Deadly Heat (Deadly #2)(5)
Don’t need the bribe anymore. Not when the people inside were shouting out the information she needed.
“You can see that the victim suffered cerebral damage. The damage was extensive enough that he would have died shortly after the attack—”
“The killer hits him, tosses the body into a closet, then what? Sets the fire to cover his tracks?”
My cue. Lora pushed open the door. “Sounds like it.”
GQ didn’t look particularly surprised to see her. Those gunmetal-gray eyes didn’t widen a bit, but that hard, square jaw clenched.
He was perfect today. Fancy suit that probably cost way too much money. He’d clipped his ID on his left lapel. His hair—brutally short and jet black—framed a face that was handsome, with those tough, rugged looks some women went for.
Me, dammit. She’d always been a sucker for a rugged guy.
That jaw… those eyes… that deep brown tan…
“Uh, Lora? What are you doing here?” Heather asked, crossing her arms.
Heather Jennings. The no-nonsense ME with the weakness for…
Lora held up her box. “I was in the area. I picked up doughnuts. I thought you might like some.”
GQ snorted. “Who the hell has doughnuts in a morgue?”
But Heather had already snatched them away and—“Oh, why are there just eleven?”
Because someone had skipped lunch.
Lora forced a smile and kept her eyes away from the cold lockers in the back of the room. Her knees were knocking together, and to the right—oh, jeez, that was a body beneath that sheet.
Like before… “Lora, I’m so sorry…”
“Lora? Lora, are you all right?”
She’d stumbled back. Weakness, in front of the Bureau boy. Lora sucked in a sharp breath and tasted chlorine, disinfectant, and death.
Damn.
“Why are you really here, Lora Spade?” The drawl came from GQ.
Her brows lifted, and she fought to keep her control steady. “Heather and I are friends—a girl can visit her friend whenever she wants.”
But she never visited Heather here, never.
And Heather’s eyes said she knew it.
After a moment, Heather put down the doughnuts. “I, uh, was in the middle of briefing Agent Lake regarding the victim’s COD from that fire on LeRoy…”
“Oh, really?” Her shoulders lifted and fell in a casual shrug. Her knees kept knocking. “I was curious about him… I thought I—when I came in, I thought I heard you say he’d been attacked.” She let her eyes widen.
“Uh-huh.” Heather’s light blue eyes never left Lora’s face. Heather knew her too well to be fooled by the bribe. “Your guy was attacked, Lora. He was dead, long before the fire.”
The tension in her body eased a bit.
Not him.
“Right. Well, I’ll… ah, let you get back to work.” She’d gotten the info she needed.
Didn’t fit the pattern.
“Lora, will I see you tonight at Mickey’s?”
Lora gave a quick nod. Where else would she go? No way was she staying at home again with the memories. Besides, Mickey’s was the best bar in town, if you were a cop, a firefighter, or an ME. Mickey knew how to cater to his clientele.
Heather turned away and reached for the sheet. “If you look here, Agent Lake—”
No, she wasn’t going to look. Lora grabbed for the door, heading out quickly into the hallway. A few more steps and she’d be able to breathe again without tasting—
“Do you always follow up on the victims like this?” His voice froze her in the middle of the hallway.
Lora glanced back. He shut the door behind him, crossed his arms, and watched her with eyes that seemed too focused, too knowing.
She swiped her tongue over her lips and tried to pretend that her hands weren’t sweating. “I like to be thorough.” Wasn’t he supposed to be in there, looking at the body? And not looking at her?
His eyebrows rose. “I couldn’t help but notice that you looked relieved when the M.E. said the vic didn’t die in the fire.”
“It’s not my fault he’s dead.” She shoved her hands into her back pockets. She’d been up nearly all night, thinking about that guy, wondering, worrying, seeing him, over and over. “Now I know. Even if we’d realized he was there, it would have been too late for him.”
“That why you’re here, Lora Spade? The guilt got to you?”
Her face heated. She didn’t have to explain herself to GQ. Not today, not any day. “Why are you here, Special Agent?” Though she had a suspicion, and it was enough to make her stomach clench. “Why’s the FBI getting involved in a local murder? I wouldn’t think the big boys would be interested in that.”
Slowly, he uncrossed his arms and stalked toward her. Yeah, stalked, that was a pretty good description. “I’m always interested in murder.”
He stopped a foot away. She smelled him now, a crisp cologne, the hint of soap, man.
She turned her head toward the left. The police department was stationed in the building next door. “We’ve got a whole building full of cops who’d be happy to investigate a Charlottesville murder. Don’t really see why they’d need you.” Her gaze slid to him.