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“If she’s open to the idea,” he continued, “fully understanding that what happens between us is short term, then I think we’d be using each other.”

Fuck, I didn’t like that either.

8

RAIN

Hands wrapped around the edge of the steel table, I forced my emotions down to remain analytical as I surveyed the body. A deep ache bloomed in my chest for the young man whose life was taken before he’d really lived it. Him being the fifth victim almost made it harder. One individual not only snuffed out the five victims’ lives before their time but altered the lives of so many others. Each victim who died at the killer’s hands was a son, brother, friend. One moment they were alive, had a future and plans, and the next, gone.

It could happen to anyone, yet most always assumed it would happen to someone else.

“We’ll find out who did this to you,” I whispered while covering his lower half with a white sheet. “Detective Taylor is amazing at what he does. And Agent Bend.” I paused. “Well, that is odd to say. Agent. Seems so official, right?”

Shaking my head, I turned to count my tools, making sure the number was the same as when I started the autopsy. I’d never left a tool in a body, but it freaked me out thinking I might. Plus, right now, the repetitive counting helped distract me from thinking about the damn note.

After staring at it for way longer than I wanted to admit, my gut told me it was Josh. But if it was my ex-husband, why leave a note? And why now?

The verbiage didn’t make sense either. It wasn’t like I’d hid my location or changed names. All Josh needed to do was google my name and he’d know exactly where I was. Unless this was him toying with me, which I absolutely wouldn’t put past him. He was never violent, but there were times toward the end of our marriage, when the recently opened handle of vodka was nearly empty in a single night, that I wondered if that was when he’d change tactics from verbal to physical abuse to get me to bend to his will.

Josh, when in his right state of mind, was a manipulating, victim-mentality asshole who was incapable of taking responsibility for anything in his life. The world was out to get him, and it was always someone else’s fault when shit went wrong. But when he was almost blackout drunk? That was the unknown I never wanted to gamble with and find out. And what ultimately, along with Jameson’s validation and confidence-boosting comments, was what made me leave.

Whoever said divorce was the easy way out of a marriage must have never been through it. Though even with the high cost, giving him so much of my damn money to get him to go away, and the endless stress, divorce was better than the alternative, which often ended with a victim for me to determine cause of death for.

Approaching muffled voices drew me out of the past before the morgue doors swung open. It was as if the air conditioning suddenly broke, the normally cold room heating as they strode inside.

Gaze locked on the body, hands stuffed in the pockets of my lab coat to keep from fidgeting, I forced myself to think about anything other than the two hot-as-hell men at my back.

“I should start running,” I said, not giving in to the insistent urge to turn around and sneak a peek.

“If it were anyone else”—Jameson’s voice grew closer, making a shiver race down my spine—“I’d think that comment was a trap. But knowing Rain….”

“It’s just her, and we need to figure out what the hell triggered that train of thought.”

My lips curled at the edges. “What exactly are you saying, Slade?”

Finally, his wide frame rounded the end of the table as he stepped into view. I studied his face, hoping to get a read on what he was thinking.

“That for the slow fucks like me and Jameson here, our brains have to work overtime to even attempt to keep up with yours.”

“Ah.” I bit my lip to keep from laughing. “Well, I appreciate that, but I was just thinking it could help me meet my neighbors. You know, in case of emergencies.”

“What happened?” A startled gasp caught in my throat at Slade’s harsh tone. “What fucking emergency do you need help with?”

“Erm.” I cut my gaze to anywhere other than his bright green eyes bearing down on me. “An imaginary one.”

Somewhere behind me, Jameson chuckled.

“An imaginary…. So, you’re all right? Do you need a doctor?”

The concern in Slade’s voice had me almost melting into a puddle on the floor. With a quick inhale, I parted my lips, ready to explain how I’d created a whole worst-case scenario in my head, when Jameson spoke up.

“Well, I’m glad you’re okay. Are you done with the autopsy of our guy here?” I licked my lips and nodded. “Great, then can you walk me through your findings, please?”

When I turned to where Jameson stood at the end of the table near the victim’s feet, I found his full attention on me instead of the body.

The building tension slowly eased, and my held breath rushed past my pursed lips. As much as I loved Slade’s intensity and concern, the topic change was appreciated. Which, knowing Jameson, he’d probably done on purpose, enjoying seeing me get flustered.

“I ran his prints through the database but came up empty.” I bounced my gaze between the two men, giving them a chance to fill me in on what they’d found while I was busy here in the morgue.

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