Page 11 of Deadly Secrets
Taking her hand seemed like a natural thing to do as he led her to the body she wanted to examine. At first her fingers stiffened, then she stepped forward with him, her hand cool in his much warmer one. He released her, as together they bent down, he at the victim’s head, and she next to the shoulder.
“Ready?” he asked, because he had to make sure. He knew what waited for them under the sheet.
She took a deep breath and seemed to hold it, giving him a nod.
With a silent prayer for the deceased, he crossed himself—his Irish catholic upbringing still in his blood. Then he peeled back the sheet slowly, revealing the woman underneath.
Dark hair and eyes, probably in her early forties. Blood had dried on the woman’s forehead, outlining the sigil that had been carved there. Her eyes, still open, had a bluish tinge to them and were rolled up into her head. Her mouth showed burns from the poison she’d consumed.
Brooke’s breath came out in a rush. “This poor woman.” She gently touched the woman’s shoulder, and Roman saw a hint of tears in her eyes as she studied the bloody sigil.
Detective Clyffe ended his call and headed their way. Abruptly, Brooke stood and whirled around, heading out of the sanctuary.
“Broo—Dr. Heaton,” Roman called, replacing the sheet and straightening as Clyffe caught up to him.
Brooke kept boogying, leaving him behind. “I’ll be in touch,” she called.
So much for not losing it.
And how exactly, did she think she was getting back to her hotel?
Clyffe shook his hand and started reeling off the facts Polly had already shared and Roman tried to give the man his full attention. His focus, however, kept going to the open doors, waiting for Brooke to come back.
She didn’t.
With a sigh, Roman keyed in on the tired, rumpled detective and got to work.
