“At least an hour ago.”
“Then I should have time.” She knelt down, reaching for the edge of the sheet. “The spark—”
“Yeah, no need explain.” He held up a restraining hand. He might not share the prejudices of most of society against the freaks, but that didn’t mean he wanted an insider’s guide to necromancy. Christ. The mere thought made his stomach clench. “Just see what you can do.”
“Fine.” Cool, indifferent. Then her body tensed. “So young,” she murmured softly.
“Twenty-six.” He crouched down, studying her silken skin unmarred by wrinkles. “Older than you?”
“A woman never shares that information.”
“You share nothing.”
“Do you blame me?”
His lips twisted at the smooth thrust. Most people went out of their way to avoid freaks, but there were others who thought the only good freak was a dead freak. There were even a handful of cults where people trained to kill them. Mostly simpleminded idiots who needed someone to tell them what to think and angry outcasts who had nowhere else to go, but that didn’t make them any less dangerous.
“No, not really.”
“What was her name?”
His jaw tightened. Okay, he was vain. He’d spent most of his life knowing women found him irresistible. The fact he wasn’t certain if Callie had even noticed he was a male annoyed the hell out of him.
Then with a silent curse he shoved aside his ego and concentrated on the only thing important at the moment. Finding the son of a bitch who’d killed this woman.
“Leah Meadows.”
“Is that her real name?”
He shrugged. “That’s all I got for now.”
She paused before giving a slow nod. “It should do.”
“Why do you need her name?” He asked the question that he’d wondered about more than once.
By law they couldn’t give details of the death in the fear that the necro might be swayed into naming a murderer even if the victim couldn’t reveal the truth.
But a necro always asked for a name.
“It helps me to connect with her mind.”
He shuddered. “Christ.”
“You asked,” she reminded him in a low voice.
“Do you need any other details?”
“I need to touch her.”
“There.” He pointed toward the forearm where Frank would have prepped the victim. “It’s been sanitized.”
She at last lifted her head. “Would you make sure—”
“That no one enters?” he finished for her.
“Yes.”
He abruptly frowned. “Where’s your Sentinel?”