want to meet with any of the guys, but figured Dante would keep insisting. And if he didn’t, Roman would. Roman worried like an old woman. “I guess so. How about pizza at my place at six?”
“Okay. I’ll round everyone up. I’ll bring the beer.”
“Won’t this be fun.” The best kind, too—they’d be talking about a murder, and she’d have to once again relive that night.
She clicked the phone off and leaned against the counter, ignoring the throb of the scar on her chest.
There had to be an explanation for George being killed in the alley, for the uncanny resemblance of his murder to the death of Tony Maclin. And for the carving of the heart on the victim’s chest.
But there was also the matter of the flowers and the card. No explaining that away as coincidence. Someone had wanted her to know about the murder. The flowers had been a gift. A sick gift, and there was no way to neatly tie this up as a coincidence, no matter how much she wanted to.
She had time, so she headed to the medical examiner’s office. Richard Norton hadn’t autopsied the body yet and she wanted to take another look.
She walked into the nondescript one-story brick building, which was always cold as a tomb even outside the examination rooms. She figured they deliberately kept it that way to discourage visitors, but on a day as hot as this she welcomed the arctic temperature indoors, passed her way through security and signed in to view the body being held in storage downstairs. The attendant outside the room went in with her.
She pulled the sheet back. George hadn’t been cleaned up yet—they’d do that when they autopsied him, but the carving on his chest resembled hers. Same location, left side of the chest, crude, as if it had been done in a hurry just to make a point. His wound looked deeper than hers, though, as if someone had dug down hard with the knifepoint. She wondered if George had still been alive when the killer had taken the knife to his chest.
Tony Maclin had been toying with her when he’d carved the heart into her skin. She still remembered the burning pain, how much it had hurt.
Had George felt the pain? Or had he already been beaten so badly he couldn’t feel anything at all by that point, not even the knife cutting into his skin?
Her scar tingled. She wanted to rub it, to remember, but the tech’s presence prevented her from doing so.
We’re connected now, George. You’re not alone.
“See something on him?” the tech asked.
“No. Just wanted to take another look, see if there was something I missed.”
She covered him with the sheet and the tech closed the drawer.
It had been a waste of time to come here. She didn’t know what had drawn her.
She stared at the silver drawer where George Clemons lay and thought how easily that could have been her twelve years ago. If the guys hadn’t been there, if they hadn’t rushed to her rescue, she could have ended up on a slab in this ice-cold room, dead at sixteen.
Everything she was now, everything she’d worked so hard to become, would have been obliterated that night in the alley. She’d have been buried underground, locked in a box, surrounded by dirt.
The room got hot. Her vision began to swim and her throat tightened, cutting off her breath.
No. Not now. This couldn’t be happening.
She had to get out of here.
“I’m done,” she said, forcing her breaths to slow down even as dizziness took over.
This was such a shitty time for a panic attack.
She pivoted and pushed through the double doors, already feeling the cold clamminess, the numbness in her fingers and face.
Get out. Get out now.
“M.E.’s behind schedule but has him on tap for tomorrow,” the tech remarked casually as they walked into the elevator. “You coming back to watch?”
Anna nodded, barely focusing on his words as he pushed the button and the elevator pitched and rolled. Nausea rose in her stomach and she leaned back against the wall for support. She needed to lie down, to feel something cool against her face.
She’d never fallen apart in front of anyone. If someone found out, they might tell her she couldn’t do her job.
Could the tech see her sweat? Did he notice how pale she was? She tried to stay calm, to keep from breathing too fast.
When the doors opened, she walked slow and easy past the desk, but as it was, she could barely walk at all. She could no longer feel her legs past the pins and needles stabbing them.
“See you tomorrow,” the tech said, waving her off.
“Yeah, tomorrow.”
Her car seemed a thousand miles away as she shoved the door open, the blast of summer heat only making the queasiness worse. She was going to collapse right here on the front steps. She needed to lie down, to curl up in the fetal position so she could breathe.
But it was so hot out here. A few more feet, then she’d be in the car. She could turn on the air-conditioning and lie down.
She breathed in and out as fast as she walked, which only made it worse, she knew, but once the panic hit the only thing that mattered was getting to safety, being able to shut the doors and lock everyone out.
She weaved through the lot and knew she looked like a drunk. She could only hope no one saw her.
A few more feet. Just a few more feet. She fumbled in her pants pocket for her keys. Where were her keys, dammit? Finally she grasped them, dug them out and hit the remote, the sweet sound of the car unlocking her salvation. Sweat poured down her face and back as she grabbed the door handle and slid inside, punched the lock and started the engine.
She cranked the A/C down to the sixties, punched up the fan, the sick feeling overwhelming her as she breathed in short pants, trying to remember to take in slow breaths and exhale easily.
She pushed the seat back as far as it would go and leaned over, shoving her head between her knees.
This was going to pass. She was going to survive it.
She was drenched in sweat, but the cold air-conditioning was a lifeline. Every minute that passed had her chest loosening up so she could draw a breath. Within fifteen minutes she could lift her head without wanting to pass out or throw up. She swiped her wet hair away from her face and looked around, thankful no one had come
by the car to see her embarrassing show of weakness.
When she was no longer shaking like a leaf, she put the car in gear and headed home.
Dante made sure to arrive at Anna’s house earlier than everyone else. He wanted a chance to talk to her first.
When she opened the door, she looked gorgeous. Her shorts and tank top showed off incredibly toned legs and arms.
But she also looked pale and tired, with those dark circles still under her eyes. And that worried him.
“You don’t look like you slept at all.”
She pulled the door open. “If I want that kind of browbeating I’ll go see my dad.”
“How is he, by the way?”
“Doing okay, other than being grouchy as hell. He had to retire a few years ago because of a knee injury.”
“Job related?”
“Yeah. Went running after a suspect and blew out his ACL when he tripped in the dark. After a couple surgeries, it was obvious he wasn’t going to be able to work as a detective again, so he took early retirement.”
Dante followed her into the living room. “Bet that pissed him off.”