Rebel started pacingup and down the hallway in the black site. He’d been on hold for too damn long.
“Sorry for the wait,” said the woman in the coroner’s office. “The tech sent over both reports.”
“I only got his report on the first victim, the one with the B on her forehead. I need his report on the second victim. She had a U on her forehead. I’m gonna stay on the line while you send it over.”
“I… um… that’s gonna take?—”
“However long it takes,” Rebel said. “The case was being mismanaged, so I’m running at a big disadvantage. You been following it?”
“Oh, sure,” she replied. “There’s a lunatic out there.”
“Exactly. The sooner you can get me that report, the faster we can find the killer.”
“Hold for me.” A few more minutes passed. “You still there?”
“Sure am.”
“I just sent it to you.”
Rebel entered his office, refreshed his laptop. Nothing. “Let’s give it a second.” He waited, refreshed again, the email appeared. He opened it, clicked on the attachment. The report was there. “Got it. Thanks for your help.”
As he ended the call, movement caught his eye.
Brit stood in the doorway, her voracious gaze drilling into him. Unable to resist, he went to her. Her skills at the firing range had impressed the hell out of him. One more thing he liked about Britain Skye. He stopped inches away, her beautiful scent wafting in his direction. Her eyes darkened, her breathing shifted.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hi.” A smile ghosted across her face.
The desire to kiss her had his blood whooshing through him, but they weren’t alone at the black site.
“I brought you something.” Her voice had dropped, the breathiness had him swallowing down a groan.
He envisioned shutting the door, stripping her out of her clothes, and taking her against the wall or on a desk. The desire to be with her had hijacked his entire being.
She held up the to-go bag. With a playfulness in her eyes, she placed the bag against his abs, creating a shield between them. “Update me.”
The sexy fantasy was replaced with the reality that he was at work, with his partner, chasing down a cold-blooded killer.
C’mon, Dillinger, get it together.
He took the bag. She dropped her coat, sat at her desk, and opened her laptop.
After biting into the sandwich and swallowing it down, he asked, “Didn’t you just meet a sister for the first time?”
“Yeah.”
“How’d that go?”
“It went.”
Clearly, she didn’t want to talk about it. He uploaded the coroner’s report to their shared file. “I got the results of the second victim’s death, but I haven’t read the report.”
“How did we not have that?”
“My gut tells me Karen never sent it.”
“I’m reading it now,” she said. “Same M.O. Gunshot wound to the head. I can follow-up with the other coroners.”
