Trevor drove like a bat out of hell to his parents’ house, his heart going faster than an AR-15 assault rifle spitting out rounds.

Damn cancer. The disease was robbing his father of his fun retirement years. How fair was that? The man survived twenty-five years dodging bullets as a cop only to be felled by some rogue cells.

His mom said Dad had lost his balance on his way to the kitchen table and had fallen. He’d seemed fine after he came to, but if cancer did end his dad’s life, Trevor would lose the one person who’d most guided his life, who’d taught him to live by his principles. After losing Claire, he wasn’t sure he could handle any more grief.

He passed two cars and wove around another. Shit. This traffic sucked. “Step on it, folks.” Since he wasn’t on police business, he refrained from using his lights, though he sure as hell was tempted.

Dad would be fine. Dad would be fine. He had to be.

The image of Dr. Romano replaced the unsettling image of his father. Could the timing of his mom’s call be any worse? In another minute, he bet he would have been able to convince the good doctor to examine the films. Her warm brown eyes had melted when she’d looked at the eight photos. If only he’d had time to discuss the men with her, he would have hooked her into being an ally.

He shook his head. How had a woman as attractive as Lara Romano ended up working with the dead? It must be her hearing loss that drew her to the cadavers. At least she wouldn’t have to hear to understand what the victims told her.

With her hair pulled loosely over her ears and braided down her back, her hearing aid was well hidden. If Phil hadn’t warned him of her disability, he might never have known. Not that it mattered to him if she needed mechanical help to hear. Hell, his best friend back in high school was born deaf, and he was the best football player in school history.

The turnoff to his parents’ street appeared out of nowhere, and Trevor whipped the wheel to the right and pulled into their driveway. He jumped out and sprinted to the front door. The porch light flickered. Crap. He’d promised his mom he’d replace the bulb, but never had. Tomorrow, for sure. Apparently, none of his three brothers had had time to cut the grass or trim the shrubs either. They all agreed their father shouldn’t have to worry about the outside maintenance. That’s what his sons were for.

He dragged the key from his pocket, shoved it in the door and rushed inside, hoping his mother had exaggerated the severity of the fall.

“Dad? Mom?” He ran into the kitchen and halted. His father was sitting on the floor drinking a cup of coffee, thumbing through the Tampa Tribune, while his mother sat next to him with her arm wrapped around his shoulder.

His mom stood. “You got here so fast!”

She wiped her hands on her old, flowered apron and gave him a hug and a kiss. He hugged her and squeezed, inhaling her familiar fruity perfume.

“I dropped what I was doing and came right over. You know family comes first.”

He slipped out of his mother’s embrace and stepped over to his dad. “You need a hand up?”

“The floor’s mighty comfy, but I guess a chair would be nicer.”

When his dad stretched out a hand and leaned forward, a small patch of blood showed on the yellow wallpaper behind his head.

A lump formed in Trevor’s throat. “You banged your head when you fell?”

His father waved a dismissive hand. “A small bump.”

“Small, hell.” Blood was serious.

Mom returned to the chair. “I bandaged his head.”

“Good.” Trevor figured a full lift would be easier on his dad’s body than jerking him to a standing position, so he placed his dad’s ceramic mug and newspaper on the table and wedged himself between his father and the wall. He threaded his arms under his father’s armpits, lifted him and gently lowered him onto the kitchen chair. “There you go. Can I get you anything?” Trevor stepped in front of him.

“No, I’m fine. I told your mother it was no big deal, but she insisted on calling you.”

“So tell me what happened?”

His father shook his head. “Nothing happened, really. One minute I was walking to the table and the next I was on the floor.” Dad wouldn’t meet his gaze. That wasn’t good.

“Your falling was not nothing, Herb.” His mom faced Trevor. “He said his stomach was upset from yesterday’s chemo, so he skipped lunch. That’s why his knees gave way. I told him not to move until you came. He’s still so weak.” His mom stood, hurried over to the oven, and pulled out a delicious smelling casserole and placed it on the table. “We should eat. Dinner’s ready.”

Apparently, neither wanted to discuss what really happened or what needed to be done next.

The table was set for three. He’d missed last Sunday’s family get together, which was as near to a mortal sin as one could get in his family.

“Chicken Parmesan?”

“Yes. Your favorite.”

He wasn’t sure why the special treatment, but he wasn’t about to complain. No one cooked like his mom. “Did you call Ethan or Harry about Dad’s fall?”

“I tried, but I couldn’t get a hold of them.”

Right after he’d received the disturbing call from Mom, he’d phoned both of them too. Same result. No answer.

Once they were seated, his mother pointed a fork at him. “So were the two men in the coffin a match to your Indians?”

“Native Americans.” He stopped eating and stared at her. “How the hell did you hear about that?”

“Don’t swear, Trevor.” She patted him on the hand. “Right after you left for that lab, Ethan called and told us he was named lead detective on the case since at least one of the men had been murdered. He would have told you himself if you’d stayed at the station.” From the width of her smile, his mom was extra proud of her eldest son.

A stab of jealousy took him by surprise. It wasn’t because his brother had the chance to run the homicide investigation, but because Ethan would be working with Lara Romano, the tall, shapely brunette with the soft lips and remarkable eyes.

His cell rang, and he checked the caller ID. “It’s Ethan.” He punched the button. “You get the message about Dad?”

“Yes. How is he?”

Trevor gave a short description of the event, not wanting his parents to hear the worry in his voice. “Everything okay on your end?”

“That’s why I called. I need you back at the station if dad’s okay.”

“One of the missing Native American men was deaf?” Lara’s mother leaned back against the leather sofa and drank the rest of her scotch and water.

“Yes. I was looking at the MRI the detective had brought when I noticed a small fracture at his temple. I realized the man was deaf in that ear.”

“I’ve never seen you so excited before.”

“I’m happy I will to be a contributing member of a team.” A two-person team.

Her mother ran her French manicure on the rim of the empty glass. “So tell me about this detective who brought you the photos and X-Rays. What was his name again? Kinley?”

“Kinsey, with an s.” Lara knew better than to go down that road. Her mom’s main wish was for Lara to marry and produce a slew of grandchildren—ones without a hearing disability, naturally. Lara had a hard enough time today taking her mind off the man and didn’t need to have the discussion.

“You didn’t tell Detective Kinsey you were deaf, did you?”

She refrained from rolling her eyes. “I didn’t have to tell him. My boss did.”

“What a shame.” Her mom motioned for Lara to hide the wire behind her braid.

She wished her mother wouldn’t act as if every person would be instantly repulsed at the thought of her hearing impairment. “This isn’t about him, anyway. I’ve decided to talk to the deaf man’s family. I’m just not sure how to approach them.”

A small tic emerged around her father’s eye. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

“His family is grieving. They need closure.”

Her father’s eyes narrowed. “You...aren’t...a...cop. Let Detective Kinsey do his job. You analyze the bones. Nothing more.” His jaw clenched so hard she was afraid his porcelain veneers would crack.

She understood her dad was scared. His narrowed lids told her how much he wanted to protect her from all of life’s traumas.

“I’m only going to talk with the wife to learn more. I’m hoping it will help me with the identification of the others.” His anger had surprised her. “You always told me to go after what I wanted and not to let barriers stop me and all that good stuff.”

She definitely wouldn’t tell him how her mentor had become involved with a serial killer a few months back. Good Lord, her parents would insist she move back home if they believed the same danger might come to her.

“You make sure you’re careful,” her dad said.

She stood. “I promise. I’ll see you when you return back from your trip to NYC. I hope you raise lots of money for deaf research.”

Last month’s fund raising adventure had been for abused children, the month before that for the homeless. While she loved that her parents helped others, she wished that they hadn’t been gone so much during her childhood.

Lara’s eyes blurred. Even two cups of coffee hadn’t done the trick this morning. From many late nights, she knew a lack of sleep always hindered the investigative process. To jump start her mind, she organized her tools just the way she liked them on the lab counter. Next, she extracted the bones from the pot, cleaned and dried them, constantly stifling her yawns.

Unfortunately, the cobwebs clouding her brain were making it impossible to concentrate on what the victims were trying to tell her—or was it Trevor Kinsey’s abrupt departure yesterday that had her frustrated and not the lack of sleep? The hurt when people abandoned her ran deep.

Lara placed the diagram of the body on the counter in order to mark the areas of interest on John Doe #2 when a voice accompanied a tap on her shoulder.

“Dr. Romano?”

She swiveled around and her breath caught in her throat. Detective Kinsey—the man she’d been chastising in her mind. She stepped back and bumped into the metal gurney. The wheeled cart slid backwards, and she lost her balance. Kinsey reached out to steady her, but he withdrew his hand when she caught herself.

Dressed in a white buttoned down shirt opened at the throat and black slacks that molded to his lean body, he looked like he’d come from a magazine shoot. His appearance was quite different from yesterday’s I-am-cowboy getup. She looked away. Analyzing the bones needed her full attention. Her interest in Detective Kinsey, no doubt, was purely physical. Surely, they had nothing in common other than a desire to find closure for the families.

Trevor moved back. “Have you learned anything about my men?”

The man did care about his job, and he clearly wanted to help the victims and their families. “Yes.” His brows rose as he walked around to the other side of the gurney where she’d spread out John Doe #2’s remains. When he returned his focus to the bones, she relaxed. “This man, who I’ve named John Doe #2, had a broken hyoid.”

“A who-oid?” Kinsey winked.

She wasn’t sure if he was only pretending he didn’t know where the bone was located or if he really didn’t know, so she explained to be sure. “The hyoid bone is right about here.”

She leaned across the metal expanse and wrapped her thumb and forefinger above Trevor’s Adam’s apple, but just touching his whiskered neck sent off signals she wasn’t ready to interpret. Lara immediately dropped her hand and cleared her throat, praying the heat that spread across her face didn’t show up as red.

“Someone strangled him?”

“Yes.”

“Excellent.” Trevor pulled out a pad from his top pocket and scribbled something down.

“You’re happy?” She couldn’t understand why.

He narrowed his eyes. “Not happy this poor man was strangled. Hell, no. I’m pleased I have information that might help me. My brother, Ethan, who’s the lead homicide investigator on this case, will also be equally pleased.” He notched his chin up.

“Oh.”

When would she learn not to jump to conclusions? Since she couldn’t hear the inflection in their sentences, maybe she would when she became better at reading facial expressions.

“What else did you learn?” His pen was poised to take more notes.

“The hyoid bone was broken in three places. It’s one of the most difficult bones in the body to break since it’s not attached to any other bone. To me, this implies the killer is very strong.”

“So we’re looking at a male killer?”

“Most likely. Victim #2 also had a crushed metatarsal bone. That’s in his foot.”

His brows rose then dropped. “That bone I do know about. I broke mine when I ran track in high school. Stress fracture.”

She winced, and her gaze shot to his boot. “Our man also had an unhealed fractured finger. It wasn’t life threatening, but I’d say he didn’t die without a struggle.”

“Sounds reasonable.” He nodded to the other gurney. “What about that fellow?”

Lara walked to the table in the middle of the room. “This man, John Doe #1, was shot in the head. From the trajectory of the bullet, I’m guessing the killer was about six to eight inches taller than this man.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “That’s fantastic.”

At his praise, her breath hitched. “I’m glad I could help.”

“So we’re looking at a man who’s close to six two.”

Like Trevor. “Yes.” She was five-seven, and he was a good half-foot taller. He remembered heights, and she remembered almost every number that flashed in front of her, from license plates to phone numbers to bone lengths. He nodded toward the table. “Anything else?”

“Yes. Both men had bad teeth, probably from eating a poor diet.” If he asked how she knew, she’d give him all the boring details.

“Many of those on the Reservation didn’t receive proper health care until the tribe bought the casino back in 2006 and everyone received a monthly stipend from the profits.”

“That makes our pool of candidates rather large. I guess we’ll have to investigate.” Together—in the field. While HOPEFAL allowed, and even encouraged, their scientists to find answers anyway they could, she’d always stayed in her safe little lab. It might be time to change that.

He furrowed his brow. “There is no we here. You’re staying out of harm’s way. I’ll do the legwork.”

Lara puffed out her chest. “I have expertise you don’t.”

“We’ll discuss your contribution later.” He strode over to the exit, yanked the lab door and rushed out. Fine. She let him go this time. He’ll be back.

The moment the lab door closed, she flipped over the business card on the counter he’d left yesterday and fetched her cell phone. Trevor would be down the hall and out the building door in, say, thirty seconds.

She counted to twenty-five and dialed his number.

“Kinsey,” he answered.

“I assume you are well versed in the deaf world.”

Silence. He let out a tentative breath. “Look if I offended…”

“You didn’t stay long enough to learn about the most decisive piece of evidence our victim had for us.” For the first time in forever, a sense of power surged inside her.

“What? There was more than the teeth?”

“Yes. I’ll be here for a few more minutes before I leave to follow up on the clues.” Liar. It was too late to leave now, but he didn’t have to know that. Besides, she’s promised her father she wouldn’t go alone if she spoke with the any family members of the dead men.

She hung up and crossed her arms, leaning against a lab table, watching the door, and counting the seconds.