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5

RAIN

Hand still hovering over the temperature gauge that helped me determine the time of death, I blinked at Jameson Bend, fully expecting the mirage to fade. But it never did. Jameson was there in the flesh, staring at me with that sexy-as-hell smirk that I remembered all too well. It had been almost two years since I last saw him, and damn, did that time do him well. Still as handsome as I remembered with his chiseled jaw, strong nose, lush lips, and ever-present humor behind those almond-shaped honey-brown eyes. The shaggy brown hair that looked in need of a haircut was different, though. So was the hardness to his features that stripped away the previous cuteness, leaving handsome as fuck behind.

I shook my head, sections of long dark hair slipping over my shoulders with the movement.

“You grew your hair out,” he said, that smile of his growing. “I like it.”

“Thank you. And you took on theGQlook.” I gestured toward his trendy ensemble. Gone were the ill-fitted, off-the-rack suits and bargain-bin ties. The vest that perfectly matched his tailored navy slacks stressed his lean waist and firm chest. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, and both sleeves of his crisp white dress shirt were rolled up, sitting snug around muscular forearms. “What are you doing here?”

Slade shifted, moving to block my view of Jameson. I sent him a confused look before my gaze landed on the yummy frozen concoction in his hand.

“Here,” he grumbled.

I swallowed down the squeal of delight that wanted to escape at the sight of my favorite drink. It was exactly what I needed after sleeping terribly the night before. I ripped one glove off and gratefully took the drink from his extended hand.

“And to answer your question, why he’s here. Bend here is the profiler the FBI sent to help us.” His green eyes slid to the body on the bed. “Our guy do this?”

My lids fluttered closed in pure bliss as I sucked down the delicious liquid before answering. When I peeled both eyes open, their attention was locked on me, clearly waiting for a response.

Right, work first, then finish the yummy drink.

“FBI. Fancy.” I winked at Jameson. “Seems we have a lot to get caught up on.” Jameson flicked his honey-brown eyes between me and Slade, lips tugging down in a slight frown. “Yes, Detective Slade, this looks to be another one of our suspect’s victims. I can’t say for sure until I complete the autopsy, but all the similarities to the last cases are here.”

The snap of latex sounded behind me as I turned my focus back to the thermometer jabbed in the victim’s liver.

“Our unsub doesn’t care about the mess left behind,” Jameson muttered as he eased around the bedroom, studying the blood splatter.

“It’s been like that at the other scenes, too, which I’m sure you saw in the crime scene photos.”

Jameson only hummed a response, which made my lips quirk upward. When we worked together, me in my final forensic pathology fellowship needed to be a fully licensed ME and him a rising-star detective, he was the same way. Took his time examining every detail and committing them to memory to piece together later.

“Time of death is tricky.” I scribbled the reading down on my notes. “Based on the liver temperature, I estimate it around forty-eight hours ago.”

“But,” Slade drawled as he inclined his head toward the AC vent, “the air is kicked down, keeping it cold enough to throw off his body temperature.” I grinned, pride swelling at him noticing before I could point it out. Gesturing a crime scene tech over, Slade pointed down the hall. “Find the thermostat, document the temperature for Dr. Evans. She’ll need it to identify an accurate time of death.”

“What are other similarities from the previous murders?” Jameson leaned in close to study the body sprawled out on the full-size bed. Even with gloves on, he knew not to touch my body. Well, the dead body, which was mine. Though he could touch my actual body.

Wait, this is getting confusing.

“I suspect I’ll find some kind of blunt force trauma to somewhere on the head beneath all that blood once I wash him down, if this is the same as the others,” I stated.

“To disorient or incapacitate?” Jameson asked, though it sounded like he was asking himself instead of me and Slade.

“Did you read the reports on the other victims?” I sent a pointed look across the blood-soaked bed to Jameson. “Or barely skim them like another certain detective I know?”

“I read them,” Slade grumbled as he stalked around the room. He plucked a heavy-looking watch off the dresser between two latex-covered fingers. “Nothing looks disturbed, similar to the other crime scenes. Except for the gore-fest you’re standing over.”

“I read them, Rain.” My heart did this strange flutter thing in my chest at hearing my name in Jameson’s smooth voice. “But I’m sure like Slade over there, I prefer to hear the details straight from the ME so I can ask questions as they come up.”

“And here I thought you came to the morgue just to see me,” I chided Slade with a half grin. I knew that wasn’t the case, but it was fun to hope. “I can’t tell how many stab wounds this victim has, but if he’s like the others, it will be thirty or more, most postmortem.”

“Damn,” Jameson muttered.

“I think I got something.” Jameson and I both turned to where Slade squatted near the end of the bed. Careful to avoid blood splatter, I tiptoed closer and leaned over his broad shoulders, following the direction he pointed. “It’s not much, but it looks like a shoe print to me.”

My hair shifted with each tilt of my head, trying to see the faint crimson impression from various angles. “Could be. I’ll put a marker on it for the CSU team to photograph.”

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