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The morgue. With Connor. Dead. My palms grew sweaty against the steering wheel.
After a year and eight months at the Coroner’s office, I’d picked up more bodies than I could count, and never been bothered in the least. But this was different. This was Connor. Saberton had murdered him, but I was still responsible.
I pulled into the empty parking lot of a strip mall, shut off the engine, and climbed into the back to sit on the wheel well beside the gurney. Hands shaking ever so slightly, I tugged the zipper down then pushed the heavy plastic of the bag aside to show his face, the sunburn ashen now. At least his eyes had been closed. I couldn’t do this if they were open.
“I’m sorry, Connor,” I whispered, clenching my hands together. “I’m so sorry. It’s my fault. Those motherfuckers murdered you. You weren’t dead yet. I know it.” A sob welled up, and I let myself bawl, gasping out the truth about the zombie situation. Of what I was. What I’d done. He deserved to know. Even like this. Even . . . dead.
Eventually the torrent subsided. I fumbled a tissue out of one of the supply bins and blew my nose. Calmer now, I placed a hand on his shoulder. Cool, not yet cold. “I’m going to do everything I can to make this right, Connor.”
I reverently zipped the body bag then climbed into the driver’s seat and continued on my way.
Dr. Nikas called less than a minute later—perfect timing, since I’d’ve been incoherent any earlier.
“My testing of the samples is in progress, with no new revelations yet. Dr. Leblanc will autopsy Deputy Connor in the morning, and Allen will run interference with any issues that might arise in the process.”
“What about after the autopsy?” I asked. “I mean, is Connor still, er, a biohazard?”
“Fortunately for all, Deputy Connor’s mother has decided to have him cremated which eliminates any risk.”
I exhaled in relief. One tiny worry in a sea of worries taken care of.
“Allen told me that your shift is over once you transport Deputy Connor—”
“It is, and don’t worry. I’m heading straight for the lab as soon as I’m done.”
“No,” he said, quiet yet commanding. “You are to go home and get a good night’s rest. Can you be at the lab for 10 a.m.?”
I wanted to protest, assure him I could be there a lot earlier, but I knew I’d only receive another firm No. “Yeah, ten works fine.”
“We’ll get through this, Angel. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I mumbled a goodbye and hung up. At the morgue, I placed Connor’s body in the cooler and logged him into the computer.
Then I clocked out and cried all the way home.
Chapter 15
In a turn of events that would surprise absolutely no one, I slept like total shit. By 6 a.m., I was awake and staring at my ceiling—which had far less character than the one in the old house. That ceiling had been cracked and stained, and if I was lucky, a roach would skitter across as entertainment.
But this ceiling was new and white and smooth. A blank space that a piece of me envied.
My alarm was set for eight, but I stubbornly refused to turn it off, even though I knew damn well I wasn’t going to fall back asleep. But shutting it off somehow felt like giving up.
I stared at the ceiling and tried to go numb. When the alarm finally beeped, I forced myself out of bed and got my pathetic ass in gear.
• • •
The route from my house to the lab was a series of scenic and mostly empty back highways. The part of me that wasn’t sad, stressed, and exhausted could recognize it was going to be a pretty day and that the drive was even lovelier than usual. Patches of fog swirled along the edges of the road and wrapped around the trees. Sunlight pierced through the mist in beams so tangible it seemed as if I could reach out and grab one. Azalea bushes were in full pink and fuchsia bloom, and the occasional dogwood offered a burst of white amidst the lush green of spring leaves. Gorgeous. And wasted on me.
Okay, maybe not totally wasted. I’d have been a lot more miserable if the scenery was dreary. And my mood wasn’t completely at rock bottom. I had enough mental energy to tell myself to pull it together. I was going to help Dr. Nikas find a solution. Or at least find out what the hell was going on and how bad it might get. Because yeah, I knew it could be a whole lot worse.
My phone buzzed with a text from Reb, the Coroner’s Office receptionist. I pulled over to read it.
Delight and worry rushed through me in a confusing emotional cocktail. I’d really enjoyed talking to Portia, but what if she was simply calling to give me a heads up because the homeowners association had seen us dump the frogs? Or to tell me that the frogs had mass-suicided in the maw of the great blue heron?
I got back on the road and dialed the number Reb had included, trying not to think of even more dire reasons Portia might want to speak to me.
“Hello?”
