"What about the dead man's cache?" she asked. "The Parrish documents? Jack Mallor's case?"
Behind her, Trent went rigid. His breath caught, and she felt his fingers dig slightly into her arms.
A pause. Longer than it should have been.
“Your uncle shouldn’t have mentioned that,” Corrick said slowly. “There was nothing active that your uncle was involved in. He was winding down, not ramping up. Transitioning cases to other agents. Clearing his desk." Another pause, a little longer than she thought necessary. “The Mallor case affected Slade. He took that loss personally, and in some ways, he never recovered. Always paranoid about who in our office might have betrayed our witness. Betrayed him. Did your uncle mention something about the case to you?”
“Just that your office requested to exhume Jack Mallor’s body.” She held her breath for a moment, waiting for Trent to react.
He didn’t.
Corrick cleared his throat. “I’m expecting to hear from the judge today, and I also expect that they will allow it.”
Trent made a sound—low, wounded, barely audible. His arms tightened around her.
“I don’t know if my uncle told you that I’m living and working in Calusa Cove.”
“He did,” Corrick said.
“My uncle wasn’t overly thrilled with the idea of exhuming Jack’s body, and he mentioned that to Jack’s son. We understand there’s new information that needs to be confirmed, but I got the feeling there’s more, and I’d just like to be able to give Trent some peace of mind.”
Trent brushed his lips across her shoulder, soft and tender.
“You didn’t hear this from me, but there are some questions about the validity of the original autopsy and the ME who performed it.”
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Dove said. “Uncle Aaron said he was in town for a surprise visit, but I don’t believe that. He came to Calusa Cove because of whatever is going on with a case that crumbled twenty years ago and now he’s dead—murdered—because of it.”
“Slade had a few enemies. Anyone of them could’ve killed him,” Corrick said. “Right now, I need you to come to Okeechobee. To make an identification. The local medical examiner is expecting you—you can come anytime, there's no rush. He's..." A heavy breath. "He's not going anywhere."
The words hung there. Obscene in their practicality. Of course, he wasn't going anywhere. He was dead. Dead people didn't go anywhere. They just waited, cold and still, for someone who loved them to come and confirm that yes, this body used to be a person. This shell used to laugh, tell bad jokes, drink bourbon on Sundays, and show up when you needed them most.
"I'll be there as soon as I can," Dove said.
"Take whatever time you need. And Miss Quinn—Aaron was a good man. One of the best I ever worked with. If there's anything I can do—anything at all—please don't hesitate. Day or night."
"Thank you."
"I'm so sorry for your loss."
The line went dead.
The room was silent. The frogs had stopped singing, or maybe she just couldn't hear them anymore. The ceiling fan turned in lazy circles. The darkness pressed in close, thick and heavy, like it was trying to swallow her whole.
Trent's arms were still around her, but she could feel him trembling. Not with cold. With the effort of holding in whatever he was feeling—grief for her, fear about his father's grave, the weight of too much bad news landing all at once.
"Dove." His voice cracked on her name.
She couldn't respond. If she opened her mouth, she didn't know what would come out—words or screams or nothing at all.
She pulled away from him. Gently, but deliberately. Swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached for her clothes.
"I need to get up." She found her jeans and stepped into them. The denim was rough against her bare legs. Real. Tangible. Something to focus on besides the howling void that had opened up in her chest. "I have to go identify the body."
"Dove—"
"It's procedure." She located her shirt near the window and pulled it over her head. The fabric smelled like Trent's house—cypress and coffee and something green and alive. "Next of kin makes the positive ID. That’s my mother or me, and I’m not doing that to my mom.”
"You don't have to go right now. It's four in the morning. He said there was no rush."
