“That I am.” The medical examiner craned his neck up without missing a beat in measuring the remains with his gloved hands. The white lab coat did its best to hide the man’s exquisitely pressed slacks and button-down shirt. No tie, but based on his clean-shaven face and the obvious time put into his hygiene, Maeve was willing to bet this was a man of discipline in every area of his life. She had to admit, there weren’t a lotof medical examiners who could hold her attention in the looks department, especially someone who was probably edging close to his sixties, but this one had a lot going for him. Evidenced by the gold wedding band beneath his latex gloves. “Dr. Yarrow. How can I help you?”
“Maeve Perry.” She extended her hand, then realized the mistake she’d made and pulled it back. Nope. She did not want to shake hands with a man who was wrist deep in a dead person. “I’m the agent assigned to work the case for your friend here.”
“Well, she’s not my friend, but I imagine she belonged to someone.” Dr. Yarrow turned away from the exam table, peeling himself out of his gloves before depositing them in the hazardous waste bin in the corner. “I assume you’re here for an update on the remains?”
“Yes. I wasn’t sure if you’ve been briefed on the possible connection between two women who’ve gone missing from the area.” She kept her voice as even as possible, but there was no doubt the medical examiner had caught the hike in her tone. “Both of their vehicles were found abandoned along the Virgin River, one last year and the second six days ago.”
Dr. Yarrow overexaggerated his nod as he crossed the exam room toward a desk shoved on the other side of the room and took a seat, swinging his legs beneath the cheap metal. “You’re talking about the disappearances of Lauren Russell and Iliana Meyer in Springdale. I’m aware. You believe these remains belong to one of them?”
“There are a lot of similarities between the victims. They were both around the same height and weight, both Caucasian, and neither have had children.” Maeve refused to show an ounce of surprise that this man had already educated himself in what was probably the biggest investigation a tourist town like Springdale had ever seen. She extracted the evidence bag from her bag. “The police have been through the scenes, but I recovered this Taseralong the riverbank. I’m hoping you’d allow me to brush for fingerprints and upload them to the federal database from here.”
The medical examiner pulled a paper bag from one of his drawers and dumped out what looked like a homemade sandwich, chips and an orange. His lunch. He didn’t waste any time unpacking. “Most federal agencies prefer to process their evidence at the police station. Can’t imagine Captain Hendricks would be pleased to learn you’re breaking protocol.”
“I took one look at the state of their break room and decided I’d rather not have my evidence compromised by grease and leftover spaghetti stains.” Maeve hadn’t even met Springdale PD’s captain, which probably would’ve been a big red flag if the remains had been found within the town’s borders. But they hadn’t. They’d been left in Zion, which didn’t come with its own forensic lab. Just a sad little wood-paneled office for law enforcement’s division head. “Apart from that, I’m not sure the Taser is tied to the investigation. For all I know, a fisherman left it by accident, so I’d rather not get the captain’s hopes up until I’m certain.”
Dr. Yarrow raised his impossibly blue eyes to her, as though trying to see through her motive. Nodding toward a clean section of counter—closer to the remains—the medical examiner surrendered a part of his exam room. “All right, but you’ll have to process the fingerprints yourself. My assistant is on bed rest and due to give birth any day now, and I’ll be tied up trying to identify our friend on the table.”
Relief crashed through her and nearly knocked her off her very exhausted feet. She was running on little sleep and a head full of questions and self-deprecating criticism for allowing Callen to kiss her. For wanting more than that. But focusing on the case, on what came next, had always succeeded in claiming her focus.
Maeve hiked her duffel bag higher up her shoulder, evidence in hand as she crossed the room to that small section of counter space. Her ex had guilted her into including him in this investigation, but she had no intention of letting him put himself at risk to solve this case. She wouldn’t put the Russells through losing another child. And what Callen didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. “No problem.”
Chapter Nine
He was out of his mind.
And he really couldn’t avoid going home anymore.
Callen shoved through the front door, stepping into silence. He hadn’t talked to Maeve all day. In fact, he wasn’t sure he even had an updated number for her, but he imagined she would’ve found a way to get ahold of him. Either through his supervisor or through Simpson. Closing the door behind him, he listened for signs she was still in the house. And came up empty.
Warning pooled in his gut. “Maeve?”
No answer.
What had he expected? For her to be here when he got home to soothe the frustrating and alarming need to check in with her? He’d caught himself almost tapping her contact information—whether it was current or not—a dozen times on the trail. He’d managed to control himself every time, but that didn’t stop him from wondering whether she’d eaten something before she’d left the house or whether she’d gotten enough sleep. Past experience told him no to both. He knew her. Knew her tendencies to sacrifice herself for her job. And he was being ridiculous. One kiss, and he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her all day. Was he actually disappointed that she hadn’t been here when he’d walked through the door?
Hell, he had to stop thinking about that kiss. It’d messed with his head all day, to the point he swore he could still taste the hints of her toothpaste despite brushing his own damn teeth and shoving granola bars and trail mix in his mouth all day. Wasn’tpossible. Maeve had somehow managed to slip past his defenses while recovering from whatever nightmares had plagued her and wearing that too-thin matching pajama top-and-bottom set that showed off her curves and smelling like her signature amber and vanilla. The combination of her body heat and the feel of her pressed against him had overridden his senses and shoved him right back where he didn’t want to be, but could he really blame her? Or was he just looking to justify kissing her?
Didn’t matter. It wouldn’t happen again. There was obviously a lot they still needed to unpack from the way things had ended in order to move forward in working together, but he wouldn’t make the mistake of letting her past his defenses. Not for her contribution in tearing his family apart.
“Get it together.” Callen tossed his uniform jacket on the end of the couch, where Maeve had set her belongings last night, and headed for the kitchen. No dishes in the sink. Only a single mug in the dishwasher. She hadn’t eaten anything before she’d gone…wherever an FBI special agent went during the day. All right. Maybe she’d grabbed something on the way out the door. But why did he care? He didn’t. She was an adult who could take care of herself, and he needed to get a damn grip.
He pulled the leftovers from their silent dinner from the fridge and opened the first container. Maeve’s sweet and sour pork. If he valued his life, he wouldn’t eat it. She’d never been the type to share food. Didn’t matter if it was Chinese, a bowl of soup or a piece of gum. He’d learned all that the hard way. Then again, what better way to make sure the lines between them stayed crystal clear than to get under her skin? Propped against the counter, Callen ate the first few pieces of pork cold, each bite solidifying in his stomach.
Damn it. It was close to six in the evening. She was probably hungry. Taking the container with him, he headed down the short three-way hallway leading to both bedroom and thebathrooms and knocked on her door. “Maeve, if you’re hungry, I’ve got leftovers…”
The door swung inward. It took him a second to realize what had changed since he’d left for work this morning. The bed had been stripped, the dresser had been cleaned off and there wasn’t any sign of the woman who’d shoved her way back into his life. Gravity tugged at his insides. She’d left, probably to the nearest hotel or motel, but what surprised him more was the heavy feeling settling on his shoulders. The same feeling he’d tried to ignore when he’d come home a year ago to find her belongings gone. He’d logically known then what to expect after demanding her engagement ring back and telling her to find a new place to live, but seeing all the empty space where her stuff used to sit, where she’d taken a cold apartment and added warmth with decor and photos and books, had gutted him.
It was easy to figure out why she’d left. It was most likely the same reason he’d avoided coming back to the house for as long as he had. That damn kiss. Scrubbing his free hand down his face, Callen almost ripped the doors to the hallway closet off their hinges. Scents of detergent and humidity had him opening the top-loading washer. She’d washed the bedding. Setting the sweet and sour pork container on the shelf, he switched the damp bedding to the dryer. Maeve wasn’t gone. He knew that. She still had a case to work, and there was no way she’d turn her back on seeing this through. What shewoulddo? Exclude him from the investigation to avoid a confrontation between them.
“Over my dead body.” She wouldn’t cut him out. He wouldn’t let her. Callen slammed the dryer door a little harder than necessary, then grabbed the Chinese container and tossed it in the garbage. There were only so many places in town where she could go, and considering the hotel was under renovations due to the flood, she would’ve gone back to the motel that’d been full last night.
He crossed the living room to collect his jacket from the sectional. His phone vibrated in his back pocket. Pulling it free, Callen lost every ounce of frustration in a rush, leaving him more than a little disoriented. He connected the call. “Hey, Mom.”
His mother’s face filled the screen, a little off-center and too low to get a full view of anything other than the top of her fully white, slicked, straight hair. “Hello, darling. I thought you were going to call last night.”
“Yeah. I’m sorry. Something came up.” Rather, someone, but his parents didn’t need to know about Maeve. “I sent a text letting you know I wasn’t going to make it. Did you see it?”
“Is that Callen?” His father’s gravelly voice registered a split second before the old man himself pushed his way into the frame. Stark lines puddled beneath his dad’s eyes, as though age was dragging all the skin in the man’s face down. His beard and mustache—normally kept neat and short—had gone gray like he’d been electrocuted repeatedly over the last year, but Callen had felt that too. The shock of grief anytime Lauren crossed his mind. He couldn’t imagine what it was like losing a child. Losing a sister was bad enough. “You finish reading that book I told you about? What’d you think of the ending? Crazy, huh? The killer was right there in front of you the whole time—”
