LOVE BITES Page 0,2

"Sure. You two go on. I'll just rest till Tony gets back."

Dale didn't look like he believed her, but he had little choice. He followed Fred to the door. "Okay. Well, we're out of here then."

"See you later," Fred added.

Rachel watched them leave, then sat still for a moment as promised. It wasn't long before she became impatient, though. She wasn't used to being inactive. Her gaze slid to the body on the gurney. A shooting vic. Those were rare. It meant there was a shooter out there running around Toronto. It also meant this man had become her top priority. The police would want the bullet for forensics testing, which meant she wasn't going home after Tony came back. At least, not until she had removed the bullet. The official autopsy wouldn't be done until morning, but retrieving the bullet was her job. As head coroner at night, it was her responsibility.

Straightening her shoulders, she stood and moved to the table. Peering down at her newest customer, she said, "You picked a heck of a night to get shot, my friend."

Her gaze slid over his face. He really had been a looker. It seemed a real shame that he was dead--but then it was always a shame when people died. Shrugging such thoughts aside, Rachel grabbed her tray of equipment and rolled it over. She looked the body over once more before setting to work.

The EMTs had ripped his shirt open, then laid it back across his chest. He was still fully clothed and in a rather sharp--not to mention expensive--designer suit. "Nice duds. Obviously a man of taste and means," she commented, admiring the cut of the suit and the body beneath. "Unfortunately, your suit has to go."

Picking up the shears from the equipment table, she quickly and efficiently cut away the suit coat and shirt. As the cloth fell back, Rachel paused to take in what was revealed. Normally, she would have simply moved on to remove the cadaver's pants and underwear, but the fever was affecting her strength. Her arms felt all rubbery, her fingers limp and awkward. She decided a change in routine wouldn't hurt. She would start recording her findings of his upper body before she moved on to try to remove the clothing from his lower body. With any luck, Tony would be back by then to help.

Setting the shears aside, she reached up to swing the overhead light and the microphone directly over his chest. Then she switched the microphone on.

"The subject is... Oh, shoot!" Rachel flicked the microphone off. Quickly retrieving the paperwork Dale and Fred had left behind, she scanned the information in search of a name. She frowned. There wasn't one. He was a John Doe. Well-dressed, but without identification. It made her wonder if that was the reason behind the shooting. Perhaps he'd been shot and robbed of his wallet. Her gaze went to the man. It seemed a real shame he was dead for nothing more than a couple of bucks. What a crazy world.

Setting the paperwork down, Rachel flicked the microphone back on. "Dr. Garrett examining shooting victim John Doe. John Doe is a Caucasian, male, approximately 6-foot-four," she guessed, leaving actual measurements for later. "He is a very healthy specimen."

She turned off the microphone again and took her time looking him over. "Very healthy" was an understatement. John Doe was built like an athlete. He had a flat stomach, a wide chest, and muscular arms to go with his handsome face. Picking up one arm then the other, Rachel lifted each to examine its underside before stepping back with a frown. He hadn't a single identifying mark. No scars or birthmarks. There was nothing that could be considered an identifying feature on the man. Other than the gunshot wound over his heart, the man was completely flawless. Even his fingers were perfect.

"Strange," Rachel muttered to herself. Usually there were at least a couple of scars--an appendicitis scar, small ones on the hands from past wounds, or something. But this man was completely unmarred. His hands and fingers were even callous free. Idle rich? She wondered and peered at his face again. Classically handsome. No tan, though. Jet-setters usually had tans from the sunny spots they visited or from the tanning salon.

Deciding she was wasting time on such suppositions, Rachel gave her head a shake and turned the microphone back on. "Subject has no identifying features or scars on the front upper body except for the