Page 136 of Beat of Love
She was alive.
In the United States.
Here.
Rafferty sucked in a ragged breath and closed his eyes. He swiped a shaking hand down his face. The other clutched theedge of the cold, steel table like a lifeline, anchoring him upright as his knees threatened to buckle.
His mind reeled. His heart thundered against his ribs, each beat trying to break free from his chest.
Sheriff Stirling’s voice broke through the haze. “I take it you recognize the woman?”
He opened his eyes, and the grey room swam into focus.
Across the table, Sheriff Stirling’s vigilant stare cut through the fog in his head.
Rafferty tried to speak. His mouth moved, but no words came.
Maybe your mind is playing tricks on you,he told himself.Conjuring her from the sealed crypt of your darkest, most buried nightmares.
God knew he was stretched thin — nerves shot from the weight of what lay ahead.
Maybe it wasn’t her. Itcouldn’tbe her.
She was dead. He’d seen the images, her tattoo.
Please, don’t let it be her.
Hold it together. Show no weakness. Think of Connor.
Selena trusted you. Her son is counting on you. You can’t fall apart now.
He sucked in a breath. One. Two. Exhaled.
Rafferty shuffled forward and dropped into the second chair, spine rounded, elbows braced on knees. Scrubbing both hands over his face, he fought to draw more air into his lungs, steady himself. But when he reached for the photo, his fingers still trembled.
He forced himself to study the image.
To look — really look — for anything that might disprove what he already knew in his gut.
Useless.
That arrogant stance.
The haughty tilt of her chin.
The smug, slashing smile.
The glossy cascade of sable hair.
All grimly, sickeningly familiar.
Even the tailored black slacks and the scarlet blouse — the one with the knotted bow resting smugly at the base of her tawny throat — screamed her identity like a siren from hell.
His hands itched.
Itched to grab those silky ties.
To wrap them around that slender neck.
