“Work. Gets in the way of life.”
He laughed, flashing even white teeth. Her spirits lifted just being near him.
“So what’s on your agenda today?”
“Paperwork. Lots of it.” She never discussed work with anyone except Eva. Donovan had planted that seed of distrust.
In one fluid move Martin hoisted himself out of the pool and sat on the edge. “Well, if you can ever tear yourself away, Angie, we can grab coffee one morning.”
“Thanks, Martin. I’ll see how the work goes.”
He cocked a brow. “Remember, Angie, there’s always work to be done. But the moments when we can really enjoy our lives aren’t so frequent.”
Her name sounded sexy when he spoke it. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He stood and walked toward the steam room. She liked the shape of his body and the way he filled out his suit. It had been a long time since she’d had sex. Suddenly she was painfully aware of it.
“That dirty look could get you arrested in half the world.”
Kier’s voice startled her and had her turning to face him. Dark circles hung under his eyes, and he wore the clothes he’d had on yesterday.
Heat burned her face. “It wasn’t that kind of look.”
He grinned. “Of course it was.”
“Fine. You caught me. What can I say? I really do have blood in my veins.”
“Hey, no need to be defensive. Nice to know there’s fire in your belly.”
She pushed out of the water and stood. The cold air brushed her skin. Her nipples hardened. Kier’s gaze dropped, lingered, and then rose to her eyes. He slid his hand into his pocket, managing to look relaxed and powerful all in an instant.
“You didn’t just come here to harass me.” She slipped on her flip-flops and reached for her towel.
Everything about Kier had to do with purpose and reason. “No.”
In the open air, her skin chilled. Goosebumps puckered her flesh as she dried her skin. “Why are you here?”
All traces of desire vanished from his gaze. “We’ve found another body.”
“Lulu.” The word was a faint whisper.
“For now it’s a body. But Dr. Henson has Lulu’s dental records and promises a confirmation soon.”
She clutched her towel. Oh, God. She’d barely known the girl, but that didn’t stem the sharp pang of sadness. She thought about David. Did he feel alone and abandoned? She hoped not. “Have you said anything to her mother?”
“Not yet.”
“If the body is Lulu I’d like to go with you when you talk to Vivian.”
“Death notices aren’t nice, Counselor.”
“No, I don’t suppose they are.”
“I’ll call you when we have a confirmation.”
“Thanks. Does Eva know?”
“Garrison is telling her.”
“Good.”
“We released Sierra Day’s body for burial. Her husband has scheduled the funeral for Tuesday of next week. Says he wants it all behind him.”
“Right.”
His phone vibrated. He glanced down at a text message. The lines in his face deepened. He appeared to age ten years in seconds. “Dr. Henson has identified the body. It’s Lulu Sweet.”
“If you give me ten minutes, I’ll change and go with you to see Mrs. Sweet.”
“Sure.”
Donovan stood at the back entrance to the restaurant waiting for his contact to emerge. She was late. Impatient, he took a long pull on his cigarette and let the smoke seep slowly from his mouth and nostrils. He’d never been a smoker until last year, and then after the stabbing and the nightmares he’d found smokes calmed his nerves, especially when he had to hang out in alleys waiting for nitwits from the medical examiner’s office.
They’d agreed that meeting at the medical center would be too obvious. Since last year’s coverage, Donovan’s much-guarded anonymity had been destroyed, and too many people, especially in cop circles, knew his face.
A thin woman peeked her head out of the back of the door and quickly spotted him leaning against the wall. “Let’s make this quick,” she said.
Donovan inhaled from his cigarette. “Fast or slow. Doesn’t matter to me.”
She rolled her eyes and dug a folded piece of paper from her pocket. “You said to call if we got more bones in the medical examiner’s office.”
His senses perked. “That’s right, babe. What do you have?”
“We had a Jane Doe delivered early this morning. Nothing but bones, stripped almost as clean as the last.”
He lifted a brow. “Really.”
A grin tugged at the end of thin lips. “And for an extra hundred, I’ll tell you her name.”
“The cops have her name already?”
She glanced from side to side to make sure no one had spotted them. “Apparently they’ve been looking for a chick.”
He snapped his fingers. “Name. Give me the name.”
“The hundred first, pal.”
He dug five twenties out of his pocket and handed them to her. “Now.”
“Lulu Sweet.”
“Lulu Sweet? The hooker in the Dixon case?”
“Yep.”
Angie Carlson had torn her apart. Another connection to Carlson. On some days life didn’t get much better.
“How did you ID her so fast?”
“Dental records.”
“How’d she die?”
“Anybody’s guess.”
“Where was she found?”
“Laid out by a Dumpster near Temple and Redemption Streets.”
“Redemption? That’s interesting.” He pulled in a lungful of smoke. “Who called in her missing persons report?”
“From what I hear on the grapevine it was her attorney. Carlson someone.”
“Carlson was representing Sweet?”
“Custody thing, I hear.”
He pulled an extra fifty from his pocket. “You hear Carlson’s name come up at all again, you call.”
“Why do you care about her?”
“I’m going to nail her to the cross.”
Dr. Dixon studied the picture of Angie Carlson. He’d taken it a couple of weeks ago when she’d been walking out of King’s. Hair the color of ripened wheat brushed her shoulders as a light breeze teased the edges upward. Frowning, she’d looked both ways before she crossed the street toward her car.
He traced the lines creasing her forehead. “You need to relax. You need to stop worrying. You need someone who can look after you.”
His phone buzzed. He lifted his gaze to the receiver as he carefully tucked the picture in his middle drawer. “Dixon.”
“Your next appointment is here.”
“Right. Thank you.”
He rose, tugged the edge of his sweater vest down, and adjusted the collar of his white lab jacket. The door opened, and his secretary extended her arm. “You can go right in.”
Dr. Dixon tensed as he came around the desk and extended his hand. Aware that his nurse was watching, he smiled. “Welcome.”
The man smiled. “Thank you, Doctor.”
When his nurse shut the door, he pulled his hand free and backed up a step. “What are you doing here?”
The man sat back and folded his arms together. “I need some professional advice.”
Dixon glanced toward the door, wondering if he should lock it. He opted not to turn the dead bolt for fear his nurse would hear and wonder. Just play this smooth and easy. Normal.
“What kind of professional advice do you want?”
“Plastic surgery of course.” His smooth, even voice had the power to shred Dixon’s nerves.
As tempted as Dixon was to sit behind his desk, he took the chair next to his newest patient. “Do you want to change your face?”
“Good God, no. I’m fairly fond of my face.”
“Then what?” His gaze roamed over the man, who kept his body trim and his muscles sculpted.
The man stared at him, hesitatin
g. “I have a few scars I’d like removed.”
“Scars?” In all the time Dixon had spent with this man they’d never discussed scars. But then their relationship wasn’t built on trust but dark murderous tastes begging to be fed. Dixon recognized that he was a sexual sadist, and his friend liked to kill. Dixon found his release when a woman screamed in pain. His partner found satisfaction when the light drained from her eyes.
Each was smart enough to know their individual desires would eventually draw the attention of the police. However, together, they could be unstoppable.
Dixon wanted to ask about Lulu Sweet. Was she dead? Had he discarded the bones? But that had been their number-one rule after their initial agreement. No talking shop. Ever. And so they’d maintained an oddly impersonal relationship. Barely a word was spoken when his partner would deliver a woman to Dixon, and even less was said when Dixon handed her back for the final act.
“How old are the scars?” Dixon pulled a pen from his front coat pocket and clicked the tip.
“No notes. No records, please.”
Dixon set the pen and paper down on the desk. “Yes, of course.”
“Thank you.” He pulled an imaginary piece of lint from his pant leg. “The scars are old. I’ve had them since I was a teenager.”