haven’t slept.” Deacon sat on the edge of the chair next to his dresser, thinking he wouldn’t mind a cup of black coffee. He raked his free hand through his hair.
“What’s keeping you awake?” Her voice had a sexy ring to it, a campfire-and-moonlight-under-the-stars quality. And that was something he had no place noticing given the nature of their friendship—a word he’d use lightly to describe their liaison.
“Most likely the same reason your eyes are still open.” The line went quiet for a second and he wondered if she were debating whether or not it had been a good idea to call him.
“I’m heading over to the coroner’s office in a little while to see the body,” she finally said. “Something feels off.”
“What do you think you’ll find there?” His curiosity was piqued.
“Not sure yet,” she admitted.
“But you think it’s worth it to make the drive over.” He was stating the obvious but it didn’t hurt to make sure they were on the same page. He’d learned a long time ago not to assume he knew what anyone else was thinking.
She agreed that she did. Another few beats of silence permeated the line. Then came, “Your heifers. They suffered, didn’t they?”
“Yes.” He let his tone reflect his frustration.
“You mentioned smaller animals, too,” she continued.
“There’ve been rabbits.” He switched hands with the phone and put it to his left ear.
“No weapons were ever recovered.” It was a statement of fact, not a question.
“And no DNA was left behind,” he added. “What are you getting at?”
“In your best guess, what kind of weapon was used?” Her voice had a quiet calm and he assumed it was the one she used to get people to confide in her. He would’ve anyway because he didn’t have anything to hide.
“A jigsaw,” he said.
The line was dead quiet for several beats and he could tell the wheels in her mind were spinning. “I thought that’s what I read. This guy made a clean cut.” She paused a few more beats before adding, “I’m sorry about your animals.”
“Are you still going to the coroner’s office?” he asked.
“I am,” she confirmed.
“Mind if I show up? I’d like to get a look for myself and your badge will get me through the door.” He could get to Fort Worth in about an hour. Judging her reactions so far, she didn’t believe the man sitting in jail had committed the crime.
“I have no authority in this investigation,” she said quietly. The killer had murdered someone on her trail. Based on the description of Jillian Mitchell, the two looked similar. Did the detective think it could’ve easily been her, instead? He understood when a crime hit a little too close to home. He knew the fear that could instill in people.
“I might be able to help with that.” With Deacon’s family name he could probably call in a few favors and get a private visit with the body of the victim without rattling too many cages. But he hoped the detective would take him with her. All she had to do was flash her badge and he wouldn’t have to have his name tied to the investigation.
“You know what, I made a mistake calling. Forget what I said. I’m sorry to bother you. I should go.” What had happened in the last few seconds to change her mind? Was it the fact that he’d used the Kent last name? That normally opened doors instead of closing them. Of course, she might not want to be associated with anyone who was high profile. That could draw attention to her.
“Hold on a minute, I—”
It was too late. The line went dead.
LEAH PULLED INTO the parking lot of the Tarrant County Coroner’s office. Dr. Timothy Rex had been with the city since long before her time and he was one of the most respected people she had the privilege of working with.
She’d no sooner put the gearshift in Park than movement on the east side of the parking lot caught her eye. A pickup truck door opened and Deacon Kent got out of the driver’s side. Her stomach gave a little flip at seeing Deacon Kent again. She ignored her reaction to him, even though instinctively she checked her face in the mirror. She should’ve known he would show. She’d all but invited him on the phone, and had regretted it almost instantly. It wasn’t like her to act on impulse, which is exactly what she’d done when she’d picked up her cell at almost four o’clock in the morning.
Speaking of which, lack of sleep had dark circles cradling her eyes. She’d never been one to do well without sleep, even though she’d gotten very little of it during her high school years. Unlike her peers, she wasn’t lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling because she worried she’d fail a test. Her stress levels reached far deeper than that. While everyone else met up on Friday nights to find out who would host the next party after Friday Night Lights, she churned all night feeling physically ill. She thought about what she could’ve done differently. Her mind stirred on how she’d let her friend down in the worst possible way.
Leah pushed those heavy thoughts aside and stepped out of her car. She didn’t bother asking what he was doing there.
“Good morning, Mr. Kent.” He was already making a beeline toward her by the time she climbed out of her driver’s seat.
“Call me Deacon,” he said. “I hope it’s okay that I’m here.”
“You have a vested interest in this case and so do I.” She left out the part where she liked having someone to bounce ideas off of for a change. For too long it had just been her and her three-year-old son, Connor. Even when she’d dated Detective Dougherty, she hadn’t felt the sense of—what?—comfort that she instantly felt with Deacon. She chalked it up to it being easier to talk to a stranger than those closest at times. But nothing felt strange about Deacon Kent. In a way, she felt like she’d known him for years and it was probably just because he was easy to talk to. She didn’t want to get inside her head about what that meant, so she just let it be.
There were four cars parked in the lot at this early hour aside from Deacon’s truck and her sedan. It wouldn’t be difficult to see if anyone came in or out.
“The Mitchell case isn’t mine to ask questions about. So I have a Jane Doe who came in three nights ago that we’ll say you might be able to ID. According to witnesses, she’s a vagrant and you won’t recognize her but that’s not the point—”
“You’re looking for an excuse to walk in the door,” he finished the sentence for her.
“That’s right.”
Leah badged them inside the building and then led Deacon down a hospital-like white-tiled hallway that led to a glass door. Etched on it were the words Dr. Timothy Rex along with a series of alphabet letters to indicate his degrees.
At sixty-eight, Dr. Rex, aka T-Rex was still a crackerjack. His mind was sharper than most thirty-year-olds she knew, which wasn’t exactly an endorsement for
