Enrico sucked in a quick breath. “Shit, man.” He dragged his gaze from the photograph up to Carter’s face. “This man is dead, isn’t he?”
“Do you recognize him?”
Nodding slowly, Enrico said, “Yeah, I’ve seen him around. But not real recently. I can’t think of his name, but the head social worker would know. Her name is Mrs. Wilson. She’s who you’d need to speak to.” He picked up the phone and dialed. “Bethany? Is Tara around? Yeah, okay.”
Looking up, he pointed to a hall leading toward the back of the building. “Admin offices are back there. You can head on back and talk to Bethany Barker. She’s one of the social workers here. If she can’t help you, she’ll find Mrs. Wilson.”
“Thanks, Enrico.” He moved around the reception desk and started down the hall. A moment later, a pretty blonde came into view, her smile wide as her eyes shifted quickly from his head to his boots. Not a stranger to nor immune to a woman’s approving gaze, he merely nodded toward her.
“Hi, Detective. I’m Bethany Barker, one of the social workers. Well, a social work intern. What can I help you with?”
Intern. I thought she looked young. Or I’m getting old. “I’m trying to identify someone and am checking with various homeless shelters in the area to see if someone can put a name to the face.” He held out the picture and watched as she eagerly reached out to take it.
Gasping, she paled immediately. “Oh, my God! This… he’s… this person is dead?”
She looked as though she were going to faint, and he grabbed the picture from her hands as she slumped back against the wall.
“Bethany, what on earth is going on here?”
Looking over his shoulder at the sound of the sharp voice and tapping of heels on the tile floor, he observed a woman approaching, her maturity and beauty much more to his taste than the rail-thin cheerleader still sucking in air as she pressed against the wall.
Thick hair so dark it was almost black pulled back in a low ponytail. Luminous blue eyes and pink lips that made him forget what he needed to ask her. As she walked toward him in her simple blouse and pants that did nothing to hide her curves, she had legs that seemed to go forever and yet she would still tuck under his chin.
Her gaze shifted from his face over to Bethany and she repeated her question. “What’s going on here?”
“I’m sorry, Tara,” Bethany cried. “He showed me a picture of a dead man, and I just wasn’t expecting it.”
If he thought the new woman was going to give in to histrionics, he was greatly mistaken.
“A picture of a dead man is hardly going to be able to hurt you,” Tara said, taking Bethany by the arm and leading her into a conference room. “Michael,” she called out. Another man popped out of an office, his gaze moving between the trio but settling on Tara.
“Bethany is not feeling well. Could you give her some water and sit with her for a few minutes until she’s recovered? I need to deal with…” She hesitated, looking up at Carter.
“Detective Fiske, Ma’am.”
She offered a curt nod his way before turning back to Michael. “I need to deal with the detective.” She left the conference room, turning sideways as Michael rushed forward toward Bethany. Barely sending a glance Carter’s way, she walked down the hall and entered a small office. Sitting down at a desk piled with folders and papers, she waved toward the chair in the room.
“You are…” he began, feeling the need to take back the reins of the encounter with the efficient woman.
“Forgive me,” she said, her voice smooth. “I’m Tara Wilson. My official title here at Ever Hope Homeless Shelter is Head Social Worker. My unofficial title is Fixer of All Things That No One Else Can Figure Out How to Fix.”
His lips quirked and he murmured, “I can only imagine you’re right.”
“I assume you need me to look at the photographs that sent Bethany into a fit?”
He reached across the desk and handed the picture to her, watching carefully for her reaction. Not certain what he expected from the cool and collected social worker, the flash of recognition in her eyes followed by slumped shoulders was a surprise.
A sigh escaped her lips, and she nodded slowly. “Yes, I recognize him. Rocky.” She sucked in a deep breath through her nose before letting it out. Her fingertips ran lightly over the picture, almost reverently. “Rocky Stallone.”
“Would you be able to accompany me to the morgue for an official positive ID?” He watched as her gaze shot up to his, emotion working behind her eyes. She looked as though she wanted to argue against his request but finally nodded.
Through tight lips, she replied, “If that’s necessary, then yes.”
They stood and he waited while she slipped on her coat and bent to gather her purse slowly, her mannerisms not as snappy as before. Walking toward the front, she stopped at the reception desk and spoke to Enrico. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Whatever questions were on the tip of his tongue to ask, Carter kept them to himself. She did not seem amenable to conversation, and until he had an official positive ID, he decided to keep his questions to himself. He escorted her to his SUV, and they drove in silence to the morgue. Inwardly sighing, he could not help but wish he’d met the intriguing woman under different circumstances.
5
Sitting ramrod straight, Tara clutched her purse in her lap. She had never been to a morgue and on the drive over had no idea what to expect. She was surprised when Detective Fiske only drove about six blocks before parking outside of a building near the university. Not waiting for him, she alighted from his SUV and
