Chapter 8
eight
. . .
REAGAN
Once his brothers were gone, Finn squeezed my hand.
“Ready?”
“Fuck no,” I chuckled humorlessly. “But let’s get this over with.”
I didn’t know what to expect when we descended into the bowels of the building.
We crossed through a short underground tunnel that connected what appeared to be file rooms and evidence holding to the subterranean morgue of this small county.
I hadn’t expected there to be so much light, though.
Wall sconces with high-wattage bulbs were placed frequently enough to give the space a warm glow and keep it from being creepy.
The theme continued in the morgue itself, with the walls painted a creamy beige and the linoleum floor a few shades lighter, worn though clean.
Along one wall was a collection of six doors, presumably lockers for bodies, though I doubted they’d ever been full at once.
A man stood in the center of the room, wearing a white lab coat and gloves on his hands, which were clasped in front of him, waiting for us.
The medical examiner, I guessed.
Lane approached and said, “Hey, Stockman. This is Reagan. She’s here to do a visual ID on the woman.”
“Relative of yours?” Stockman asked. Then he extended a hand. “I’m Clay, by the way.”
I accepted his handshake, though the entire situation was so surreal, as though happening to someone else.
What a strange question to ask, I thought. Surely, he’d done a cursory examination of the body? Surely, he recognized I wore the same face as the deceased?
The same sense of wrongness I’d experienced yesterday when Lane first called with the news settled over me again, but I couldn’t put my finger on why.
“She is—was,” I corrected awkwardly, practically choking on the word, “my sister.”
“I am sorry for your loss. This will only take a few moments.”
Stockman moved to the table on one side of the room—the portion of the space I’d carefully avoided looking at until now.
But as my eyes traveled over it, over the shape under the white sheet, I began shaking uncontrollably.
My feet were anchored to the floor, suddenly made of immovable concrete instead of flesh and bone.
“I can’t do this,” I murmured to Finn, wanting to turn into him and bury my face in his chest.
His hands found my upper arms, and he shifted around so he faced me, ducking until we were eye level.
“This is going to be the worst thing you’ll ever endure in your life,” he said.
I snorted, saying sarcastically, “Thanks for making me feel better.”
Finn shook his head. “You won’t feel better until you get it over with. Until you confirm it’s her and can start moving on, start healing.”
I knew he was right. That didn’t make what I was about to do any easier, but like ripping the bandage off, it would only be a few seconds of intense, stinging pain before eventually dulling to an ache.
I knew the pain of the loss of my sister would never fully recede, but this was the first step in making it slightly easier to bear.
Plus, I had to identify her before we could figure out who the fuck had done this to her. Lane had told me Stockman wouldn’t begin the autopsy until I confirmed Lainey’s identity.
With a final, deep sigh that I held in for four counts, willing myself to relax a bit, I opened my eyes and nodded at Finn, who shifted to my side.
“Okay,” I said softly, my voice so small it barely echoed in the cacophonous space. “I’m ready.”
“Atta girl,” Finn said, rubbing a hand up and down my spine.
Honestly, I didn’t think I could’ve done this without him. His steady presence meant more to me than I’d ever be able to tell him.
With light pressure, Finn ushered me forward until I stood at the side of the metal table, across from Stockman.
The ME gripped the edge of the sheet.
From there, it all seemed to happen in slow motion—his hand pulling the fabric back, revealing inch by excruciating inch of the dead woman’s face. Stockman folded the sheet neatly across the top of her chest, revealing her entire face, neck, and shoulders, stopping above the curves of her breasts.
I stared in horror at the woman’s neck, the long, ovular bruises decorating the flesh—the shapes of fingers, I realized—marring the deathly pallor of her skin, a purple so dark they were nearly black.
Her cause of death was obvious.
My gaze traveled slowly north, over her jaw and chin, full mouth, long nose, high cheekbones and the dark slashes of her brows over her closed eyes.
To her hair, honey blonde but dark at the roots, fanned out around her on the shiny steel surface of the medical examiner’s slab.
So shocked by the sight before me, I stumbled backward, tripped over Finn’s foot, and landed hard on my ass on the cold floor.
“Are you okay?” Finn asked, rushing to help me up.
I was shaking uncontrollably now, but not from grief and despair.
No, this was all rage.
What the actual fuck?
“That’s not my sister.”
“But her ID—”
“I don’t give a fuck about the ID!” I screamed at Lane, panic rising in my chest. I turned to Finn. “Does she look like me?”
“W-what?” he asked, clearly stunned by my outburst.
“Does. She. Look. Like. Me?”
Reluctantly, Finn shuffled closer to the dead woman, taking a moment to study her, eyes darting between the two of us. Goddesses, I wanted to laugh—if hysterically. This was un-fucking-real.
“Ahh…no?” he said, though his inflection made it sound like a question.
“What’s your point, Miss Lindsey?” the sheriff asked impatiently.
“We’re twins,” I gasped out. “That woman is not my sister.”
“Well, there’s a certain degree of change a body undergoes after death—” Stockman started, but I cut him off.
“I knew it,” I hissed.
The inkling I’d had a moment ago fully formed.
Lainey wasn’t dead.
“Knew what?” Stockman asked.
“Lainey’s not dead,” I said aloud. “I’d be able to tell if she was.” Once again, I locked my attention on Finn, the only person in this room who could possibly understand. “Right? If something happened to West, you would know.”
Like a deer caught in headlights, he stared wide-eyed at me for a beat—then nodded before turning to Lane. “She’s right, bro. If he was gone, I’d know.”
Lane rolled his eyes. “You know I don’t believe in that woo-woo shit.”
“You don’t have to,” Finn said evenly. “You just have to trust that we do. Like when West got shot in that raid?” I had no idea what he was talking about except it likely had to do with his time in the Army.
The sheriff clearly understood the reference because he nodded, if a bit warily.
“I knew, Lane. Felt the pain as surely as if the bullet had gone through my own chest.”
The sheriff looked at me—studied me, his shrewd cop’s gaze seeming to see right through me, down to my core.
“Are you absolutely certain this isn’t your sister?”
Did he…did he think I was lying? That I’d deluded myself into thinking this woman wasn’t my sister simply so I wouldn’t have to deal with the grief?
What a fucking joke.
“Without a doubt. Do a DNA test if you need to. I’ll happily give a sample.
But we’re naturally blonde,” I said, tugging on my own hair, which I’d never once dyed.
Lainey hadn’t either. “No dark roots to be found. Or, you know, you could just check her left foot.” Placing a steadying hand on the edge of the table, I slipped off my tennis shoe and sock, lifting my foot and showing them all the tattoo, the tiny camera, inked on the inside of my left heel.
“She’ll have a matching one if it’s Lainey. ”
Stockman moved to the foot of the table and lifted the sheet, his gloved fingers twisting the woman’s leg gently to the side, searching for the ink.
There was nothing to be found save smooth, unmarred skin.
“Believe me now?” I said triumphantly.
Lane scrubbed a hand over his face, letting out a world-weary sigh, his eyes never straying from the woman on the table.
“I’ll want to do a DNA test to be absolutely certain,” he said, almost absently. “But if this isn’t your sister…who the fuck is she?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “And I’m sorry for what happened to her. But my sister is still out there somewhere, and we need to find her.”
Lane nodded. “Let’s head upstairs. I’ve got some more questions for you.”
“I have no doubt,” I muttered, and Finn snorted.
“Before you go,” Stockman said, stalling us. He held a long cotton swab in his hand. “Can I get that DNA sample?”
“Oh, right.” I approached him, opening my mouth. He swept it along my cheeks before sealing it in its plastic tube and turning away to scribble on the label.
That completed, Finn steered me from the cold room, his hand a comforting presence at the small of my back. Lane hung back momentarily to speak with Stockman before following us upstairs.
This time when Lane and I took our seats at the table in the interview room, Finn was at my side. He seemed reluctant to leave me, and I was more than a little grateful for his presence.
Cutting right to the chase, Lane said, “If your sister isn’t dead, what do you think happened to her?”
My mind whirled with possibilities. She’d never willingly leave me like this, never disappear without a trace—without a word.
Not unless she didn’t have a choice.
“She was here for a shoot. I told you that earlier.”
“A shoot?” Finn asked.
“We’re photographers. Own a business. We have a reputation across the country thanks to our social media following, and we’re always willing to take on out-of-state projects. About three months ago, we booked an engagement shoot with a couple here in Idaho, local to Boise.”
“When was the shoot supposed to take place? Getting an idea of Lainey’s movements when she arrived in town is going to be helpful in discovering what happened to her.”
“Tuesday evening and midday on Wednesday,” I said quickly. “The couple wanted to do some shots at sunset as well as daytime ones. Then Lainey was supposed to fly home yesterday.”
My head fell into my hands, a headache appearing and taking up residence behind my right eye. Goddesses, this had been the day from hell.
“Let’s reconvene in the morning,” Lane said, saving me from having to ask for a break. “Does ten o’clock work for you?”
“Yeah, that’s fine.” I stood, as did Finn and Lane.
“For what it’s worth,” Lane began as we moved toward the door. “I’m sorry for the…drama. I never would’ve brought you down there if I thought for any reason—”
I waved him off. “I understand.”
Now I’d have nightmares about my sister and that poor dead woman, but he didn’t need to know that.
So many questions still swam in my brain, but I needed headache meds, a meal, a shower, and at least eight hours of sleep before I could make any sense of them.
“I promise, my department will do everything in its power to find your sister.”
“Thank you.”
With another nod, Lane turned and headed through the bullpen toward a closed door at the back, the white placard on it reading SHERIFF LAWLESS in black letters.
Finn remained nearby. “How long are you in town for?”
“Until Sunday,” I said.
“Maybe we can—”
“No,” I said, gently but firmly. “I can’t…There’s too much going on up here.” I tapped my temple. “And until I find my sister, I can’t take on anything else.”
Though his expression fell from earnestness to disappointment for the second time today, he said, “Okay, I understand.”
“I’m sorry. All of this is a lot right now.”
“No, I get it. Don’t worry about it.” Hands stuffed awkwardly in his pockets, he inclined his head toward Lane’s office and said, “I better go.”
“Right. Well…see you around.”
“Yeah, see you.”
I didn’t move from the spot as he walked away, watching as his long legs ate up the distance to his brother’s office, his broad shoulders hunched forward, head down.
Wondering if this was the last time I’d lay eyes on Finn Lawless.