rushed on.
She’d acted interested in him before, but she didn’t stir his blood. Not like Sadie Nettleton did.
He sipped his coffee. He’d thought ten years would have diminished his lust for her, but it hadn’t. One look at her, and he was wound up so tight his body was in knots.
Irritated at himself, he glanced at the clock, mentally taking a reality check. Ayla would be getting up for kindergarten soon, munching on her Cheerios and arguing with Gigi about whether to wear her hair in pigtails or a braid for the day.
He hated that he was missing it. Hell, he’d learned to do a pretty damn good braid himself over the last few months.
Maybe if he got the results from the ME and everything looked good, he could make it home and give her a kiss before she caught the school bus. A little sugar from his darlin’ would remind him that his future was about being a father.
Not looking for some woman to complicate their lives.
Forcing his mind back to work, he wolfed down his doughnut as he veered onto the street leading to the main hospital. The morgue was housed in the basement, so he parked, took a sip of his coffee, then carried it with him across the parking lot.
As customary, he checked in at the desk when he entered, then rode the elevator to the basement.
Dead bodies were just bodies, he told himself. Except that Sadie’s grandfather, a man he’d known most of his life, lay in one of the drawers, his life drained away. Although Sadie tried to act tough, she was grieving.
Her quiet display of courage and strength was one reason he’d fallen for her so long ago. Her home life was hell, but she put on a brave face and stood up to the taunts the kids threw at her, even defending her sister to the point of being pushed around. He had stepped in a time or two himself to shut them up.
The metal door screeched as he opened it, the dim light casting shadows on the gray walls. No surprise the morgue was housed in the oldest section of the hospital, tucked away as if the people were already forgotten.
Dr. Barry Bullock, a rail-thin thirtysomething guy with a receding hairline and an obsession with bugs, odd biological evidence, and particulates, shoved his protective mask up and waved him into the exam room.
The stench of blood, body waste, formaldehyde, and other chemicals permeated the room, forcing Jake to take a deep breath and blow air out to expel the stench.
“What is it?” Jake asked. “You made it sound as if you found something important, something abnormal.”
Dr. Bullock adjusted his goggles. “I don’t know exactly what happened to this woman, Sheriff Blackwood, but judging from the samples and tests I’ve run so far, there is nothing normal in what I’ve found.”
“What do you mean by that? What was the cause of death?”
“That’s complicated.” Bullock led him over to a series of metal trays lined up on a table, then gestured toward a computer screen and a series of X-rays. “Certainly Grace had problems stemming from her head injury, but everything I’ve discovered so far only raises more questions.”
Jake scrubbed a hand through his hair. He’d yet to finish his coffee and hadn’t had a shower, and this man was talking in circles. “Just get to the point, Dr. Bullock. What happened to Grace Granger?”
“She sustained several broken bones over the years.” Dr. Bullock pointed to the series of X-rays. “Bone breaks start healing immediately. There’s a rounding or blunting of the edges of fractures that occurs as early as a week after a break. A callus begins to develop six weeks after injury to cover the broken ends. It’s irregular in shape, raised, with a disorganized surface. A healed bone never looks the same as the sleek, smooth unbroken bone. It will always look different on X-rays. It has a mild lumpiness where the break was.” Dr. Bullock lifted his gaze to Jake. “It makes me wonder if there might have been some family abuse.”
Jake frowned. “Her mother
She’d acted interested in him before, but she didn’t stir his blood. Not like Sadie Nettleton did.
He sipped his coffee. He’d thought ten years would have diminished his lust for her, but it hadn’t. One look at her, and he was wound up so tight his body was in knots.
Irritated at himself, he glanced at the clock, mentally taking a reality check. Ayla would be getting up for kindergarten soon, munching on her Cheerios and arguing with Gigi about whether to wear her hair in pigtails or a braid for the day.
He hated that he was missing it. Hell, he’d learned to do a pretty damn good braid himself over the last few months.
Maybe if he got the results from the ME and everything looked good, he could make it home and give her a kiss before she caught the school bus. A little sugar from his darlin’ would remind him that his future was about being a father.
Not looking for some woman to complicate their lives.
Forcing his mind back to work, he wolfed down his doughnut as he veered onto the street leading to the main hospital. The morgue was housed in the basement, so he parked, took a sip of his coffee, then carried it with him across the parking lot.
As customary, he checked in at the desk when he entered, then rode the elevator to the basement.
Dead bodies were just bodies, he told himself. Except that Sadie’s grandfather, a man he’d known most of his life, lay in one of the drawers, his life drained away. Although Sadie tried to act tough, she was grieving.
Her quiet display of courage and strength was one reason he’d fallen for her so long ago. Her home life was hell, but she put on a brave face and stood up to the taunts the kids threw at her, even defending her sister to the point of being pushed around. He had stepped in a time or two himself to shut them up.
The metal door screeched as he opened it, the dim light casting shadows on the gray walls. No surprise the morgue was housed in the oldest section of the hospital, tucked away as if the people were already forgotten.
Dr. Barry Bullock, a rail-thin thirtysomething guy with a receding hairline and an obsession with bugs, odd biological evidence, and particulates, shoved his protective mask up and waved him into the exam room.
The stench of blood, body waste, formaldehyde, and other chemicals permeated the room, forcing Jake to take a deep breath and blow air out to expel the stench.
“What is it?” Jake asked. “You made it sound as if you found something important, something abnormal.”
Dr. Bullock adjusted his goggles. “I don’t know exactly what happened to this woman, Sheriff Blackwood, but judging from the samples and tests I’ve run so far, there is nothing normal in what I’ve found.”
“What do you mean by that? What was the cause of death?”
“That’s complicated.” Bullock led him over to a series of metal trays lined up on a table, then gestured toward a computer screen and a series of X-rays. “Certainly Grace had problems stemming from her head injury, but everything I’ve discovered so far only raises more questions.”
Jake scrubbed a hand through his hair. He’d yet to finish his coffee and hadn’t had a shower, and this man was talking in circles. “Just get to the point, Dr. Bullock. What happened to Grace Granger?”
“She sustained several broken bones over the years.” Dr. Bullock pointed to the series of X-rays. “Bone breaks start healing immediately. There’s a rounding or blunting of the edges of fractures that occurs as early as a week after a break. A callus begins to develop six weeks after injury to cover the broken ends. It’s irregular in shape, raised, with a disorganized surface. A healed bone never looks the same as the sleek, smooth unbroken bone. It will always look different on X-rays. It has a mild lumpiness where the break was.” Dr. Bullock lifted his gaze to Jake. “It makes me wonder if there might have been some family abuse.”
Jake frowned. “Her mother
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