Page 8 of Deep Tide

The woman slid Nicole’s card into the pocket of her cutoff shorts and nodded. “Got it.”

Nicole turned her attention to the police SUV pulling into the lot. Emmet parked beside the ME’s van and climbed out, looking around. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Leyla Breda leaning against the back bumper of her white Toyota.

Emmet nodded in Leyla’s direction and then approached Nicole. He wore what they referred to as their field uniform—a blue Lost Beach PD golf shirt, sand-colored tactical pants, and all-terrain boots, which were good for tromping around the island’s beaches and marshes. Today he also wore his darkest wraparound sunglasses. As he neared her, she saw that he hadn’t shaved and his hair was messy. Like Nicole, he was clearly hungover from the wedding—not to mention the after-party that had lasted till two. But at least Nicole had had the sense to pop some aspirin and down a glass of water before crawling into bed.

Emmet stopped and gazed down at her.

“How’re you feeling?” she asked.

“Shitty. How ’bout you?”

“Same.”

“We have an ID yet?”

“Amelia Albright, twenty-five.”

He glanced at the alley where a pair of the ME’s guys in white Tyvek suits knelt beside the body, doing their thing. “She have a wallet on her?”

“This is according to Leyla, who found her.”

He winced. “Shit.”

“Yeah.”

He turned toward the sister of two of their detectives, one whose wedding they had all been partying at merely hours before.

“The victim is a barista here,” Nicole said. “Leyla tells me she’s worked here almost a year.”

Emmet rested his hands on his lean hips. “Anyone talk to Joel yet?”

“No. And don’t, by the way. Brady wants to wait until noon.”

“What happens at noon?”

“He gets off his flight to Costa Rica, supposedly. The chief doesn’t want him canceling his honeymoon if he hasn’t already left yet.”

“You think he would?” Emmet asked.

Nicole lifted a shoulder. “Who knows? I mean, it’s Joel we’re talking about.”

In addition to being their senior detective, Joel was also a workaholic. Not to mention a bit of a control freak. If a homicide occurred at his sister’s business, he’d definitely want to be involved, whether he’d be allowed to be or not.

Emmet turned to look at Leyla again. “How’s she doing?”

“No idea.”

Leyla—like her brothers—didn’t wear her emotions on her sleeve. Nicole had known the Bredas most of her life but knew very little about Leyla personally. Whenever Nicole stopped by the coffee shop, Leyla came across as brisk and efficient. She gave friendly smiles to her customers and bossed her staffers around, clearly running a tight ship. Her employees seemed to like her, though. Nicole had once seen Leyla politely tell a customer to leave after he’d cursed at a barista for getting his coffee wrong.

A big black turkey vulture flapped over from a neighboring rooftop and settled on the fence to watch the ME’s guys work. The birds had been hovering around all morning.

“I freaking hate those things,” Emmet muttered.

“Me, too.”

“Who’s the woman by the deck there, looking at her phone? The tall one?”

“That’s Siena, one of the managers,” Nicole said. “We need to get her statement, too. She talked to the victim yesterday afternoon before leaving here to go help with the catering.”

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