The tension surrounding Blake is so thick I could bathe in it. That kind of conflict usually wards people away, but not me.
I want to dive into the deep end and discover all her secrets.
I’m not the type of man to get attached, which, I’m sure, is why Martha was determined to get me away from Blake.
But something’s different with Blake.
She has immediately become my obsession.
And I won’t take no for an answer.
CHAPTER 5
LEVI
Mixing the blue putty with a tongue depressor, I look across the sterile room toward the white cardboard box—a box that is way too light on evidence.
Finding out who did this is not going to be easy.
The refrigeration unit hums steadily in the background, and condensation gathers along the metal walls of the cold storage room. The stench of charred flesh invades my senses, despite the surgical mask covering my nose and mouth, as I transfer the putty to the tray for dental impressions.
Most veterinarians don’t spend their afternoons taking dental impressions from murder victims.
Then again, most veterinarians don’t live in Evergreen Falls.
Normally, Dr. Marcus Adler would be the one to do this, but his office down in Jackson doesn’t have the cold storage space for this body. That doesn’t happen often, but when it does, my clinic, Northfork Veterinary, is used.
I’m the first on scene anyway, so it makes sense.
I told Doc that I’d take care of the evidence gathering so he’d have one less thing to do when he got here. I didn’t disclose that my generosity is also because I don’t need him sticking aroundlonger than necessary and putting his nose where it doesn’t belong.
I can’t have him poking around my cremator.
After taking the dental impressions to ID the body, I move through the motions. This isn’t the first dead body that I’ve had to work on. I know the routine.
I’m more than happy to help out when and where I can. Northfork Veterinary Clinic isn’t too much to look at from the outside, but it’s mine. Every exam room, kennel, and cabinet is arranged where and how I want them.
There’s a reception when people walk in. I haven’t had an actual receptionist in years, but I keep the desk out there anyway. Past that is a hallway that leads to two exam rooms, my office, a break room, and a cold storage room. At the end of the hallway, a door leads to a room filled with rows of kennels that stretch through the back half of the clinic.
Corpses don’t scare me. They haven’t since I was fourteen years old.
The bell above the front door of the clinic rings.
“Hello? Anyone here? I need help!”
My head turns toward the urgent voice coming from the reception area. Striding in that direction, I rip off my mask and disposable gown and toss them in the trash.
Silently, I curse myself for giving my assistant, Abbott, the day off.
The familiar sounds of the clinic greet me as I step into the hallway. A dog barks somewhere in the kennels as a cat yowls its displeasure from another exam room. The steady hum of the HVAC system rattles through the ceiling vents.
The reception area looks normal. Sunlight filters through the front windows, illuminating floating dust above the tiled floors. A row of mismatched chairs lines one wall beneath framed photographs of local pets and livestock.
Only one thing is out of place.
A woman momentarily strikes me speechless—a foreign feeling. Regardless of how hard I try, I’m mute.
She looks exhausted. Windburn colors her cheeks, and her hair is tangled from the Wyoming winter.
