Chapter 14
The first thing Brian noticed when he and Rafe stepped into the autopsy suite wasn’t the dead body waiting for one of its final atrocities before being embalmed and laid to eternal rest. It was Tess.
She stood at the instrument table, gloved hands moving with quiet precision as she set out scalpels, forceps, and other tools. The pale green scrubs, the cap hiding her hair, the mask covering half her face, the bulky, plastic, protective eye wear—none of it dulled the effect of seeing her again. The fluorescent lights overhead were harsh on skin and stainless steel, but when she glanced up and caught sight of him, the hazel in her eyes sharpened like glass.
After giving her a brief smile, he forced himself to look away before Rafe or Dr. Hansen noticed him ogling her. He flipped open the case file he’d broughtin with him and scanned the contents like he gave a damn about the paperwork at that moment. Professional. He had to remain professional.
The naked corpse on the table was a young male, murdered two days before his twentieth birthday. Despite his family proclaiming he was “such a good boy” and “never got into trouble,” the crude tattoos on his arms, shoulders, and neck marked him as a member of the Southside Kings, a rival street gang of the Devil’s Crew.
Brian, Rafe, and Dr. Hansen had been called to the homicide scene at a local state park around nine the night before, where the coroner did his initial evaluation before the body was transported to the morgue. Brian’s gut already told him what Hansen would confirm—a 9mm fired from close range. The Devil’s Crew liked their kills personal. They wanted to watch the light go out of a man’s eyes—it heightened their street cred. Face-to-face made the message louder—no fear, no hesitation, no mercy.
“Gentlemen,” Hansen said with a terse nod, moving from where he stood beside a mounted light box with X-ray films to the body. “I wish I could say it’s good to see you again, but we really have to stop meeting like this.”
Neither agent responded. The line was one they’d heard on too many cases to count. Unfortunately, until either they or the doctor retired, there would always beanother body waiting on a table to mark their next encounter.
Hansen continued, his tone clipped but not unkind. “I hear the second victim survived surgery.”
Leaning against a desk, Rafe got comfortable. “Hopefully, he’s awake and talkative when we go there to interview him after this.”
Brian grunted, his eyes darting despite himself back to Tess as she passed Hansen a scalpel. The smooth confidence of her movements caught him off guard every damn time. She didn’t flinch, didn’t shy away, even though she was elbow-deep in death on a daily basis.
The metallic tang of disinfectant clung to the air, layered over the more primal odors of blood, feces, and the slow decomposition of flesh—stronger on some days than others, depending on the body on the table. The cool room hummed with the low drone of ventilation and the soft snap of Hansen pulling on fresh gloves.
Dr. Hansen secured his mask in place, followed by the protective glasses. “Let’s get started. Are you staying for the full exam?”
Rafe shook his head. “Just the preliminaries, Doc.”
“Okay.” He angled an overhead light down onto the body’s torso. “The bullet entered here—left parasternal, second intercostal space. No exit wound.”
Brian forced his attention to follow the coroner’s monologue. He nodded like he was tracking every word, but in reality, he missed a few words here andthere. Beneath the typical stench of the autopsy suite, he still caught the scent of Tess’s shampoo—faint, clean, and tropical—and it distracted him to the point of annoyance. He dragged his focus back like pulling on the reins of a stubborn mule.
Hansen gestured toward the mounted X-rays. “The bullet is lodged near the upper thoracic spine. Trajectory indicates it went through the anterior portion of the mediastinum. Likely took out a major vessel or the heart itself. We’ll confirm internally.”
Brian nodded again, too quickly. His gaze repeatedly flickered toward Tess involuntarily. They had texted since the kiss. Light, casual, and pretending a neutrality he didn’t feel. He had even called once and lied to himself about why, making up an excuse that he was just checking that nothing needed to be fixed at the beach house. Now, with her ten feet away, every single bit of that kiss came flooding back like a punch to the sternum.
Rafe leaned in just enough to murmur while barely moving his lips. “You planning to take notes, or just stare at her until one of us slaps you?”
Brian cut him a glare that promised murder. Rafe’s smirk said he saw right through him.
Hansen kept talking—impact angle, measurements, and other statistics—and Brian absorbed maybe half of it. Tess stood opposite the doctor, fully in Brian’s line of sight, and every time she moved, his focus slipped like a wet grip. Her hands were steady, confident,anticipating Hansen’s next request before he voiced it. Several times, her gaze lifted to his—brief, controlled, but long enough to light up his nerves like static.
He hated how little control he had over that reaction. Hated that in a room full of death and evidence, all he could think about was the way she’d looked at him before she kissed him, and how she was not looking at him now beyond a few glances.
Professional. Stay professional.
Hansen began to make a Y incision in the victim’s upper torso. “Those are the prelims, gentlemen. If any surprises pop up, I’ll let you know. If not, you’ll have the written report by the end of the day. I’ll send the slug to the lab.”
“Appreciate it,” Brian said, voice flat to hide anything else. “Thanks, Doc. Tess.”
That sounded professional, right? God, I hope so.
He turned toward the door—then made the mistake of looking back once more. She was still at the table, readying the next set of instruments for Hansen, her hands steady and precise. Then she glanced up at Brian—quick, deliberate—and a faint flush crept across the tops of her cheeks above the mask.
She sensed that charge between them—same as he did.
That single fact hit harder in the gut than anything on the slab.
He turned away before anyone else could see it on his face. He was on the clock and had a job to do. Amorgue didn’t care if his pulse jumped when an attractive woman looked at him. A homicide investigation didn’t pause because he wanted something he shouldn’t have.
