Invigorated from a hot shower, he relished his relaxed morning, not having to rush out the door. The autopsy would not be performed for several more hours, giving him plenty of time to get to the station, meet with Rachel, and then head to the morgue.
Not thrilled with cooking for one, he enjoyed the perk of a coffee shop on the first floor that not only served great coffee but cooked fresh breakfast sandwiches daily. Once dressed and ready to go, he headed downstairs.
“Good morning, Detective Fiske.” The greeting was called out as soon as he entered the coffee shop.
Flashing his grin at the college student working behind the counter, he soon had his coffee and sausage-and-egg biscuit. “You’re the best, Jenny.” He was not immune to the hungry look she gave him but made sure to keep it friendly-but-distant. Been a lot of years since a college girl was part of my take-out order. The previous night’s scene with Allison bolted through his mind, and he shook his head as he carried his breakfast to a seat at the counter by the window. Sighing, he sipped his hot brew and pushed thoughts of too-young and too-demanding women from his mind.
Dusting a few crumbs from his lap, he headed out into the morning commuter rush and was soon pulling into the parking lot of police headquarters. Up the stairs and down the hall, he greeted others as he made his way to the bullpen, the large room that housed numerous desks.
“Good morning, sunshine,” he said to Rachel, setting a takeout herbal tea in front of her.
“Oh, God, thank you. I really need this!” She sipped the now-cooled brew, nodding in appreciation. “Got a call from the ME. Autopsy on our John Doe is being done this morning.”
Another detective walked in and looked over at the coffee he was drinking. “Damn, man, don’t I get one of those?”
Carter looked over his shoulder and watched as Kyle McBride stalked toward him. “You’re rarely in the office. If I had known you were going to grace us with your presence this morning, I would’ve called for a fuckin’ caterer.”
Kyle made it to him and playfully punched him in the arm enough to jostle his coffee.
“Watch it! You make me spill a drop, I’ll find a way to get you permanently assigned as a resource officer.”
Kyle threw his head back and laughed before turning to Rachel in greeting her. “What are you doing hanging out with this loser? Anyway, by the looks of you, you’re about ready to pop.”
Shaking her head, Rachel groaned, “Too much damn testosterone for this early in the morning, boys.” She turned her attention back to Carter. “Trip to the morgue at 10 o’clock?”
Carter nodded and glanced at the clock. “Hopefully we can get an ID then.”
Kyle leaned his hip against the desk. Sean’s younger brother was part of the drug task force, and while they looked like brothers, that was where the similarity ended. Sean was precise and methodical whereas Kyle lived by gut determinations. At work, Sean was rarely seen without a button-down shirt and tie, even if it was loose around his neck. Kyle gave off the vibe that the idea of a tie would choke him.
“Early morning trip to the morgue. Fuckin’ way to start the day. Prescription pills? How many does this make?”
“This is the third one that’s landed in my lap. The first one from two weeks ago was identified. It was ruled accidental overdose. He had a packet of prescription drugs in his pocket, like my guy from last night. Oxycodone, maybe Fentanyl. Same with the second one last week. Looked a lot like what my John Doe had in his pocket, but I’ll know more after the autopsy. Last two had been homeless, and it looks like this one was also.”
“You’re still dealing with the homeless shelters?”
Chuckling, he nodded. “Yeah, but that hasn’t been easy going.”
“You know, my sister works at—” Kyle’s phone vibrated, and he looked at the screen. “McBride. Yeah. Yeah. Shit, on my way.” He took to his feet and immediately weaved through the desks toward the exit, calling over his shoulder, “School resource officer called in a drug bust at Carver High School.”
After watching Kyle disappear down the hall, he turned back to the files in his desk. Might as well get a little work done before heading to the morgue.
3
“Mom!”
Tara jerked at the sound of her daughter’s yell, poking her eye with the mascara wand as she leaned close to the bathroom mirror. Shit. Blinking, she turned and offered a one-eyed glare toward her six-year-old daughter standing a few feet away in the bathroom doorway. Grabbing a tissue, she blotted her teary, now mascara-smeared eye and sighed heavily.
“Colleen, how many times have I told you to please not scream in the house unless it’s an emergency? I’m not deaf. I promise you do not have to scream to get my attention.”
“But I can’t find my pink sneakers!”
“Then wear another pair. I saw your blue ones in your closet.”
Colleen scrunched her nose and shook her head viciously from side to side. “No! Today’s color day. We’re supposed to wear our favorite color!”
Now that her vision was clearing, she stared at her daughter. Pride might be a sin, but she was thrilled her daughter was a miniature version of herself, seeming to gain little of her father’s DNA. Long, thick, dark hair. Blue eyes. And a smile that could light a room. Well, maybe that didn’t come from me, considering I can’t remember the last time I lit a room with a smile. As her gaze moved over her daughter, she observed the pink shirt, pink ruffled skirt, pink tights, and pink ponytail holder in her hand.
Smiling at the amount of Pepto Bismol pink one little girl could wear, she asked, “I suppose that pink is your favorite color?”
Rolling her eyes while bouncing on her
