“Hmm.”
“Hmm?” I groaned, tilting my head back. “That means you think I’m crazy, doesn’t it?”
She shrugged. “Maybe. More likely, you’re getting a familiar.”
“Like, a witch’s familiar?”
“Yeah, but you’re not a witch. Not from your description of your powers.” She looked around at the empty street, as if she’d just remembered where we were. “Actually, we should discuss this later.”
“No kidding.” I stood and dragged the policeman behind the bench. If someone looked closely, they’d find him, but it would have to do for now.
Mac did the same with her guy, and we met at the front door. I raised my badge and gave her a look. “We’ve got this.”
“Totally.”
“And thanks for your help.”
She grinned. “I’m always up for an adventure.”
“Well, I think this will deliver.” I swiped the card, and the door buzzed. I pushed it open with my elbow, not wanting to leave any prints, and waited for Mac.
“I’d better scan this one. Just in case it counts how many people enter.” She scanned, then followed me in.
Quickly, I pulled on a thin pair of leather gloves that I kept in my jacket pocket. I didn’t want to leave any prints behind. Properly protected, I hurried to the wall, where a directory was posted. I searched it, finding my destination at the bottom. “Looks like it’s in the basement.”
“Ooh, perfectly creepy.”
“Let’s go.” I strode toward the stairs, not wanting to get stuck in an elevator. The building echoed hollowly around us, and I doubted there were many more people here at this hour.
We took the stairs two at a time, reaching the morgue a minute later. I took mental stock of the potions that Eve had given me. They were shoved in my pockets, and I was grateful they hadn’t broken in the scuffle with the guards.
The morgue was quiet and cold as we entered.
“He would have been a recent autopsy,” I said, gazing at the wall covered in dozens of little metal doors where the bodies were kept on ice. Or whatever it was that they kept bodies on.
“Do you know his name?”
“No.” I scanned the numbered doors. “Damn it, there are so many.”
“Maybe the computer system will say. Or there might be notes on a desk.”
We split up, searching the space. I didn’t have much familiarity with the morgue, and the enormity of the task ahead of us was nerve-racking.
Then I heard the footsteps in the hall.
Oh, no.
I met Mac’s gaze, and mouthed, “Hide.”
13
Carrow
Mac and I flattened our backs against the wall on either side of the door. As the footsteps approached, I fingered the potions in my pocket, then withdrew the mind control one, carefully unscrewing the cap. When the figure entered, elation shot through me.
She wore a white coat like ours. A security guard might not know where my guy was, but this person would.
I dumped the powdery potion into my hand and jumped, grabbing the woman by her arm and yanking her toward me. She opened her mouth to scream, and I raised my hand, blowing the powder in her face.
She sucked in a lungful of the purple powder and went still.
“Holy crap, that worked,” I said.
Mac grinned. “Of course. Eve is the best.”
I looked at the woman, who had sleek red hair and blue glasses. Her green eyes were unfocused, but she was breathing normally.
“Tell me where the guy with the neck tattoo is located,” I said. “He came in two nights ago with a bashed head.”
She blinked, her face twisting in a grimace. Awareness flashed in her eyes, briefly, then anger and resistance. She could obviously feel the potion and fought it, but finally, her face crumpled in defeat. She turned and pointed to one of the little doors. “He’s number thirteen.”
“Lucky number thirteen,” Mac said.
“Is he missing any organs?” I asked.
Her jaw clenched as she fought the potion that forced her to speak.
“Any missing organs?” I demanded.
“He’s missing his—” Her eyelids fluttered, and she sagged, her eyes closing in exhaustion. I caught her, stopping her from slamming her head into the desk.
“That’s all we’ll get out of her,” Mac said.
Gently, I laid her on the ground and strode to number thirteen. It was at waist level, and I reached for the handle.
It wasn’t locked, and the door opened silently. I pulled the tray out, and the black bag containing the body was stark against the steel table.
I swallowed hard and looked up at Mac. “I don’t suppose you have a fondness for dead bodies and want to do this bit?”
“What, look inside his chest?”
“No. Just open it and check who he is.”
“Oh, well, in that case…no.” She stepped back for good measure.
“Damn.” I unzipped it, praying that there was only one guy with a neck tattoo and bashed-in head in the morgue.
It was my guy, at least according to the tattoo. I thought the head injury looked familiar, but they probably all looked similar when they were this gruesome. “It’s him. Maybe we can check the records.”
I unzipped the bag further, remembering that they often tied the identification to the toe. As expected, I found the little tag along with his official number and no name. I removed it and carried it over to the computer terminal.
Mac left her spot along the wall and joined me. “You know the password?”
“Nope.” And the damned computer just sat silently, staring at me. Smug and locked. It took about two minutes to realize I had no chance of getting into the bloody thing. And there was no paperwork sitting out on the desk or other work surfaces.
Dread unfurled in my chest, and I looked at Mac. “None of Eve’s potions figure out a computer password, will they?”
She grimaced and shook her head. “You’re going to have to do it, aren’t you?”
I nodded, my stomach pitching. “I don’t even know what most of the organs look like.”
Mac groaned. “Let’s make it quick.”
I nodded, turning back to the body. “This is the worst.”
“Worse than going to prison?”
“Not worse than that.” I moved on autopilot, my mind screaming in horror as I stared at the sewn-up Y-shaped incision on the man’s chest.
Nope. There was no time to freak out, and even less time to wimp out.
I sucked in a breath, spun around, and found some tools on a side table. A pair of scissors beckoned, and I grabbed them, along with a clamp-like thing. I swapped out my leather gloves for some medical ones, working on autopilot.
I returned to the body and cut the stitches, then peeled the skin back.
“Oh, I’m going to faint.” Mac sidled farther back.
I growled at Mac. “Don’t brag. Not all of us have the luxury of passing out.”
“I’ll buy you a drink after this.”
“A big one,” I muttered, and considered the next gruesome task before me.
The inside of the man looked like a mess, but not in the way I’d anticipated. Instead of a jumble of organs, I found a handful of plastic bags stuffed in beneath the ribs like the world’s goriest weekly shop. If I wanted to know what was missing, I’d have to open the bags and pray that I still remembered something from biology class.