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Hardass (Bad Bitch)(50)



I looked up at him. There was concern in his eyes. Kindness lived there, too. I could do this.

I steeled myself and refused to puss out. “Let’s go.”

“All right. If you want to leave, just tell me.” Wash and I eased into the deep freeze, the cold setting up shop in my skin, my mind.

Dr. Snider was hunched over a body, turning it this way and that to get a view of everything. The body was almost bloodless, like all the other victims. White, so white. The cuts along her torso were clean somehow, the blood washed away. Just open gashes showing the bone and sinew underneath.

“What we got, Doc?”

“The pictures sent over from Dr. Russell were very good, really. He didn’t miss much in his initial examination. Clearly, cause of death was this acute injury across the neck. Perhaps a serrated blade, given the fine tears in the skin. She bled out in a matter of moments.”

I focused on the black bag as Dr. Snider continued. I glanced up when he found something of particular interest and found myself looking more and more often as he explained the injuries and marks on the victim’s body. The main point of note was the carving in her upper back.

“Looks like it was done with some artistry, but whatever it was supposed to be was distorted by the process of bloating and soaking in the water. No way to know. But the multiple lines and incisions, as well as the indicators of blood around the wound, suggest it was done while she was alive and done with several cuts. Would have been painful and bloody.”

I cringed and exchanged a knowing look with Wash. Carved. Just like the wooden totems we’d found in Tyler’s room.

“You sure you can’t tell if it looks like anything?” Wash asked.

“Look for yourself.” Dr. Snider continued examining the rest of her body, remarking on the missing pinky finger and on the ligature marks.

Wash and I approached her back and peered at the carved marks there. Dr. Snider was right. Whatever had been there was erased by decay. It was just a mess of cuts and pain.

“This is so fucked up.” I said it on a hard exhale.

“Here.” Wash backed us up as Dr. Snider concluded his exam.

“I’m fine. Really.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. I’m not going to faint. But I may have to take a shower immediately after we leave.”

“Me, too.”

We spent the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon at the morgue. Dr. Snider went over each victim, taking pictures and dictating notes as we inspected right along with him. Each woman had the strange carving in her back and was killed with a bloodletting. It was ritualistic, sick.

Wash and I thanked Dr. Snider on the way out, and Wash instructed him to have a report ready within the next few weeks. We would call Dr. Snider at trial for our side, mainly to deflate any testimony from Dr. Russell that might implicate our client. The cause of death wasn’t in question. The only real question was who did it. Rowan’s face flashed through my mind, the way he’d leered at me. Was he capable of this?

The fresh air outside the hospital was like a second chance at life, though I feared the particles from the deep freeze were ingrained in my skin.

Wash started up the car, and I leaned my head back and closed my eyes.

“You didn’t swoon.” Wash smiled at me.

“Neither did you.” I smiled back. It was like we’d gone through a five-hour hell together. Bonded.

“I almost did a couple of times, but I didn’t want to embarrass myself in front of you.”

“You’ve been doing that for weeks with or without a morgue.”

He laughed, the dimples dancing and making me forget all about death and murderers and work.

I shrugged. “Sorry. It was a softball.”

“No, no. It’s fine. I’ll get you back.” He drove through the city streets at a leisurely pace.

“Don’t threaten me, Mr. Granade.”

“Not a threat, Ms. Montreat. A promise. And I always keep my promises.”

His words sent a thrill of pleasure down my spine. “We’ll see.”

“We will.” He was a devil, a smoking hot devil who had kept his arm around me or his hand on me, steadying me, the entire time we’d been in the nightmare.

“Come on. Let’s get something to eat. We skipped lunch, and I can think of nothing better to top off this day than a big meal. Am I right?”

“I thought we were going to shower.” What did I just say?

He raised an eyebrow. “My place, then? Okay.”

Oh, shit.

“No, I meant—I mean—”

“I know what you meant.” His smile was infectious. “I’ll drop you at your car. You go home and get cleaned up. I’ll go home and do the same. I’ll pick you up at your place in two hours. Then we’ll get a big, fancy dinner to congratulate ourselves on getting through the hard part. Sound good?”