from being settled against her sweet body earlier that morning.
She sputtered, but the sheriff had already herded her toward a patrolman who looked like Thor. “You can speak with Deputy Latham. He was first on the scene, and he’ll tell you everything you want to know,” the sheriff said as they walked away.
Hunter turned and forced himself to walk into the crime scene. Blood splatter covered the wall behind the counter and cash register, while a stack of potato chip bags had been toppled, with several spilling chips onto the floor, now stained an ominous red. He leaned over the counter to see a blood pool.
“Owner was a guy named Fred Fredrickson,” Raider said, reading from a crime report somebody must’ve handed him. “Was thirty years old, lived in Brookeville his entire life, married five years. No kids.” Raider gestured down an aisle of cleaning supplies. “Second victim. Forty-year-old Marla Jones. Nurse, not married, had a basket full of the makings for nachos, as well as two bottles of wine.”
Marla wasn’t going to make it to her party tonight. “Dead?”
“No. In surgery, having three bullets removed. Chances aren’t good.” Raider looked up, his gaze dark. “We’re getting the video footage now. Could be oneshooter—easy.”
Or Hunter’s brother might’ve joined in the killing. A rock rolled over in his stomach. If Jackson had killed, there wasn’t a lot Hunter could do to help him. “When do weget the video?”
“It’s already gone to our operative in DC, and she’ll have an answer soon,” Raider said, an odd infliction in his tone.
She, huh? Hunter would have to figure that one out later. He steeled his shoulders and walked down the aisle to find blood and materials used by the paramedics to save Marla’s life. Images and smells and sounds hit him so hard and fast, he grabbed a shelfand just stood.
“You okay?” Wolfe asked, comingout of nowhere.
“Yeah.” Hunter straightened and forced all expression off his face.
Wolfe nodded, petting the kitten in his pocket. “Been there. Still there sometimes.” With the cryptic remark that somehow made perfect sense, he turned and strode away.
Hunter finished surveying the scene, keeping more flashbacks at bay. Then he turned to leave the crime scene and deal with a no doubt pissed off Faye—never an enjoyable moment.
Except now, after having touched her this morning, he wanted to take her down to the ground after they fought. And he didn’t really want to be gentle this time.
* * * *
Faye sat at the table on the patio of the sports bar, flanked by Hunter and Raider and facing Wolfe. They had two pitchers of Hefeweizen in front of them as well as full glasses, although Faye had opted for a Pepsi. She didn’t judge Hunter for drinking beer. He should have it if he wanted it. As a guy in control all the time, he’d never let alcohol take over his life, unlike either oftheir fathers.
Hunter had insisted upon the outside table, and his face slowly lost its pinched look as he drank the beer and let the afternoon sun beam down on them. A nice spring breeze filled with the scents of phlox and peonies wafted through, providing asense of peace.
Wolfe quietly fed Kat, his gaze on his beer, while Raider typed on his smartphone—all business.
The crime scene must’ve been bad. Even so, she was part of this team, and they’d had no right to make her stay outside. “You guys can’t do that again.Leave me out.”
Hunter’s eyes darkened. “We’re all military or police force, Brown Eyed Girl. You aren’t, and you never have been. There is exactly zero reason for you to see a crime scenelike that one.”
Raider nodded as he typed. “Agreed.”
Wolfe looked her over, glanced at the other two men, and then shrugged. “I’m staying out of it, although I think Brown Eyed Girl would be a lovely last name for you, since you’re looking fora unique one.”
Faye sighed.
Wolfe straightened. “You’re not a shrink any longer?”
“No.” Her ears heated. “I’m looking at a different career.”
