exactly had she wanted from him? Why had she tied the knot?
Hell, why had he?
Too much tequila and a weakness for a sexy woman? Dreams of a family, one to replace the one he’d lost as a kid?
He’d lay off booze and women from now on.
Scraping a hand over his beard stubble, he skimmed the paltry personal information he’d accumulated so far. They hadn’t talked about their families, their pasts; they’d been too busy making love. Whispering promises.
When he’d checked her records after she’d disappeared, he’d learned she was an only child. Her parents had died years ago. And when he’d questioned the patrons at the Steel Toe he’d realized that he knew nothing about his wife. That she’d had no intention of settling down with him. She’d been cheating on him from the start, had played him for a fool.
He just didn’t know the reason.
Frustrated, he slammed the folder shut. He’d revisit that honky-tonk and question the locals again, especially the bartender. And he’d take Caitlin with him. If she really were suffering from amnesia, the place might trigger her memories.
Knowing he had to call Agent Brown and fill him in, he punched in the man’s number. “It’s Monahue.”
“Yeah?”
“Listen, I want you to come to my place. We have to talk.”
“You can’t tell me over the phone?”
“No, it’s too important.” He wanted to see the agent’s reaction. See if he could tell the look-alikes apart.
Brown agreed, and they disconnected, then he phoned the M.E.’s office. An image of his wife lying on the cold steel table amidst the medical examiner’s tools hit him, churning up more misery. Then he glanced at the imprint of the woman’s body in his bed, and his head spun with confusion.
Was the dead woman his wife, or had his wife returned to him, frail and suffering from amnesia?
“LOOK, SHERIFF MONAHUE, I’m backed up, but I’m going to work on her this afternoon.” Dr. Arthur Mullins gripped a scalpel in one hand, the phone tucked beneath one ear while he eyed the seventy-five-year-old man who’d lost his life the day before. “I’ve had bodies stacked up with that pileup on the interstate yesterday. You’ll have to be patient.”
“You know time is of the essence in a murder case,” Miles barked. “Make this one a priority.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll do my job, you do yours.”
“Not a problem. But I need extensive DNA testing to verify the woman’s identity.”
Mullins twisted his mouth in confusion. “I thought you identified her yourself.”
“There’s been a complication.” Miles paused. “I think the woman has a twin. We have to be sure which one of them was murdered, so I’ll need dental records checked as well as any medical files we can locate.”
Mullins agreed to run every test possible, chewing on the information as he hung up and walked over to the steel slab to study Caitlin Collier. He hadn’t been lying about the bodies stacked up; he had his hands full.
The scent of formaldehyde, the drills and saws and instruments he used in his trade, offended some people, even turned their stomachs. But he had always been infatuated with the human body.
Especially the dead ones.
A smile curved his mouth as he lifted the woman’s pale, bloodstained, battered hand. He was an expert at his job. He would find out everything he could from this woman’s corpse. After all, he worked for the law.
Any evidence he discovered would help them nail her killer.
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