28 Days: a Romantic Suspense

“Once you’ve admitted the lies you told eight years ago, this”—he cupped himself and made sure the tip of his erection showed above the zipper—“will be yours.” He offered her a smug grin as she quietly closed the door behind herself, but not before he noticed the sadness in her eyes.

He frowned and wondered. Christina had acted like the wounded party as she left and that troubled him. He’d been an ass, but he wasn’t going to be dragged under her spell again.

He was only in her home for Quinten, and his brother had to come first. And then, maybe, he’d uncover what was really going on with Christina, because although she looked the same, she wasn’t the same woman he remembered.

Day 8

1:30am

* * *

“We really need to stop meeting like this, Detective,” Amber mumbled.

Coulter noticed a softness around Amber’s eyes when she met his gaze, which reminded him of earlier when she’d been in his arms.

&n

bsp; She was the first to clear her throat. “I’m glad you decided against Port Jude today...yesterday,” she corrected as the new day had started over an hour ago.

“I’m not too sure.” He frowned and watched as Amber bent to unzip the black body bag.

He crouched opposite and got his first glimpse of the victim. His stomach rolled.

No matter how many years he’d been a cop, he’d never gotten used to seeing death. Now was no different as he looked down at the young woman.

“What do you have?” he asked, feeling his forty-eight years.

Amber quickly glanced at him, concern etched on her features.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled.

“Debatable, but I’ll accept that for now.” Amber pointed at the woman’s neck. “I was going with ligature strangulation as the cause of death, until we got her ready to go in the bag. But”—Amber pointed to the front of the girl’s neck—“he nearly decapitated her.”

“Fuck,” Coulter cursed, feeling sick to his stomach. He closed his eyes and was about to take a deep inhale…

“Don’t,” Amber snapped. “Trust me. You do not want to inhale right now.”

“These fuckers make me sick.”

“I know.” She rested her hands on her knees. “He used some sort of garrote, and my guess would be something like a fishing line, which is thin and strong.”

“Why are you guessing a fishing line?”

She offered a wry smile and held up her left hand, wiggling her ring finger. “Years ago I got a fishing line stuck around my finger. Very nearly lost half of it, which is how I became an ME instead of a surgeon…Fishing lines are dangerous, and cause more than just superficial damage…they can be lethal. Obviously, I’ll know more once I’ve done the autopsy, but that’s my guess.”

He nodded, tempted to wrap his hand around her delicate wrist to bring her finger to his mouth. Closing his eyes, he tried to get his mind back on the case. The victim needed his attention not his distraction.

“Was she raped?” he asked, knowing that would clear his mind and lust from the woman in front of him, for now at any rate.

“She’s had sex within twenty-four hours of death, and that includes anal intercourse.” Amber wouldn’t meet his gaze as she continued, “I don’t think she was raped though. There would have been more damage to her pubic area if she had been. My guess is that the sex was consensual.”

“Any identification?”

“She was found naked, and so far no belongings have been recovered. Nothing. You can see where she was found, and there’s nothing. Whoever did this made sure the area was clean.” Amber stood and stretched out the kinks. “We may get lucky, but I’m not holding my breath.”

Standing, Coulter watched Amber as she rubbed at her back, and he longed to be the one to rub out the knots for her.

Amber caught him staring and for a minute, held his gaze, her longing clear to see. He started to reach for her when she stepped back and cleared her throat.