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Claire, her assistant, appeared and cast a glance between the two of them. She grinned and grabbed a bag from the ground. “I’ll load this up, and come back.”
Amber rolled her eyes and grinned. “I’ll have a quick look at her when we get her back to the morgue to see if I can give you a definitive answer about what was used around her neck.”
“I’d appreciate that.”
He watched as Amber bent and zipped the body bag closed, and he felt a sharp pain in his chest at the loss of a young woman, and in such a violent way.
Not only was he weary with the early mornings and late nights, but he was also tired of seeing death. For years, his job had fulfilled him. He was good at following a trail to get the answers he needed, and that was why the case up in Port Jude had always bothered him. He’d always felt that some of his questions hadn’t been answered to his satisfaction.
It pissed him off that he was only now discovering the relationship between Saige and Quinten. It would have thrown more light on to Quinten’s actions, even though he didn’t think the jurors would have looked at the evidence any differently. DNA didn’t lie, but Quinten had always admitted to bleeding all over the shack. When he was found, his arm had required a lot of stitches. The unidentified DNA sat on his mind during the case and trial, but he finally put that to rest years ago.
He rubbed his forehead and let his eyes roam over an equally tired Amber. She stepped close to him and looked up so that she could meet his gaze. The top of her head only came up to his chin, but the way she looked at him made him feel a lot of things he shouldn’t.
Without a thought, he curved his hand behind her neck and lowered his head. His lips caressed along the seam of hers, and although he was tempted to deepen the kiss at the sound of the small whimper from her, he kept it light, remembering where they were.
Smiling, he dropped his forehead to hers. “Have coffee with me later.”
The sight of her tongue slipping between her lips to moisten them drew his gaze, and a groan from him.
He closed his eyes, and snapped them open when he felt a hand on his chest.
“Seven,” she whispered. “I’ll message you the address.” Amber reached up and pecked him on the cheek before making her way to the ME’s van.
Coulter shook his head, ran his hand down his weary face, and turned back to look at the crime scene. Only then did he notice that Amber and he had an audience when the search for evidence suddenly continued.
David broke away and moved closer, a grin on his craggy old face. The man had been in the department for years before Coulter had started and had aged well. So well, in fact, that no one even knew his age.
“I lost the bet,” he grumbled, amusement on his face.
“Bet?” Coulter raised a brow in question.
“Yep. That lot over there had a bet going as to who would be the one to make the first move. We all said she would. Your captain said you would.” He shook his head. “I hate losing.”
“I hadn’t thought it was that obvious.”
“Are you kidding me? The minute she was around, your eyes would glaze over before you’d pull yourself together...it’s been fun, and I can’t wait to see the rest.” David wandered off and Coulter was left wondering if he was the only one to not know about the bet. Did Amber?
“You’re damn lucky.”
Coulter turned at the voice and frowned when Steve, one of the forensic techs approached. “The bomb on your truck had faulty wiring, otherwise it would have exploded the minute you turned the key.” Steve shrugged. “The full report is with your captain, but I figured you’d want to know.”
“Thanks. Any prints?” he mumbled.
“No.”
He had a feeling that everything connected together and that it would lead him back to Quinten Peterson. He just needed to figure out how to connect the dots.
* * *
9:00am
* * *
One thing Saige loved about being home was that she didn’t have to cook for herself. She wasn’t exactly bad at it, but it was nice to take a break, more so considering she was usually around the diner waiting on tables.
Pattie, her father’s cook, was a delight and had worked for him for around twenty-five years. She loved to mother Saige, and Saige had never objected, as her own mother had died when she was just three years old. Christina had always felt more like an older sister than anything. Her stepmom hadn’t exactly been mean to her, and with age, Saige thought that maybe Christina had just been awkward and not known how to communicate with her since Saige hadn’t exactly been welcoming after having her father to herself for years. It had been a shock when, at thirteen, she found herself with a twenty-six year old stepmother.
Smiling now though, Saige came back to the present and watched Alex load his plate to bursting with eggs, sausage, bacon, fried tomatoes, hash browns and, let’s not forget, the biscuit.
