Sam checked out the girl at the counter even though he had no plans to take her up on her open invitation. The studded collar and tattoo on her arm was not his style, but she deserved to express herself however she chose.

His mission was to speak with Deidra Willows, not get a date. Given Creighton Jackson was in his fifties, Sam figured the cashier most likely wasn’t Jackson’s lover, nor did she look old enough to own the store. He stepped toward the counter to ask for the owner and realized the girl appeared closer to thirty than twenty, which put her a few years younger than him. It didn’t matter. He’d had enough of women on the prowl for one day.

“Hi. I’m looking for Deidra Willows.”

She leaned over the counter giving him quite a view. “Are you sure I can’t help you?”

He chuckled. “Positive.”

She straightened and popped the gum in her mouth. “Deidra’s in the back. I’ll get her.”

Interesting place. While he waited for the owner, he slid over to a table that drew his attention. Several jars were jammed to the brim with bones, and he fingered through them. They weren’t human, but he wasn’t sure which breed of dog they belonged to. Most were bleached white, meaning the owner had more than likely purchased the bones over the Internet.

“You need to speak with me?”

Sam turned to find a rather homely woman, forty-five to fifty, smooth brow line, wide set eyes and equally wide mouth. Her jaw was a little small for her face, but that didn’t take away from the woman’s presence.

He held out his hand. “I’m Dr. Sam Bonita with the Henry Pomerantz Center for Forensic Science.” He shortened the name. The real title was a mouthful.

“Yes?” She didn’t even blink, as if she knew of the place.

“Could we speak somewhere in private?”

“What’s this about?” The woman didn’t seem to care if the clerk or customers overheard what he had to say.

“I’m here about Creighton Jackson.”

Her body stiffened, but her face didn’t twitch a muscle. “What about Creighton?”

The use of the first name meant she knew him rather well. The two teenager girls giggled and sidled up to the check out counter. The clerk chatted with them, but he blocked out the conversation, needing to word his statement correctly. “One of his neighbors said you and he knew each other… rather well. I was hoping you’d have a photo of him.”

No concern crossed her face. “Not at the store, but at home, I might. Why would you want a picture of Creighton?”

She didn’t seem to connect the dots between the forensic science lab and death, nor did she seem aware of the body found on his boat despite the news stations blasting the story ever few hours. “Did you know if he had a tattoo on his hip?”

She frowned. His change in topic seemed to distract her for a moment. “Yes. He had one on his hip in the shape of an anchor. Why?”

Damn. Though the body in the lab was in all probability Creighton Jackson, he wasn’t happy about it. He wished he could leave the tell-the-girlfriend to the police, but once she thought about the conversation and realized Creighton was dead, she’d be devastated and would need some answers.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you, but the police found a man in the bottom of Creighton’s boat who had an anchor tattoo on his hip.”

She said nothing for a moment, her eyes searching the air. “Are you telling me Creighton’s dead?” Her voice came out raw.

“We believe so. Once I find a relative and obtain a DNA sample, I can make a positive identification.” No need to mention the man’s head was missing, making a photo ID near impossible.

She shook her head several times as if she wished hard enough, what he’d told her would turn out to be false. “I can’t believe it. Are you sure? Creighton goes to Colorado this time of year. You must be mistaken.”

Surely, she couldn’t believe that two people had anchor tattoos on their hips, both of whom were friends. “Apparently, he never made it there. Did you receive a call from him after he arrived in Colorado?”

“No. I haven’t spoken to him in a while. We weren’t seeing each other any more.” Maybe that explained why her breakdown wasn’t as emotional as he’d anticipated. When Sam had found his wife bludgeoned to death, he’d sobbed for days.

She leaned back, almost as if she was about to fall. Sam reached out his hand to steady her, but she caught herself on the table. “If you’ll excuse me.” Without asking any more questions, she spun around and disappeared down a dark hallway. He bet she’d be calling the police as soon as the news registered. For now, he’d wait, ready for her questions to surface. Shock had a way of short-circuiting reason.

He moved away from the table with the bones toward the front door in order to notify Phil in private. He kept his voice as low as possible.

“Are you sure it’s Creighton Jackson?” Phil’s comment came out crisp and tight.

The last of the current customers whooshed by him, and he waited until the door closed. “Strong chance it is. Maybe that cop, Giombetti, can get something of Jackson’s to test the DNA.”

“I can give him a call.”

“Thanks.”

Sam stuffed his cell in his top pocket and pretended to study the other artifacts on the table. The cashier rushed over to him. “Did I hear you right? Did you say a friend of Deidra’s is dead?” Her brow creased and her mouth pinched.

“It’s possible.”

She stepped back and raised a brow. “Are you a cop or something?”

“I work at a forensic lab.”

“Oh.” Her nose notched up. “How did he die?” A question Deidra should have asked.

“I’m not sure. Even if I knew, I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you. It’s confidential.”

She blew another bubble. “I get it.” He could almost see the wheels in her mind spin.

“Have you ever met Mr. Jackson?”

“Me? No, but I only started working here three weeks ago.”

“So you probably have no idea if Mr. Jackson had any relatives in town.” A long shot, but worth a try.

“Nope. Would you like me to ask my boss?”

“That would be helpful. Thanks.”

“Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.” Her smile was as pretty as a spic and span room.

Hips swaying, she glided toward the office and disappeared around the corner. While he waited, he checked out the scent section in the store, though he wasn’t sure why he found the strange fragrances so appealing. Maybe it was because he’d spent the last few years surrounded by the stench of decomposing bodies.

“Dallas Brockton. He’s Creighton’s son.”

Sam whipped around at the sound of the cashier’s voice. Gone was the cute, flirty girl. Instead, she appeared more focused and direct.

Because they had different last names, he might be a stepson.

She handed him a slip of paper. “That’s what Deidra said. Here’s his number.” She stood so close she had to crane her neck to look up at him. “I’m Jenna Richman by the way.”

He waited another second to see where her little game was headed, but when she kept silent, he dipped his head and lowered his voice. “Thanks again for you help.”

She ran a hand over her spiked hair. “You from around here?”

He recognized the pickup line, but decided he’d play along for the fun of it. God knows he could use the levity. “I live north of here.”

She caught her bottom lip with her teeth in a provocative way that almost made him question whether he should take her up on her offer. He shouldn’t—couldn’t. He had a job to do. Besides, it would certainly look bad if he failed to provide Phil with an answer on Sam’s first big case.

“So what do you do at this lab? Dissect bodies or something?” Her tone implied she wanted to dissect him.

“I’m a forensic anthropologist.” He hoped she wouldn’t make any suggestive bone(r) jokes like so many of his female students used to.

“For real?”

An unexpected laugh escaped. “For real.” He hadn’t anticipated finding anything about her attractive, yet she intrigued him.

Jenna’s light brown eyes morphed into the color of deep, rich coffee. She stepped back and let out a breath then edged over to a large storage bin that resided near the front of the store. After removing the cover, she pulled out a femur. “Is this human?”

Sam lifted the bone from her grasp and inspected it, acting as much like a professor as he could. “Yes. It’s a human thigh.”

She leaned in and sniffed the bone. “It doesn’t smell. Do you think it’s real?”

The only detectable aroma he noticed was her fruity perfume—a mixture of lemons and peaches. His wife always wore strong scents, and he was surprised he liked the lighter aroma. Answer her question. He juggled the bone to determine its weight, and then studied the epiphysis, which was at the end of the bone. “I’m afraid not. It’s a very good replication though. This is definitely plastic.”

“Oh.”

Two customers, a woman and who he guessed was her daughter, wandered in. He cleared his throat. “I better let you get back to work.”

She glanced over at them. “They can wait.”

The woman eyed them with a scowl, and he raised his brows at Jenna. “Don’t lose your job on my account.”

As if he’d told her the place was on fire, her eyes widened and her body stiffened. She spun around and raced up to them. That wasn’t the reaction he’d expected, but then, he didn’t understand much of what women did.

It was time to get back to work anyway. Since Deidra didn’t seem to be in need of answers, and Jenna was involved in conversation with her new customers, he left. Instead of heading back to the lab though, he sat in his car and dialed the number Jenna had handed him. He would have gone to Creighton’s son’s place and spoken to him in person, but he didn’t have an address. He disconnected after two rings. How insensitive could he get? What if the body wasn’t Creighton Jackson’s? Sam needed a positive ID before giving the son such horrible news over the phone. He speed dialed Carla Pendowski—the technological wonder woman of HOPEFAL. While those computer geeks on TV seemed to be able to break into any and every computer across the county, Carla wasn’t far behind.

“What’s up, Doc,” she answered.

“Funny.” He liked Carla, even though she too wasn’t his type. She wore her grandmother’s vintage dresses, had an IQ at least twice his own, and loved hard rock music. A relationship like that would never work—not to mention she celebrated her twenty-third birthday only two months ago. A thirteen-year age difference was too much for him to grasp. “I have a job for you.”

“My fingers are at your disposal.”

The image of Jenna’s fingers being at his disposal quickly came to mind, but he pushed aside the erotic thought. His first order of business was to make a positive ID on the body in the lab, not wonder what would have happened if he’d asked for Jenna’s number.

“Doc, you there?”

Christ. His mind hadn’t wondered like that in forever. “Yeah. I need to see if you can find an address for a Dallas Brockton, son of Creighton Jackson.” He gave her the man’s cell phone number.

He could hear the keys typing. “Got it. What are you going to give me for the address?” Carla loved playing games.

“How about a Starbuck’s Mocha Latte?”

“Done.” She gave him the information. He rarely remembered to buy her the drink, but she didn’t seem to care. It was the challenge that mattered to her.

Jenna closed the book she’d been reading for the past half hour and rubbed her temples. The incense seemed particularly intense tonight, or maybe the impending migraine came because once Sam Bonita left, no one of any interest had stopped in. Thursday nights at the shop were the worst. At least the tourists on Friday and Saturday made her job more interesting.

Stop daydreaming. Time was ticking. She was desperate to get into the back room for a sample of the blood, but Deidra remained glued in her office. If Jenna didn’t come up with some evidence real soon, she’d be back on the street doing parking meter duty. As she sorted the cash register money, her mind zoomed in on the good doctor. He was smart, had a job that paid above minimum wage, and did she mention, hot? There was no question the man worked out. A runner perhaps, but he also must lift weights. He ranked a twelve on a scale of one to ten in the looks department. She especially liked his sandy blond hair and how the bangs fell over his forehead. His eyes were a rich, chocolate, and those lips—wow. Were they kissable or what?

The bell above the entrance rang cutting short her daydream. Her breath hitched at the thought Sam might have returned. She cut a glance to the door. Oh, no. Charlotte Evert, her BFF since third grade walked in. If she blew Jenna’s cover, their friendship would die a painful death. “What are you doing here?” Jenna whispered.

“Chill.” Charlotte looked around and squealed. “Wow. This place is cool. You learn any spells yet?”

“No.” At least her friend wasn’t in one of her lawyer suits. Her jeans and tight tank top might fool Deidra if she ever came out of her bat cave.

“I’m worried about you. We haven’t gone out in weeks.”

“That’s because I’m working a case. I told you that.”

“Yeah, so you said.” Charlotte leaned on the counter. “So what’s new? I miss our gossip time.”

No one else was in the store, thank God. If she didn’t give Charlotte some tidbit, she’d hang around and cause trouble. “Okay. Here’s the scoop. This really hot guy came into the store a few hours ago needing to speak with my boss. Get this. He works at a forensic lab, and he’s a freaking doctor. Can you believe that?”

“Shut up.” Her eyes had that dangerous look in them. “You dragged him behind one of the tall bookcases and did him, I hope.”

“Char, you know that deep inside I’m not like that.”

Her friend rolled her eyes. “Fine. Don’t tell me all the details. You asked him out at least. Right?”

Why had she ever confided in Charlotte in the first place? The whole gang would hear every word of what she said within the hour. “No. I lost my courage, but I did learn where he works, and that’s good enough.”

“He knows you like him though, right?”

“He’d be blind not to.”

“You know what happened the last time you led someone on.”

“I didn’t lead Sam on, I only flirted with him a little.” She scrunched up her nose. “Besides, he didn’t act really interested.” At least not yet.

“Then he’s not alive. What’s he like?”

Jenna stacked the postcards next to the computer. “The usual combination of Hugh Jackman and Brad Pitt.”

“Oh that.”

“Doesn’t matter. He left without asking for my number.”

Charlotte fingered the plastic skull heads in front of her. “I’m putting my money on you. I say you have him in bed by the first of the month.”

That would give her fifteen days, which was completely doable. “You know I can’t resist a challenge. And if I do? What then?”

Her friend’s eyes sparkled. “The first pitcher of Margaritas is on me.”

The headache that had been brewing vanished. “You’re on.”

Char checked her watch. “I gotta go. Billy’s down the street buying cigars, and I told him I’d only be a minute. We’ll touch base this weekend, okay?”

“Promise.”

Charlotte blew air kisses before scooting out the door. Jenna chuckled. Char and she were night and day in so many ways, but she never had a better friend.

It was time to get to work—on Sam, that is. Jenna jiggled the computer mouse that sat next to the cash drawer and clicked on the Internet. Customers often wanted to do research on some item from the store, so Deidra had provided wireless access. Go boss. Jenna typed in “forensic lab, Tampa, Florida.” Up popped HOPEFAL, a recently constructed lab that sat on the University of Braham’s campus. What do you know? Her alma mater. Sweet. Perhaps a visit to her former haunt was in order. Within minutes she found all the information she needed to put her plan into action.

“Jenna?”

She looked up. Deidra’s eyes were rimmed red. “Are you okay?” When Jenna had gone in to ask for Creighton’s son’s number, Deidra had appeared fine. But that was a few hours ago.

Her boss waved a hand. “Just being sentimental. Creighton and I broke up months ago, but I’m having a hard time understanding why someone would want to murder him.”

Stoic Deidra looked genuinely upset, an emotion Jenna never thought she’d see from her. Without thinking, Jenna shot into cop mode. “Did he have any enemies?” Sam never mentioned anything about murder, nor did he say anything about the decapitation.

She shook her head. “No. He was such a generous man.”

“What did that forensic man say when he came in? Did he tell you how Creighton died?” Maybe Dr. Bonita was more forthcoming with Deidra.

“He didn’t seem to know much.”

Apparently, Sam didn’t share with anyone. Interesting. “Maybe you could call Creighton’s son. I bet that forensic dude will tell him everything—being next of kin and all.”

“That’s a good idea.” A faint smile lifted her lips. “I’d love to be able to help the police find the killer, but....” Her eyes glazed over and she clutched her purse to her chest. “I think we should close early. I need to go home and rest.” She sniffled again.

“I’ll be happy to close at ten.” Which would give her complete access to the back room.

Deidra shook her head. “No. No. I’ll close now and worry about reconciling the money tomorrow.”

So much for gathering evidence. “Whatever you say.”

Jenna’s Google search had already uncovered that Sam’s Forensic Anthropology class already had their final exam, but his other class didn’t end until two—tomorrow. And she didn’t have to come into work until six. Now that was what she’d call perfect timing.