Hold on to Me by Linda Winfree Page B

with his thumb. She shoved his hand aside.
    “We need to go to Moultrie.” Her voice quivered.
    He might be stubborn, but he knew when to back off. If he pushed any more right now, she’d close herself completely off from him and he’d be right back where he started. He unlocked the door, wrenched it open for her. She climbed in and he stood in the opening while she latched her seat belt with hands that trembled.
    She didn’t look at him.
    “The conversation is simply postponed, Falconetti.” He rested a hand along the top of the doorframe and studied the averted curve of her face. “This isn’t over, precious, not by a long shot.”

Chapter Four
    No matter where it was in the country, the distinctive smell of an autopsy room never changed—a strong, sharp disinfectant that couldn’t quite cover the lingering odor of decomposition. With Tick holding the door, Caitlin took a quick, shallow breath through her lips as she stepped into the examination room. She knew it wouldn’t help. The overwhelming scent would linger with her the rest of the day, infiltrating her clothes, hair, everything.
    A nude body rested on the stainless steel table, a tall, slender blonde Caitlin recognized from the crime scene photos as Amy Gillabeaux. Tick let the door close behind them with a quiet click and the woman clad in scrubs and a face mask peered up from arranging her tools. Her hazel eyes crinkled at the edges. “Hey, Tick.”
    “Hey, Jolie.” His voice was quiet, tense, and Caitlin didn’t look at him. They’d driven the entire thirty miles to Moultrie in silence. “Cait, Agent Jolie Williams, GBI. Jolie, this is Agent Caitlin Falconetti, FBI.”
    “Talk about alphabet soup.” Williams pulled on a pair of thin latex gloves. Picking up a scalpel with ruler markings along the edge, she glanced at Caitlin. “So you’re the profiler Tommy Gillabeaux wanted down here so bad.”
    Caitlin nodded. “I’d like to talk to you about the victims and the autopsy results.”
    “Can you talk while I cut? It’s the only way you’re going to get results soon.” The other woman gestured toward the refrigerated room behind her. “We have a backlog.”
    “Sure.”
    Williams scrutinized Tick, who had turned his back on the bodies to stare at a chart on the wall, one hand covering his nose and mouth. “Calvert, don’t you have some calls you need to make or something?”
    He spun, his face pale. “Yeah. I’m going to check in with Palmer and Price, see if they have anything on that forgery case we’ve been working. Let me know when you’re ready.”
    Caitlin held her breath until he left, releasing the pent-up tension with a slow exhale. She faced Williams, whose eyes creased in an unseen grin as she lifted the scalpel. “He’s okay until I get out the saw or crack the skull. I thought he’d throw up the one time he was in here when I started pulling the lungs.”
    He’d been teased without mercy at Quantico about his sporadically queasy stomach. A gory crime scene he could handle—an autopsy was another thing all together. He wasn’t alone, either. Caitlin had seen many seasoned detectives undone by the sights, sounds and smells of an autopsy room.
    Williams tilted her head toward a shelf over a long sink. “Gloves and face masks are over there if you want them.”
    While Williams talked into the overhead microphone, describing Amy’s age, height and weight, along with the external condition of her body, Caitlin listened. She eyed the bruising along the girl’s throat, noting the circular bruising Tick had pointed out in the crime scene photos.
    Over the next hour and a half, Williams removed organs, weighed and examined them, including an analysis of the stomach contents. Watching closely, Caitlin took notes and asked questions, wincing a little at the squishing sound the lungs made as they were pulled free. When Williams reached the lower abdomen, she paused, an odd look flashing over her face.
    Caitlin leaned