“Huh, that’s pretty unusual.”
“Yeah, and it doesn’t stop there. From the cell damage I could tell the remains likely had been frozen at some point.”
“Which makes it difficult to establish time of death,” he fills in.
“Exactly. However, I also found larvae at different stages of development and I was hoping to find someone I could talk to about those, or better yet, have a look at them.”
“I know a little, but I doubt it’s much more than you already do. Let me make a phone call. I know an entomologist who might be able to assist, but she travels quite a bit, so I’m not sure where she is at the moment. I’ll find out and get back to you.”
“I’d really appreciate it.”
“No problem. Talk to you later.”
I hang up and look up at Jay, who is balancing a stack of old shingles on the ladder. Probably didn’t want to make noise while I was on the phone and I immediately feel guilty.
“Sorry! Should’ve gotten out of your way.”
He looks down over his shoulder with a grin that sets a swarm of butterflies loose in my stomach. The combination of those intense blue eyes and the strong white teeth showing from between the slightly crooked smile is pretty lethal. It’s been a while since a man was able to affect me like he does. Many years, in fact.
“Watch yourself,” he warns, right before a few shingles come sailing down.
The phone in my hand starts ringing again, but this time I move out of the way before answering.
“Hey, Pat,” I greet one of the CBI’s lab techs I’ve worked with a few times before.
“Dr. Carter, I’ve got some preliminary results on those samples you sent me for Jordan Dunwoody. Sorry it took so long, but we’ve been swamped here.”
“I know the feeling,” I sympathize. “What’ve you got?”
“Confirmed positive for amphetamines, marijuana, and alcohol in substantial quantities.”
“As suspected,” I mumble.
“Right. I can get you more complete chemical breakdowns but that’ll take some more time.”
“Can you hang on a second?”
“Sure.”
I walk back to the base of the ladder.
“Hey, Jay?” I wait for him to turn around. “It’s the lab on the Dunwoody kid. Confirmed cocktail of amphetamines, pot, and alcohol. Lab wants to know if we need more detail. I’m fairly comfortable calling this an overdose, but I don’t know if you guys found any reason to think it was anything other than accidental.”
“Nothing to indicate that, but in all honesty, we’ve been preoccupied with the leg these past few days. Even though, considering the boy’s father, it may not be a bad idea to get as complete a picture as we can. There’s bound to be blowback.”
I nod. “Fair enough.” I tuck the phone back to my ear. “Pat? Yeah, run the tests. Just to be on the safe side.”
“Will do. Thanks, Doc.”
“Before you go,” I hurry to tell her. “I know it’s probably too early for anything, but anything on the other samples I sent you earlier this week?”
“Not quite as easy, or quick. Not at that level of decomp.”
I knew it was wishful thinking. Even those compounds easily detectable immediately following death deteriorate and even disappear the more time passes.
“I figured. Well, let me know if you find anything. And, Pat? Thanks for trying.”
I tuck my phone back in my pocket and prepare to get back on my step stool.
“I thought this was your weekend off?”
I lift my head to look up at Jay. “There’s no such thing as a weekend off.”
“Don’t you have a life outside work?”
He doesn’t sound judgmental but still I narrow my eyes, studying him.
“My work is my life, just like it is for you, Jay VanDyken. Don’t pretend otherwise.”
He lowers his gaze and doesn’t bother hiding the smirk on his face.
“Wouldn’t dare,” he finally says as his eyes find mine, looking very pleased with himself. “It has been, but I intend to change that. For both of us,” he adds, his smile spreading as he turns back to pull off another shingle.
I opened that door and he barged right through, leaving me no doubt where his mind is at. The kicker is, despite the autonomous life I prefer, the prospect excites me.
Chapter 6
Jay
I have enough rudimentary do-it-yourself skills to get by, but I’m not exactly a handyman.
That’s probably why a job I’d guesstimated would take a couple of hours in fact is taking me most of the day.
At some point, Meredith disappeared around the back of the house where she’s been tearing the boards off her old deck. It didn’t allow for much conversation, but I don’t mind the quiet, and apparently she doesn’t either. It’s enough just knowing she’s there and I’m actually enjoying the manual labor. It allows my mind to be silent as well, which is rare.
I hammer the last shingle in place—by hand, because I don’t have a nail gun—send up a silent prayer I haven’t created more leaks than I fixed, and climb down to admire my work from the ground. Beau, Meredith’s dog, lying in the shade of my truck doesn’t even lift his head. He’s been there almost the entire time since she let him out earlier.
“Looks good.”
I cast a glance over my shoulder at Meredith as she walks up. Some of her hair escaped the bandana she tried tying it back with and there are a few smudges of dirt on her forehead and under one eye. I like that she isn’t afraid to get her hands and other places dirty. It got quite warm in the afternoon sun and the evidence is visible on her face in the sheen of sweat and deep red flush on her cheeks. She looks beautiful, and my cock stirs when I realize she’d probably look like this after hot, sweaty sex.
I pull at the front of my shirt, which I’d tucked in my waistband, wipe at my face, and let it drop to cover my erection before I turn around.
“Fingers crossed it does the trick,” I tell her, wiping my hands on my jeans. “What’s next? Your deck?”
“Now?” Her eyebrows shoot up. “It’s almost five o’clock. I just wanted to get the old boards off so I can get rid of them. That is…I don’t want to assume, but if you’re going to drop off the shingles, I thought maybe…” She stumbles through the sentence, clearly second-guessing herself.
“Makes sense to me.”
I send her what I hope is a reassuring smile as I start toward the back of the house to the boards of rotting wood she’s piled up. The dog, who’s come out of his hiding spot under the bed of the truck, lopes ahead and jumps up against the sliding doors, where a tiny little furball is perched on the other side looking out.
“That’s the culprit?” I ask Meredith who followed me.
“She looks innocent but wait ‘til you feel those sharp claws slicing through your skin like butter. Her cute appearance is deceiving. She’s a feral minx.”
Minx or not, it’s clear the dog has taken a shine to the little thing. As soon as Meredith opens the door and Beau hops inside, I watch him gently pick the kitten up in his powerful jaws and carry her over to a large dog bed in front of the small woodstove.