“I didn’t say that.”
Levi blows out a frustrated breath. “Do what you want. I’m going to let myself be happy.”
“As is your right. I’m going to go catch a killer.”
I stalk past him down the hall, down the stairs, snagging my things off the coffee table as I exit the front door and slam it shut.
I don’t deserve to touch Blake. I shouldn’t even fantasize about her.
My hands have too much blood on them.
Blood that would make her hate me.
I can’t be thinkingabout Blake’s naked body when I’m working. Distractions mean I’m not focused. When I’m not focused, I can’t do my job, and people get hurt.
The forty-five-minute drive north to Jackson gives me time to get my head on right. My route is surrounded by the Snake River and the Wyoming mountain ranges. Both are covered in crisp, white snow.
When I arrive at the coroner’s office in Jackson, I find Dr. Alder weighing a liver, a body on the metal slab next to him.
“Tell me you have something for me, Doc,” I say by way of greeting.
“Ah, you’re here.” He removes his bloody gloves, grabs a manila file from his desk, and leads me to the grid of small metal doors on the back wall. He opens it and slides out a rack with the victim lying on it. “Well, he was burned,” Marcus says with a bit of dry humor.
“Is it that obvious?” I return, sarcastically. “ID? Cause of death?”
He looks at the file in his hands. Marcus doesn’t actually need the file. He remembers all the bodies he autopsies. “It’s Derek Holt, alright. Just like Levi thought.”
“Who would want him dead?”
I should have some sort of reaction to finding out the victim is someone I know and have worked with on more than one occasion, but I feel nothing.
Death is death. There’s no stopping the end when it comes, and there’s no point in crying over someone dying. It’s part of life.
Marcus slips a pen out of the breast pocket of his scrubs and uses it to point to a specific part of Derek’s neck. “It’s hard to tell, but this man’s throat was cut. He bled out before he was set ablaze.”
“So our murderer doesn’t use fire as a method of killing,” I deduce.
“No, he does not,” Marcus agrees.
Angling my head as my brain turns, I add, “More like a tool for attention.”
“Very likely,” he concurs. “You know, this case reminds me of my time in Nepal. I was there as part of…”
Marcus dives into a story, recalling “the old days.” I’ve never questioned the accuracy of his reminiscences, but if he’s to be believed, this man has lived a full life. Once, he worked with a relief effort in war-torn Somalia to help identify dead bodies, giving their friends and families closure. While there, he was kidnapped by a militant extremist group and forced to perform an autopsy on one of their leaders. His death was suspected of foul play, but it turned out to be natural causes. After the autopsy, Marcus escaped under the cover of night.
I wait until he’s done with his story, then give my leave. “It was nice talking to you, Doc. Let me know if you find anything else.”
Firing up my truck, I steer out onto the highway, heading back to Evergreen Falls. ‘
It’s time to do the worst part of my job—notify the next of kin.
CHAPTER 11
WALKER
My brakes squeal as I come to a stop in front of a one-story taupe home. The small front porch and the large window beckon me, but I sit in my truck.
I hate this part.
