Oh shit. Think fast. “What am I doing here? I work at the store.” He sounded just like the guy who’d attacked her at the cemetery, but she couldn’t be positive. And the gun aimed right at her chest wasn’t helping one bit. Jenna could only hope the spikes in her hair made her look different from when she was at her mom’s grave. She stepped forward. Aggression always served her well in the past. “What are you doing here?”

“None of your goddamn business.”

Okay.

The funky chime from over the front door sounded. Yes! It had to be Deidra since Jenna had locked the door. If not, she was in big trouble. “That’s the store owner.” So go.

His eyes widened, then his gaze darted to the right.

“Jenna?” Deidra called.

For once, she was happy the old witch had returned. A flick of what might be concern, or possibly fear, flashed across his face, but in this dim light, it was hard to tell. She judged the distance to the door and prayed she could reach it before he decided to shoot her. Her 22mm was strapped to her ankle, but if she used it, her job here would be finished—or her life if he shot first.

Taking advantage of his apparent indecision, she dashed to the door and wrenched it closed behind her. No shots. Thank God. Or maybe she should thank the goddesses. Why she thought a flimsy, unlocked door would stop the guy from coming after her, she didn’t know. Go.

Her feet pounded on the hard wood floor as she ran toward the office. No footsteps sounded behind her. Something wasn’t right, but she had no time to figure it out. She slid to a stop inside the door next to the safe just as Deidra appeared.

“Jenna! Everything okay? You look out of breath.”

What gave it away? The deep gulping breaths or the red face? “I’m good. I thought I heard something behind the door. I went down the hallway, but the second door was locked. It must be my imagination running wild.” She ran a hand over her forehead. “So how’s Shelby? Did she have her baby yet?” In less than thirty minutes? Something, or someone had brought Deidra back.

Where the hell was the guy? He must be waiting until they locked up, though she had no idea how he’d been able to enter the room in the first place. Some kind of secret panel must exist, or she would have heard him break into Deidra’s office.

A tick tugged at Deidra’s cheek. “No. False alarm. Go figure. You sure you’re okay?”

If she admitted to her boss she’d seen a man, she might as well confess to everything, and that wasn’t going to happen. The other possibility was that Deidra had hired the guy to check up on Jenna, but there was no way he could have notified the boss so quickly about her trespassing.

Decision made. Keep her mouth shut. “Yup.”

“Everything go okay after I left?”

Did she suspect something? “Fine. No other customers showed up.” That wasn’t a lie.

Deidra pulled out a tissue and blew her nose before moving back toward the safe. Jenna scurried out the door. She didn’t take a breath until she was in her car with the doors locked.

Four officers flanked Captain Lucas at the large wooden conference table when Jenna stepped into the room. She’d just come from speaking with Greg, catching her partner up on the intruder incident and then listening to his valued opinion. Now she had to face the fact she’d failed to bring back evidence when it was right in front of her. Damn. Many more slip ups like this and she might end up directing traffic instead of investigating.

On the far end of the table sat Larry Bernard who was working his own coffin case. Next to him was Sheldon Meyers, Larry’s rookie partner. Marlon Giombetti was on the Captain’s left. Poor guy. He screwed up more than any cop she’d known. He might be great looking, but he had the personality of a stick. She’d learned that fact from an up close and personal experience. Live and learn. To his left was Andrea Maken, his unfortunate partner.

“Now that Jenna’s here, we can begin.” Lucas flipped through a manila folder.

It’s not like she was late or anything. She sat in the remaining empty chair, directly across from the captain. Larry passed down a steaming cup of coffee to her. Bless him. Her unsteady hand tilted the cup and coffee overflowed onto her fingers, scalding her. “Damn.” Every rustling paper and mumble ceased. All eyes darted to her. Super. “I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”

Her face hotter than the burning drink, she plastered on a smile only a cheerleader could muster. She wouldn’t let any of the guys see her flinch.

The captain cleared his throat and turned to Detective Giombetti. “What about the Creighton Jackson case? Did he show up at his home yet?”

Giombetti looked startled he’d have to go first. “No. Andrea and I spoke to the man who owns the yacht next to his. He’s sticking to his story. He claimed a real bad odor was coming from the boat. When he went to investigate, he found nothing, so he called us.”

“That’s when you found the corpse?”

“Yes, sir.” Marlon shoved a photo toward the captain.

Even with the picture upside down, the image was ghastly. Jenna schooled her features, pushing aside the image of her mother’s body without her head. The corpse didn’t have his either. Then again he didn’t have any hands or feet for that matter. For a brief moment she wondered if some high priestess had ended up with the missing body parts.

The captain slid the picture back to Marlon. “You need to find the yacht owner to help identify the body.”

Marlon scribbled his pen on the yellow legal pad. The ink seemed to have run out. That was why she only used mechanical pencils. They were more reliable.

“According to his neighbors, he’s out of town,” Marlon said. “They all claim he takes the month of December off to ski in Telluride, Colorado.” Andrea handed him a pencil, and Marlon tossed her a feeble smile.

“Anyone have a Colorado address or cell phone number for the guy?” Captain Lucas asked.

Marlon waved a hand. “Yes. I phoned him, but he hasn’t returned my call.”

Lucas’s gaze shot down to the photo. “Let’s pray HOPEFAL can pull a name out of the hat for us.”

She hadn’t been to the Henry O. Pomerantz Center for Excellence Forensic Analysis Lab (HOPEFAL) yet, but she’d heard they could process a body nearly as fast as any TV show claimed they could.

None of the other officers said anything for a moment, obviously trying to digest the horror.

Jenna leaned forward. “How do we know the headless man isn’t the boat owner?”

“We don’t.” The captain shot a look at Giombetti, probably wondering why he hadn’t asked that question. Score one for her.

“Larry, what progress have you made in the grave robbery case?” Lucas asked.

“Other than some very upset families, we have squat. No viable prints on the mausoleum, or footprints nearby. I have no leads until this guy strikes again. Jenna’s really the one working the case.”

The captain turned to her. “Want to fill us in on your findings?”

All eyes peered at her. She passed around her cell phone to show them the wall drawings. “I didn’t get a chance to download the photo yet.” Lame. “I was about to obtain a sample of the dried blood when some guy appeared out of nowhere with a gun and asked why I was there.” His brows rose, though she didn’t know why. “I put everything in the report.” All except the fact she had no legal right to be in the backroom.

“Did you ask him his name?” her boss asked.

“Nope. His gun had one though. Smith and Wesson.” She could have sworn Lucas rolled his eyes. “As soon as the front door to the shop chimed and Deidra, that’s the owner, called out my name, he backed off.”

“It says here, you returned to your boss’ office. Deidra came in, but that the guy just disappeared.”

“That’s right. Though I swear there was only one door, and he didn’t go through it. He was like some ghost.”

“Could he be the same guy who attacked you in the cemetery?”

“Good possibility. He had the same raspy voice.”

“You didn’t list any description in your report.”

“It was real dark in there. I can say he was Caucasian, about five ten, beefy, and no more than twenty-five.”

Lucas made a note. “What did this Deidra say about the guy?”

Groan. “I didn’t tell her. I wasn’t sure if she was in cahoots with him. Besides, I didn’t want to let her know I was snooping.” She waited for his lecture on evidence collection but none came.

Lucas tapped his pencil on his pad. “While you were snooping, did you see anything that resembled human remains?”

“Not specifically. A putrid smell was coming from the back of the room, but this guy appeared just as I was about to investigate. I’m hoping to have another chance sometime this week.”

That would mean she’d have to sneak back in. If she were caught though, anything collected would be inadmissible in court if Deidra complained. That would suck.

“Good. Do that.”

No head. No hands. Legs cut off below the knees.

Forensic anthropologist, Dr. Sam Bonita, hoped like hell the dismemberment was post mortem and not the cause of death. What was left of the yacht man was covered in a gray, waxy material, which confirmed the body had been in the boat’s cold, damp hull for days, if not weeks.

It was no wonder the Tampa PD had sent the body over to HOPEFAL. The forensics facility, like the staff, was high tech and state-of-the-art. It still amazed him he’d landed a part-time job here. Too bad Sharon never lived long enough to see this place. His wife would have been so proud.

As he decided on his plan of attack for identifying the body, he turned off the piped in jazz music floating above the whir of the enormously powerful exhaust system. He was a classics kind of guy more than a jazz aficionado. Grabbing his digital Canon 5D Mark III from beneath the counter, he photographed the corpse from the neck down. Eric Markowitz, one of HOPEFAL’s forensic pathologists, had told Sam he’d removed the organs and run several tox screens, the results of which would be ready soon. All Sam had to do was inform the police who’d been murdered—a job that wouldn’t be easy since there were no prints and no chance of obtaining dental records. He cursed the bastard who nabbed the head for a souvenir and then cut off the hands and feet.

Even though his expertise was in studying the bones and not on the soft tissue, his room had all the luxuries of a pathology lab. In cases such as this one, he would need to use its super powerful disposal to get rid of unusable parts of the putrefied body once he was finished deboning the victim.

As he took the last shot, a knock sounded on his key-coded door. Sam put down his camera and note pad and stripped off his latex gloves. Before he could answer, the heavy door swung open.

His thirty-year old boss, Phil Tedesco, wheeled in with wet hair and nylon athletic gear. Freshly showered from his morning of physical therapy, Phil sat up straight in his wheelchair, looking more upbeat than he had in weeks. “I have a visitor for you, Doc.”

“You said the lab didn’t do tours.” Rules were rules. At least that’s what the Navy Seals had drilled into him.

“I invited him.”

Worked for him. A tall, athletic man, around his own age, stepped into the lab and smiled. “Remember me?” The jovial guy swung out his arms in a big embrace.

“Chance Taveres?” He was a blast from the past. Freshly cut blond hair and well groomed in expensive clothes had never been his friend’s style, but the new look fit him. “You son of a bitch. How the hell are you?”

“Good. Real good.” His friend stepped forward and encased Sam in a bear hug.

Not used to demonstrative overtures, Sam moved away after a second. “It’s been what?” He did the quick math. “Fourteen years? What have you been up to?”

Phil propelled his wheelchair forward. “I just hired him to join our forensic pathology team.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “No shit. You’re a doctor? I’ll be damned.” Sam couldn’t decipher the look that crossed Chance’s face.

“Watch it. I know I was Mr. Party when we hung together, but those days are in the past.” He turned to Phil. “If it’s okay with you guys, I’d like to watch the master at work.” He nodded toward Sam. “Perhaps my old buddy can finish showing me around when he has a minute.”

Sam nodded. “I have no problem with that as long as you’re willing to suit up and help me with my new project.”

Chance glanced over at the corpse. “I’d love to.”

Phil shook his head. “Knock yourself out.” He spun around, his wheelchair tires squeaking on the tiled floor.

Sam pulled out a fresh pair of plastic scrubs, along with booties to cover Chance’s polished loafers. “Here.”

Shit. Chance knew everything about Sam’s background, both the good and the bad. Sam didn’t need his major fuck up to be exposed. “Did you tell Phil how we met?”

Chance clasped a hand on his shoulder. “You would have been proud, my man. I told him the truth. Explained how we rowed on the same team together in Ohio. And to answer your unasked question, I didn’t mention your family—or your wife. I’ll keep that info to myself.”

“Thanks.” Sam’s wife had died because he’d been too damn self-absorbed drinking with his buddies to help her. “Do you ever see Carl Rodriguez?” Only three of the four-man crew team were still alive. Bill Butler had died in a car wreck two years after he’d graduated.

“Carl and I keep in touch every once in a while. He’s a firefighter in Chicago now and has a wife and three kids.”

“Wow. That’s great. And you. Ever marry?”

“Tried it. Failed. I’m here to move on.”

“I hear ya.”

His friend ran a gloved finger over the dead man’s chest. “So what do you know about this guy?”

Glad to be back on solid ground, Sam straightened. “Police found the body about fifteen miles south of here on Davis Island. The vic was crammed into a storage compartment in the hull of a forty-foot sailboat.”

“Did the police talk to the owner?”

“They couldn’t find the guy. A neighbor said he was in Colorado skiing.”

“That’ll be a shock when he comes home. His boat will never smell the same again.”

Sam chuckled. “Amen.”

“What’s your next move?” Chance asked.

“I want to X-ray this guy.” Sam pulled the portable X-ray over to the body.

Chance whistled. “You have two machines?”

The larger X-ray sat in the corner. “We have everything here. The portal X-ray comes in handy, especially when I can’t get the body to the big machine.”

“Impressive.” Chance smiled. “Now I know I made the right move to come here.”

Together they lined up the contraption over the body. Before they could examine the results, Eric Markowitz came in waving a brown evidence bag, which he placed on the counter. “Dr. Tavares, Sam. I thought you might like to see what was in the victim’s pocket when I prepared him for autopsy.”

Apparently, the two had met. He wouldn’t be surprised if Eric would be Chance’s mentor. Eric opened the bag with gloved hands and pulled out the contents. “The vic was wearing a University of Florida ring. I didn’t find a wallet or any other kind of identification, unfortunately, but I sent his clothes over to the Trace lab. His shirt, and what was left of his pants, were well-made, but other than the victim’s blood, I don’t think the lab will find anything useful to point us to his killer.”

Eric set the large, gold ring with the gleaming blue stone, displaying the initials, UF on the counter, the graduation date clearly visible.

“That puts our vic at about fifty-five.” Sam cleared his throat. The dry room air made him perpetually thirsty. “Did the autopsy reveal cause of death?” Eric had performed miracles before.

“If the victim’s COD was a direct result of a series of blows or a gunshot wound to the head, it would be difficult to determine on the headless corpse.”

Smart ass. “But you figured it out, anyway, right?”

Eric shook his head. “The body was too putrefied to get a good read on him. I did find an enlarged heart, which was probably due to hypertension, but the rest of the organs were too far gone to draw any conclusions. I was hoping for something simple, like a bullet hole through his heart or a stab wound, but no such luck. The tox screen might show if the man was poisoned, but I wouldn’t hold your breath. I had to extract the fluid from unconventional spots on his body since the head was missing.”

Sam firmed his lips. “That’s good to know.”

Eric blinked a few times. “I can see you two are busy.” He turned to Chance. “When you’re done, come to autopsy room number four. I’ll show you my world.”

“Sure thing.”

Once Eric closed the door, the room returned to tomblike silence. Sam turned to his friend. “I’d like your opinion on the X-rays.”

He waited as Chance studied the images, curious to see if he’d notice the peculiar oddity.

Chance ran a finger along the screen. “The cuts around the severed limbs are particularly clean. It doesn’t look as though any of the bones were damaged.”

“That’s the problem. I was hoping the instrument used would have left a mark on the bones themselves. That would make it easier to figure out the murder weapon.”

His face transformed from one of question to realization. “Only a very sharp instrument could deliver that level of precision. Maybe it came from a hunter’s knife.”

“Or a scalpel,” Sam said.

“Now that’s a scary thought.”