Page 10 of Murder Notes

“None,” she states. “The kill was clean and fast.” She indicates the bullet hole between the victim’s eyes. “One bullet. One moment in time that she was alive, and the next, she simply was not.”

“Was she naked when she was killed or stripped afterward?”

“Based on the condition and position of the body, before,” she says.

“Did we locate her clothes?”

“My understanding is that Sergeant Rivera is looking for them.”

“Eddie Rivera?” I question, wishing like hell I didn’t have to. “He’s a sergeant now?”

“And reminding us daily for about three months now.”

“Of course he is,” I say dryly. “And he’s leading this case?”

“Yes. He is.”

At the sound of the familiar male voice, I clamp my jaw, turn on my heel, and stand to face the man in question, his brown hair buzzed short. His brown suit is well pressed, a symptom of his anal-retentive disorder that, while effective on duty, makes him a pompous pain in the ass the rest of the time. “Congrats on your promotion to sergeant,” I greet him. “I’d be happy for you, but you were an arrogant ass before the promotion. You must be an unbearable arrogant ass now.”

“I am,” he agrees, his blue eyes lighting in challenge, the way they often had at the many family dinners he’d attended at my father’s request. “But you like arrogant asses, so I’m in luck.”

“Right,” I say dryly, and because I’ve learned not to pull punches, I throw one instead. “Good to see your opinion of yourself hasn’t suffered over the years.” And having no desire to play verbal dominoes with a man who has always had a sick desire to both fuck me and become the second son my father never had, I move on. “Did you find our victim’s clothes?”

His lips tighten. “Why is the FBI on my crime scene, asking questions?”

Because we’re about to take jurisdiction, asshole, I think, but I say, “Ask the chief. He requested my presence. Did we find the clothes?”

“No.”

“Have we ID’d the victim?”

“Her name is Cynthia Wright. Twenty-eight. A lawyer who leased the property six months ago and works for her landlord.”

“Kane Mendez,” I say.

“Yes,” he confirms. “Kane Mendez.”

“Excuse me,” an officer calls from the doorway, drawing both my and Rivera’s attention before adding, “Kane Mendez is here to see you.”

At the announcement, adrenaline surges through me.

“I’m sure he is,” says Rivera. “Tell him I’ll be right there.”

“Sorry, Sergeant. It’s Agent Love he wishes to speak to.”

Rivera raises a brow at me. “He wants to speak to you. Why does that not surprise me?”

“I’m sure there’s not much that surprises you,” I reply dryly, keeping a cool exterior while my heart is about to explode from my chest. “Is there anything I need to know before I speak to him?”

“Don’t fuck him and compromise my case, or I’ll have your badge.” He turns and walks away.

God, how I love being back home, but hey. Maybe I should change my strategy. Instead of waiting until tomorrow for the happy reunions, I’ll kick over the entire bucket tonight. I head for the door and exit into an ocean-chilled wind that is now just as chilly as this meeting will be if I do my job right. I start down the steps and make it to the sidewalk when Shirley steps to my side, matching my pace. “Why are you beside me, Officer Rogers, in my personal space?”

“The chief said—”

I stop walking and turn to him. “My brother said,” I amend.

“He’s my boss, Agent Love. I’m just doing what I’ve been ordered to do.”