Page 9 of Hidden Hero

Finally, she nodded, her voice calm but precise. “Mr. Rudolph’s son is expected in about fifteen minutes. I wanted to ensure the social worker was here so there wouldn’t be any overlap with Mrs. Adams’s daughter.” She glanced briefly at the room behind her before turning back to him. “After the identification, you’re welcome to meet with him here, Detective Pickett.”

“Thank you,” Jeremy replied, his tone polite, almost deferential.

Her eyes narrowed slightly as though trying to gauge his intentions. Jeremy held her gaze, resisting the itch to make a lighthearted comment. His sister’s words echoed in his mind.“Sometimes you just need to keep your mouth shut and listen.”For once, he followed that advice.

As the silence stretched, he noticed something he hadn’t before—her eyes. They weren’t just brown. In the fluorescent light, tiny flecks of gold shimmered in their depths, adding a richness to her expression that caught him off guard. It wasn’t anger or irritation now, but something softer. Curiosity, maybe. Or consideration.

Cora tilted her head slightly, her bun shifting but holding its shape. “I’ll leave you to it, then,” she said after a moment, stepping back toward the doorway.

“Dr. Wadsworth,” Jeremy said before he could stop himself. She paused, turning back to him with a raised brow. “I just wanted to say... I appreciate the work you do here. It can’t be easy.”

For the briefest moment, he thought he saw her lips twitch as though she might actually smile. But then she nodded curtly, her professionalism reasserting itself. “Thank you, Detective. If you need anything while you wait, let me know.”

She disappeared down the hall, her steps measured and precise, leaving Jeremy standing in the doorway. He exhaled slowly, a faint grin tugging at his lips. He hadn’t cracked her armor yet, but this was the first time she hadn’t seemed ready to snap at him—or dismiss him outright.

As he leaned against the wall to wait, the image of her gold-flecked eyes lingered in his mind. For once, he’d followed his sister’s advice, and maybe he’d taken the first step toward proving he wasn’t just a quip and a grin.

5

Cora’s brows drew together as she glanced at Jeremy before stepping away. She couldn’t make sense of his behavior. Polite. Reserved. Even apologetic. It was entirely at odds with the man she’d encountered over the past six months, whose quips and smirks had left her stomach clenching—or sparked the distinct urge to punch him in the throat.He must be up to something.

She squared her shoulders and walked past him with measured steps, her rubber-soled shoes barely making a noise against the tiled floor. But despite her outward composure, a thread of caution tightened in her chest as she entered the lab.

The first meeting with Mrs. Adams’s daughter had been a straightforward formal identification, handled with the tact and empathy it required. But for Mr. Rudolph’s son, she’d need to review his father’s autopsy results. This wasn’t going to be easy. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, pulling her focus.

“Dr. Wadsworth,” she answered briskly, listening as the lab receptionist informed her, “Mr. Christopher Rudolph is here.”

“Show him to conference room two, please,” she instructed, her voice even. She ended the call, paused to collect her thoughts, and followed the sound of approaching footsteps down the hall. Catching up with the receptionist, she stepped behind him and Mr. Rudolph’s son.

Cora offered a small, professional smile as they entered the room and extended her hand. “Mr. Rudolph? I’m Dr. Wadsworth, the medical examiner for the Eastern Shore.”

He shook her hand firmly, his palm cool against hers. The man standing before her was tall and lean, likely in his late thirties or early forties. His tailored suit fit impeccably, the crisp fabric unmarked by the wear of manual labor. His neatly trimmed brown hair was combed to the side, and his clean-shaven jaw gave him an air of precision and control. But his clasped hands betrayed him—his fingers twisted tightly together, a subtle indication of his unease.

“Please, have a seat,” she said, motioning to the chair nearest him.

He nodded, pulling out the chair and lowering himself into it with the care of someone weighed down by invisible burdens. As he settled, Cora took the chair beside him, placing the file folder on the table between them. She turned slightly to face him more fully, her tone softening as she spoke.

“You’ve been called to formally identify a person who passed away yesterday in a car accident,” she began, her words measured. “An informal identification was made based on the vehicle he was driving and his driver’s license. But we would like you to confirm the deceased as Fred Rudolph. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Dr. Wadsworth,” he replied, his voice low and tense. His hands clenched even tighter, the knuckles whitening.

“I’m going to lay some photographs on the table,” she continued. “These will show a man’s face, and he will appear to be sleeping. I need you to look at them carefully and tell me if you can identify him as your father, Fred Rudolph.”

Cora’s hand hovered over the folder as she hesitated, her gaze flicking to his face. He raised his eyes to hers, the tightness in his expression momentarily replaced with resolve. He dipped his chin in a small nod.

“I’m ready,” he said, though the tremor in his voice betrayed his nerves.

With a steadying breath, Cora opened the folder and carefully removed five photographs, each showing a different angle of the deceased’s face. She placed them on the table in a neat row, keeping her attention on Mr. Rudolph as his gaze dropped to the images.

The room seemed to hold its breath. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. Blinking rapidly, he reached up to wipe at his eyes with the edge of his thumb. His lips parted, trembling as he exhaled slowly, his voice cracking when he finally spoke.

“Yes,” he said, nodding as though to confirm his words to himself. “That’s my father. That’s Fred Rudolph.”

Cora observed him, her chest tightening in sympathy. She reached out, her hand hovering momentarily before she clasped her fingers together in her lap. She gave him a minute to continue to peruse the pictures of his father, knowing some people needed that time to process the reality of the loss. His chin dropped to his chest as he pulled a wad of tissues from his pocket. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr. Rudolph.”

For a moment, they sat in silence. Finally, he lifted his head and faced her. “How did he die? I was only told there was a car accident.”

“He died of the injuries resulting from his truck hitting a tree.”

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