The desolation on her face sliced him inside. Without a word he crossed to her and pulled her into his arms. She shuddered and slipped her hands up to rest on his back, her head on his shoulder. She was stiff, her whole body taut. Shock and denial.
Matt hugged her tight, spoke into her hair. “We don’t know if it’s true.”
“I have to see her,” she mumbled against his jacket. “I have to know if it’s her.”
“You’ve just been reported dead,” he reminded her. “If it’s her and it wasn’t an accident, then whoever killed her is at least as close as Denver. You can’t risk it.”
She lifted her head, gazed up at him with heartbroken, dark brown eyes. “I have to, Matt. I’ll change my appearance—”
“With what? We have to get out of here and can’t risk going into a store to buy anything.”
“I can help with that,” Georgia said.
They both looked over at her.
“What kind of evidence are you going to send Frank about her?” he demanded.
“The usual. Pictures, fingerprints and some DNA. I’ll need to do it soon. We could go to the morgue and do everything there after we see the body.”
“I can’t go there without blowing my cover,” Briar said.
“Yes you can. I’ve got a disguise and a fake ID in the vehicle I drove here. Left it about a mile from here, on an access road.”
Matt still didn’t trust her, even if she’d covered for Briar and bought them some time. “And why would you do all that?” he asked, the steely edge to his voice unmistakable.
Georgia’s expression turned hard. “Because if they framed Briar for crimes she didn’t commit and potentially killed her handler, then it means someone’s trying to cover up their tracks and was trying to use me to do it. Think about it. They’re eliminating everyone involved with her.” She looked from Briar to him and her blue eyes went glacial. “Whoever’s behind this is working their way down a hit list, and my name will be on it.”
Chapter Eleven
The Denver county morgue was quiet when they arrived at a little after eleven p.m. The storm had caused multiple road closures and forced them to take a long, circuitous route into the city. Briar dreaded going inside, while at the same time she just wanted to get this part over with and behind her. Not knowing was worse than the possibility of finding Janaia in there.
On the trip from Glenwood Springs they’d come up with a plan of sorts. She was careful to keep her face averted at a slightly downward angle in case there were any security cameras around. The light brown, shoulder-length wig hid her ears and the green contacts changed her eye color. The Denver PD uniform Georgia had loaned her would give her a false identity for the time being, but it didn’t grant her complete anonymity because of the facial recognition software used by various intelligence agencies. With her ears hidden by the wig, the cotton rolls she’d inserted under her cheekbones to help change her features might help confuse the software even more.
Matt kept pace with her, one step behind as they headed down the hallway that smelled of antiseptic. Knowing what she was likely going to face in a few minutes, Briar was glad to have him here. His calm, take-charge attitude had been a huge comfort to her over the past few hours. What she’d said was true, she did trust him, even though her logical brain was having trouble coming to terms with that.
Georgia stayed a few paces farther back, acting as rear guard and lookout, dressed in a light gray business suit and carrying ID that named her as a Denver PD detective. Once inside the room Briar would look at the murder victim. Whether it was Janaia or not, they all had roles to play after that. Somehow Briar had to stay tough and not show any emotion if it was her dearest friend lying in that refrigerated drawer.
A set of wide double doors stood at the end of the hall, one security guard in a chair beside them. He rose when he saw them. Matt took out his badge and held it up as they approached. “FBI. They’re with Denver PD,” he said, indicating her and Georgia with a jerk of his chin. “We’re here to examine a victim.”
The guard studied Matt’s ID for a moment, then Briar’s and Georgia’s. He briefly looked at their faces, then nodded and opened the doors for them. “Right this way.”
The medical examiner, a male probably a few years younger than Briar, was over at a small table set at the back of the room, eating a sandwich. He set it down and wiped his hands on the paper towel serving as his napkin, frowning at them. “Can I help you?”
“FBI agent and two Denver PD members here to examine one of the bodies,” the guard said.