this is Brian Beckman with the FBI. He’s investigating my case.”
“Sorry to bother you, Dr. Voss, but we need a quick update on your DNA findings from that tripod,” Brian said. “It’s important.”
Mia checked her watch. She shot Maddie a look that clearly said, You owe me, big time .
“Have a seat in the conference room.” She nodded toward the room behind them. “I’ll run up and get my file.”
Brian walked into the meeting room and wasted no time making himself at home in one of the faux-leather chairs around the conference table. Maddie stood by the door.
“You don’t hear the word no a lot, do you?”
“I’m sorry?” He pretended not to understand, and she shook her head.
Brian watched her steadily, and she took a seat across from him in the hopes that putting a table between them would keep her from thinking about last night’s kiss. Unfortunately, it didn’t. It was still front and center in her mind, where it had been all day.
She folded her arms and looked away, annoyed with herself for being uncomfortable. It was only a kiss, for God’s sake. Not even a long one. It had lasted, what, a few seconds? Warmth spread through her at the memory, and she forced herself not to look at him, but she could feel his gaze on her.
“Your friend seemed surprised when you introduced me,” he said.
“I imagine she’s wondering why the FBI’s involved in my mugging.”
“You didn’t tell her?”
“You told me discretion was important to the case. I’ve been keeping my mouth shut.”
“Good for you.”
Mia came into the room and dropped a file onto thetable. She pulled up a chair but didn’t even bother to take off her scarf, and Maddie knew they were making her very late.
“Where do you teach?” Brian asked.
“The university.” She flipped open the file without looking at him. “It’s a CLE class—continuing legal education.”
“So, your students are lawyers?”
“Not a group that likes to be kept waiting.” She flipped the page of a typed report. “Okay, I swabbed the leg of your tripod where you noticed the blood droplet.”
Brian looked at Maddie. “You drew blood? Nice job.”
“I got a profile, which I ran through CODIS,” Mia continued. “No hits in the Offender Index, but—” She turned the page around and slid it in front of Maddie. “We got a forensic hit.” She glanced at Brian. “That means the DNA from the tripod matches an unidentified profile previously recovered from a crime scene.”
Maddie skimmed the report, which contained mostly jargon. She noticed the phone number listed beside the contact law-enforcement agency.
“Area code 213. Where’s that?”
Brian leaned forward. “Los Angeles. What kind of case?”
“A homicide.” Mia flipped through the rest of the paperwork. “I contacted LAPD—they’re the agency listed with the record—and they patched me through to a Detective Vega. He was very tight-lipped.” She glanced at Brian. “Which isn’t the usual reaction I get. Typically, investigators are pretty glad to get a new lead. Especially in an open case.”
“You get the name of the victim?” he asked, and Maddie noticed the intensity of his expression.
“Yes, and that’s about all I got,” Mia said. “The name is Gillian Dawson. I also got her date of birth and the date the case was opened. That’s it.” She stood up and nodded at Maddie. “That file’s yours. I’ve got a copy on my computer.”
Brian stood, too. “Thanks for making time for us.”
“No problem.” She shot Maddie a look that conveyed about a dozen unspoken questions. “We’ll catch up tomorrow.”
When she was gone, Maddie stared down at the file, shaking her head. “Twenty-one years old.”
Brian came around and took the vacated chair beside her. “Mind?” he asked, sliding the papers closer. As Maddie watched him read, her stomach filled with dread. A heavy silence settled over the room. His phone buzzed, and he pulled it from his
“Sorry to bother you, Dr. Voss, but we need a quick update on your DNA findings from that tripod,” Brian said. “It’s important.”
Mia checked her watch. She shot Maddie a look that clearly said, You owe me, big time .
“Have a seat in the conference room.” She nodded toward the room behind them. “I’ll run up and get my file.”
Brian walked into the meeting room and wasted no time making himself at home in one of the faux-leather chairs around the conference table. Maddie stood by the door.
“You don’t hear the word no a lot, do you?”
“I’m sorry?” He pretended not to understand, and she shook her head.
Brian watched her steadily, and she took a seat across from him in the hopes that putting a table between them would keep her from thinking about last night’s kiss. Unfortunately, it didn’t. It was still front and center in her mind, where it had been all day.
She folded her arms and looked away, annoyed with herself for being uncomfortable. It was only a kiss, for God’s sake. Not even a long one. It had lasted, what, a few seconds? Warmth spread through her at the memory, and she forced herself not to look at him, but she could feel his gaze on her.
“Your friend seemed surprised when you introduced me,” he said.
“I imagine she’s wondering why the FBI’s involved in my mugging.”
“You didn’t tell her?”
“You told me discretion was important to the case. I’ve been keeping my mouth shut.”
“Good for you.”
Mia came into the room and dropped a file onto thetable. She pulled up a chair but didn’t even bother to take off her scarf, and Maddie knew they were making her very late.
“Where do you teach?” Brian asked.
“The university.” She flipped open the file without looking at him. “It’s a CLE class—continuing legal education.”
“So, your students are lawyers?”
“Not a group that likes to be kept waiting.” She flipped the page of a typed report. “Okay, I swabbed the leg of your tripod where you noticed the blood droplet.”
Brian looked at Maddie. “You drew blood? Nice job.”
“I got a profile, which I ran through CODIS,” Mia continued. “No hits in the Offender Index, but—” She turned the page around and slid it in front of Maddie. “We got a forensic hit.” She glanced at Brian. “That means the DNA from the tripod matches an unidentified profile previously recovered from a crime scene.”
Maddie skimmed the report, which contained mostly jargon. She noticed the phone number listed beside the contact law-enforcement agency.
“Area code 213. Where’s that?”
Brian leaned forward. “Los Angeles. What kind of case?”
“A homicide.” Mia flipped through the rest of the paperwork. “I contacted LAPD—they’re the agency listed with the record—and they patched me through to a Detective Vega. He was very tight-lipped.” She glanced at Brian. “Which isn’t the usual reaction I get. Typically, investigators are pretty glad to get a new lead. Especially in an open case.”
“You get the name of the victim?” he asked, and Maddie noticed the intensity of his expression.
“Yes, and that’s about all I got,” Mia said. “The name is Gillian Dawson. I also got her date of birth and the date the case was opened. That’s it.” She stood up and nodded at Maddie. “That file’s yours. I’ve got a copy on my computer.”
Brian stood, too. “Thanks for making time for us.”
“No problem.” She shot Maddie a look that conveyed about a dozen unspoken questions. “We’ll catch up tomorrow.”
When she was gone, Maddie stared down at the file, shaking her head. “Twenty-one years old.”
Brian came around and took the vacated chair beside her. “Mind?” he asked, sliding the papers closer. As Maddie watched him read, her stomach filled with dread. A heavy silence settled over the room. His phone buzzed, and he pulled it from his
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