“So then you get a medical degree and do this job, if you don’t like the way I do it,” Borde scoffed.
“Believe me, I’m tempted,” Smith snapped. “I’d probably be able to do it faster than it would take you to get through tonight’s cases.”
“That’s enough,” McKinley rumbled. “Both of you.”
I didn’t hear whatever it was Borde said in reply, as it was pitched lower. I wanted him to be shamed, chagrined, but I would not have put money on it. If he were capable of that sort of emotional response, he’d actually be punctual and efficient about doing his job.
I steeled myself as I heard angry shoes making their way down the hall—without booties. I hadn’t done the hallway yet, and I felt a surge of annoyance at the fact that Borde was fucking up my crime scene.
“Borde!” This time the angry voice was McKinley’s.
“What?” the makeshift ME snarled back.
“You’re contaminating the hallway,” McKinley growled.
“Why haven’t the CSIs cleared it yet?” Borde demanded, and I had to take a couple deep breaths.
“Because this ishisthird body tonight and he’s been focused on the scenes around the bodies so that you can doyourjob,” McKinley retorted. “So have the decency not to make his job any harder than you already have, yeah?”
I supposeat least I didn’t get called to a fourth scene. And they did find the husband and arrest him, but that was when Smith disappeared, so I didn’t get any more news on that front.
It was very early in the morning when I finally got home—about an hour until dawn.
The first thing I thought of was that I wanted to talk to someone—no, notsomeone. Elliot.
Except that clearly wasn’t going to happen. I could probably text him, but if he wasn’t asleep, he should have been. I also should have been. And talking to him wasn’t going to help me do that because it would just rake up feelings that I shouldn’t have.
And on top of all that, tomorrow was Monday.
Fuck me.
20
Elliot Crane
Come home.
Now.
Seth Mays
What happened?
Are you okay?
Please.
I was aboutto hit the call button when my phone started ringing, but the caller wasn’t Elliot—it was Smith. I had a few seconds feeling conflicted before muttering “Fuck” under my breath and answering.
“Mays.”
“You know Elliot Crane, yes?”
“Yeah—” I was about to tell him Elliot had just asked me to come over when he interrupted my thought.
“I need you out at his place.”
Dread filled me. “Is he—okay?” I didn’t think there’d been enough time between thepleaseand now for him to have beenmurdered, much less having someone else call it in. Please let there not have been enough time between the lastpleaseand now for him to have been murdered.
