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“What makes you think it’s my department leaking?”
His eyebrows hike toward his gray-streaked hairline. “There have now been two incidents within your department. Simon was a damn serial killer, and—”
“And those men who barged into my lab yesterday have nothing to do with my people.” My jaw sets stubbornly. Although, there’s nothing I can offer in way of Simon’s excuse. I’m still not sure how Price Wells got to him; whether Simon was a part of Wells’ plan from the beginning and then infiltrated my lab, or if Wells selected him after the fact.
Either way, it doesn’t matter. Quinn’s right. The crime lab is tainted. A monster like Wells took one look at my lab and found a weakness, an opening. How many others in here—in this building—are just as weak and waiting for a moment to snap.
I shake my head. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”
Quinn moves closer. His body heat charges the air, igniting a craving to be touched. “I don’t want to be right,” he says. “I just want to make sure no one else gets hurt.”
The depth of his words buries me in yearning. And when he palms my cheek, the rough pads of his fingers tracing my face, I wish I could make that promise to him.
There’s a gulf between us, dividing us further apart with every passing second. When he finally knows the truth of me, what I’m capable of and what I’ve done…it won’t be my pain that I wish I could vanquish.
Before I’m able to entertain the thought of pressing my lips to his, he pulls away. “Let’s get the facts we need, then put this sting together.”
I nod, run my hands over my shirt and pull the hem straight. Soon, I won’t be able to protect Quinn from my secrets. Those secrets will rip through our tentative feelings for each other with a fury, decimating not only us, but whatever faith he has left in the law.
That kills me.
I don’t want to be the one to tear his conviction away.
As we move through the hallway, the fluorescent lights above wash the world in bleached out colors, as if I’m trapped in some realm between sleep and wakefulness. The fatigue becomes all-consuming. My head is thick with a dense cotton feel, like I’m teetering on the verge of sickness.
It’s futile to fight against the impending illness, though. The sickness has already invaded me. The day I agreed to help dispose of Price Wells, my abductor, was the day I welcomed it in with open arms.
Simon’s not the only one who taints this place.
As I push the swing doors open, heads turn my way, eyes wide and staring openly. My lab techs freeze in place. I can see it in their shocked expressions: the questions. Why am I here? How badly was I damaged this time? And the one pressing fear none of them will voice but screams from their eyes: are they next?
“Do you want me to—?” Quinn begins.
“No.” I stop him short. “I can handle this.” Returning the first time was damn impossible. This time, however, is not like starting over. Not like finding my rhythm again and trying to put the past behind me.
There’s an unnerving thread of panic tightening around me and flowing like a current through this room, warning me that this is only the start.
“Natalie.” I approach my intern, and she’s quick to try to make me feel at ease before I can get my instructions out.
“Doctor Johnson. Oh, my God, we were so worried about you. Are you all right?” Her large dark eyes beg to hear a lie—any lie. One that will alleviate her worries.
My lips turn up in a tight smile. “I’m fine. Thank you. I’m not at liberty to discuss the details…” I glance at Quinn, and he nods assuredly. “But it’s important that we go over a few things. The autopsy reports need to be corrected, and I need you to report all evidence and findings to me.”
While I instruct the lab on the two victims and correct the COD reports, Quinn takes a call from Sadie. I can barely focus as I try to eavesdrop. This second, Sadie is in the very place where my abductor used to work. Did Wells sit at a desk and plot his scenes? Choose his methods and dream about them while talking to his clients? How can Sadie even step foot in that law firm?
My hand spasms over the keyboard and I flex my fingers.
“Doctor Johnson?”
I shake out my hand. “Lauren Carter,” I say, directing Natalie’s attention to the COD report. “Was brought in yesterday, but still needs to be properly identified. I want a full autopsy and toxicology. I want the reports done thoroughly, but delivered to me as soon as possible.”
Quinn moves off to the side of the lab, talking in a heated, lowered tone. I latch on to his voice, allowing it to anchor me in the present. It keeps me from fixating on what occurred in the spot I’m now standing.
I can still feel the cold steel of the gun. My legs tremble as I force the crude memory from my mind and instead focus on the screen.
“I’m glad you’re taking some time off,” Natalie says.
I almost laugh. As if I didn’t just return from time off. Maybe Quinn’s right—maybe moving my department to another floor, closer to the ACPD, isn’t such a bad idea.
