Kansas City Cowboy. Julie Miller

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СКАЧАТЬ on her.”

      “I won’t compromise anything.”

      “Sheriff?” He felt Kate’s hand on his forearm again, but there was more comfort than warning in this particular touch, and his gaze locked on to the elegant, pale, practically manicured fingers resting on his sleeve. “Perhaps we should wait outside and let the doctor work.”

      But he’d already seen the bruises on Janie’s knuckles and the torn fingernails. He’d already noted the sticky-looking mat of hair beneath her head, indicating the blow that had ended her life. The worst of the bloody wound was hidden from view. There was nothing the M.E. or the police psychologist needed to hide from him. The loss had already imprinted itself in his brain, and deeper—in his heart. Boone’s sister had been a firecracker in life. He couldn’t remember ever seeing her this still, not even in sleep.

      But the shell of the girl he’d grown up with was still there.

      “It’s her. It’s Janie.” He lifted his gaze to the moss-colored eyes looking up at him. But the emotion there quickly shuttered, neutralizing their color to a grayish-green before Dr. Kate pulled her hand away. With that unconscious bit of caring denied him, Boone cleared his throat and looked over at the dark-haired doctor. “Jane Beatrice Harrison. Named for both our grandmothers. She’s twenty-eight. Born and raised on a ranch outside Grangeport, Missouri. Moved to K.C. about a year ago. She’s single, but dating, I think. Worked at a florist’s shop. Taught evening art classes at one of the community colleges here.”

      The M.E. picked up a computerized clipboard and started logging in some of the details he was sharing.

      Boone’s breath got stuck in his chest and he exhaled a big sigh before he could continue. “I talked to her on the phone just last week. But I haven’t seen her since the Fourth of July. The family gets together for a big celebration—fireworks, food. One of my brothers has a cabin on the lake. She got a sunburn out tubing on the water with our nieces and nephew.” Something numbing and merciless was eating its way through every nerve of his body, robbing him of rational thought. “Janie loved those kids.”

      “Is there anything else you can tell us about her life here in Kansas City?” Dr. Kilpatrick asked. “Any specifics about her daily routine?”

      The answers drifted out of his brain. For a few moments, it seemed it was all he could do to stay on his feet and take in the world around him. Boone was aware of the two women processing everything he’d said. Holly Masterson-Kincaid was dark, dressed in white. Her hair was long and wavy and anchored in a ponytail at her nape. Kate Kilpatrick was fair, dressed in deep chocolate brown. Her hair was short and chic, with every strand falling into place. Both women were in their thirties, although he guessed the blonde to be slightly older than the brunette. Both women had their eyes on him, watching him with a mix of trepidation and concern. Get it together, Harrison.

      Man, that Dr. Kate was a cool customer. He’d practically abducted her to get the answers he needed. He’d been bossy and on edge, yet she’d stayed calm and composed when she’d had every right to slap his face or call for backup to haul him away. She could have blown him off as the crazy out-of-towner stomping into their official territory, yet she’d answered every question with clear, if guarded, precision, and offered to bring him to the morgue herself.

      Some part of his foggy brain knew she was probably running interference, keeping him away from the CSIs and detectives investigating the crime scene and talking to potential witnesses. But she could have called a uniform to drive him through town. She could have arranged for a receptionist to guide him down to the building’s basement morgue. Instead, she’d volunteered to handle the ol’ bull-in-the-big-city country boy herself. That took a lot of compassion, and probably more guts than the woman realized.

      If Kate Kilpatrick could keep it together on a morning like this, then maybe he’d better do the same. With a nod that was directed to the highly trained law enforcement professional pushing its way through the emotions inside him, Boone summoned the detachment that had gotten him through a lot of disturbing crime scenes and graphic traffic accidents. “Has the body been cleaned up yet?” he asked.

      The M.E.’s lips parted, in surprise, he supposed. But she set aside the computer pad and answered in a tone much less clinical than the one he’d used. “I was in the middle of processing when you showed up. If you’d given me some advance notice—”

      “There was some jewelry she always wore.” Boone brushed his fingertips against the collar of his shirt. “A necklace of my mother’s. Three or four silver and turquoise rings she’d made. Janie was an arts-and-craftsy kind of gal. She took a jewelry-making class once.”

      The M.E. pointed to the paper envelopes and plastic sheaves on the table behind her. “The rings are in evidence bags, waiting to go to the lab upstairs. I didn’t see a necklace. But there are clear signs of a struggle.”

      She looked back across the table to Kate, with a look that could only be described as a plea for help. When Boone refused to budge, Dr. Kilpatrick nodded, giving her some sort of permission to continue sharing information with him. He needed to know everything—no matter how gruesome, no matter how tragic. His only solace right now was information—and the justice it would lead him to.

      Resuming a mantle of detached practicality, Dr. Masterson-Kincaid pointed one of her gloved fingers at the thin, purplish-gray bruise bisecting Janie’s delicate collar bone. “That would explain this mark. Looks like a chain around her neck was ripped off. Perimortem, judging by the bruising.”

      Another treasure stolen from his family. “Did the bastard take it as a souvenir?”

      The blonde beside him shook her head. “That doesn’t fit the profile. The Rose Red Rapist hasn’t collected tokens in the past, but it is important to note. Maybe he overlooked it when he was cleaning up the scene.”

      “Back in that alley?” Boone would make time for a detour to search the place himself.

      Kate shook her head and stepped aside to pull her cell phone from her pocket. “The body was found at a secondary location, like the others. But if we can locate the necklace, we might just find our primary crime scene.” Her gaze slipped up to Boone, no doubt assessing how much information from their interchange he was taking in, as well as what he intended to do with that information. “Can you give me a description of the necklace?”

      “A sterling silver locket. Heart-shaped, with a picture of our folks inside.”

      “I found a trace of some sort of metallic substance in her hair—could be a piece of a broken necklace. I’ll call Annie and Detective Montgomery to alert them to keep an eye out for it.”

      Dr. Masterson-Kincaid circled around the table, urging both her guests to clear the space around the examination table. “I’ll give you some privacy while you’re making your call. I need to take a break and phone my husband, anyway.” She rested her hand on her belly and crossed to the double swinging doors. “Ever since we got the news about the baby, he’s become a little more overprotective. If that’s possible. Um.” Boone glanced over his shoulder as she waited at the door to get his attention. “Take a few moments to grieve with your sister, Sheriff Harrison. But when I get back, I do need to get work. Alone.”

      “Thank you, ma’am.”

      “And remember, don’t touch anything.”

      Boone nodded.

      After the dark-haired woman left, Kate apparently decided to give him some space, СКАЧАТЬ