Perfectly Evil One

Sarah Wilson stared at her fingers lying there, three feet from her body and three feet from her hands. The pain stopped in what seemed hours ago, and a surreal sense of otherworldliness hit her. She was no longer part of her body. Whatever she once was now lay at her feet in a pool of blood as she hemorrhaged into the hot sands of the beach.

Sight was difficult as her vision clouded in the last moments of her fleeing life. Slowly she tipped her head back from where she still knelt on the sand staring up into a face shadowed by the sun behind as the last gleam of steel decapitated her head from her tortured body, already bleeding out from a brutal slice that had opened her gut.

Perhaps her last thought should have been “Why?” But in truth, her last fleeting thought was whether she remembered to turn off her coffee pot that morning.

* * *

Lisa Marie DeLuca, known to all as Maria, knew one thing to be true—okay, she knew more than one, maybe three things at any given moment. First, standing at five foot five, it was damn near impossible to get a good position in a buffet line. Second, one could increase one’s chances by adding a bit of height or panache to one’s stature. That required a nice pair of four inch heels, which also led to an ultimate truth, namely in the world of corporate giants, a five foot five inch woman in four inch heels still couldn’t cut a break, and that is where number three came in. So thirdly, it was important to scout out the best corporate clone, and feign interest.

In this case, it was an underrated, uninteresting, and undistinguishable man named Carl. The man had the sole merit of having staked out a spot in front of the crab puffs. He was the man—of the moment.

Maria stopped eating for a moment as Carl chatted her up a bit more, offering her inside information on a company she actually owned stock in, the very same company that was giving the charity benefit she was currently attending. Swallowing a snort of derision, she smiled politely as her brain knocked Carl off the list of possible bed partners.

Not in this lifetime.

Social chitchat has few redeeming qualities to it, especially when it occurs with a person you just met, or forced to meet. In this case in point, Maria’s brain glazed over as she struggled to half listen to Carl, her eyes moving over the sea of tall men all dressed in black tie, and surprisingly, all looking the same.

It could’ve been a butler’s convention, or a secret meeting of Freemasons. Heck, the possibility of playing the part of a sacrifice in some clandestine ritualistic bloodletting by Luminaries was looking to be a fantasy that would never come to maturation.

Dammit, a woman needed her fantasies.

The men were a sea of proper attire, but the women in attendance were worse. Instead of illuminating the scenery into a Technicolor cinemascope, they rather primped about in a full display of black hues in variations, the style of dress appropriate for their station in life and current situation.

The staid matronly dress, usually a black gown with studded gems and the overly boring, new executive wife with a guaranteed perfect black dress, perhaps daringly backless and next to no jewelry.

The social climbers, and pass about girls, who probably worked in the company and climbed the corporate ladder via the boardroom bedrooms, were usually cool statuesque blonds, or smooth haired brunettes in clinging frocks cut dangerously low in the front and back with lots of jewelry, expensive—tokens— from past admirers who have since lost their usefulness.

Other corporate women, who actually had enough moral fiber to get there under their own steam, stood stoic and pinched in drab black, resenting the hell out of the others. It wasn’t that they were unattractive, merely jaded and angry with an unhealthy does of bitter acceptance that this was the way it was going to be.

Finally, there was the underrated corporate young daughter who smiled charmingly at the sea of executives and minor assistants, who had aspirations of marrying into a better situation.

Yes, the women in this room came in all shapes and sizes, different designer labels, and ages, but one thing remained true—she who had the crab puffs ruled the world.

Maria suppressed a yawn as she shoved another crab puff down. Then there was herself.

Poor Carl was helpless to resist the draw of her tattoo as it wrapped around her neck from the back. It was a Griffin , a mythical beast which somehow appealed to Maria’s own inner demons. There was nothing more refreshing for a person than to muse over their own duality of nature—a fear of death, and a pull of fascination at its very mystery.

“That’s fascinating, Carl.”

What the heck was he talking about? She had no clue, but it had to be important since his mouth kept moving. If it were not for the position in the buffet line, having not eaten in six hours, and those excellent crab puffs, the man would have been a non-contender. Dammit, a woman had to eat.

“Charley,” he corrected her.

“Right.”

“So, I was thinking if you found this little soirée boring, we could maybe go …”

Maria stared fascinated by the gyrations of his eyebrow in a classic pose of ‘come on’, which reminded her stupidly of Groucho Marx. Hmm. She watched thoughtfully, utterly intrigued, biting through another half a plate of crab.

“Somewhere else?” Maria helpfully finished for him.

Mmm—kay, there was no sense in beating around the bush. She was sure to be called back to work, and after over two weeks of almost no time off, Carl looked like a nice distraction in a non-distracting way.

As far as meaningless sex? Nope. He still didn’t stand a chance, crab puffs notwithstanding.

“Right.”

Carl wasn’t a bad looking man, just another suit in a sea of suits. It was always an amusing occurrence to have men such as him, try to pick her up, especially someone such as she who was way out of his social group. In the corporate arena, she stood out like a Peacock in full plume, but in her own world, she was just another clone eking out an existence barely able to believe that age was creeping along. Where the heck did her youth go?

One thing was apparent to all: Maria didn’t belong in the corporate world; at best, she was an unwilling participant, a refugee. Her shoulder length golden hair swung in a silky arc as she turned her head to watch the room. The tattoo on her neck and the one on her right shoulder blade marked her apart from the others. No. She definitely did not belong here.

Her emerald green eyes were clear and intelligent, and they dared anyone to question her as the dimple on her cheek deepened in amusement at some personal joke. It was her lips, the movement of her mouth that kept the men in the room fascinated—that and her legs.

Okay, so maybe the dress was a contributing factor, but in truth, as already mentioned, when short in stature, a woman is forced to maximize all of her assets, to better utilize the whole damn concept of free food.

Carl definitely wanted a chance at getting her away from the fundraiser—someplace a bit more intimate and uninhibited. His chances were nil, but it was fun to watch him try.

Next time she wore this clinging black number, she would have to remember to wear some type of undergarment, at least a thong. She could blame her current choice on her daring nature, but in truth, it had more to do with the state of her laundry situation. Not that it mattered since this dress wasn’t made to be worn with panties or anything else. Such garments would run the lines of the dress. Any person who needed help to imagine what was underneath lacked any imagination at all.

“Maria.”

That voice.

Maria sighed heavily. She had nightmares about that voice on a regular basis.

Do you remember when you were a child and you did something wrong, like put Vaseline in the cat’s fur or stuff raw chicken parts in your cousin Sissy’s pocket before Mass? Yeah, that voice inspires that type of reaction—the feeling of being found out—caught. Stiffening her back before turning around, she reluctantly turned to face Him.

Yep, there he was. Michael Guerin, Mr. High and Tightie Whitey himself. Damn, he was all pressed and proper. Spiffy.

“Michael.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Where should I be?” Maria taunted, tongue in cheek, waiting for his answer. Aww, Chris was listening, so would it be honest or polite? She had a C-note that said polite. Michael Guerin was nothing if not polite, at least in public.

“You look—good.”

And the girl scores! A dimple graced Maria’s cheek as her eyes sparkled and Michael’s dilated. “Just a little black dress I had hanging around. It’s nothing.”

Maria waited for his reaction with a held breath. It was shameful the way she enjoyed their little tiffs. Her eyes roamed over his tall frame, taking in the warm golden brown eyes, but refusing to be swayed by his masculinity or incredible mouth. The hands, well hell, there wasn’t much she could do about his hands, so she pointedly refused to stare at them. Settling for a place below his belt was all so much better.

Michael’s eyes checked her out too, followed by a lifting of his brow. You have to know Michael to be able to read him, and he has exquisite facial expressions—all three of them. Irritated, even more irritated, and irate. That lifted brow meant that he not only agreed with Maria—that her dress was next to nothing, but that pinched thing around his disapproving mouth also meant he found her dress highly inappropriate for a fundraiser.

Whatever there was to that dress, it wasn’t much. Practically see-thru, it left little to imagination, but the look in Michael’s eyes totally recommended it.

“Mariah didn’t mention you were attending the fundraiser.”

“Didn’t she?” said Maria, her face was the picture of bland and innocent giving nothing away. “Hmm, interesting.”

Looking up the tall length of Michael Guerin, starting at a nice mid-waist or just south of his belt position, she allowed her eyes to sweep ever so slowly upward to stop at the slight flush on his face. Maria wouldn’t confess to anyone, especially Michael Guerin, that she loved getting a reaction from him.

Speaking of truths, there was once again one thing she knew—okay, so there were three. First, Michael Guerin had a total thing for her—a lust thing. Secondly, it pissed him off to no end. Maria, in his eyes, was poison fruit. Third, and by no means last, Maria shared that forbidden attraction, and it equally put her on defensive.

“Well, it’s a family thing,” she confessed conspiratorially with Michael.

The man, Chris, cleared his throat. It wasn’t hard to miss the increase in tension. Maria was sure he didn’t know what to make of it.

“I take it that you know each other?”

Maria laughed at the man’s dry, almost croaking noise before turning back to Michael. They faced each other down, as her expressive green eyes refused to waver from Michael’s golden brown ones.

Did she know Michael Guerin? Hell yeah. For her sins, yes, she knew the man. You would have to know them, but she was an immovable object to Michael’s indestructible force. It added to her poor humor that his golden brown eyes had the ability to hold her captive, and for that alone, she would find a way to make him pay.

It was the man’s whispering a throaty, “Oh crap—“that broke Maria’s attention from Michael.

Yep, they knew each other. Carl was wondering how well, sweating bullets over having solicited his boss’s girl. Maria swallowed a mischievous smile, and gave the man a lifeline. It was hard to watch small defenseless things squirm, so she gave him a break.

“Michael is so rude,” Maria said, smiling at Chris. She wrapped her hands around Michael’s arm, leaning into his body. “I’m Maria, Michael’s sister.”

“Sister?” Charley said in a high pitched squeak. Hmm. It was official. Charley was openly sweating. It was probably a worse situation for him to hit on the boss’s sister compared to the boss’s girlfriend.

“Maria,” Michael warned in a low voice.

“Michael, you know Chris from—” Maria went blank. Oh heck. What department did the man say he was from?

“Chip from Accounting,” corrected Michael.

“Charley from Acquisitions.” The man nodded quickly to his boss, and promptly disappeared into the crowd, hoping the boss’s sister wouldn’t mention the inside trading tip.

“Um, bye now, Clark !” called Maria pleasantly at his receding back. The man was a saint, he left her standing in a primo position in front of the remaining crab puffs.

Michael and Maria watched Charley flee, both with a slightly amused look on their faces, surprisingly similar, surprising since they had no real relation—not conventionally. It was amazing that over the three years of their enforced association, they had picked up each other’s gestures.

Maria looked nothing like Michael Guerin, and for good reason. She and Michael weren’t really siblings by blood, but rather by misadventure on the parts of their parents. His father, Brian, married her mother, Mariah, three years ago, and it had been open warfare between the two of them ever since.

“What are you doing here?” Michael demanded out of the side of his mouth, smiling at a few members of the board of directors.

They were attracting attention. Of course they were. Maria was hanging off Michael’s arm like a paid escort, dressed to the nines. That dress had a purpose, as did everything else about Maria that made her stick out like a sore thumb. In an ocean of black tie corporate clones, she remained individualistic. The dress was picked carefully with Michael in mind. She knew it would get at him, and push his buttons, all three of them.

Pushing Michael was a horrible guilty pleasure, up there with Krispy Kremes. Michael Guerin was equally fattening, and she suspected that he would hang around the waist like extra poundage. Thank god for fortitude that kept her away from fattening snacks such as Michael, keeping her youthful body fit and trim—or at least enough to fit her dress.

There wasn’t a man in the room that hadn’t stripped her naked, and mentally gone to work on her flesh a thousand times. Hell, if they weren’t mentally undressing her, then the dress was a complete failure.

The amusement came from seeing the racing indecision on Michael’s face. He was either going to shove her into his jacket or have her escorted off the premises for indecent exposure. Such a fuddy duddy in an irritating, but adorable way. It was nice to see a flush of real emotion and response on his usually stoic, unyielding face.

“Not my fault,” Maria lied. The hell it wasn’t. Creating turbulence in crowds was an art form.

“Never is.”

“Maria!” Maria quickly turned to the voice of her mother, Mariah Guerin, more than happy to give Michael a nice view of her back. The softly spoken curse under his breath made her chuckle. Guess he liked the back of her dress too.

Mariah Guerin was one of the most influential people in both of their lives, and they both smiled a welcome to the woman as she joined them, happily accosting them both. She kissed her daughter’s cheek, and then hugged Michael, her hand stroking his cheek as her other hand reached out to rub off the lipstick she left on Maria’s cheek.

Brian Guerin, Michael’s father, joined them at a more sedate pace, saving Michael by peeling his wife off his son.

“Daddy,” said Maria, ignoring the stiffening of Michael’s body as she kissed the tall man’s weathered cheek. After three years, you’d think he would learn to deal with her calling his father, Dad.

Brian Guerin was the spitting image of Michael, tall, good looking, with light brunette hair peppered in white and warm engaging brown eyes. Unlike his son, however, he was actually nice.

They were definitely not the Brady Bunch, and watching her mother coddle Michael, kissing his cheek, and just—being nice to him—well it rankled, maybe as much as Michael hated it when his father paid attention to Maria. Who knew that two only children could develop sibling rivalry so late in their lives? Not that twenty-seven and thirty-four were all that old, but still—older than most step-siblings found themselves suddenly sharing a beloved parent with a virtual stranger. Maria made a face as her mother continued to coddle Michael, as he lapped it up like a stray puppy. Bastard.

“Honey, I was so afraid you wouldn’t get off work, or forget to come.”

“The sixty messages you left on my machine made it hard to forget.” That damn machine. It at times has been the instrument of her downfall. No wonder the last five ended up conveniently broken.

Mariah ignored the observation, more than a little accustomed to her daughter. She smiled at people staring at them pleasantly. Mariah never worried herself with unpleasant things. Mariah was a beautiful woman in her mid-fifties, smiling up at her husband of three years, her green eyes, still as vivid as her daughter’s, twinkled at her husband as he just shook his head. For old people, they really were quite precious.

Mariah turned her maternal eye on her children noting Maria’s hand holding onto Michael’s arm, a hand he hadn’t found a way to dislodge. Her eyes took on a special glint, and both Maria and Michael groaned under their breaths. Mariah’s campaign to get them to be tolerant of each other more than just socially had been her ongoing campaign for the past three years. They all took it in stride.

Brian took a completely different approach. He left them alone, because he felt Michael and Maria blended nicely, much like he and Mariah did, in a strange perverse way.

“I was afraid if you didn’t come I wouldn’t see you before we left on our trip.” Mariah gave them the old ‘behave while we’re gone’ look. Maria sniffed, looking away. She didn’t have to stand for this type of pressure. Michael started it. He always started it.

“How long are you going to be gone for again?” Michael asked. Maria made an amused snicker under her breath, which was quickly followed by a small yelp when Michael pinched her side. Oh sure, she bet he found it convenient to forget their parent’s vacation.

“Stop that!” she said in a loud whisper.

“Behave.”

“Three weeks. I had Nancy put our itinerary in your daily sheets.” Brian told his son amused by their antics. “I know you like to keep track of things.”

Michael took out his pocket PD and quickly flipped through his schedule. There it was. True to her word, Nancy, his personal secretary, had loaded it. Maria couldn’t help herself as she read over his shoulder.

“Yep, there it is, all in print and everything,” she said with added perkiness.

Michael ignored her, talking to his parents as if she weren’t there. “Three weeks? What did you want us to do?”

“Look after the house, son. Mow the lawn, pick up the mail, water the house plants, and whatever is necessary to housesit while we’re gone.”

“With Maria?”

“With Maria,” Brian confirmed. “You already promised last week.”

“I did?”

Maria swallowed a laugh unsuccessfully, which earned her yet another pinch.

Rubbing her side, she shot him a look. Sure he didn’t remember that. He was hoping that their parents would forget the promise they extracted from both of them over a week ago at Sunday dinner. Maria watched her brother struggle with his wits.

Before Michael could fashion an excuse or compromise to keep his pain in the ass stepsister out of his hair, a tall distinguished gentleman with silver hair joined their party. Richard Abbott wasn’t a man easy to overlook. The man had all the personality of a bull in a china shop.

“Brian, good to see you!” The two older men shook hands. “I thought you were languishing in retirement.”

“Not quite retired yet, Dick. I’m still teaching.” Brian informed the man as he quickly introduced everyone to Richard. “You remember my wife, Mariah?”

“Of course!” Richard shook Mariah’s hand warmly. “I believe you’re working on the same charity group with my wife Martha.”

“Yes, Martha and I definitely work together,” Mariah confirmed politely. “Are you still at the university, Richard?”

“No. Board of Trustees only, I retired from clinical psychology. Now I busy myself with board meetings. Speaking of which,” Richard glanced at Michael. “I noticed that the quarterly board meeting for Guerin, Steeling, and Cooper is postponed. Is there a problem?”

“No problem,” Michael reassured one of his largest stockholders. “We postponed until my father is back from vacation in three weeks.”

Uh-huh, Maria smirked inwardly, she knew he hadn’t forgotten about the vacation. Michael’s mind was a steel trap, and his omission was nothing more than selective memory.

Richard Abbott was an aggressive stockholder, having taken shares in the company through his marriage to Martha Cooper over ten years previously. It was doubtful that Michael’s grandfather, Patrick Guerin would approve of the push of power Richard had begun since his retirement from teaching.

“That’s understandable, since your family is the majority voting block,” Richard’s eyes moved to Maria, paused, took a second look, and then damn if she didn’t squirm when the glance became intense. “And you would be the youngest family member I’ve yet to meet?”

“Maria DeLuca,” Maria confirmed, shaking the man’s hand politely.

“I heard you took classes from Brian.”

“She did.” Brian smiled at his stepdaughter with pride. “Maria was already a graduate, but she takes one or two classes a year to keep up on modern techniques and information.” Brian snatched his stepdaughter from Michael hugging her close to his side, before kissing her temple. “She’s how I met Mariah.”

Richard made a polite remark, but his eyes remained fastened on Maria. Okay, so the man was just creeping her out, and Michael glanced between Maria and Richard frowned, taking her back from his father.

“So you’re not a student?” Richard asked, his eyes never leaving Maria’s face.

“Maria is a mortician,” said Michael, receiving a glare from Maria.

He damn well knew that he was wrong. Were uptight corporate raiders allowed to give out false information? Maria was sure there were laws forbidding it, but she’d be damned if she’d waste her time looking.

“Medical examiner and forensic investigator,” Maria corrected as her four inch spiked heel trod on Michael’s foot. Oops, so bad! She smiled pleasantly at the others as Michael mumbled a curse.

“I work for the San Antonio Police Department and State Investigating Units. Mostly in the forensic department, but recently I took over a chief medical examiner position.”

“Smart, young and beautiful,” commented Richard. “Some of the deadliest traits to be found in a woman, especially one as deceptively delicate as you.”

Maria was saved a response as her beeper went off. Checking the display, she gave her mother an apologetic smile. “Sorry, gotta go.”

“I thought it was your night off.”

“Yeah, no rest for the wicked. I’m on swing shift, so they must be overworked tonight.” Maria had no problem lying in the face of having to continue the boring evening. “Sorry, you two,” she lied easily to her parents. She definitely wasn’t sorry, but she would hit the confessional sometime tomorrow and clear it with the Big Guy “Have a good vacation and call me when you get back.”

There is a nice axiom to life, it being, when the getting is good, go! Maria took that advice in earnest and fled, nodding to the other two men. She would’ve made a clean getaway had Michael not hurried after her.

“Maria! Wait!”

Stopping, she glancing at her watch as she waited for Michael. He took her arm and escorted her out to the reception area.

“Look, about the house, I know we’re supposed to be taking care of it while they’re gone.”

“What do you have in mind, Guerin?” Yeah, she couldn’t see herself playing house with Michael Guerin, besides the fact that in three weeks she would kill her mother’s house plants and Michael in less than two.

“How ‘bout I hire someone to do it, and we split the cost?”

“Done, but you’ll have to cover my half until payday. I’m tapped for cash right now.”

“Morticians don’t get paid much?”

“Medical examiner, and not as much as corporate raiders do.”

“Investment broker.”

“Yeah, whatever. A pirate is a pirate.” Maria glanced at the door catching the parking attendant’s eye with a wave. The man nodded and took off to find her car.

“You have to give him your ticket,” Michael pointed out.

“No,” she laughed, “you would have to give him yours. Men rarely forget me.”

They better not. Heck, she paid a fortune for that dress, and if she remembered correctly, it had been charged to Michael’s account.

Michael glanced at the dress again. The point was obviously hers. Seriously, it can’t be stressed enough that the dress was the shit.

“So, the bill?” Michael asked with a bite to his voice.

Oh damn, the girl was definitely working it. Since he was coming out a loser in this latest tryst, Maria refused to take offense. He was staring at her mouth, and that alone would put him into a bitter disposition.

“You pay it, and let me know my share. I’m strapped. The house and renovations are breaking my bank account. If I get desperate, I’ll offer to sell you my shares in the family company.”

“Deal!” Michael was no fool. The ten percent of shares Maria inherited from his grandfather’s company upon the marriage of their parents was one of the reasons he couldn’t avoid her completely.

Maria stared at the expression on his face. Maybe she was getting too old to continue playing this tit for tat game, and since she didn’t plan to find herself working out their mutual sexual frustrations and attraction to each other in Michael’s bed, selling her shares to Michael didn’t sound too bad.

“Thought you’d find that offer sexy.” Maria laughed at the look on his face.

Patting his cheek, she took off. There was a stiff on Berg and 3^rd needing her attention, and rigor mortis had already set in Michael Guerin so long ago, there was no helping him.

Sometimes in life, you got one shot, and if you blew it there were no do overs.

Chapter Two

The location was along the beautiful River Walk area of San Antonio full of quaint shops and a Mecca to the shopping aficionados, tourists, and the upwardly mobile. It was along the walkway to a low area of sand used in the summers for swimming. Walking the expanse, Maria had no problem finding the location. All she had to do was follow the beaconing lights of emergency vehicles and yellow tape. Ducking under the security tape, she walked unevenly over the sand in spiked heels over to the main investigator.

“Nick, this one yours?”

“Maria,” the man, six foot two inches of large Greek male, dark looks and brilliantly silvery eyes despite being unfathomed black, confirmed, “mine and Deuce’s,” Nick Kouros looked her up and down easily stripping her to nothing. “Wow, you didn’t have to get dressed up for this.”

“Yeah, I like to feel pretty.” Nick chuckled at that. “Watcha got for me?”

“A young woman, Caucasian, approximately twenty-four years of age, literally sliced and diced. We found her head cleanly severed.”

“Did Evidence Unit arrive?”

“Your boys are here.” Nick stopped Maria as she went to join her investigating team. “How is the transfer going? I heard you took the chief medical position fulltime.”

“More like it was thrust upon me. I’m still an evidence detective—just don’t get to do that much anymore. Had I known, I wouldn’t have bothered with medical school.”

“Sucks, huh?”

“Happens. The Medical Examiners office took some hard hits. Evidence Units are still running trace.” Maria spotted one of her guys. “Hey, Jerry, toss me some shoe covers, and latex.”

“Now, I think I’m getting excited,” said Nick. Damn him and his sexy eyes and voice. Hell, she would damn his body too if it wasn’t so darn delicious. Sacrilege. Being a good Catholic girl, she liked to live all her sins with added gusto and often.

“Yeah, well you were always turned on by latex—that, leather, and hard steel.”

Maria thanked Jerry when he brought over the covers. Holding herself up with a firm hand on Nick’s arm, she slid the shoe covers over her feet after removing the heels. Four inch spikes really had no place on a crime scene. Glancing at Nick, she gave him a curious smile. “You tell your family we’re no longer dating?”

“Haven’t gotten around to it.”

“Hmm, that explains the twelve pound mousaka I found left on my doorstep. You might want to do something about that situation.”

Maria walked off, pulling on gloves and carefully watching her step in the crime scene. Her main concern was the body of a young girl, name as of yet unknown. Circling, her mind connected completely on the job at hand.

Nick sniffed, pursing his lips as he watched Maria walk away. “Yeah, babe, working on the situation. Definitely working on it.

* * *

“Okay, it’s a bag. If the detectives are through, you can take her,” Maria informed the attendant. Deuce, Nick’s partner, a large black man with the face of an angel and the sexy body of a real sinner, nodded to Maria and the young man. They were through.

“Have Perry run trace and records.” The young man and his partner noted Maria’s request as they started to package the body for transport.

“You got everything you need, Maria?” Nick asked as he joined her and his partner. Deuce made a comment, and went off to call in information.

“Sure,” Maria said as she made a few notes in her black book, glancing at her ex-boyfriend she gave him a slight smile. “Chris is major on the investigation. My findings and autopsy will be available in the morning.”

“TOD?”

“Hard to say. Her liver was missing, as were most of her vital organs. The vivisection was exquisite. This butcher had a nice set of hands. Given state of rigor, the potassium clouding of the eyes, and some nice larva—no more than twelve hours. I’ll trim down the time once I can check lividity and the amount of E. coli in her stomach.”

Maria looked around the area. “Jesus, Nick, how does a woman get done out here in mid-day and no one notices?” Maria felt sick. “I use to come here all the time jogging in the early mornings before I bought my house in the historical district. The murder, it’s an insult to everything pure and innocent—everything clean.”

“Park Service had this area of the River Walk closed preparing for the Founder’s Day Festival. Everyone is more concerned about the takeoff site for the large air balloons, this area was undermanned.” San Antonio was going to be a colorful display of balloons littering the skyline the coming next weekend.

Pulling her gloves off, Maria quickly bagged them as her hair swung to cover her face rubbing her face with the side of her arm. Staring out at the water, she couldn’t believe it. It had been a hot day. The woman lay there in the heat for hours.

“We can’t print. Her fingers are missing. Chris and his team will sift for them in the sands. I don’t want to use the dogs.”

“You want me to pull Missings?”

“You might have to. If she’s a local, we’ll have to hope someone puts in a report in the next forty-eight. If we can find the fingers, we’ll run prints, otherwise dental.”

Nick watched as Maria moved away. His hand came out to stop her. “Hey, about that mousaka—you need help eating it?”

“Too late. I devoured as much as I could handle and brought the rest to the lab rats. Tell your mom that the crew loved it.”

Nick kept her arm, even though she stiffened under his hand. “How about later? You up for some food?”

“I don’t think …”

“Then don’t,” he said softly. Maria’s eyes met his.

He was making it so hard on her. There was so much about Nick that attracted her originally, and so much more that continued to pull at her gut, and areas further south. If it could only be about lust, then there wasn’t a problem, but it was too far gone for that, and Maria really couldn’t say where she wanted it to go.

Staring in his dark eyes made impossibly attractive by a silvery glint deep in the black recesses, Maria shrugged. “I won’t be finished for a couple of hours.”

“I’ll call you when I’m off. We can go from there.”

What to say? He was being so unfair. Thinking about it, she gave him a slight nod as she firmly removed his hand. “You bring the bucket of chicken—extra crispy, and don’t forget the fresh jalapeno peppers.”

“Deal, and keep that dress on.”

“Oh, we must be over! Normally the dress would be totally unnecessary,” Maria retorted cheekily, walking off into the night.

“Time—give me time and a little maneuvering room,” he said softly. Nick’s eyes never altered as he watched her walk away.

* * *

Maria pushed the steel door closed, her eyes remaining on the door as it snapped shut. Leaving her hand there for a moment, she sighed on her way to her office.

Her desk was cluttered with reports and papers, work that hadn’t been touched. She could work for days and it wouldn’t dent all that needed to be done. Turning on her computer, she quickly made her notes and marked the autopsy recording to be transcribed by the medical transcriptionist in the morning.

God, it was already morning.

It’s hard to do this so late at night, or maybe I should say so early in the morning. Actually it is hard to do it anytime, and I hate it. I just know that if I don’t do it now, I won’t do it at all.

How do you sit and describe everything you are thinking or thought throughout the course of a day? I am rarely diligent enough to do it every day, but I made a promise.

I think today was bordering on surreal as I moved from my day off, to a boring party, and finally finishing the day doing an autopsy on a victim of one of the most heinous crimes I’ve ever seen.

I can’t even say what has offended me the most. Was it the crime, the lack of respect for another human, or that a child laid hacked up in my drawer with no tag except ‘Jane Doe’, and not even just ‘Jane Doe’, but Jane Doe 37?

My chest is hurting again, and right now I have an impulse to run, far away from my life and this place. I can’t breathe. I wish I could still be at the party. I wish Michael was around. My usual banter with him is nicely distracting, and I forget—not for long, but for a while. When I’m with him, whether it is cleverly guided barbs or rolling eyes, all else fades, and I can smile—breathe. It has to be Michael or brain numbing metal music at ear splitting volumes. Either or.

The entire last hour was lost to me. I rewound the tape and listened dispassionately as my own voice droned on and on. God, I don’t even remember talking. It’s all a void to me. I am officially clocking missing time as an hour and fourteen minutes. I hate the sound of my own voice on the tape, like a robot, droning out statistics as if reading off the side of a cereal box.

Heart weighed this. Liver was missing with incision marks along the upper borders, and infusion edges were jagged, indicating a hacking motion. The original vivisection was calculated and calm, but subsequent organ removal was at best rushed indicating that organs were not removed for illegal transplantation since clean separation of blood vessels and nerves were disregarded. The cold clinical dissection and investigation of the severed head was—horrible in that it took at minimum three hard cuts to sever.

Oh God! I hear my voice, the cold emotionless voice cutting a child into notations on a paper. The morgue is cold, and I miss the sun. I miss my lab, with clean slides, and petri dishes. I miss the sound of the PCR machine running through cycles, and I miss my investigating kit. What I miss most is feeling a part of myself.

The crimes use to be a series of evidence, clues laid out in meaningless collage waiting for me to piecemeal it into something discernible. It was about following the evidence to build a truth for some person, helping to bring their killer to justice. Now? Now every crime comes with a face, sometimes a name, and I can close my eyes, but they continue to scream. They haunt me.

“Maria?”

Maria bit back a scream as she shifted in her chair in fright. Looking up to see Nick standing in the doorway, her hand had flown to her chest as her breathing expelled in gasps. She ordered herself to calm down.

Nick noticed her reaction and swore under his breath. Sneaking up on a person in the morgue, especially of late, it was not a nice thing to do. “Sorry.”

Saving the journal file, she quickly turned off her computer. “Hi.”

“You weren’t answering your cell. I took a chance you were still here.” Nick sat on the edge of her desk. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Maria moved things on her desk, her hair swinging to cover her face. “You didn’t,” she denied.

“Hey,” Nick framed her face with his hands forcing her to look at him. Their eyes met, and his gentled. “Oh, babe.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t look like it’s nothing.” Nick moved her face around. Her makeup had faded hours ago. He could see the dark shadows under her eyes that she so painstakingly hid with concealer. She didn’t look to be in her late twenties, but about fifteen. “When’s the last time you slept?”

Maria shrugged.

Nick stood dragging her to her feet. “C’mon. I’ll put you to bed.”

“Don’t you want to know my findings?”

“Later. Tomorrow is soon enough.” Nick tucked her arm through his refusing to let her go.

“We don’t do this anymore—remember?”

“No, actually I’m having a hard time remembering anything, but how you steal all the damn covers.” Nick glanced down at her shiny hair, her head barely reaching his chin. “C’mon Ria, we’re still friends. Let me take care of you.”

Maria was too tired to protest, so she let him lead her out of the cold shrine of death. “Did you remember the jalapenos?”

“Would I forget the jalapenos? I also got all white meat extra crispy.”

“Oh,” she said meekly, trapped in his orbit. He didn’t play fair, damn him. She had a weakness for that damn Colonel and his fried chicken. Diabolical.

Chapter Three

Strange how an auditory response accompanied a visual one. The ringing in Maria’s ear was followed by horrible skull crushing white streaks behind her eyelids. Groaning, she slapped out with her hand, hitting the bedside table trying to take out the offensive noise as her eyes squeezed shut even tighter. The noise of removing the receiver was deafening, as she struggled to answer the phone without opening her eyes.

“What....? Who...?” she murmured, her voice slurred from sleep. There was a silence on the other end followed by the click of a hang up, and then a dial tone.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!”

Maria rolled over in the bed to slowly open her eyes staring at the ceiling as she clutched the phone to her chest. God, she hated being abruptly awakened from a deep sleep, especially when she had only tumbled into bed. She squinted at the luminescent clock face. Crap, she had hit the sack only forty-five minutes previously.

This was nothing short of sheer cruelty. Three in the morning. Who called at three in the morning? An evil part of her mind immediately landed on Michael, but in the past three years he was guilty of not calling—so no.

Turning on the light, she blinked quickly to clear the tears that gathered from the abrupt change in the light. She pushed a button on the phone as the caller ID revealed the person rude enough to call and hang up.

What?

Maria sat up abruptly, confused as her parent’s home phone number came up on the display. Double checking the time index against the bedside clock, it had only been minutes ago that they called. Hitting the redial, Maria sat up on the side of the bed listening to the ringing.

No one answered.

She repeated the process and tried to call them a few more times before giving up and trying each parent’s cell phone. The process seemed to take a long time to perform, but it was just a prelude to a bigger offense.

Yeah, she was going to share the misery of a three o’clock awakening. Sighing, she dug out the address book from the bedside table drawer, and dialed a number she had absolutely refused to commit to memory.

The only good thing was the sleep drugged voice on the other end, obviously equally unhappy with being wakened. Misery truly does love company.

“It’s me. Maria. Kick Boardroom Barbie out and get dressed. I’m on my way over. Tell security to open the elevator for me, or I’ll stand down there singing at the top of my lungs until your neighbors sign a petition to have you ousted.”

She was out the door before he could call back demanding an explanation.

* * *

The thing about being rudely awakened at three in the morning, especially if you only just hit the horizontal position, is that your teeth feel funny. Kind of a mixture between furry, and pasty. Mouth rot. There was only one cure. Big Gulp from any convenience store along the way.

Maria pulled into Michael’s apartment parking garage, and took the empty space next to his high-priced boy’s toy, a nice silver Porsche, which was like a metal dick without the complications. Heck, there wasn’t a girl that wouldn't look spectacular in that piece of fine hard-on. Unfortunately, it came with Michael Guerin.

You could look at the Porsche and think about driving the man, until you saw the man. God didn’t make a man more repressed and uptight than Michael Guerin. He was definite high quality work—too much work. Getting him out of his tie would take more work than promised rewards, or worse yet, once you got him out of it—trying to keep him period.

An irate Michael opened the door as she leaned on his buzzer, and Maria sucked breath and her Big Gulp coke straight up her nose. Coughing, she waved him off. She was okay. She was—looking at him, she swore under her breath as she tried to regain it and her composure. Crap. She stood corrected.

Michael was standing in his doorway, in nothing but a moth-eaten pair of sweats, and a nasty irritated look on his perfect face. Fuck, this was so not good. All her favorite things: commando, unshaven, and pissy.

Lord, have a bit of frickin’ mercy.

She preferred her men a bit mean and nasty in everything—not abusively mean, just—racy and aggressive in what they wanted. It took a lot of man to keep her under control and prevent her from running over them. It was impossible to respect a man she could wrap around her finger without an effort.

There was a gnashing of metal gears in her sleep deprived brain, one that suggested that maybe the rewards in deflowering Michael might be worth the thorny bush and associated pain.

“What the hell do you want?” Michael’s dry voice grated across her already achy head.

Or not! Whew, saved. That momentary lapse of sanity was gone. Thank you, serenity. Applying a well placed shoulder to his stomach, she muscled her way inside.

“Nothing you’re going to like, big, big brother.”

“Maria, it’s three in the morning, and I have a conference call in...,” Michael glanced at his the clock on a table, “three hours, so if you’re drunk, bored, or just your usual lunatic self, please do it somewhere else. The city dump maybe?”

“Michael?” Maria lifted a brow at the sugary tones coming from the doorway of the other room.

“Oh! Barbie! I wasn’t sure if it would be Boardroom Barbie, or Go-Get ‘em Ken, but I had a fifty-fifty shot.”

“Her name is—Jennifer.” Michael hissed through clenched teeth not appreciating the indication he might be gay.

The tall model thin blonde walked into room wearing a practically see-thru slip, all ready to play sex kitten in a rutting need for man sausage.

Ewww!

Maria shook her tormented foggy brain. Her mind was one sick pup. Imagining wild animalistic yuppie sex was enough to make her Big Gulp come up the other way as her stomach churn.

She desperately tried to focus on the woman’s face, but in truth, it was a blur, mixing into all the cardboard cut-out blondes available in high society upper mobile circuit. She was in a word, ubiquitous, and highly forgettable. The woman stopped when she saw Maria, her eyes widening.

Hell, she didn’t have to stare.

Maria glanced down at what she was wearing, and tried not to laugh.

Okay, again, she stood corrected. The woman definitely had a reason to stare. In a word, Maria was slightly underdressed. No wonder the convenience store attendant gave her the Big Gulp free of charge. The calf leather black coat, at a midthigh length, was all she was wearing with strange furry monster feet mules on her feet. She hadn’t taken time to dress properly.

“Is this a stripper?” Barbie demanded, the outrage in her voice clearing the rest of the brain fog away as Maria snickered.

Barbie wasn’t too happy. Hell, it wasn’t Maria’s fault she chose to sleep with Michael Guerin. There was no accounting for rude behavior due to bad decision making. So people were able to learn from their mistakes, and in three years, Maria found Michael utterly avoidable sexually, as he obviously found her the same.

Maria’s eyes narrowed. She wasn’t going to take flack from some high priced bimbo who had no self control or good taste, but since it was too early in the morning, or late in the evening to get into a bitch fight, she cleared her throat.

“Hi!” said Maria, injecting a crap load of perkiness into her voice. She learned long ago that perkiness was disarming even to the most collagen enhanced individuals. “You must be Michael’s fiancée, Barbie.”

Michael paled. “Jennifer isn’t my fiancée!”

“Who’s Jennifer? My name is Celeste!” The woman glared at Michael. “You’re engaged?! Who’s Barbie?”

“Oh boy!” Maria rubbed her hands in glee, watching the angry woman glaring at her—brother. This was like someone was offering treats. “Sorry, my mistake. Well if you’re sure.” Maria sucked on her straw innocently as Michael glared at her.

Okay, okay, so he was sure.

“I’m Maria, Michael’s sister.”

“Maria...,” Michael warned. He hated it when she referred to herself as his sister, and even more when he did it.

“Sister? Dressed like that? You turn up on your brother’s doorstep in nothing but a short leather coat and you want me to believe you’re his sister?”

Normally, she would’ve taken the sarcasm for an invitation to get into it, but unfortunately she was there for a reason, so slapping Barbie around would have to come later. She had concerns and they didn’t include having Michael’s latest mattress scratch out her eyes or pull her hair out by the roots.

“Yeah, well it’s one of those family things.” Maria assured the woman tragically. “We’re not supposed to talk about it.”

She glanced at the quiet Michael. “We’ve got a problem. Mom and Dad called me about half an hour ago.”

Michael’s attention was finally diverted away from Barbie, Bambi, Jennifer, or Celeste. “What? Are they okay?”

“That’s the problem. They hung up before talking to me, and when I called back there was no answer. I tried both their cells, everything.”

Michael grabbed his phone and searched for his pocket computer. Checking the schedule, he glanced at Maria as the phone rang in his ear. “They were scheduled to be back two days ago.”

“I would’ve called the Polinskys next door, but her husband has that thing he does when he is startled awake, and I don’t want to be responsible for him choking his wife to death.”

“Nice of you.”

“Hmm.” Maria sat on the side of the sofa pulling her short coat down so her skin didn’t stick to the leather. “Anything?”

Michael shook his head and tried the cells. “Why didn’t you just go over and use your key?”

“You have my key, remember. We gave it to the housesitters, and you haven’t returned it yet.”

“You owe me money.”

“Yeah, well I’ll settle with you when I get my key back.”

Celeste or whoever returned to the living room fully dressed. “I’m leaving,” she announced. She stood there waiting for Michael to stop her, but he was busy dialing other numbers.

Maria felt for the woman, but then shrugged. Heck, she wasn’t sleeping with her.

“I better get dressed.” Michael hung up the phone and moved towards his bedroom.

“Hey, Barbie left.”

“Who?”

Maria sighed, sucking on her Big Gulp straw. Yep, just like she suspected. Reason thirty million and one why being in a relationship—any type of relationship—with Michael Guerin was a bad idea.

* * *

The house was dark, sitting quietly on the corner lot of Sycamore and Branch. It was a large two story manor in a nice Governor style which sat back on the lot with a smartly manicured lawn and hydrangeas growing peacefully in rows lining the front walkway.

Michael pulled into the garage and was out of the car with Maria right behind him. They paused at the door and exchanged glances. Finally Michael shoved his key into the lock.

The house was cold with a closed up feeling, and a silence that screamed. There was no smell of cooking, or Dad’s pipe tobacco. They stepped into the front foyer, and before Michael could hit a light, Maria’s hand came out and stopped him.

This was wrong. It felt horribly wrong.

“Michael, it feels...,” she stopped talking as her eyes accustomed to the limited light. In the front sitting room, she could see the shadows of the disarray of the room beyond. Her eyes dilated and became unfocused as she could almost see the image of a man tossing the room.

“Michael, we need to step outside.”

“No, I’m going to look for them!” He started for the stairs calling out ‘Mom! Dad!’ as Maria’s hand grabbed at him pulling him back.

“Michael, we’re in a crime scene. We need to step out and make a call.”

She pushed him hard towards the door, her own feet stumbling. She hated this. She knew this feeling, and she hated it.

“Michael,” she whispered to him as they stood close together. “The person who did this—they could still be here. We have to make the call.”

Michael was frustrated, but he understood what she was saying. Taking her hand, he backed them out of the house fast. They stood in front of his car leaning against the garage door. Someone had been in the house. Someone could still be there. If they became trapped inside it could be days before anyone investigated. Entering an unsecured place was the height of stupidity.

“Maria, they could be in their bed.” Michael gulped hard and stared up at the second story, his hands flexing as he felt a need to rush up there. “They could be hurt or dying. We’ve gotta—” His voice broke as he lost the ability to say anything else.

Maria pushed herself into his body, and shook her head, forcing him to look at her. She used her body to keep him from bolting back into the house. Her voice became strong as she forced him to look at her.

“Listen to me. We’ve got to preserve the scene. Worse case scenario, we have to preserve everything that can help them.”

She didn’t say it, but he understood. If they were dead, going into the house would contaminate evidence. They couldn’t risk tainting or destroying any evidence that might lead to answers—answers that would be of little comfort if they lost their parents. If they were upstairs dead in their bed, then they were beyond anyone’s help.

Michael’s eyes met Maria’s, and they held the stare as Maria made the call

“Nick, it’s Maria.” She woke him.

It was strange, but time meant nothing.

“I need a unit at my parent’s house on Sycamore and Branch.” She cleared her throat as the thickening tears threatened to close it. “Have them send an evidence unit.”

Maria listened for a few moments as Nick gave instructions, nodding her head, unaware that Nick on the other end couldn’t see the gesture.

“We’ll wait for them.” She disconnected, her green eyes still holding Michael’s as they filled with tears. Leaning forward, she rested her head against his chest as his hand came up under her hair, and held her while his head leaned against the garage door and he closed his eyes.

They were both shaking.

There were sirens in the distance, and in moments, all that was peace and quiet would disintegrate into the chaos of loud noise and lights.