His gaze darkened, as he no doubt remembered the same moments. Regret twisted his lips. “Why don’t I make you breakfast?”
Probably a good idea. She began to slide to the other side of the bed before temptation made her do something she’d regret.
His cell phone buzzed. “Early morning calls are never good.” He reached for it by his side, and answered. “Rivers, and this had better be good.” He paused. “You sure? Okay. I’ll be right there.”
She stilled. “Bad news?”
“You could say that. Monty said that the Genesis Valley Cemetery early grounds crew just reported a work truck missing. For all they know, it could’ve been missing for weeks. It fits the description of the one we’re looking for—the one with the shooter and the guy who ran you off the road.”
The cemetery? Where her uncle worked? “No. Is someone trying to frame my uncle?” So much for breakfast. “Let’s go conduct interviews.”
Huck planted a hand on her bicep, holding her in place. “Not you. You know you can’t be there. Go to work as planned, and I’ll call you. I put your clothes in the washer and then dryer last night. If the blood didn’t come out of your shirt, borrow one of mine. Trust me.”
Her heart sank. Uncle Carl?
* * *
A deputy had dropped Uncle Blake’s truck off at Huck’s house that morning, which had been kind of Huck to arrange, although now there would be gossip.
Laurel kept an eye on the scattered gravel over the ice as she drove toward her office. A sinister mist slithered close to the road and dawn remained concealed by dark clouds. Right now, Huck and additional officers were interrogating her uncle as well as the other cemetery employees. She knew she couldn’t be present for the interview, but it hurt to stay on the sidelines. Her uncle wasn’t a killer, but he wasn’t good with people, either. He would get angry with Huck and probably not respond well. Should she call Steve Bearing? Uncle Carl might need a lawyer.
Huck had said he’d handle it, and he seemed fair. Plus, the man kept carrying her away from danger.
Her abdomen fluttered and she rolled her eyes, reaching for one of the two lattes in the middle cup holders. Neither she nor Huck wanted a relationship, and they didn’t fit anyway. She didn’t really fit with anybody, but that was all right. Her life was full.
She shook herself back to the moment, appreciating the lack of traffic. That was one thing she’d never liked in DC. Here, the lanes were empty, giving the mist free reign. Nobody was out on this morning at this hour.
Except her. Hopefully Kate would be at the office already, and they could get some work accomplished. It’d be nice to have a full office, but she and Kate would do well enough for now.
The mist caressed Uncle Blake’s clean but ancient farm truck as Laurel turned left into the parking area and drove toward the office doorway. Something on the ground caught her eye, and she hit the brakes. It was a body. The latte cup flew out of her hand and broke open against the dash, spilling coffee down the vents, steering wheel, and her legs. She gaped through the windshield, then drew her weapon from the laptop bag, jumping out of the truck.
Her heart battered her ribcage and she sucked in deep breaths, keeping control of her reaction.
Cold assaulted her, and she swung her gun around, clearing the entire area. The building remained dark and silent save for the Christmas lights twinkling merrily from every eave. Apparently, the landlord had put up lights the night before, probably just hours before the victim had been dumped.
Laurel exhaled to keep herself in control and stepped gingerly over the frozen asphalt to study the naked body of a woman, her head positioned toward the building and her feet toward the street. Her hands were palm up and her legs spread obscenely, as if the killer had wanted to pose her for the authorities. There were signs of deep bruising on her thighs. Her eyelids were closed in death, and her skin had turned blue beneath the night’s freezing rain.
Laurel swung her gaze around, surrounded by mist, securing the scene. Nothing moved and no sound came through the soft wind.
She shivered.
Keeping on full alert, she edged back to the still-running truck to call in the killing, her voice low and her words clipped. Her breathing shallowed out while she checked the surrounding area again. Just a quiet roadway across from silent trees, their limbs reaching for the sky.
Then she returned to the body, fighting the urge to drape her coat over the woman. The victim was dead and wouldn’t feel the cold.
Even so, it was a travesty to leave her like this.
Laurel banished the anger and hurt, the fury and the deep, gut-wrenching determination to find the asshole who’d done this. Instead, she crouched down to study the body, careful not to disturb the scene.
Long blond hair spread out on the icy ground, and bruises marred the woman’s neck. There was no doubt they’d find petechiae in the eyes once someone with gloves opened the eyelids. More purple contusions showed on the woman’s wrists and ankles, in addition to those across her ribcage. Small cuts were everywhere. Not enough to kill her but to torture. One over the left breast looked deeper than the others.
Laurel spoke to a soul that was no longer present. “I’m so very sorry.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
From the Fish and Wildlife conference room, Laurel looked through the office across the hall to see the crime tape still in place in the parking lot. News vans were massed across Main Street against the wooded area, but at least they had to stay out of the way. It had been a rough morning for the techs, processing the scene in the freezing mist, but at least the rain had held off until they’d carted the body away.
“All right. Everyone take a seat,” Huck said, taking control of his task force. They’d called everyone in. “There’s pizza on the credenza if anybody wants some.”
