Page 6 of Sinful Sorrow

“Official cause of death?”

I scoff, soft and low in the back of my throat. “I need to perform an autopsy and write a report before I can officially make that claim, Detective.”

“But between you and me?” he bargains. “Please. Give me a direction here. I won’t document it in my reports.”

“Exsanguination,” I sigh. “Caused by penetrating trauma resulting from a hunter’s knife. I strongly believe her wounds weren’t deadly, individually. If she’d had access to a surgical team, either could have been repaired. But being here, with her friends, and in the dark, she simply didn’t have enough time. She bled out.”

“Which makes this all really fucking tragic. Three lives have been lost because of someone else’s cowardly need to kill a teenager.”

“Go do your job.” Heading back toward Aubree, I meet her eyes and prepare for our next step. “Find whoever did it. We’ll do our part and get her squared away. She deserves her peace.”

“Yep. Love you. Be safe, and text me when you’re back at the George Stanley so I know you arrived.”

“You’re needy.” But my lips curl a little on the side. “I like that.” Pulling the phone from my ear, I end our call and put my hand and the device in my pocket. “Autopsy isn’t gonna take long. We’ll run it down the line and send samples off to tox because that’s the job. But we know what happened to her. I doubt we’ll find a bunch of answers on our table.”

“Can I run it?” Bright blue eyes flicker between mine. Curiosity. Uncertainty. “It’s a simple autopsy, so if you don’t mind, I’d like to?—”

“You’re not my trainee, you know? You’re young, Aubs. But you’re not new at this. You can run your own autopsy room if you want to.”

“I know. But I prefer to work with you. I like our professional dynamics as they are. But I also miss cutting, so if I could get a couple of those in, especially on the less messy cases, then I figure I have the best of both worlds and everyone is happy.”

“I don’t think everyone is happy.” I turn at the sound of shuffling feet. Then meet the fierce, emerald stare of Timothy Malone the Third as he shoves his phone into his pocket and stops in the doorway of a crime scene he has no right to be on.

How did he get past the tape?

The uniforms?

The crime scene techs?

“Tim.” I dip my chin and barely fight the small grin working its way onto my lips. Then I turn back to Aubree and bounce my brows. Though, the act of spinning away from the mean lumberjack, bartending, former mafioso is lost when the countless mirrors reflect my expression all over the room. “Not sure he’s here to speak to me. So…”

“You can’t be here,” Aubree grumbles. But I’ll be damned if she doesn’t reach up to her hair. She’s not wearing a certain emerald jewel in her blonde locks today. But I think the memory of it is enough for her hands to move on their own accord. “This is a closed crime scene. You’re not supposed to be inside the tape.”

He folds his arms and leans against the doorframe. “I’m just observing. And no one stood at the police tape to tell me no.” He lifts his chin, so although my back is to him, I know he’s talking to me, using the mirrors as a go-between. “I heard transport is on its way. How long?”

“Probably ten minutes.” I stride to the murder bag and drop my recorder inside, so it doesn’t get lost between here and the George Stanley. “She’s working, by the way.” I tilt just my head and catch his burning stare. “I’m her boss. You want her to get into trouble for slacking off on the job?”

“You gonna slap her down for something she didn’t do and can’t control? If anything, me being your husband’s brother might mean I’m here to see you. Might mean you’re the one who gets in trouble.”

“Might mean I kick your ass off my crime scene and have you on every watch list from now until your eventual passing.” I close the bag and lift it with a heft and a grunt that surprises me. “You want me to call your brother and have him deal with you?”

“Archer?” He snorts, his lips hidden in the neatly trimmed beard he’s kept since before I knew him. Of five Malone brothers, most of them keep a short, sexy stubble. One, a beard. And the youngest, just eighteen years old, is still battling with puberty. “Not sure your threat is hitting how you expect it to, Mayet. Archer wants you watched twenty-four-seven. If he can’t be here to do it, he’s not gonna tell me to leave when I can be his proxy.”

“Archer’s need to supervise me around the clock is unnecessary and bordering on domestic harassment. But no,” I turn and smile at the exceptionally tall, objectively sexy bartender who is soooo in love with Aubree it makes him sick. “I meant Felix. One call to the boss, and I can clear any scene, any city, any state, if I so wished.”

Finally, he barks out a laugh that is both cathartic and wildly inappropriate, considering the dead body at our feet. “Wow, Mayet. You sure got used to having him in your life. Wasn’t so long ago, you wanted him three thousand miles away and possibly deceased. Now you think he’s your gun?”

I cast a glance around to ensure we’re alone-enough. Then I refocus on the mafioso and smirk. “Tell me I’m wrong. Then,” I hook a thumb over my shoulder to gesture toward Aubree. “She’d control those same assets, if only she wanted to. So I suggest you watch your step. We’re more powerful than the guy who gave up his throne for a life of peace.”

“Fat load of good that did,” he grumbles. And when the sounds of the transport van pulling up to the house echo from outside and Aubree attempts to walk through the doorway, he grabs her arm, yanking her to a stop and staring down into her eyes. He holds his tongue for a long moment. Tension thickens in the air because he wants her. And she wants him. Some could even argue he asked her to marry him… in a weird, roundabout way, a ’la family heirlooms and silent questions. But finally, he blinks and wets his bottom lip. “Have you eaten yet?”

I snicker, only to drop my gaze and pretend I’m not listening to yet another Malone attempt to feed and control the woman he adores.

“It’s not even eight yet,” Aubree argues. “I’ll eat once we’re done.”

“You’ll eat at the bar, the very moment you put her away and escape the morgue.” He loosens his fingers, allowing blood to flow freely and her arm to find color again. “Text me when you’re ready to leave work, so I can have your meal ready when you sit down.”

“Will you cook for me too, Tim?” I flash a playful smile and wait for his eyes to move my way. “As my much larger, older, big brother by law, don’t you feel a sense of obligation toward me, too?”

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