I spent the rest of the night imagining what the two of them were doing and being equal parts jealous, angry, and turned on.
I turn the corner and force a smile across my face. “Knock knock,” I say, leaning against the open door.
Eva strips off her gloves and rushes over to me. “I could kiss you,” she says, grabby hands reaching for one of the coffees. She takes a long sip and hums in satisfaction.
Eva is undeniably attractive. Gorgeous black hair she keeps braided in cornrows and a body with curves for miles. Normally a sound like that from her lips would have me hot as hell, instead it’s got me thinking about Freya and what it would take to make her moan like that.
“You’re here early.” Eva’s voice drags my attention back to her. She takes another sip of coffee, shrewd eyes analyzing me over the top of the cup.
I shrug, stroll into the room and kick back against the counter. “I had some time.”
The morgue is a cold place with tiled walls, linoleum floor and an entire wall of refrigerated drawers where the bodies are stored. I wonder again what the fuck it says about me that I feel relaxed here.
“And who doesn’t like to spend their free time watching an autopsy?”
I grin, ignoring the dripping sarcasm. “Exactly.”
Eva rolls her eyes and snaps on a fresh set of gloves.
She pulls the sheet covering Posy Winter’s body back. I remove my hat and take a moment to imagine her as she would have been, before the brutality of her murder. Raw anger coils in my gut. I’m well versed in keeping it contained, at playing the light-hearted flirt, but that all goes out the window when it comes to this case. The past few days I’ve been like a different person and it’s starting to wear on me.
I close my eyes and fight against the feeling that I’ve failed Posy. That I’ve failed all the ones who came before her.
“Come on Posy,” Eva whispers, “Help me catch the son of a bitch who did this to you.”
I open my eyes.
Eva gives Posy’s hand a light squeeze before beginning her observations.
Slowly, the heaviness of the situation lifts, and Eva and I fall into familiar chatter. She lasts a full five minutes before asking the question that’s on her mind. “So, you going to tell me about her?”
“Her who?” I say, because apparently, I’m twelve years old.
Eva flashes me a look that says ‘seriously.’ “Her, the cute detective who’s supposedly consulting on the case.”
“She’s not cute. She’s vicious.” I have to consciously relax my grip so I don’t crush the take-away coffee cup.
“I thought you liked women with claws.”
“Yeah, when they scratch my back, not when they tear my fucking soul to shreds.”
Eva straightens up, a stunned smile gracing her face. “You actually like her. Like more than just a fling.”
I grimace. “I can’t like her.”
Eva nods. Her gloved fingers tap a rhythm against the edge of the metal table. “You know,” she says, “technically I’m a doctor. Patient confidentiality applies.”
I look at Posy. “All your patients are dead.”
“Well, apparently so’s your soul, so we should be good.”
I laugh and a tiny bit of the weight I’m carrying slips away. This is why I came here. Eva has a way of helping me get my thoughts in order. I knew I was going to tell her everything, I’ve just been putting it off.
I place my coffee down and grip the counter behind me until the metal edge hurts my fingers. I swallow, my throat dry and force myself to say the words that haunt me. “Freya’s real name is Angelica Maxwell.”
The blood drains from Eva’s deep brown skin. “Maxwell as in-”
“Yes.”
