Bad Behavior(135)

"No."

"Then it's settled. We're going to divide and conquer tomorrow morning."

I gave up. She was right, so there was no point arguing. "Fine. Doc, stick to the plan. Keep it under wraps that we've retained you. We'll play that card in pretrial briefing, not a second before. Got it?"

"Sure." He speared a piece of Caroline's bacon. "Got it."

After Dr. Snider finished off my waffle, we paid our tab. On the way out, I pulled Caroline aside as our hungry friend excused himself to the restroom.

"Look. I know you can handle yourself."

She opened her mouth to protest but seemed to finally hear me and changed her mind. I studied her eyes, the line of her nose, the perfect bow of her lips. The early afternoon sun played along her blond locks, giving them a golden glow.

I tipped her chin up. "But there is one thing."

"What's that?" Her tone was surly, but I could tell she was trying to fight off a smile.

"Most juries are educated at an eighth-grade level, on average. You would have lost them at 'omnipresence,'"

She made a "grr" noise like a bear and dug her fingers into my ribs. I laughed and backed into the parking lot. She followed, giggling. I rushed her and wrapped her in my arms. Before I could kiss her the way I'd been dying to, Dr. Snider opened the creaking door.

I released Caroline, who gave me a sly smile. I wanted to kiss it off her face and make her breathless. But duty called.

If Dr. Snider had seen our little display, he didn't let on. "Ready to head back to town?" He held up a to-go box. "I got a slice of pie for the road."



       
         
       
        

I opened the door for Caroline and watched as her luscious ass slid down into the seat. I bent over and whispered in her ear, "This isn't over, Ms. Montreat."

She smirked up at me, challenge written in her every move. "You're right about that, Mr. Granade."





Chapter Eighteen


CAROLINE

I clasped and unclasped my hands as we rode up to the lofty heights of Luke's office.

"It's okay to be nervous. I can't imagine having to give bad news like this every day." Wash leaned against the wall next to me. His closeness and warmth assuaged some of my nerves.

"Yeah. It just sucks. Like, doing nothing wrong and then having to get hit with 'Hey, your brother's been sadistically murdered, and can you ID him?' out of nowhere. Not cool."

He shrugged. "Sometimes other people make bad decisions, and then we have to live with the aftermath."

The elevator pinged to a stop, and we stepped out. This time, the receptionist showed us straight to Luke's office.

He rose from behind the massive desk and came over to greet us. "So good to see you both again." His smile was friendly, though a bit strained.

We hadn't told him the reason for our visit, just that it was urgent. After dropping Dr. Snider off, we'd come straight to Luke's office.

Luke scanned both of us-no doubt noticing our casual clothes and the mud on our boots.

"Is it more bad news? Have you found Tyler?"

The question punctured my heart. The answer to both questions was yes.

"Let's sit for a moment, if that's okay?" Wash waved toward the uncomfortable modern chairs.

We took our seats as before, Luke sitting opposite us.

"There's really no easy way to tell you this, Luke." Wash pulled a photo from his briefcase.

Luke's eyes widened. "What? Tell me what?"

I reached across the table and took his clammy hands in mine.

"State troopers found a body this morning up off Pontchartrain in a small bayou. We went to check out the crime scene. I'm just going to shoot straight with you." Wash leaned forward. "I think your brother is the Bayou Butcher's latest victim. But we'll need you to ID the body. I didn't want you to have to go down to the morgue, so I brought a photo, if that's okay."

Luke squeezed my hands almost to the point of pain and let out a breath. He turned his head to the window. We were silent for quite a while, waiting for Luke to compose himself.

Eventually he let go of my hands and nodded, and Wash handed him the photo. He pulled a set of reading glasses from his inner suit coat pocket and inspected it. "It's-" His voice broke. "It's him. It is." He tossed down his glasses and covered his face with his hand. 

Wash and I exchanged a look. Our prime suspect was verified dead. If we could somehow prove that Tyler was killed after Rowan's arrest, we could use that to exonerate Rowan of all the murders. But we didn't have a chance without a more positive date of death. Problem was, I'd checked every nook and cranny for Tyler over the past month and hadn't heard a word about him. It was as if he'd dropped off the face of the earth right after Rowan's arrest. None of it looked good for Rowan.