Cold Spite, page 10
part #1 of Cold Justice® - Most Wanted Series
Cas nodded. “That would be my bet.” He tapped the steering with his thumb. “I want to take a look at the bodies.”
She reared back. “Why?”
“Because. Scanlon was a sniper and a damned good shot, but SEALs know how to snap a neck or use a knife. I want to know how each victim died.”
She was breathing heavily, and she forced herself to calm down. She’d seen dead bodies before, but it was different this time. Two of these people were dear friends.
“How are you going to get in there?”
He flashed her a grin. The one that had made him so irresistible to the foolish young woman she’d been.
“I’ll change into a suit and show my very bright shiny shield and tell them I’m a friend of the family who’s come to confirm your identity.”
She hunched her shoulders. She bet he’d charmed his way into many situations and beds in the past five years. “What am I supposed to do? Wait in the parking lot with every Sheriff’s Department Deputy walking by?”
“I’ll drop you back at the hotel. Get something to eat. Try to sleep. The military transport does not offer in-flight meals.”
“Fine.” She knew too many people who might frequent the San Diego County Medical Examiner’s Office to risk hanging around the parking lot. She hesitated. Forced her bitterness aside. “Thank you. Thank you for helping me.”
He took her hand and squeezed. She jolted in shock at the familiar heat and strength of his fingers.
“There are very few things in this world that I have absolute faith in, Delilah, but I have always believed in you. Always.”
As much as she wanted to treasure the words, she knew them for lies. She pulled her fingers away and nursed her hand in her lap as if she’d been stung.
His eyes shuttered, and he turned away to start the engine. Perhaps he believed what he said. Perhaps he’d forgotten the other words he’d said to her five years ago. But she hadn’t. And she hadn’t forgiven.
No matter what happened, she didn’t think she’d ever forgive Cas Demarco. Maybe one day she’d tell him why.
Chapter Fifteen
Demarco dropped her off at the main entrance of the hotel with some cash and one of his credit cards.
She needed to stock up on a few things, starting with a change of clothes to take with her to Virginia. She had to replace everything anyway, so she may as well get started. She had money. She’d pay him back when she could safely access her accounts. Or she could borrow it from her mom in a pinch.
She headed down to the boutiques beneath the hotel and picked up a couple of nice shirts and T-shirts, black pants, jeans, plus a pair of black work shoes. She hesitated over a dark navy wool blazer and then decided what the hell. She was going to Virginia, hopefully to begin work on an FBI task force. She needed to look like a professional.
She added a roll neck sweater, socks, panties, bras from another boutique and saw a cute grass-green sundress with a ruffled neckline and deep V at the front.
Screw it.
She tried it on and wore it out, along with a new, broad sun hat. Not even her own mother would recognize the blonde woman Delilah had become. Certainly, she didn’t look like her usual over-serious FBI self.
She dropped her purchases back in the room and then headed outside through the hotel complex and found the footpath that ran along the beach, heading south. She felt naked without her weapon, but there was nowhere to hide it in this girly ensemble, and her greatest chance of success was living the disguise—the way she’d inhabited Lacey Reed.
And look how that had turned out.
Her mood dropped.
But, damn, she’d been convincing. Scanlon had certainly believed she was just some stupid girl.
He’d underestimated her then. She wouldn’t make the same mistake with him.
Gradually, the sound of the waves crashing along the beach filled her with a deep sense of peace and soothed the agitation within her. This was her happy place. The day was overcast, and there was a slight chill on the breeze, but the sun still buzzed her cheeks.
Head high, she threaded her way through milling tourists and locals, people walking dogs and pushing strollers. The red flags were out to stop people swimming in the dangerous riptide, but it didn’t stop the surfers who queued up to ride the breakers.
In the distance, she could see small Mexican islands that dotted the horizon. She kept walking. It was high tide, so the wreck of the SS Monte Carlo was hidden by the surf.
Last time she’d walked this path, she’d been holding hands with Cas Demarco, and her heart had been whole, her future almost as bright as the glare off the ocean.
Seagulls squawked overhead, and birds she couldn’t identify bobbed just beyond the violent surf. A massive tanker sat offshore.
She kept going, watching the crashing waves swirl around the storm drains and splash up against the rocks, spraying everyone with salt water. She dashed through a gap in the onslaught and narrowly avoided getting soaked.
She reached the Naval Base. The sun’s reflection off the argent sand made her eyes smart. She stared thoughtfully at the fortified base that turned men into SEALs.
How could one program produce men as diverse as Cas Demarco and Joseph Scanlon? Both were skilled warriors, and the ability to kill was presumably a plus for anyone going to war. But one was a cold-blooded psychopath and the other was the most passionate man she’d ever met.
After a few moments, she turned her gaze back to the ocean, not wanting to get on anyone’s radar for being overly interested in this small slice of a sand barrier island that produced some of the world’s toughest Special Forces.
Abruptly, she turned and headed back to the hotel, detouring to the taco shack for some food.
Hunger had finally hit her, along with the feeling of exhaustion from everything that had happened yesterday. She grabbed a table and stared out at the ocean. Sipped a Coke and ate fish tacos while trying and failing to ignore memories of the man who’d once shared every moment of these experiences with her.
She’d fallen so hard, so fast.
Had the constant danger heightened her response to him? Had danger been the alchemy that had transformed lust into something deeper, something cosmic? She’d never been in love before, and she’d felt like such a fool when it had ended. Special Agent Delilah Quinn who’d spent her life proving to her father and coworkers that she was competent at the job and not just a nepo-baby, completely suckered by the person she’d trusted the most.
And then even that pain had been eclipsed by what had come after, and Val had held her hand through it all.
Poor Val.
Tears rolled down her cheeks, but there was no one close enough to notice, and she was adept at hiding her misery beneath a neutral expression.
She couldn’t afford to drop her guard.
It had nothing to do with Scanlon.
Cas Demarco was the real threat to her, and she couldn’t forget it. Last time, he’d almost destroyed her. She refused to go through that again.
Next time, she might not survive.
Chapter Sixteen
The San Diego County Medical Examiner’s Office sprawled between County Services and the Sheriff’s Office.
Cas parked front and center of the main reception and headed inside the large, pale yellow and glass building. He’d changed into a suit and tie in the Jeep, which had to be one of the most uncomfortable experiences of his life—and he’d had many.
He strode up to the receptionist and said quietly, “I’m a representative of the Quinn family. I’m here to officially identify the body of their daughter, Delilah Quinn.”
She took his driver’s license. “Okay, sir. Take a seat while I verify the information and we prepare a viewing room.”
“No need for a viewing room.” He didn’t need accommodations. “I’m law enforcement, although I’m not here in an official capacity.” He pulled out his FBI creds. “I don’t want to delay the Medical Examiner who must be extremely busy, but I promised the parents I’d take care of this for them, ASAP. They live in Virginia and the trip would be hard on them.” He held the woman’s blue eyes and wondered why lying had always come so easily to him even though it went against his inherent code of honor. Maybe his parents had been actors? “They want to know for sure if their daughter is lying back there.”
She assessed him for a moment. “I’ll go through and ask if it’s okay for you to join them. They’re doing the posts now.”
Cas nodded. He didn’t particularly want to bump into any of Delilah’s coworkers, but perhaps he’d learn something if he did.
The receptionist came back and waved him through a secure door. He followed her along the corridor. The AC was set cold enough that a shiver skipped across his shoulders and down his spine. Still not cold enough to mask the smell of disinfectant and something else, something slightly foul and pungent that tainted the air.
They came to an area outside the main autopsy suites.
“You’ll need to gown up.” The woman indicated a small changing area off to one side. “Once you’re ready, press the red button and someone will come to collect you.”
Cas nodded and hastily donned a gown, booties, gloves, and hair cover. It wasn’t his sexiest look, but he wasn’t trying to impress anyone.
Except Delilah.
Which he had no hope of doing, so what difference did it make how he looked?
He slapped the red button.
A few seconds later, a young woman with freckles, wearing frameless spectacles and blue scrubs, came to the glass double doors and pressed the button to allow him entry.
“Agent Demarco?”
Hostage Rescue Team members were operators not agents, but he didn’t correct her. The less impact he made the better.
“Dr. Richards just finished the second autopsy and is taking a break. I’m closing FBI Special Agent Gonzales. Special Agent Quinn is in the same suite along with another cadaver. If you’re okay with that?”
“Yes.” Had this really been Delilah, he wouldn’t have been able to see for the tears, but as far as these people were concerned, he was a fellow professional making a formal identification for the family—not identifying the only woman he’d ever loved.
“Fire victims…” She trailed off.
“It’s okay. I’ve seen fire victims before.” He’d once seen an entire houseful. The cartel had picked up as many of the competition as they could find. Bound them. Locked them in a house in the desert outside of El Paso and torched the lot of them.
Grim didn’t begin to describe it, but he doubted he’d seen more than this young medical professional.
“Yes.” Her expression looked wise and pensive. “But it’s different if you knew them when they were alive. Were you close?”
The question made him ache. “Not really,” he lied. “We worked a case together five, six years ago.” He pushed the memories aside. “I guess you could say that back then we were close.”
Until he’d blown it all to smithereens.
“Prepare yourself. It’s bad.”
They entered a large bright room where three metal tables were arranged parallel, each occupied by a naked corpse. Cas was immediately hit with the acrid stench of burnt flesh, coupled with the scent of decomposition despite the relatively fresh nature of the bodies. He raised his hand in instinctive protest.
Perhaps the smell was left over from other cadavers, but the ventilation system was forceful enough he could feel it lifting his gown.
He’d puked his guts up during his first autopsy for the Bureau. A humiliating experience for the cocky former SEAL. Working for the FBI had brought him to his knees in ways his Navy SEAL career never had. Probably because he had been solving crimes that directly impacted individuals. In the Navy, he’d been following orders and having the time of his life even during deployments into active war zones. But eventually even that hadn’t been enough. He’d needed to do more, and he’d found his calling thanks to a chance meeting with a Hostage Rescue Team member. He thanked God for his blessings, which were many, even if they didn’t include having someone to share his life with. But maybe that was the price he’d had to pay for having a job he loved.
At least, that was the bullshit he’d believed until recently. Maybe he still believed it, deep down where that lonely, abandoned kid lingered. That he didn’t deserve to be happy.
He shook off the thoughts.
This wasn’t about him.
He tried to hold his breath because this part of the job stank. Literally and figuratively.
The young doctor took pity on him and handed him some Vicks VapoRub to smear beneath his nostrils.
“The smell is actually a mix of Cadaverine, Putrescine, Indole, and Skatole, plus a few hundred other nasty compounds that build up during decomposition.” The young physician rolled a trolley containing what were presumably David Gonzales’ clothes and belongings to the side of the room. His gold shield lay on the top of the pile, and it hadn’t protected him one iota. A timely reminder.
She blushed slightly as he stared at her. “I find it helps me deal with it better if I understand the science behind it.”
He realized belatedly that they were the only people in the room, the only ones breathing anyway. “Just you and Dr. Richards for three autopsies?”
“Yep. Today anyway. We already completed a homeless guy and a fentanyl overdose. Dr. Richards is an early riser.” She pulled on fresh surgical gloves with a snap. She went back to the table and removed a threaded needle and poked it through the skin of Gonzales’ chest, the thick black thread closing the Y-incision like a zipper, hiding the internal organs that had been weighed, measured, and sampled, inside.
When he didn’t speak, she filled the silence. “Looks like Dr. Richards took the FBI agent with him on his break. Perhaps you know him?” She gave him a name, but he didn’t recognize it.
“I’m based out of Quantico these days.” He’d assumed there would be someone local in attendance. “The agents in the field office here must be devastated.”
“Sounds like it. They’re forming a task force to look into the murders.”
He wondered what they’d found out so far and if they could transfer the investigation to the task force Patrick Killion was hopefully assembling.
Finally, Cas forced himself to stare at the blackened corpse who looked as if she was struggling to fight off an attacker. He knew it was an illusion, but it still tore at him.
The doctor looked up. “She has the classic pugilistic attitude where the ligaments and muscles contract due to the heat.” The young woman pressed her lips together. “Fire victims always look angry in my experience. Pissed.” She put another black stitch into Gonzales’s pale chest. “But perhaps that’s my overactive imagination.”
“I can see why they’d be pissed.” Cas took a reluctant step forward and stared at the woman who’d been Delilah’s best friend. The long dark hair hid it, but the back of her skull looked shattered, which further distorted her blackened features. There was no way he could identify this woman based on facial features but that should work in his favor.
Lying about the identity of the victim went against the grain, but if it kept Delilah safe, he’d do it. And he was pretty sure her friend, Valerie Strauss, would forgive him if it meant finding her killer.
He cleared his throat before asking, “Did she suffer?”
The doctor hesitated. Then seemed to decide that she could talk to him. He was a federal agent. “We’re not yet sure how she died.”
He angled his head toward her in question.
“There’s no soot in her trachea.”
His eyes widened. “She was dead before the fire started?”
She nodded.
How? “Doctor…”
“Deuck. Linda Deuck.” Her cheeks flamed.
“Dr. Deuck. Linda. Was there any other sign of trauma?”
The woman nodded. “When we removed the ball cap she was wearing, we discovered massive injury to the skull. Unfortunately, that trauma meant that most of the brain matter cooked in the fire.”
His stomach wanted to repel the earlier baked goods. He forced it down. “She was hit on the back of the head?”
Linda pursed her lips. “Perhaps. But not necessarily. It’s possible when the fire was being extinguished something smashed into her skull. The roof collapsed.”
Hmm. “So how do you think she died?”
“Evidence is inconclusive. It’s possible she was unconscious when the fire started. Drunk or drugged. Or asleep. Toxicology is being run. We’re going to ask a forensic anthropologist on staff to reconstruct the skull to see if we can discover a specific injury, but she’s currently out in the Pacific doing some work for DPAA for the next two weeks.”
The “Defense POW/MIA Accountancy Agency” identified and repatriated the remains of US war dead. It was a noble undertaking.
Cas frowned. “I honestly can’t tell if this is Delilah or not.” No one possibly could by looking at what remained.
“I don’t suppose Agent Quinn had any distinguishing marks? Tattoos?”
And this was the moment he put his career on the line. Or maybe he’d done that the moment he walked in the door. Delilah had told him she and Valerie had matching tattoos at the base of their spines. He’d traced his tongue over Delilah’s whenever he’d had the opportunity.
“She apparently had an infinity tattoo low on her back.”
Linda’s features fell. “We found one exactly like that. A simple infinity loop. I’m very sorry for your and her parents’ loss. We can also run DNA, but there’s a backlog, and this won’t be a priority now…”
He closed his eyes and nodded, grief dragging at him for this young woman and the pain Delilah would forever bear at the loss of her friend. When he opened his eyes, he saw what remained of Valerie’s clothing hanging in a drying cabinet. The remains of an FBI ball cap, almost unrecognizable, sat on a tray. It cemented in his mind that this was a case of mistaken identity. The killer had assumed the victim was Delilah as she’d sat in the semi darkness of Delilah’s living room wearing Delilah’s ball cap. Cas would keep that misconception alive for as long as humanly possible until the killer was caught—and hope it didn’t cost him his career.
