Killer Heat. Brenda Novak

her devotion to one cause—making the dead speak through the evidence left in their bones.

      “I could ask the same of you,” he said. “You told me you were going to lie down in the back.”

      She offered him a sheepish grin. “I did. For a while. That couch isn’t the most comfortable.”

      Lack of comfort wasn’t the real problem. Jonah was willing to bet she was so exhausted she could sleep in a closet standing up. The fine lines age had etched around her eyes and mouth were growing more prominent as the week wore on. She couldn’t rest because she knew they had work to do. The bones lying on the tables that’d been set up for her in this makeshift lab weren’t just bones to her—or to him. They represented victims, victims who deserved justice for what they’d suffered.

      Jonah had spent a lot of hours here, trying to help. Without the information only she could provide, he didn’t even have a good place to start the investigation. But that should be changing very soon. Now that they’d arrived at an approximate victim count, which hadn’t been easy due to the number of bones that’d been scattered or broken in two or more pieces, they were busy establishing the biological characteristics, the time since death and the cause and manner of death for each set of remains. The more quickly they learned what these bones could tell them, the more information he’d have with which to direct the investigation.

      “I hope you’re letting your girlfriend know that the woman you’ve been spending your nights with is old enough to be your mother.” She nodded toward the phone in his hand. “Handsome guy like you…she’s got to be wondering.”

      He grinned. “Fortunately, I don’t have a girlfriend.”

      “Fortunately?” She settled at the next table, where she’d been piecing together pelvic bones most of the evening.

      “My job can be tough on close personal relationships. The travel. The hours. You know.” He shoved his phone into his pocket and went back to measuring those femurs and tibias that weren’t broken. Dr. Price would use his allometry measurements to determine the general height of each victim. She’d also examine the thickness of the bones to suggest a body type.

      There was a great deal of work to be done yet, and soon she’d be doing it exclusively with the help of the trained assistants who came in during the day. His strength lay on the investigative end, using the information she provided. That information just hadn’t been coming quickly enough, so she’d trained him to do some of the simpler measuring.

      “Close personal relationships are what will keep you sane in all this.” She ran her finger over the sciatic notch of a pelvic bone. A broader notch indicated a woman; a narrower notch indicated a man. But some didn’t seem particularly wide or narrow. She’d told him these final few were the tricky ones. That was why she’d taken a short nap. She’d hoped to come back refreshed.

      Going by her frown, he wasn’t sure the nap had improved her ability to decide.

      “That depends on the relationship,” he said. “The people closest to you can also drive you crazy.”

      “My best guess is female.”

      “If you’re talking about the person driving me crazy, you’d be right,” he teased, purposely misunderstanding.

      She laughed. “I was talking about this victim.” After making a notation, she set the pelvic bone aside. “Anyway, it’s not like that for me. My family is the reason I do what I do. I want to make the world a better place…for them.”

      He wondered how eager she’d be to fall into another man’s arms if her husband unexpectedly announced that he’d been in love with his golfing buddy all along. Jonah’s experience with Lori had altered his outlook on relationships, made it difficult for him to trust. Not long after the divorce, he became good at spotting at least one fatal flaw in every woman he dated. That flaw insured his emotional safety, kept him from making any commitments.

      He felt his lips twist into a humorless smile as he recalled the argument he’d once had with his mother. She’d told him he needed to stop trying to prove his desirability to every available woman he met, that he should quit thinking with his cock. Offended by her blunt assessment of his behavior and her language—she was his mother, after all—he’d snapped at her to stay out of his business, told her she didn’t know what she was talking about.

      But now he could see that she’d been right all along. She usually was. Unfortunately, that didn’t make her any easier to put up with. No one could get on his nerves faster than she could, probably because they were too much alike. Although he wasn’t nearly as high-strung or brutally frank, he was stubborn to a fault and determined to live life on his own terms. That meant he was going to take a few hits, and he had.

      “Do you think you’ll ever get married?” Dr. Price asked.

      “Maybe someday.” He didn’t mention that he’d already been married. He never told anyone, hadn’t even told Francesca. Tying the knot when he was so young, and for such a short period of time, to a woman who claimed she’d never been attracted to him seemed better forgotten. Only his mother and sister knew he’d been married, and the friends who’d attended the wedding, of course. But even they had no idea of the real reason for the divorce. Terrified that word would leak back to her family, Lori had begged him to keep silent about her homosexuality. How her parents could continue to believe Miranda was her “roommate” he’d never understand. Except…he hadn’t seen it, either, had he? Lori just didn’t fit the stereotype.

      “Marriage isn’t easy,” she said. “But if both people go into it with the proper attitude, with real dedication and loyalty, it can work.”

      It hadn’t worked for his parents, but as dynamic and talented as his mother was, Jonah didn’t blame his father for bailing. He couldn’t imagine how Wesley had remained in the relationship as long as he had. He’d stayed until Connie, Jonah’s older sister, was in college and Jonah had nearly graduated from high school. That was admirable, considering it was difficult to put up with his mother for a weekend, let alone twenty years. “I’ll take your word for it.”

      She’d started to say something else when his phone rang. Covering a yawn, he muttered, “Just a sec,” and dug it out of his pocket. “Hello?”

      “Mr. Young?”

      “Yes?”

      “Sergeant Lowe here, from the Chandler Police Department.”

      Immediately conjuring up the image of Francesca sitting in Investigator Finch’s cubicle, scratched and bruised from her confrontation with Vaughn, he stiffened. “Is anything wrong?”

      “No, Ms. Moretti is fine, but…I thought you should know…someone cut her phone line tonight.”

      Shoving his stool away from the table, Jonah got to his feet. “Someone?”

      “I’m afraid we can’t say who. Ms. Moretti definitely has her suspicions, but we canvassed the yard and there wasn’t anyone lurking around. The good news is that we didn’t see any evidence that whoever cut the line tried to enter the house.”

      There wouldn’t be evidence. Butch Vaughn had a key. “How’d you find out about the phone line?”

      “Officer Burcell was sitting in front of the house when Ms. Moretti came running into the street, clearly upset. He checked out her claims and she was right.”

      Jonah felt Dr. Price’s attention but ignored it. “Can I talk to her?”

      “I’m afraid you’ll have to go by the house. It’ll take some time for the telephone company to fix the line, and I’m calling from the station.”

      “What about the officer who’s out there—Officer Burcell? He’s got to have a phone.”

      “Burcell is currently responding to another call.”

      Jonah curled his free hand into an agitated fist. “You’re telling me she’s all by herself?”