“Well, I’m happy to see that your fiancé got ahold of you.” She picked up a thin clipboard and paused, a hint of concern touching her face. “I hope you understand that personal effects can only be released to family members. He had no proof that he was related to the deceased, so per our policy, I was unable release your brother’s personal effects to him.”
It took a second for the receptionist’s words to sink in, but when they did, they galvanized Tag. He straightened so hard and fast he smacked his elbow on the counter. “Wait? What are you talking about?”
She couldn’t be talking about Mitch. No way. Why the hell would the bastard risk exposure by trying to steal what Sean Gillespie had been wearing, or what he’d had on him when he died?
His escalating heart rate slowed. Hell, it was more likely the receptionist had gotten Sean’s next of kin confused with a different deceased person’s family. According to Detective Evans, there were dozens of unclaimed bodies filling up morgues these days thanks to the opioid crisis. She was probably thinking of some other woman’s fiancé.
Confusion flickered on the woman’s face. “Why Miss Gillespie’s fiancé. He came earlier this morning to pick up her brother’s personal effects.”
Brett locked down a surge of adrenaline. It could still be a coincidence. A case number mix up.
He shot a look at Sarah. Her face was white, drawn, her eyes vague. He doubted she’d heard a word the receptionist had said. Hell, he doubted she’d heard anything once Detective Evans had told her Sean was dead.
“Did the fiancé give a name?” Brett asked. From the slight recoil of the woman behind the glass, his tone hadn’t been particularly pleasant.
“Certainly…” the woman said, her voice trailing off uncertainly. “Is there a problem?”
Brett’s lips tightened. “Possibly.”
Could the bastard really be in town?
The woman lifted the clipboard she held and glanced down at the lined sheet of paper attached to it. “He listed himself as Brett Taggart.”
“Son of a bitch.” The surprised curse burst from him.
Jesus Christ, the bastard loved nothing better than pushing Tag’s damn buttons.
The woman jolted and looked up, her well plucked eyebrows furrowed. “Is he not her fiancé?”
“I’m Brett Taggart. And no, I was not here earlier asking about Sean’s belongings. We didn’t even know he was dead until an hour ago.” He paused, glancing at Sarah. Hell, why hadn’t he specified that he wasn’t her fiancé? Why had he let that assumption stand? His frown graduated to a scowl.
But then Sarah hadn’t stepped in to correct the woman’s assumption either. Of course, she might not have heard what the woman had said.
Or maybe she already knew that Mitch was here, maybe she’d been—he glanced at her drawn empty face and shelved that line of thought. She hadn’t known Mitch was in town. Hell, she hadn’t even known for sure her brother was dead until a couple hours ago.
“What did this guy look like?” Brett asked. Maybe he had it wrong. Maybe the dude hadn’t been Mitch at all. It could have been one of the bastards on the video, one of the gunrunners…except they wouldn’t sign in as Brett Taggart. Hell, they didn’t even know about him.
Mitch was the only one who would push that particular button.
It had to be Mitch.
“Well…” the woman hesitated. “He kinda looked like you. His hair was a bit lighter. But his eyes were blue. Same size. Same height.”
Tag stiffened and scowled. Yeah…fucking Mitch.
Sarah stirred beside him. Her head lifted and some of the vagueness cleared from her eyes. “Mitch?” She glanced between the receptionist and Tag. “Mitch was here?”
Tag shifted to glance down at her. “He was here this morning, trying to get Sean’s belongings.”
Which meant that he’d known Sean was dead, but hadn’t told Sarah. Hadn’t given her a chance to claim her brother’s body and bury him close to home.
Rage flooded him.
The bastard. The fucking bastard.
“But…” Sarah’s voice faltered. “How did he know whose belongings to ask for?”
Tag’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. Sarah must be more out of it than he’d realized. She was usually quicker than this.
“Sarah…sweetheart.” He shifted closer to her and started to slide an arm around her, only to freeze as she stepped back, avoiding his touch. “Porter told you Mitch killed him.”
“I know…” She sighed, pausing to rub her forehead with her forefinger. “But the morgue didn’t have Sean’s name. We hadn’t identified him yet.” Her gaze cleared even more and zeroed in on the woman