slowly nodded his head. “I think that’s a good idea.”
Emily filed away his record and raced out the door, her heart slamming into her chest. Her nerves tingled with awareness. Okay, so Mitch was strong and funny and determined. And hot. Despite his injury, he had a body that didn’t stop.
Each step, each rub of her cotton turtleneck against her skin reminded her of what she wanted. What she hadn’t experienced since before Joshua was born. Her breasts ached beneath her clothes. She couldn’t deny her reaction to Mitch, but that didn’t mean anything would ever happen between them. Besides, she didn’t have time for a relationship. Not with anyone. Not until she found Joshua. Thinking of Mitch in any way other than a client or a potential resource was a big mistake. She was a widow. In some ways, she’d become one even before Eric had died, but her aching loneliness was her problem.
She looked back. He stood, watching her, his expression hooded and thoughtful. She might need him and his contacts. She’d promised to help him, otherwise she would’ve handed his case over to one of her colleagues. He and Carl would probably hit it off, but she couldn’t risk letting go of even one potential collaborator.
She would find her son and just prayed Mitch would heal fast—before this unsettling temptation got the best of her.
THE ICY SHOWER HADN’T worked. Mitch secured the towel at his waist and padded across the cold tile of his bathroom. He’d almost kissed Emily. He’d wanted to, more so when he’d recognized the awareness that flashed in her eyes and echoed within him. He could think of a hundred reasons not to give in to the feelings, but that didn’t make him want to touch her any less.
At least he’d bargained for a few hours not having to watch her. He was getting to know every curve of her body, every expression on her face. Bad news. Let another cop get tempted—until he had himself back under control.
The Oklahoma fight song sounded from his phone on the nightstand. His brother, Chase, and his best friend, Ian, gave him a hard time, but “Boomer Sooner” made Mitch grin. Who wanted Mozart or a simple ringtone? Just because his best friend and one of his siblings happened to be one pancake short of a stack and attended the University of Texas…well, sometimes you just had to live with your family’s weaknesses.
“Bradford.”
“It’s Ian.”
Mitch sank onto the bed. “Are you calling as the Coroner’s Office Investigator or my goddaughter’s father?”
“Sorry, bud. Haley’s great, but you asked me to contact you if we received any pregnant guests. Jane Doe came in today. Not pregnant, but she gave birth just before she died. Blond hair, like the girl you asked me to watch out for.”
“Is it Kayla Foster?” Mitch braced himself for the answer.
“She was in a shallow grave, so the animals—”
“Yeah. I get the picture. Was it Kayla?”
“I can’t tell from the photo you sent. Her face is unrecognizable, but she has a gecko tat on her shoulder. I’m waiting on dental records.”
Mitch kneaded his shoulder with his hand, working out the tension that had settled there. “How’d she die?”
“We can’t tell from the external exam. Other than the birth, the body looks trauma free.”
“I’d hate your job.”
“At least my customers don’t carry guns,” Ian said.
“Funny.”
“Seriously, how’s the leg?”
“Almost good as new.” The lie came easily…too easily. Denial or something more after misleading Emily? “I’m a half hour away.”
“See you then.”
Mitch ended the call and sighed for Ricky’s sake. Mitch hoped this girl wasn’t Kayla. But if she wasn’t, then someone else’s family had a daughter who was dead, a grandchild who was missing, and they didn’t know anything had happened.
By the time he reached the coroner’s office, Mitch had contacted Kayla’s grandmother. He’d kept the questions lowkey, but he couldn’t fool her.
“You bring my girl home,” she’d said. “Either way.”
He entered the building housing the coroner and her staff and strode down the hall to the cracker box Ian laughingly called his office. The stench of formaldehyde and death rose to greet Mitch. He hated the odor in this place. Had since he’d been forced to visit as part of driver’s ed.
He rapped on the door and pushed it open to find his friend and a woman swallowed up in a white coat comparing two photos taped to a cork board. Mitch didn’t give Ian’s visitor a second look. He couldn’t stop looking at the pictures. One the high school photo of Kayla, the other—
“Is that Kayla?” His stomach churned at the sight of what was left of a blond-haired woman’s face. Truth be told, he could only tell the features were a woman because she didn’t have an Adam’s apple. Her eyes were missing, her nose had been gnawed away by animals. She barely looked human. He couldn’t show this body to Mrs. Foster. No way. No how.
One more reason to hate his temporary assignment and get back to SWAT.
Ian grimaced and stood, blocking Mitch’s view. “This is Dr. Tara O’Meare. She specializes in facial reconstruction and identification. Without dental records, I thought she could give us her opinion.”
The woman rose and shook Mitch’s hand.
“Is it Kayla?” he asked.
Dr. O’Meare shook her head. “No. When comparing the two photos, the distance between the zygomatic arches—the cheekbones—is wrong, and so is the position of the eyes. The girl found in the shallow grave is still a Jane Doe.”
“Her grandmother said Kayla didn’t have a tattoo, but I couldn’t be sure.”
“Grandmothers don’t always know everything,” Ian finished.
“Yeah. Even if the body we found isn’t Kayla, I still have a missing girl out there.” Mitch rubbed his eyes. A missing girl, a missing baby and a Jane Doe. Not to mention Joshua Wentworth. With Emily in the middle of it all. Which pieces fit where? He had to pull it apart section by section. Somehow. “At least for the moment, Mrs. Foster gets good news. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope you don’t call anytime soon except for a game of touch foot…” His voice trailed off.
“I’ll keep calling,” Ian said. “You let me know when you’re up for it.”
Avoiding a last look at the photos, Mitch exited the room. He tried not to breathe too deeply until he left the building, then sucked in the crisp winter air. After he inhaled several times through his nose and mouth, he could finally smell and taste the snow tumbling around him.
Once in his car, he slipped on his hands-free device and dialed Kayla’s grandmother’s number.
“Mitchell?” Mrs. Foster’s voice trembled as she said his name.
He hated hearing the uncertainty in the woman’s voice, but he couldn’t guarantee the next time he called, the news wouldn’t be what she dreaded to hear. “It wasn’t her.”
“Thank the Lord.” A small prayer slipped from the older woman’s lips. “You’ll keep looking?”
“Definitely. I have a deal with Ricky,” Mitch promised. “He shows up for practice—”
“Oh, he’ll be at practice, don’t you worry.”
“Mrs. Foster, you know I wouldn’t stop looking for Kayla, even if Ricky never—”
“I know, dear. You’ll find her.”
He disconnected the phone and immediately “Boomer Sooner” filtered through the