Mine to Keep (Mine 2)

Alex added, “Her family’s outside. Her sister needs to see the body. Get her…presentable, would you, doc? Face only. The woman out there needs some closure.”

Dr. Dulane pulled on a pair of latex gloves. “Seeing the dead here never gives them closure.” She inclined her head. “But I’ll do what I can.” Her gaze flashed back to Trace. “Come with me, and I’ll show you the others.”

She led them into the back.

When Trace saw Sara, he stumbled to a stop. Her body was drained of color now. Her hair spread behind her. The blood had been washed away. She looked—

Broken.

I’m so sorry, Sara. I will find him. I will make him pay for what he did.

Trace jerked his gaze off her, and he found Alex staring straight at him. “Watching my reaction?” Trace growled at him.

“Your reactions are always off, unless Skye is close. That’s the only time you ever seem even half-way normal.”

Well, when he was with her, those were the only times he felt normal, too. Alive. Instead of feeling as if he were just going through the motions. Mimicking everyone else around him.

“Her attacker drove a blade into her heart,” Dr. Dulane said. “Based on the size of her injury, I think it was the same type of blade used on the other two victims. But this time…there were defensive wounds.”

She pulled back the sheet and pointed to Sara’s wrists. “The bruising is coming through. It looks like he had to restrain her.”

Take care of my sister. “Sara had something to fight for.”

“Did she get the perp’s DNA?” Alex asked. “Tell me you found it under her fingernails.”

Dr. Dulane shook her head.

“There were no signs of forced entry at Ms. Kramer’s house,” Alex said. “And she was…dressed provocatively.”

“She was sleeping with the man who killed her.” Trace had already figured that part out himself.

“She didn’t sleep with him the day she died. There was no sperm,” Dr. Dulane said with a shake of her head. “No sign of any sexual penetration.”

So the guy hadn’t fucked her before he killed her. Was that supposed to be some kind of mercy act?

Trace wanted to destroy the bastard.

“Show us the other bodies,” Alex directed.

Dr. Dulane headed toward a wall of vaults. She bent. Swung open one door, and pulled out a slab. A black body bag filled the space. The hiss of the zipper seemed too loud as Dr. Dulane revealed the body.

Sharpe’s body was ghost-white. His eyes were closed. His muscles tight and frozen in death.

“A two-sided blade went into his chest here,” Dr. Dulane said, tapping her gloved fingers near the wound. “The assailant knew exactly what he was doing. The attack was dead-on.”

Trace had already reviewed the report, so he knew about the type of blade used.

Tucker had always carried a two sided weapon. Always. “There were no signs of struggle?” Trace asked. There had to be something there. If the killer had left Trace’s dog tags with Parker, then some sort of message had been left with Sharpe.

Trace just had to find the message.

“None. The fact that Mr. Sharpe didn’t have time to struggle is a good thing. It meant he probably didn’t have long to suffer.”

“He would’ve wanted to fight.” Dying easily hadn’t been Ben Sharpe’s style.

“I’ll be damned. You have an idea who the killer is, don’t you?” Alex suddenly demanded.

Trace looked over his shoulder at the detective. “Not yet.”

Alex’s gaze called Trace a liar.

“Nothing else was found with the body?” Trace asked. He had to be missing something.

But then his gaze fell on Sharpe’s throat. On the wound there. “That’s wrong.”

Alex pressed closer. “Yeah, getting your throat sliced open is wrong and—”

“No, I mean the wound looks wrong.” His stare flashed to Dr. Dulane. “I need to see Parker’s body. Now.”

She opened the next vault. A burst of cold air drifted out, rising as the body bag appeared.

The zipper hissed down. Trace leaned forward, studying the knife wound at Parker’s throat. Parker’s throat had been sliced clean, from ear to ear.

But with Sharpe…

“The wound stopped half-way across.” He could see the jagged V where the knife had lifted out of Ben Sharpe’s throat for an instant. “Then the killer finished the job.”

Not a defensive wound.

A hesitation?