Torn - Cynthia Eden Page 0,35
stared at her. “We need to get dressed, fast.”
She licked her too dry lips. “What body?”
His mouth tightened. “That was Detective Black. A jogger discovered . . . human remains this morning while making a run on Jupiter Trail.”
“Jupiter Trail.” She knew that name. “That’s where Kennedy went missing.”
“And the remains were found just feet from where the cops discovered her discarded ear buds five years ago.”
No way that is chance.
“Since our visit yesterday, it seems that Detective Black has been researching us,” Wade continued grimly. “He knows about you and your specialty—”
The dead.
“—and he wants you on scene to consult with the local M.E.”
Right. She hurried for the door. But on her way out of his room, her hip bumped the table, sending his laptop into a wobble. She was often clumsy when her mind was focused on something else and her body decided to follow its own path.
Instinctively, Victoria reached out to grab his laptop before it could topple over and hit the floor. When she touched it, it woke up and the screen flickered to life.
“No, Victoria,” Wade said quickly. “I’ll get—”
A search engine popped up on the screen. It showed exactly what information Wade had recently been seeking. Her cheeks flushed red hot, then seemed to go ice cold. There were dozens of search results on his screen. Some were purple, not blue, indicating that Wade had already clicked the links to read all the sordid details.
Young girl accuses famed geneticist father of murder.
Did Dr. Marcus Palmer kill his wife . . . and destroy her remains?
“Victoria . . .” There was a rough edge to Wade’s voice.
Carefully, she pushed down the screen until it clicked back in place. “I guess Detective Black wasn’t the only one doing some research.” And it hurt. Wade had been digging into her past moments before—
Before what? You went to him, a dark voice reminded her. You wanted him. Don’t get pissed because he gave you what he wanted.
Too bad. She was pissed.
Her chin lifted as she marched for the door once more.
But, suddenly, he was there. Face grim, Wade said, “I just need to know more about you.”
A broken bit of laughter escaped from her lips. “Oh, Wade. You should be so careful what you wish for.” Her hand lifted and her fingers rasped over the early morning shadow that coated his hard jaw. “Because sometimes, you really might not like the end result.” Then she skirted around him. “We have a job to do. Let’s get it done.” Because that is what I have to focus on now. The job. Not my past. Not you.
He didn’t call out to her, and she didn’t look back.
Victoria grabbed her glasses as she passed the table in the outer room—glasses that Wade had so carefully removed the night before—and she could feel her hands shaking. But she didn’t know if they were shaking because she was angry.
Because she was scared . . .
Or because her careful control had totally been blown to hell and back.
JUPITER TRAIL. THE place had been deserted when Wade and Victoria investigated it just a day before . . . but now it was filled with activity. Police cars. Yellow tape. The M.E.’s van.
And onlookers. Wade didn’t know where the people had come from, but a crowd of about fifteen had gathered just beyond the line of yellow police tape—tape at the entrance to the path.
He made a point of looking at all the people there. He knew that sometimes killers came back to the scene and watched the discovery of a body. Certain perps got a real kick out of standing back and seeing their dirty work, up close and personal.
Victoria bent to go under the police tape.
“No, no, ma’am!” one of the uniformed officers called out. “You can’t do that!”
She straightened. “I’m pretty sure I can,” she muttered.
Before the young cop could argue with her, Detective Black was there. He rushed forward. “They’re with me, officer. The team I said I’d be calling in.” He lifted the tape and motioned Victoria and Wade forward. Victoria slid under the tape, but Wade hesitated.
He looked at the uniformed cop who’d stopped Victoria. “You need to get the name and address of every person here. Make sure your crime scene guys get pictures of the crowd.”
The cop, a young guy who looked about twenty-one and was already sweating bullets, stammered, “Wh-Why?”
“Because you want to make sure your killer isn’t hiding in plain sight.”
The young cop backed up, then