Why were dead people so much better at revealing their secrets than the living? Sally Levenson covered the woman with the starched sheet, and then pushed the body back into the freezer. The metallic door closed with a solid thunk, and she peeled off her surgical gloves with a snap!

She tossed them into the waste bucket, wrinkling her nose at the smell. Not only were her hands tacky after a long day encased in nitrile, but they reeked of stale rubber mixed with the stench of sweat.

Her back ached from the long hours on her feet, and the beginnings of a headache throbbed behind her eyes. Normally, an autopsy lasted no more than a few hours. This one? She’d been at it all day and still wasn’t done.

What had seemed like yet another junkie overdose had turned into something else. The pretty brunette had been found in a back alley with a needle stuck in her arm and puncture wounds in her thigh.

A massive heroin overdose had killed the girl, but that wasn’t the end of her story. She had secrets to tell, and Sally was listening. One needle had been inserted into a vein, but the woman had been stabbed with several others. That’s when the dead girl had started to spill the mystery of her death.

Junkies were beyond good at finding veins. Freakishly good, they invariably found their Highways to Heaven, but sometimes even dedicated addicts ran out of places to poke. Never had she seen them inject into muscle. Absorption was erratic and the high blunted. The girl’s body was one endless track of needle marks, but she still had several usable veins left. There was no reason to jab needles into the muscles of her thigh.

There’d been bruising around the neck too. Another secret revealed. People thought she was odd when she said the dead spoke, but everybody’s story was written on their body, and inside as well. Sally happened to be an expert in getting to the root of those secrets.

For example, the bruising around the neck was not the cause of death. There were no signs of a struggle either. No defensive wounds. Nothing under the fingernails but dirt and grime. No clumps of missing hair. The girl hadn’t died from strangulation. She’d barely been conscious enough to fight whoever had done it. Which meant the choking was either consensual, perhaps the girl was trading favors in kink to supply her habit, or, she’d been too out of it to realize her life was in danger.

Either way, whoever had choked her had stopped before the girl died. Maybe they’d chickened out? Maybe the girl was already well on her way to oblivion at the end of an overdose? Except that didn’t make sense either. Someone administered a lethal overdose to make it look like the girl OD’d. Of that, she was certain.

Which brought her to the weirdest thing about this case. Whole cloves, not the ground up spice people used in cooking, were in the girl’s mouth. They’d been there when the girl was alive because a couple of the woody stems had been aspirated into her lungs.

It was time to call Detective Mackenzie and let him make sense of this. Her job was to collect the evidence. The questions of how and why belonged to the detectives.

She dialed Mac’s cellphone, but it went straight to voicemail.

“Detective Mac, it’s Doctor Levenson. I need you to call me as soon as you get this. I’m pretty sure this heroin overdose wasn’t self-inflicted. I’ll be finishing up my report tomorrow, but please call me as soon as you get this. Reid was asking about this earlier. I assume he’s consulting with you again, so I’m going to call him too.”

Her news wasn’t necessarily urgent. The body would wait until the morning, but important evidence at the crime scene might be lost. With Mac not answering, she dialed Reid’s number. Unfortunately, his cellphone went to voicemail as well. She repeated the message she’d given Mac.

A slow, ponderous tick tock pulled her attention to the industrial no-frills clock hanging above the two swinging doors. Ten minutes until six, and if she didn’t hurry, she was going to miss Derek’s call. Oddly peculiar about calling precisely at six, she found herself becoming conditioned to expect the call…and eager.

Life had become stale, tasteless, and dull, about as exciting as the corpses she talked to during the day. Work filled her days. Books and television shows spanned the hours from getting home to falling asleep. There had been no joy. Nothing to look forward too. No giddy, stomach flipping excitement. Just dull, tasteless life.

Then Derek LeMark showed up. He stole her breath, and, along with a kiss, made her laugh and smile again. He had her looking forward to every evening with his promised call. The air felt different too; charged with an energy she didn’t understand. Fresher and brighter, it smelled different. Tasted better, richer, if that were possible. And instead of plodding along, her days raced by. No longer achingly alone, he’d formed a connection with those nightly calls.

Excitement vibrated in her chest with her rush to her locker. Her fingers trembled spinning the dials of the combination lock. What the two of them were building wasn’t clear, but his interest mirrored hers. The daily calls confirmed that, even if they hadn’t had a chance for a second date, yet.

Her phone bounced in her hand while she waited. The sultry tones of Derek’s deep baritone would soon be caressing her soul. With the exhaustion of the day, she took a seat on the bench between the rows of lockers and hoped they would be able to find time for that second date.

It was time to get away from the corpses who whispered the story of their deaths and spend time with the living. Not that she was complaining. Long days were a part of the job, as was the lack of conversation.

Six pm and the phone rang. Her heart jumped. Sally cleared her throat to find her voice and steady the excitement racing in her veins. “Hello?”

“Sally,” the deep rumbling of Derek’s voice made her insides quiver. “How was your day?”

A glance toward the doors to the autopsy room had her wanting to talk about anything other than what had kept her occupied all day long.

“Busy. Had a routine case which turned complicated. How was your day?” Her fingers clutched the phone, desperate for more contact from this enigmatic man. The urge to ask if he was back in town barreled down on her, but she held herself in check. Being too needy had never been her thing.

“I need to see you.”

Goosebumps pebbled her flesh with the thread of desire tunneling through his voice. Love had filled her marriage. She'd been happy and content, but then Thomas had died. She wanted her heart to flutter, the butterflies to dance, and her blood to heat with desire again. She’d lived too quiet of a life since becoming a widow.

“You do?” Her voice wavered, exposing her emotions. She hated that transparency, as if her entire existence hinged on what he might say next. Sadly, it did.

“Are you available tomorrow night?”

The automatic yes to his request stopped at her lips. She waited for an appropriate span of time before blubbering her eagerness through the phone. Of course she was available. She had no life. Holding back that one word, that one syllable, took every ounce of her will. It killed her not to rush into that silence, but she held herself in check, playing it cool like some love-struck sixteen-year-old.

He had that effect on her; really it was everyone. She’d watched him at the ballet. Derek LeMark was a man women felt before they laid eyes on him. He’d done that to her. From that first evening at the ballet, and through that very first dinner, she'd felt every bit of him.

“I understand if you’re busy,” he said, perhaps trying to give her an out, “but I’d love if you joined me tomorrow night. Giselle is playing.”

He knew her passion for the ballet. Was it possible for a heart to flip for joy?

“I’d love to,” she finally blurted out, trying not to sound too eager, but incapable of hiding her excitement.

“Great. Do you think it would be possible to take Thursday off? I’m planning a late night.”

The caution in his tone pulled her up short. “How late?”

“Late enough that you won’t want to head in to work. Will that be a problem?”

“I can’t take the whole day, but I can arrange to come in late.” And work even later. The thing about being the Medical Examiner for the county was she had no set hours. People died all the time, and dead people didn’t care how long they waited on her table before she began her exam.

“Perfect,” he said. “I was hoping you could meet me like last time. I’m flying in late so won’t be able to pick you up.”

“I’d love too.”

“And I wanted to warn you.”

“Warn me?”

“My friends will be joining us in my box. I didn’t want it to be a surprise.”

His friends would be there? Her stomach tightened. A date with Derek was one thing, but a group of strangers? Hello, social phobia.

She choked out the words. “I’d love to meet your friends.”

His throaty rumble eased her fears. “I’m happy to hear that, and don’t worry, I won’t leave your side.”

People scared her. It’s one of the reasons she worked with the dead, but the pull of his voice said to trust him. He didn’t know her well enough to understand her social awkwardness could be crippling. Her husband had been the life of the party. She was used to hovering beside Thomas and distancing herself from the attention of others. But as long as she had someone to gravitate toward, she would be fine. Derek would have to provide that anchor now, whether he knew it or not.

“We’re having dinner after the show, and I have a surprise.”

Surprises made her anxious, but for him, she would play along. “What kind of a surprise?”

His low chuckle made her squirm, like liquid heat that sound fluttered against her nerves. “If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise…but Sally…”

“Yes?”

“I’m serious about being out late.”

“Okay.” She’d make arrangements.

“I’ll leave your ticket at will-call and meet you in my box.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“As am I,” he said. “I’ve missed the taste of your lips.”

Her fingers pressed against her lips, remembering the passion of that kiss.

“Good night, Sally,” he said. “Until tomorrow.”

The connection ended, leaving her gripping the phone and tracing the seam of her lips. She missed the taste of him, too. His potent and enticing scent, sandalwood and something darker, had filled her dreams for weeks. She wanted to feel his touch, perhaps somewhere more than simply holding hands.

“Good night, Derek,” she whispered to the empty room.