“What do you mean?” Doug asked warily.
He turned his attention to Miranda and shifted his weight when her serious brown eyes met his. To his surprise, she removed the protective eyeglasses and burst out laughing.
“Relax, Paxton.” She held both gloved hands up in surrender. “I’m not going to jump your bones or stab you with a scalpel.”
A smile cracked his face, and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Am I that transparent?”
“Pretty much,” she said, dropping her hands. “We had fun. I’m married to my job, and you… well, you’re married to not being married.”
“Right.” He nodded, but a little voice inside said, nope.
Not that he had anything against marriage as an institution, but he had a hunch he would suck at it. Besides, in his experience, most people leave. His father split before he was born. His mother died. Foster families were like layovers at random airports. You never stayed for long, and if you did, you wished like hell you didn’t.
Miranda shook her head and put the glasses back on as she turned Ronald Davis’s head, giving Doug a better view of his neck. “Look at this,” she said, pointing at the jagged wounds. “This wasn’t done by a knife or any other kind of weapon, at least not one that I can match it to.”
Doug squinted and leaned closer. “How the hell can you tell? It looks like chopped meat.”
“The edges are jagged.” She stepped away from the autopsy table and stripped off her latex gloves before tossing them into a wastebasket. “I thought it might be a dog bite, so I swabbed the wound and had a closer look.”
She went to a table on the other side of the room, which was littered with various pieces of lab equipment, and tossed her glasses on the counter. Miranda leaned back on the edge of the counter and nodded toward the microscope next to her.
“Have a look.”
Doug sighed. “Give me the short version. I won’t even know what I’m looking at.”
“Oh, you’re no fun.” She crossed her arms, and he knew she wanted him to play her game, but he held his ground. “Fine.” She sighed. “There was saliva in the wound, but it wasn’t from a dog.” She grabbed a folder and held it out. “I had a sample from that pit bull attack we had a couple of weeks ago and compared it to the saliva that I found on Ronald. No match. It wasn’t a dog.”
Dread crawled up his back as he glanced at the data she handed him. “It’s not another fucking freak biting people again, is it? The press will have a damn field day. I can see the headline now: Zombies in New York.”
“No, it’s not from a person either.”
Doug furrowed his brow and glanced at Ronald’s body. “I don’t get it. If it wasn’t a dog or some doper hopped up on crack, then what was it?”
“I don’t know, but he’s practically drained of blood. From what the crime scene report said, there wasn’t much at the scene.”
“I know.” Doug nodded. “He was killed somewhere else and dumped where we found him.”
Miranda pushed herself off the counter and met his concerned gaze. “I’m sending the sample to the lab for analysis.”
“Shit. You mean we could have some psycho out there with a vicious animal that’s attacking people?” Doug ran a hand through his hair and gave her back the folder. “How long is that gonna take?”
Miranda let out a short laugh. “A few weeks, if you’re lucky.”
“Damn.” Doug sighed. “Those guys on television have it easy. They get their answers after the first commercial break.”
“I’ll see if I can get them to move it along, but you know how things work.” She gave him a weak smile. “You look exhausted. When was the last time you slept?”
“Don’t ask.” He lifted one shoulder. “Sleep is overrated.”
Silence hung between them. Her pale brown eyes looked at him with the unmistakable twinkle of invitation. He knew she still wanted him. Hell, Miranda was beautiful and smart, and most guys would probably give their left nut to go home with her. Up until a few hours ago, he probably would have asked her to come back to his place, but all he could think about was Olivia Hollingsworth.
He didn’t even know the woman. What was his problem?
The sound of the door opening caught his attention and interrupted what was sure to be an awkward exit. Miranda cleared her throat and went back to that strictly business attitude that she wore when he first arrived.
A young guy, probably no more than twenty-two, stood there holding the door open. He pushed his glasses up with his free hand and glanced nervously between the two.
“What is it, Henry?” Miranda asked with mild irritation.
“Sorry to interrupt you, Dr. Kelly, but you asked me to come and get you at five fifteen because you always forget what time it is and don’t remember to eat.”
He let out a short, nervous laugh and pushed his glasses back up his nose.
“Of course,” Miranda said with less bite than before. “Thank you, Henry.”
“Um, you also said that you would be willing to have a look at my thesis over coffee.” He flicked a glance to Doug, who was doing his best not to laugh at the poor kid. “Would—would that still be a possibility?”
“Absolutely. Why don’t you grab a table in the cafeteria, and I’ll meet you there in five minutes.”
“Thank you so much, Dr. Kelly.” The kid tripped and stumbled out the door.
“Looks like you’ve got a groupie.” Doug gave Miranda a sidelong glance. “I never met a medical examiner who had a fan club.”
“He’s one of my best interns, but I kind of like groupie better.” Miranda put her hands in the pockets of her long white lab coat and headed to the door. “I’ll text you as soon as I get some answers on what attacked Ronald, okay?”
“I’d appreciate that.” Doug opened the door for her and took one last look at Ronald’s body. This case was getting stranger by the minute, and instead of answers, all he had was more questions.
They walked down the sterile hallway in another awkward silence. Doug squinted against the glare of the fluorescent lighting. As he turned the corner, the familiar squeak of a door swinging open caught his attention, and he glanced back, expecting to see someone, but to his surprise, the hallway was empty. He stopped as a tickle of awareness tripped up his spine and kept his eyes on the door to the autopsy room.
“Paxton,” Miranda called to him from the waiting elevator. “Ronald isn’t going anywhere, and I need coffee, so come on.”
“Coming.” Doug went to the elevator but glanced over his shoulder. He couldn’t escape the sense that someone was back there. As the elevator doors closed, one image filled his mind—Olivia.
Olivia stood inside the doors of the autopsy room and waited. She glanced at the wall of stainless steel refrigerated compartments, knowing she could take refuge in one, if necessary, and slip into the tunnels. She managed to get in without Doug seeing her, but she could still hear his heartbeat at the other end of the hallway, and it took major willpower not to get closer. She closed her eyes and forced herself not to move, not to fly down that hallway and sink her fangs into the tender flesh just below the jaw.
Her fangs emerged, and her head buzzed with need. His heartbeat, strong, steady, and surprisingly distinct, called to her, but a few moments later, it faded and finally vanished.
Olivia let out a sound of relief and sheathed her fangs.
She picked up his phone call when she was flying over from the club and answered as soon as her feet hit the roof. She recognized the number from his business card, and since curiosity got the better of her, she answered, even though it was against her better judgment. Olivia sat on that roof talking on the phone with him like some silly teenager. She could tell within five seconds that he used the question about Maya as an excuse to call. He wanted her. There was no mistaking it, but getting involved with a human was less than smart—especially one who happened to look exactly like, and quite possibly could be, her long-dead true love reincarnated.