Riley shrugged. “Clay’s in Houston on a job until late tomorrow or Thursday, and Hanna is obsessed with decorating the school gym for the homecoming dance. I won’t see them until the end of the week.”
“You and Clay are still an item?” Martin teased. “What’s it been, five weeks?”
The comment startled a nervous laugh from Riley. “Six weeks and going strong.”
“Hard to picture you domesticated,” Martin said. “Are marriage bells ringing?”
“Too soon to tell. But if I ever go down the aisle, it’ll only be once.” She glanced at Sharp as if she realized what she’d said. “Sorry. Second time will be the charm for you.”
The first had been the one. But he’d screwed it up.
When he didn’t respond to her quip, Riley navigated back to the safer waters of murder. “Keep me posted on this case. I want to know why shit like this happens to young kids.”
“I’ll call the medical examiner and see when she’s scheduled an autopsy.” Sharp stared at the young boy a long moment. Dead at eighteen like Kara. “Is it true Shield Security is offering its expertise to law enforcement working on unsolved cold cases?”
“They are,” she said, swinging her full, and clearly curious, attention to him. “I hear the applications are pouring in.”
Absently, he pulled the victim’s jacket closed and laid his hand on the kid’s shoulder for a moment. “Could I get a case in the queue?”
A frown wrinkled her brow. “Clay would bump yours to the front of the line.”
He was silent for a second as he took one last look at the boy. “At this stage, I’m not sure a girl’s death was a homicide. The medical examiner tagged it as an accidental overdose, but the family never really accepted the ruling.” He rose, stepping back onto the firmer ground of the bank. “I’m too close to the family to work the case.”
“Who was the girl?”
“Kara Benson. Found dead on the side of the road not too far from here twelve years ago. Like I said, the medical examiner said it was a drug overdose, but Kara had no history of drug use, and again, her family never believed she took the drugs willingly.” He hesitated before saying, “She was my half sister.”
“Damn, Sharp,” Riley whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
Martin’s expression darkened as he shook his head.
Sharp shifted and locked his focus on Riley. “Now’s not the time for a blow-by-blow, but I’ll soon be receiving case files that need reviewing. Like I said, I’m not the man to do the job since I have no objectivity.”
“I’ll call Clay today and give him a heads-up.” Riley’s low and steady voice was tight with emotion.
He wouldn’t allow her sympathy to penetrate his guard. “Thanks.”
Back at his car, Sharp slid behind the wheel and turned on the engine. He clicked the heater to high, anxious to drive the bone-deep chill from his body. He sat in the silence, watching as the body-removal team arrived and worked their stretcher through the tall grass toward the creek.
He reached for his phone to check messages. The first two were on existing cases. A witness had called the station and wanted to talk. Another was from the commonwealth’s attorney regarding another case. And the third—for a moment he sat still, staring at the name. Tessa McGowan. His wife, or more accurately, his estranged wife, had called a half hour ago. No doubt she was finally ready to file papers.
He fished out a cigarette and a silver lighter from his pocket. He lit the tip. Scents of tobacco mingled with trepidation. He inhaled twice before he played back the message.
“Dakota, this is Tessa. Hey, I’m back in Richmond, and I’d like to see you. Maybe we could meet for coffee. You’ve got my number. Thanks.”
Her tone held a tentative edge, betraying a nervousness that told him she was uncomfortable making the call. Shit, in the early days of their relationship, they’d been totally at ease with each other. Back then, if either was restless, it was because they wanted to get the other naked and into bed.
But the detachment that enabled him to deal with death had made him a shitty husband. When he withdrew, Tessa had tried to talk to him, but he never could bring himself to open up. Toward the end, she was all but begging him to communicate.
He stared at the glowing tip of his cigarette, suddenly irritated by the strain and distance in her voice. He listened to the message again as he opened his car door and stubbed the cigarette into the dirt.
At least she had called rather than texted. Anyone who texted tough conversations was a chickenshit.
Drawing in a breath, he called her. On the third ring, his call landed in her voice mail. “This is Tessa. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”
Bubbly, upbeat, and no signs of stress in the recording. That tone fit the memories of the woman he’d once loved. Hell, still loved. He missed that voice. That Tessa.
At the beep he spoke succinctly. “Tessa. It’s Dakota. I can meet you today at the coffeehouse next to the station. Two o’clock.”
He ended the call giving her no room to negotiate. If she really wanted to talk to him about filing divorce papers—the only reason he attributed to the call—she would do it at his convenience. He’d made it easy for her to leave him, but right now he didn’t feel like making this easy.
He started the car and was backing out onto the road when his phone pinged with a text. It was from Tessa. See you then.
The typed response must underscore her dread. She’d known that this time when she called, the probability of him answering was high. She needed to communicate, but she wasn’t eager to talk.
As much as Sharp wanted to bust Tessa for the text, he couldn’t, because he didn’t want to discuss the final stages of their marriage either.
He put the car in drive and texted: Understood.
CHAPTER FOUR
Tuesday, October 4, 9:00 a.m.
Dr. Tessa McGowan sat in her car, staring at the one-word text from Dakota. Establishing their first meeting in eight months, a task she’d been avoiding since her return to Richmond days ago, was done. What little relief she’d hoped to feel was fleeting and quickly knuckled under to anxiety.
“I will fix this mess,” she whispered.
She glanced up at the tall building located in Richmond’s city center. The building housed the state medical examiner’s office, where in a half hour, she had a job interview for a yearlong fellowship as a forensic pathologist with Dr. Addison Kincaid.
For the last eight months Tessa had worked with the United States military’s Project Identify in Vietnam to identify the remains of lost American soldiers. She’d been navigating the jungle paths and partly paved roads of the northern rural province, growing adept at slicing through jungle or dodging cows and widow-maker potholes.