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“Good. Fill us in.” Lambert’s eyes were trained on the scene around them, assessing, cataloging.
“Dispatch received an anonymous call to report an unattended death at three thirty. The caller immediately disconnected. Officer William Gardner was the first responding officer and gained entry through the front door, which was left open, at three forty.” He lifted his chin toward the foyer where they’d been moments before. “Medical examiner declared the victim deceased upon arrival shortly after. We have officers searching the property and the yards of adjacent residents. The houses are spaced out in this area, but we’re trying to locate a witness.”
Kinley cleared her throat and directed her gaze at the patrol sergeant. “Any changes made to the scene that we should know about?” Even the smallest discrepancy at the crime scene could mean the difference between putting a killer behind bars or freeing them to walk the streets.
The sergeant rocked back on his heels, shaking his head. “Just an alternative light source. Wiring’s faulty.”
Kinley verbalized her thanks. The conversations blurred around her as she moved forward, flashlight gripped in the hollow of her hand. The deceased was dressed in black dress pants and a sensible blouse. Nondescript. Similar to what she wore daily. Her blonde hair had been hacked short—definitely not the work of a professional salon.
“No visible blood beneath the fingernails,” she said as Lambert approached behind her, keeping his distance so they could both examine the body one at a time. “But maybe the ridges in her blouse caught some fibers. There’s a newspaper beneath the left arm, but I can’t tell if there’s any significance to it. Once we release the body to the medical examiner, we can get a better look.” She was babbling to retain some of the details she wanted to reexamine. It helped her remember the scene, along with the rough sketch she’d scratch into her notebook before the night was over. A swatch of yellow spandex material caught her eye, and she crossed the room, careful to place her feet where everyone else had also been walking to disturb as little evidence as possible.
“Lambert.” She beckoned him over, and they started down at the floor. “What do you make of the cocktail dress?” It was tossed carelessly on the wooden planks as if someone had hastily stripped. Strappy platform heels were kicked off a foot from the piece of clothing.
“Maybe she was living here. Hiding from a domestic situation. Just got back from a club or a date.” He looked from the body back to the dress. “Wouldn’t you change into something comfortable, though? The clothing the victim is wearing looks like she’s about to report to an office job.”
“Yeah, and how often do you strip down to your skivvies in the middle of your kitchen?” she asked. The worn floorboards creaked as she shifted.
Gus raised a brow and smirked. “Now that Sasha’s moved in—”
She put up both hands, stopping his next words. “Point taken. What if she was an escort or sex worker? Used this place as her home base? The price is right. It’s secluded.”
“So she entertains a john and then dresses for her other night job?” A door opened and closed somewhere in the house, boots scuffed down the hall, and radios crackled in the distance.
“It’s possible. Let’s see if we can get an ID on her. Must have a license or credit card somewhere. Especially if she’s been living here.”
Together, they methodically processed the scene of the crime. There was no sign of a struggle, no evidence of someone living in the vacant house.
“Where’s the physical evidence? It’s eerie.” A shiver coursed down Kinley’s spine. She just couldn’t shake the idea that she was missing something big.
“No blood, no footprints aside from those believed to be the victims. The only tool marks we have are at the point of entry. If it weren’t for the dress, I’d buy that she was killed elsewhere and dumped here,” Lambert responded from behind her.
The strobes of their flashlights bobbed, and dust stirred as they moved down the stairwell in single file. By the time they’d reached the bottom, she was desperate to rub the gritty itch from her eyes. She refrained, keeping her hands at her sides. They were nearly back to where they started, with one wing left to process.
“First door on the right,” she said, striding toward a room left slightly ajar.
They turned into the bathroom, illuminating the space. Long blonde hair, still in a ponytail holder, lay in the empty sink. Scissors sat on the vanity. She leaned away, revulsion pumping through her.
“You okay?” Lambert stepped forward. His features were shadowed, but the concern on his face was still readable.
“Fine.” She gave a decisive nod, not sure if she was trying to convince her partner or herself.
“Tell me.” Lambert’s voice hardened. She only spoke of her experiences to a select few. He’d become one of those people.
She rolled her eyes, and steeling her nerves, leaned in to examine the hair more thoroughly. “Has anyone ever told you that you and your brother are both incredibly bossy?”
“Easton?” His brows scrunched up. “Easton’s the smart one. The softie.”
She nearly laughed out loud. Oh no, she’d seen Easton with her own eyes. There was nothing soft about the man. Maybe he wasn’t as much of an alpha as Lambert or Isaac, his biological brother who was a SEAL operating overseas on a covert mission, but he was all man.
“Is that so?” She raised a brow. Easton certainly hadn’t seemed like a pushover to her. “When the Kingston Town Killer took me, he cut my hair. He wanted me to look a certain way. Seeing that just dredged up some bad moments.”
“Do you think that’s what happened here? It would explain the positioning of her hand around the mug, why the body was sitting in a chair.” Lambert’s brows drew together.
“And the clothes.” A breathy whisper shuddered from her lips. “Goddammit. The clothes.” Ice trickled through her chest, coating her stomach with a cold, hard layer of fear.
“What? Lambert took a step closer, crowding her in the small bathroom. What is it?”
“I didn’t think of it before. When I saw the clothing, I thought it looked like something I might pull out of my closet. It’s business casual. Millions of people probably wear the same thing each day. But the hair, short like mine. The coloring and build of the victim.” She dropped her gaze and swallowed hard. She had to be wrong. If she wasn’t, an innocent woman had been killed because they shared a likeness.
