not leaving.” M.J. jumped in front of Grace like a tiger defending her cub. “She’s not going back to that house tonight. She’s staying here, with us.”
“You may not care to go back home, Ms. Fontaine,” Seth said coolly. “You may find it more comfortable to answer questions in my office.”
“You can’t be serious—”
He cut Bailey’s protest off with a look. “I have a body in the morgue. I take it very seriously.”
“You’re a class act, Buchanan,” Jack drawled, but the sound was low and threatening. “Why don’t you and I go in the other room and…talk about our options?”
“It’s all right.” Grace stepped forward, working up a believable smile. “It’s Jack, isn’t it?”
“That’s right.” He took his attention from Buchanan long enough to smile at her. “Jack Dakota. Pleased to meet you…Miss April.”
“Oh, my misspent youth survives.” With a little laugh, she kissed his bruised cheek. “I appreciate the offer to beat up the lieutenant for me, Jack, but you look like you’ve already gone several rounds.”
Grinning now, he stroked a thumb over his bruised jaw. “I’ve got a few more rounds in me.”
“I don’t doubt it. But, sad to say, the cop’s right.” She pushed her hair to her back and turned that smile, several degrees cooler now, on Seth. “Tactless, but right. He needs some answers. I need to go back.”
“You’re not going back to your house alone,” Bailey insisted. “Not tonight, Grace.”
“I’ll be fine. But if it’s all right with your Cade, I’ll deal with this, pick up a few things and come back.” She glanced over at Cade as he came back into the room. “Got a spare bed, darling?”
“You bet. Why don’t I go with you, help you pick up your things and bring you back?”
“You stay here with Bailey.” She kissed him, as well—a casual and already affectionate brush of lips. “I’m sure Lieutenant Buchanan and I will manage.” She picked up her purse, turned and embraced both M.J. and Bailey again. “Don’t worry about me. After all, I’m in the arms of the law.”
She eased back, shot Seth one of those full candlepower smiles. “Isn’t that right, Lieutenant?”
“In a manner of speaking.” He stepped back and waited for her to walk to the door ahead of him.
She waited until they were in his car and pulling out of the drive. “I need to see the body.” She didn’t look at him, but lifted a hand to the four people crowded at the front door, watching them drive away. “You need— She’ll have to be identified, won’t she?”
It surprised him that she’d take the duty on. “Yes.”
“Then let’s get it over with. After—afterwards, I’ll answer your questions. I’d prefer we handle that in your office,” she added, using that smile again. “My house isn’t ready for company.”
“Fine.”
She’d known it would be hard. She’d known it would be horrible. Grace had prepared herself for it—or she’d thought she had. Nothing, she realized as she stared down at what remained of the woman in the morgue, could have prepared her.
It was hardly surprising that they’d mistaken Melissa for her. The face Melissa had been so proud of was utterly ruined. Death had been cruel here, and, through her involvement with the hospital, Grace had reason to know it often was.
“It’s Melissa.” Her voice echoed flatly in the chilly white room. “My cousin, Melissa Fontaine.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. We shared the same health club, among other things. I know her body as well as I know mine. She has a sickle-shaped birthmark at the small of her back, just left of center. And there’s a scar on the bottom of her left foot, small, crescent-shaped, in the ball of her foot, where she stepped on a broken shell in the Hamptons when we were twelve.”
Seth shifted, found the scar, then nodded to the M.E.’s assistant. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Yes, I’m sure you are.” With muscles that felt like glass, she turned, her dimming vision passing over him. “Excuse me.”
She made it nearly to the door before she swayed. Swearing under his breath, Seth caught her, pulled her out into the corridor and put her in a chair. With one hand, he shoved her head between her knees.
“I’m not going to faint.” She squeezed her eyes tightly shut, battling fiercely against the twin foes of dizziness and nausea.
“Could have fooled me.”
“I’m much too sophisticated for something as maudlin as a swoon.” But her voice broke, her shoulders sagged, and for a moment she kept her head down. “Oh, God, she’s dead. And all because she hated me.”
“What?”
“Doesn’t matter. She’s dead.” Bracing herself, she sat up again, let her head rest against the cold white wall. Her cheeks were just as colorless. “I have to call my aunt. Her mother. I have to tell her what happened.”
He gauged his woman, studying the face that was no less staggeringly lovely for being bone-white. “Give me the name. I’ll take care of it.”
“It’s Helen Wilson Fontaine. I’ll do it.”
He didn’t realize until her hand moved that he’d placed his own over it. He pulled back on every level, and rose. “I haven’t been able to reach Helen Fontaine or her husband. She’s in Europe.”
“I know where she is.” Grace shook back her hair, but didn’t try to stand. Not yet. “I can find her.” The thought of making that call, saying what had to be said, squeezed her throat. “Could I have some water, Lieutenant?”
His heels echoed on tile as he strode off. Then there was silence—a full, damning silence that whispered of what kind of business was done in such places. There were scents here that slid slyly under the potent odors of antiseptics and industrial cleaning solutions.
She was pitifully grateful when she heard his footsteps on the return journey.
She took the paper cup from him with both hands, drinking slowly, concentrating on the simple act of swallowing liquid.
“Why did she hate you?”
“What?”
“Your cousin. You said she hated you. Why?”
“Family trait,” she said briefly. She handed him back the empty cup as she rose. “I’d like to go now.”
He took her measure a second time. Her color had yet to return, her pupils were dilated, the electric-blue irises were glassy. He doubted she’d last another hour.
“I’ll take you back to Parris’s,” he decided.
