Hours later, she’d been pleased with herself when she arrived home. Philip had been waiting for her. He’d been standing by the sink, where the bowl sat filled with warm milk and bits of cereal. “I think you forgot something this morning.”

She took off her jacket and hung it on the hook by the door. Carefully, she lowered her backpack to the floor as she studied his calm, almost smiling face. “Sorry? What would I have forgotten?”

“The bowl in the kitchen sink.” He sounded almost helpful.

“What bowl?” This morning felt like a lifetime ago.

His smile faltered. “You need to clean it up.”

Defiance sparked hot in her gut as she stared at him. “I’ll get to it.”

“Now.”

The heat ignited. “No.”

Philip crossed the room in three quick strides and, before she could react, slapped her hard across the face. She dropped to her knees, her head spinning and her jaw throbbing. Shock, humiliation, and anger collided. She’d never been hit like that. Never. For an instant, she questioned what she’d said to him. Had she somehow made him hit her?

She didn’t look up at him as she made her way to her feet. When she did meet his gaze, she didn’t see anger but sadness. Tears glistened in his eyes.

“I hate hurting you,” he said.

Apart of her wanted him to embrace her, tell her it would be all right. Just tell me we’re fine. But another part yelled for her to run. Get out of there! Grab your bag and go!

She raised her hand to her jaw, which had already swollen.

“Let me get you some ice,” Philip offered. He turned quickly and vanished into the kitchen. “We won’t worry about the bowl for now.”

The bowl. They were back to the bowl?

Now Leah glanced around at her glistening town house. Furious, she reached down and swiped her hand across the coffee table, sending the magazines splaying to the floor.

She would not stay here.

She would not be afraid.

Deidre’s death wasn’t linked to her past. Philip was dead. Leah had talked at length with the Detective Roseanne Jeffers in South Carolina, who returned his belongings to her. When they arrived, she held Philip’s blackened family ring in her hand, finally accepting he was dead before she gave the entire box to his grandmother.

Alex parked at the medical examiner’s office minutes after eight. Deke had stopped at the TBI and promised to meet Alex there within minutes for their scheduled meeting with Miriam Heller to discuss Deidre’s autopsy.

He pushed through the glass door, welcoming the rush of heat from the lobby. He unwound the thick dark scarf from around his neck and unbuttoned his overcoat. At the front window, he showed his badge to the receptionist and told her he was there for Dr. Heller.

He fought the urge to pace the lobby, his body a hive of energy. He’d never been good sitting or waiting, and today was proving to be worse than usual. Just as Dr. Heller appeared at the locked door that led to the exam rooms, the front doors whooshed open to admit Deke.

His brother wore his suit jacket open, clearly unmindful of the cold. He crossed the lobby in long hurried strides.

Dr. Heller made a shivering motion as she looked at him. “How can you stand the cold?”

Deke grinned. “Ice in the blood.”

Alex slid off his overcoat and neatly draped it over his arm. He found the exchange frustrating but had learned the value of small talk. It broke the ice, allowed everyone to get their minds around the grim task to come.

Dr. Heller shook her head. “The warm weather is why I moved here. I grew up in Maine, but I never liked the cold. If I ever pick up stakes and move, it’ll be farther south.” Reading the impatience on Alex’s face, she said, “Come on back, gentlemen, to my office. I’m running a little behind today. We had an infant brought in today. I put all work aside when that happens.”

Alex couldn’t help but ask, “What happened to the baby?”

“SIDS,” Dr. Heller said. “She stopped breathing. A tragedy that befell a very nice set of parents.”

He’d never imagined himself with children. In fact, none of the Morgan offspring spoke about having children. He wasn’t sure if they were late bloomers or simply not destined to be parents.

“You’re sure you want to be present?” Dr. Heller asked.

“It’s not about what I want,” Alex said. He turned to Deke. “But you don’t need to be here.”

Deke grimaced. “I said I would be, and I will.”

“But you worked with her.”

“And I’ll handle this.”

Be careful, Alex wanted to warn. Click off the emotions once too often and they might not return. “Okay.”

The trio made their way to the entrance of Exam Room Two. Her hand on the door, Dr. Heller paused. “Give me about five minutes. Gown up and meet me inside.”

“Sure,” Alex said.

Dr. Heller vanished behind the swinging door and both agents donned gowns, gloves, and eye protection.

Deke tugged on the cuff of his surgical gown. “Have you ever attended the autopsy of a fellow officer?”

“No,” Alex said.

“Only once before for me. It can’t be explained.”

“I would imagine you’re right.” A part of him moved to a deeper corner of his soul. Dangerous to live life at a distance, but it was the only way to do this job. Even if Deidre had been dirty, she’d done good work, and that mattered.

The brothers entered the exam room. Directly in their line of sight was the sheet-draped body of Deidre Jones. A ripple of tension washed over them both. Deke cracked his knuckles and flexed. Alex sunk even deeper into the shadowed places in his mind.

Dr. Heller stood at the head of the stainless-steel table. She wore a gown, gloves, a cap, and clear goggles. Normally, she exposed the entire body so the agents or detectives could view all the injuries. This time, she kept Deidre’s face and slashed throat covered and exposed the right arm, marred with five gashes, bloodless and gaping. “She sustained injuries on her right side, as you can see, and her palm has a slice down the center. That’s a defensive wound.”

Alex pictured Leah’s scar. Who the hell had stabbed her? What had begun as mild curiosity grew stronger each time he saw her or she crossed his mind.

Dr. Heller rolled back the sheet a little farther and then moved the body—not Deidre—to its left side. A deep gash marred the flesh above the kidney. “This was the killing cut. It lacerated her kidney and the inferior vena cava, a major blood vein. She would have bled out in a matter of minutes.”

“The cut to her throat wasn’t enough to kill her?” Alex asked.

“It was nasty but no; she might have survived that wound.”

“How many wounds were there in total?”

“Twenty-three.” She laid the body back on its side. “This first blow would have brought her to her knees, then I’m guessing she fell to the floor and rolled on her back. All the remaining cuts came at her from above.”

That fit the crime scene.

She covered the arm with the sheet and glanced at an open file on the worktable. “Deidre Jones, age forty-two, appeared to have been in excellent health. Cause of death, as I just showed you, was a knife thrust into her kidneys and through the inferior vena cava. Even if rescue crews had been on hand, there’d have been no saving her.”

Alex shifted his stance. “So why the extra wounds?”

She shrugged. “Several of the wounds on her arms and legs don’t appear to have bled much, which leads me to believe her heart had already stopped pumping.” She pulled off her glasses. “The killer overkilled, for lack of a better word.”

“Anger, rage, drugs could all be factors,” Deke said.

She moved her magnifying glass closer to the body and, with tweezers, plucked several blond hairs from one of the wounds. She dropped the hair in a bag and handed it to Alex. He held it up to the light, examining the strands of hair. “Get these to Forensics.”