Chapter Eight
Holy hell. Callen was kissing her.
And she was kissing him back.
A low moan scraped up his throat as Maeve fisted both hands into his T-shirt collar and pulled him flush against her.
He claimed her lips as though he’d set out to claim her soul, and the too-small size of the twin bed, the slight locker room odor she couldn’t find the source of and the cutting remarks Callen had thrown at her all day faded into the background.
There was only him as his lips demanded more and more from her.
He tugged on her lower lip, urging her mouth to part, and she gave in.
Gave him everything she’d been holding back for the past year.
The loneliness, the grief, the sadness of losing not only her best friend but also the man she loved.
Losing an entire family. She gave him the nights she’d ordered takeout and ate it alone on the couch in front of the TV.
She gave him the empty cold of the other side of the bed and the anger at herself for making such a big mistake that’d cost her everything she cared about.
And he took it. All of it.
A breathless moan escaped her control as his taste immersed her in another life.
One where she’d been loved and accepted and wanted.
He invaded her stroke after stroke, scalding her from the inside out.
And she still wanted more. She wanted all of him again.
She wanted him to fill the inky hollowness that’d started spreading the moment she’d moved into an apartment she hated with no one but herself for company.
She wanted Callen.
That hadn’t changed. No matter how many times she’d tried to convince herself otherwise, there were some people you couldn’t erase on a cellular level.
He was that person. The one who’d answered the call after a trigger had paralyzed her in the women’s locker room at the gym and she hadn’t trusted herself to drive.
The one who’d made her a protein shake every morning before she rushed out the door because he knew she wouldn’t stop to eat.
The one who’d seen past the anger and depression and obsession and nightmares of her father’s murder to the woman underneath.
Rolling his weight on top of her, Callen pressed her into the mattress as he had so many times before.
Realizing his touch brought comfort, closeness, she hadn’t gotten anywhere else.
Her legs wrapped around his hips as though they’d always belonged right there.
Two pieces of a complicated puzzle. He had his own bedroom, one she was sure was far quieter and definitely less complicated, but he was here.
With her. He’d soothed circles into her stomach because he’d known how well it’d worked in the past. He’d offered his warmth because it was one of the few things that settled her ragged nerves after a nightmare she wanted nothing more than to forget.
Slanting his mouth over hers, deepening the kiss and his access, he offered her pleasure to take the place of the horror and hopelessness that followed her over the years, and it was working.
For now.
But the truth was, the nightmares would return. Another case would remind her of that brutal night she’d witnessed her only parent die. And Callen would go back to hating her in the morning. Maeve broke the kiss, shaking her head. “I can’t… I can’t do this.”
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to. She wanted that back—wanted him—more than anything, but not like this. Not until they didn’t have this crushing void hanging over their heads.
Confusion deepened the lines between his brows as he stared down at her.
He’d braced his forearms on either side of her head, keeping his weight off her, but somehow managed to add a few more inches.
Clarity chased back the liquid heat in his gaze, and her entire body went cold as he extracted himself from the bed without a word.
Threading his hands through his hair, Callen collected a handgun she hadn’t noticed until then from the dresser where she’d dropped her personal hygiene products. And left.
She stared at the door long after the sun had started its ascent, that persistent heavy feeling of watching him leave knotting tighter as he moved through the house as minimally as possible.
Followed by quiet. He’d left, she was sure.
Probably for his next shift on the trails, and she…
she didn’t want to get out of this too-small bed that smelled of men’s deodorant and socks.
Didn’t want to face another day of struggling to remember how to breathe and function as an adult, but Springdale police had already stopped pursuing Lauren’s case.
And Iliana… Her boyfriend needed her to come home.
Dragging herself free of the sheets, Maeve peeled the bedding from the mattress and tossed it in the washer Callen had shown her in the hallway closet last night.
The washer did its job as she found her way into the kitchen and toward the scent of hot coffee.
She needed a different place to stay—for a lot of reasons—but getting the Taser they’d recovered from the scene to the medical examiner hit the top of her priority list. Well, that and a shower.
She downed her first cup of coffee of the day and loaded her mug into the dishwasher, wincing at the bite of heat against her sensitive bottom lip.
Callen had kissed her. Bitten her. She hadn’t registered the pain in the moment, but it refused to relent as she showered, dressed and brushed her teeth.
She could still feel his body heat along her spine, feel his weight pressing her into the mattress, his mouth on hers, his tongue memorizing her all over again.
It’d all been so familiar and…addicting.
The small circles he’d drawn with his fingers had worn a different kind of sensation into her skin around her navel, and a coil of pressure tightened in her belly.
Embarrassment flooded up her neck and into her face as she studied the reddened skin along her bottom lip in the mirror above the sink, somehow still swollen.
And now she’d have to walk into the medical examiner’s office looking like she’d spent the night being ravaged.
A groan worked up her throat as Maeve grabbed the Taser she’d stashed in her overnight bag and requested a ride share to take her into Hurricane.
After twenty minutes of flat desert, cacti and thin swaths of snow, she stepped through the doors of Metland Funeral Home.
It wasn’t uncommon for small towns like Springdale with fewer than a thousand residents to band together with surrounding cities and unincorporated territories to share a medical examiner’s office, but this was the first time she’d visited one located in the basement of a funeral home.
Creepy didn’t come close to describing the prickling sensation at the base of her neck as she descended the stairs.
Shoving through the double steel doors with small window cutouts, Maeve studied the layout of the L-shaped reception area, which opened straight into a wall of freezers and a single examination table that a tall, older man worked over.
And the skeletal remains recovered from Kolob Arch. “I take it you’re the ME?”
“That I am.” The medical examiner craned his neck up without missing a beat in measuring the remains with his gloved hands.
The white lab coat did its best to hide the man’s exquisitely pressed slacks and button-down shirt.
No tie, but based on his clean-shaven face and the obvious time put into his hygiene, Maeve was willing to bet this was a man of discipline in every area of his life.
She had to admit, there weren’t a lot of medical examiners who could hold her attention in the looks department, especially someone who was probably edging close to his sixties, but this one had a lot going for him.
Evidenced by the gold wedding band beneath his latex gloves. “Dr. Yarrow. How can I help you?”
“Maeve Perry.” She extended her hand, then realized the mistake she’d made and pulled it back. Nope. She did not want to shake hands with a man who was wrist deep in a dead person. “I’m the agent assigned to work the case for your friend here.”
“Well, she’s not my friend, but I imagine she belonged to someone.” Dr. Yarrow turned away from the exam table, peeling himself out of his gloves before depositing them in the hazardous waste bin in the corner. “I assume you’re here for an update on the remains?”
“Yes. I wasn’t sure if you’ve been briefed on the possible connection between two women who’ve gone missing from the area.
” She kept her voice as even as possible, but there was no doubt the medical examiner had caught the hike in her tone.
“Both of their vehicles were found abandoned along the Virgin River, one last year and the second six days ago.”
Dr. Yarrow overexaggerated his nod as he crossed the exam room toward a desk shoved on the other side of the room and took a seat, swinging his legs beneath the cheap metal.
“You’re talking about the disappearances of Lauren Russell and Iliana Meyer in Springdale.
I’m aware. You believe these remains belong to one of them? ”
“There are a lot of similarities between the victims. They were both around the same height and weight, both Caucasian, and neither have had children.” Maeve refused to show an ounce of surprise that this man had already educated himself in what was probably the biggest investigation a tourist town like Springdale had ever seen.
She extracted the evidence bag from her bag.
“The police have been through the scenes, but I recovered this Taser along the riverbank. I’m hoping you’d allow me to brush for fingerprints and upload them to the federal database from here. ”
The medical examiner pulled a paper bag from one of his drawers and dumped out what looked like a homemade sandwich, chips and an orange.
His lunch. He didn’t waste any time unpacking.
“Most federal agencies prefer to process their evidence at the police station. Can’t imagine Captain Hendricks would be pleased to learn you’re breaking protocol. ”
“I took one look at the state of their break room and decided I’d rather not have my evidence compromised by grease and leftover spaghetti stains.
” Maeve hadn’t even met Springdale PD’s captain, which probably would’ve been a big red flag if the remains had been found within the town’s borders.
But they hadn’t. They’d been left in Zion, which didn’t come with its own forensic lab.
Just a sad little wood-paneled office for law enforcement’s division head.
“Apart from that, I’m not sure the Taser is tied to the investigation.
For all I know, a fisherman left it by accident, so I’d rather not get the captain’s hopes up until I’m certain. ”
Dr. Yarrow raised his impossibly blue eyes to her, as though trying to see through her motive.
Nodding toward a clean section of counter—closer to the remains—the medical examiner surrendered a part of his exam room.
“All right, but you’ll have to process the fingerprints yourself.
My assistant is on bed rest and due to give birth any day now, and I’ll be tied up trying to identify our friend on the table. ”
Relief crashed through her and nearly knocked her off her very exhausted feet.
She was running on little sleep and a head full of questions and self-deprecating criticism for allowing Callen to kiss her.
For wanting more than that. But focusing on the case, on what came next, had always succeeded in claiming her focus.
Maeve hiked her duffel bag higher up her shoulder, evidence in hand as she crossed the room to that small section of counter space.
Her ex had guilted her into including him in this investigation, but she had no intention of letting him put himself at risk to solve this case.
She wouldn’t put the Russells through losing another child.
And what Callen didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. “No problem.”