Yates rolled the man to his side, indicating several bruises that marked his lower back. Others, less noticeable due to the blood on his chest, covered his torso. And another one darkened his thigh.
“Any signs that he had a weapon?” Luke asked.
“No powder burns on his hands. There is some blood under his fingernails. We’ll send it to trace.” The M.E. glanced up and frowned. “There are hair fibers that appear to match the woman’s.”
Luke spotted a long, black strand of hair caught in the man’s finger and his stomach knotted. “Any evidence that indicates someone else might have been in the room?”
The crime scene techies returned. “We’ve found a few short brown hairs in the bathroom,” the sandy-haired CSU guy reported. “They don’t appear to belong to the victim or suspect.”
Jill shot a look of disdain around the room. “Could be a product of a shoddy cleaning staff,” she muttered. “You know they rent these rooms by the hour.”
Luke nodded. “Bag and tag all of it. I want every inch searched, including the bathroom.” He glanced back at Stella, bracing himself for his next move. “I’ll arrange for a doctor to examine her, and make sure he goes over her body with a fine-toothed comb. He’ll look for defensive wounds, signs of sexual activity, blood, semen, DNA from the victim and any other source.”
“She’s already asked to shower,” Jill remarked, a hint of derisiveness in her tone. “At least she isn’t screaming rape.”
Luke aimed a frigid stare toward the tech. “This is a murder investigation, so let’s stick with the evidence. Stella claims she has no memory. We don’t know what happened, and until then, we can’t rule out any possibility.”
The woman’s expression went from cocky to chastised in a flash.
He exhaled, then pivoted to study Stella again, to look for the lies and the truth in the woman he’d married. She was shaking violently now, had her arms wrapped around herself in a blatant attempt to hold herself together. Either that, or she was a consummate actress.
Still, her hair was disheveled, dried blood crusted her fingers and nightgown, and the pale skin of her legs was showing. His eyes narrowed. A long scar glistened along the bottom edge of the nightshirt—a scar that hadn’t been there a year ago. And he would know. He’d loved, kissed and touched every inch of her.
“She can’t clean up until she’s thoroughly examined,” he said, shutting out the memory. “And I’ll inform the doc to examine that scar on her leg. I want to know how long it’s been there and what caused it. Our psychiatrist will also conduct a complete neurological. Let’s see if her amnesia is for real.” He jerked his gaze back to the crime scene agents. “Get me the results from here as soon as all of you are finished.”
He strode toward Stella just as Detective Black snapped the handcuffs on her delicate wrists.
STELLA GLANCED UP at the federal agent, Luke Devlin, the handcuffs rubbing heavily against her skin as the detective gripped her shoulder to lead her from the room. For a brief second, she thought something flickered in the man’s enigmatic eyes—a look that hinted at an apology. Or maybe a promise that he would help her. That she wasn’t alone in the world of darkness that had become her life.
But the feeling disappeared as if it had never existed, and tremors racked her body again, a trapped feeling overwhelming her. She had been trapped before. Had been held against her will. Made to do unspeakable things. And a man had been involved. A black-haired man with cold, black eyes.
Then she had tried to escape.
But there were harsh punishments for that.
Snatches of memories, all in black and white, blurred reality, and the room twirled and spun in a dizzying frenzy. She saw herself—running, running, running. But she could never escape. Never outrun the demons.
The detective cleared his throat. “Mrs. Devlin…are you all right?”
She blinked at the sound of the title, the agent’s face wobbling back into focus along with the voices and murmurings of other officers. The stench of the dead man’s body floated toward her, then the overwhelming scent of another man invaded her space—Luke Devlin.
He carried with him a commanding air, a mixture of a spicy, woodsy scent that simmered with sexuality, a scent that overrode the worst of the stench in the room.
Had she really married this stranger? And if so, why didn’t his face look familiar?
She took one more look at the dead man’s body on the bed and nausea rose to meet with the clogged air in her throat, renewing her panic. The man was dead. She had no idea who he was. Or who had murdered him.
But she was going to jail for the crime.
She would be locked behind bars, a prisoner…
Just as she had been before.
She balked and drew back, stiffening and digging in her heels. The men halted. Another officer reached for his gun as if preparing to fire if she attempted to escape.
“Relax. We’re taking you to the hospital to be examined,” Detective Black said in a low voice. “Agent Devlin is arranging for a CSI team to collect evidence and have you evaluated.”
Luke Devlin approached her, closing his cell phone as he stopped by her side. He stood towering over her, a mass of muscle, black hair and intimidating eyes. “I’ll escort her, Detective.”
A mixture of unease and relief poured through her. If this man had married her, he must care about her. Surely he would help her figure out the truth. Help her regain her memory. Keep her from prison. But the rigid grip of his fingers as he half dragged her to the police car indicated differently.
Outside, she gulped, startling as thunder rent the air, and lightning zigzagged across the gray, mantled sky. It was pitch-black, not a star in sight.
She shifted and looked up at Luke Devlin. His eyes were the same eerie combination of black and gray.
This man might have claimed to be her husband, but would he really help her?
And what if the memory of being trapped meant she had been trapped by him…
THE VULNERABILITY in Stella’s green eyes stole Luke’s breath. When they’d stepped outside, panic had tightened her slender body.
She was scared.
Dammit, she should be. Every piece of circumstantial evidence so far pointed to the fact that she had murdered a man. Probably in cold blood. Maybe even premeditated.
And now she was hiding behind a smoke screen of amnesia.
How common was memory loss anyway?
They descended the steps, his instincts as an agent warring with a compassionate side he hadn’t known he possessed. A side that no one else had ever touched.
But he had pledged vows to this woman. Promised to protect, honor and love her for the rest of their lives. As bitter and cold as he liked to believe he was, he was a man of his word.
They reached the car, and he opened the back door, then squared his shoulders, and helped her inside. Part of him wanted to drive her to some hideaway, a place where they could talk and be alone.
Someplace where he could have his damned unfinished wedding night. Maybe if he made love to her, she’d remember him. He sure as hell hadn’t forgotten her touch. Or what her lips had done to his body. And how it felt to sink himself inside her.
Detective Fox, Adam Black’s partner, jumped into the driver’s seat while Luke claimed the passenger side. “To the hospital?” Fox asked.
Luke gave a clipped nod. “Yes.”
A sound of distress rippled from Stella, but Luke ignored it and gestured for Fox to drive. Thunder barreled and rolled across the moonless sky, and