by Karen Rose
Her cheeks grew pink and Vito realized he’d been staring. For three beats of his heart she stared back, then abruptly turned to tug hard on the heavy door, taking a stumbling step back against him when it flew open. His hands gripped her shoulders to hold her upright, bringing her against him. Let her go. But his hands did not obey. Instead they held on and for one moment she seemed to relax, resting against him.
Then she leaped forward as if stung, lunging to catch the door before it closed again, breaking the contact and ending the moment.
He’d held her for only a few seconds, but it was like touching a live wire, and he took a step back, physically and mentally. Shaken and not liking it, he drew a breath. It’s just because it’s today, he told himself. Get a grip, Chick, before you make a fool of yourself. But he blinked in surprise as the next words tumbled from his mouth.
“Call me Vito.” He usually preferred being called “Detective” when he was working. It kept things nice and separate. But it was too late now.
“Okay.” The single word came out on an exhale, as if she’d been holding her breath. “Here are the things we need to take.”
Four suitcases sat by the door and Vito picked up the two largest. She got the other two and pulled the door closed. “I’ll need to get these back to the university tonight,” she said briskly. “One of the professors has the GPR signed out for a field trip tomorrow.”
It seemed she’d shrugged the moment away and Vito decided to do the same, but his eyes had a mind of their own. He couldn’t stop looking at her face, searching her profile as they walked to his truck. Her lips were still quivering from the cold and he felt a pang of guilt. “Why didn’t you just come up to me earlier?” he asked.
“You said to be discreet,” she said, looking straight ahead. “I wasn’t sure you were Katherine’s cop and you weren’t in a police car. I kept thinking that if you weren’t the right one, you might not appreciate me blabbing your name. Katherine didn’t tell me what you looked like and she didn’t give me the secret handshake. So I waited.”
While she froze, he thought, remembering the way she’d drawn her body up under the coat for warmth. He put the two large suitcases in the bed of his truck and secured them. When he reached for the smaller cases she held, she shook her head. “These are delicate. Given a choice, I’d ride in the bed and buckle these in my seat.”
“I think I can find room for you both.” He stowed the cases in the back floorboard, then opened her door. “After you . . .” His mind derailed when she moved past him. She smelled like the roses he’d thrown behind his seat in the truck, fragrant and sweet.
He stood motionless, just breathing in her scent. She looked nothing like his Andrea, who’d been dark and petite. Sophie Johannsen was an Amazon, tall, blond, and . . . alive. She’s alive, Chick. And today, that’s just enough to get you into trouble. By tomorrow, he’d be blessedly numb once more.
“Sophie,” she said warily. “I’m Sophie.”
“I’m sorry.” Focus, Chick. One unidentified body, perhaps more. That was what should be occupying his thoughts, not Sophie Johannsen’s perfume. He gestured to the front seat, determined to pull their interaction back to the professional level. “Please.”
“Thanks.” She climbed in and he heard the clinking of metal coming from her coat.
“What do you have in your pockets?”
“Oh, all kinds of things. This is my field jacket.” From one of the pockets she pulled a handful of garden stakes. “Markers for what we find.”
I sure as hell hope you brought enough, he thought, remembering the red flags Nick would be removing before they got back. They wanted a clean investigation with no prejudicing the expert before she started her scan. “Let’s go.”
Once they were under way, Sophie held her frozen fingers up to the truck’s heater. Without a word, Vito leaned forward and twisted a knob, turning the temperature up.
When her fingers were warm again, she settled into the seat and studied Vito Ciccotelli. His appearance had come as a surprise. With a name like Vito, she’d expected him to be a brawny thug with a face that had gone too many rounds with the champ. She could not have been more mistaken. Which was why she’d stared. She’d been taken off guard. You go right on thinking that.
He was at least six-two. She’d had to look up to meet his eyes, and at five-eleven herself, that didn’t happen very often. His shoulders were broad in his leather jacket, but there was a lean toughness to him that spoke more of a large cat than a scrappy bulldog. He had the kind of rugged, chiseled face that one saw in fashion magazines. Not that she read fashion magazines herself, of course. That was Aunt Freya’s vice.
Sophie imagined most women would consider Vito Ciccotelli swooningly handsome and fall helplessly at his feet. That was probably why he’d been so quick to rebuff her earlier—women probably hit on him all the time. It was a good thing she wasn’t most women, she thought dryly. Falling helplessly at his feet was the last thing on her mind.
Although that’s very nearly what she’d done. How embarrassing. But for that one moment when he’d held her against him she’d felt comfort and the solidity of welcome. As if she could lay her head back against his shoulder and rest. Don’t be ridiculous, Sophie. Men that looked like Vito were too accustomed to getting exactly what they wanted with the bat of an eyelash. But somehow that assessment felt unfair. As if it mattered. He’d come for her GPR. Nothing more. So focus on what you’re here for. A chance to work again. To do something important. Still, her eyes were drawn to his face.
He was wearing sunglasses, but she could just see the corner of his eye where the darkness of his skin was broken by tiny white lines, as if he was quick to smile. He wasn’t smiling now. At this moment, his expression was sober and brooding which made her feel a little guilty for feeling so excited and energized.
For the first time in months she’d be doing something that got her back into the field. That was what had her heart pumping and goosebumps pebbling her skin. The thrill of the hunt, of finding secrets hidden below the surface of the earth, not the memory of his hands gripping her shoulders. He was just keeping you from falling on your ass. It had been way too long since she’d been touched by a man, for any reason. She frowned and focused. “So Vito, tell me about this gravesite.”
“Who said anything about graves?” he asked, his tone casual.
She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I’m not stupid. An ME and a cop are looking for something under the ground. So how many graves are we talking about?”
He shrugged. “Maybe none.”
“But you’ve found at least one.”
“What makes you say that?”
She wrinkled her nose. “L’odeur de la mort. It’s quite noticeable.”
“You speak French? I took it in high school, but I only learned the swear words.”
Now she did roll her eyes, her temper flaring. “I’m fluent in ten languages, three of them deader than the body you just came from,” she snapped, then instantly wished her words back as he flinched, a muscle twitching in his clenched jaw.
“The body I just came from was somebody’s daughter or wife,” he said quietly.
Her face heated, her annoyance becoming embarrassment and shame. Shoved your foot in your mouth, army boot and all. “I’m sorry,” she said, just as quietly. “I didn’t mean to be disrespectful. The bodies I come across have been dead several hundred years. But it’s not an excuse. I got a little . . . jazzed at the prospect of doing something interesting. I let myself get carried away. I apologize. It was insensitive of me.”
He kept his gaze fixed ahead. “It’s all right.”
No, it wasn’t, but she didn’t know what to say to make it right. She pulled off her gloves and began to braid her hair that still hung loose so it would be out of her way when she got to where the detective was taking her. She was almost done when he spoke, startling her.
“So,” he said. “You speak French? I took it in high school, but . . .”
; His mouth turned up in a rueful smile and she smiled back. He’d thrown her a do-over. This time she would keep her feet out of her mouth. “But you only learned the swear words. Yes, I speak French and several other languages. It comes in handy translating old texts and conversing with the locals when I’m working.” She went back to braiding her hair. “I’ll teach you a few swear words in other languages if you want.”
His lips twitched. “It’s a deal. Katherine said you were on sabbatical.”
“Of sorts.” She secured the braid into a tight ball at her nape. “My grandmother had a stroke, so I came back to Philly to help my aunt take care of her.”
“Is she recovering?”
“Some days we think so. Other days . . .” She sighed. “Other days it’s not so good.”
“I’m sorry.” He sounded very sincere.
“Thank you.”
“And where did you come back from?”
“Southern France. We were excavating a thirteenth-century castle.”
He looked impressed. “Like, with a dungeon?”
She chuckled. “At one time, most likely. Now we’ll be lucky to find the outer walls and the foundation of the keep. They’ll be lucky,” she corrected. “Listen, Vito . . . I’m sorry I was out of line, but it really would help me to know a little more about what you need me to do before I begin.”
He shrugged. “There’s really not much to tell. We found one body.”
Back to square one. “But you think there are more.”
“Maybe.”
Keeping her feet well away from her mouth, she injected a note of lightness into her voice. “If I uncover something, I’ll know your secrets. I hope this isn’t one of those ‘now I’ll have to kill you’ things. That would ruin my day.”
The corners of his mouth quirked. “Killing you would be illegal, Dr. Johannsen.”
They were back to formalities. Too bad. She was still calling him Vito. “Well then, Vito, unless you plan to erase my memory, you’ll have to trust that I won’t blab. You don’t have one of those memory-zapping guns like they used in Men in Black, do you?”
His lips twitched again. “I left it in my other suit.”
“Forewarned is forearmed, they say. Which suit is it? I promise I won’t tell.”
Abruptly he grinned, exposing a deep dimple in his right cheek. Oh, my, she thought. Oh my, oh my. A smile turned Vito Ciccotelli from merely magazine-handsome to movie-star-gorgeous. Aunt Freya’s heart would be going pitter-pat. Just like yours is right now. Then he spoke.
“That information is classified,” he said and Sophie stiffened.
“So much for establishing rapport.”
His grin faded. “Dr. Johannsen, it’s not that I don’t trust you. You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t. Katherine vouches for you and that was enough for me.”
“Then—”
He shook his head. “I don’t want to give you any information that could bias your findings. Go in with a clean slate and tell us what you see. That’s all we want.”
She considered. “I suppose that makes sense.”
“Thank God,” he muttered and she chuckled.
“Can you at least tell me how big this area is?”
“One, two acres tops.”
She winced. “Oh. That’ll take a while.”
His black brows went up. “How long is a while?”
“Four, five hours. Maybe more. Whitman’s ground-penetrating radar is a small unit. We use it for teaching purposes. The biggest plot we ever scan with students is maybe ten meters square. Sorry,” she added when he scowled. “If you need an area that big scanned I can recommend some geophysical survey companies that are really good. They’ll have bigger units they can drag with a tractor.”
“With big price tags,” he said. “We can’t afford to hire a contractor. Our department budgets have been cut so much . . . We simply don’t have the funds.” He threw her a cautious glance. “Can you give us four or five hours?”
She checked her watch. Her stomach had already started to rumble. “Can your department budget spring for pizza? I didn’t have lunch.”
“That we can do.”
Chapter Three
Philadelphia, Sunday, January 14, 2:30 P.M.
Vito stopped the truck behind the CSU van. “This is the place.”
“I kind of figured that out for myself,” she murmured. “The yellow police tape and CSU van were my first clues.” Before he could say another word she opened her door and hopped out, flinched, then swallowed hard.
“It’s strong,” he said sympathetically. “Eau de . . . what did you call it?”
“L’odeur de la mort,” she said quietly. “Is the body still here?”
“No. But removing the body doesn’t always remove all the odor right away. I can get you a mask, but I don’t think it really helps.”
She shook her head and the big hoops at her ears swayed. “I was just surprised. I’ll be fine.” Her jaw set determinedly, she grabbed the two smaller cases. “I’m ready.”
She said it with a hard little nod, more as if to convince herself than anyone else.
Nick climbed from the CSU van and Vito had the satisfaction of seeing his partner’s face go blank. Jen McFain’s reaction was much the same. Of course they weren’t getting the full effect as Johannsen had braided the hair that hung an inch past her butt.
“Jen, Nick, this is Dr. Johannsen.”
Jen hurried forward with a smile, craning her neck to see Johannsen’s face. The difference in the women’s heights was almost comical. “I’m Jennifer McFain, CSU. Thank you so much for coming out to help us on such short notice, Dr. Johannsen.”
“You’re welcome. And please call me Sophie,” she said.
“Then I’m Jen.” Jen eyed the small suitcases. “I’ve always wanted to play with one of these. If you don’t mind, could you take off the earrings?”
Johannsen immediately dropped her earrings into one of the pockets of her jacket. “Sorry. I forgot I had them on.” She glanced over Jen’s shoulder at Nick. “You are?”
“Nick Lawrence,” Nick said. “Vito’s partner. Thanks for coming.”
“My pleasure. If you’d take me to where you’d like me to begin, I’ll get set up.”
They walked across the field, Jen and Johannsen in front, Vito and Nick trailing far enough behind that they wouldn’t be overheard.
“She’s not . . . what I expected,” Nick murmured.
Vito huffed a chuckle. He was keeping himself calm, cool, and collected. And would continue to do so. “That’s an understatement.”
“You’re sure she’s Katherine’s friend? She seems very young.”
“I did finally get in touch with Katherine. Johannsen’s the real deal all right.”
“And you’re sure she can keep this to herself?”
Vito thought of the memory-zapping gun and had to smile. “Yeah.” Then they came to the grave and he sobered. Now they would know if Jane Doe was a single or one of many.
Johannsen was staring at the grave. Her mouth drooped and he remembered how she’d dropped her eyes, ashamed of the calloused way she’d referred to the body. She hadn’t meant it, he knew. That she was so quick to apologize he could respect. She looked over her shoulder and met his eyes. “You found the woman here?”
“Yes.”
“The field is big. Do you have a preference on where you’d like me to start?”
“Dr. Johannsen thinks it will take four or five hours to scan the whole field,” Vito said. “Let’s survey the area to the right and left of the grave and see what we have.”
“That sounds like a plan,” Jen said. “How long will it take you to get ready?”
“Not long.” Sophie dropped to her knees in the snow and began opening the cases they’d brought, demonstrating the assembly for Jen who looked like a kid on Christmas. “The unit sends data to the laptop wirelessly and the laptop will store it.” She set the laptop on one of the cases, powered it up, then stood,
the scanning portion in her hand.
Nick leaned forward, studying it. “It looks like a carpet sweeper,” he said.
“A fifteen-thousand-dollar carpet sweeper,” Johannsen said and Vito whistled.
“Fifteen grand for that? You said it was a little one.”
“It is. The big ones start at fifty. Are you all familiar with ground penetrating radar?”
“Jen is,” Vito said. “We were going to call for the cadaver dogs.”
“That works, but GPR gives you an image of what’s under the ground. It’s not a clear image like an x-ray. GPR tells you where and how deep an object is. The colors on the display represent the amplitude of the object. Brighter colors, bigger amplitude.”
Jen nodded. “Brighter the color, bigger the amplitude, bigger the object.”
“Or the stronger the reflection. Metals will have high amplitude. Air pockets reflect even better. The amount of reflection depends on what you’re looking for.”
“What about bone?” Nick asked.
“Not as bright, but visible. Older the bone, the harder it is to see. As bodies decompose, they become like the soil and the reflections don’t stand out as much.”
“How old before you can’t see the bones anymore?” Jen asked.
“One of my colleagues identified the remains of a twenty-five-hundred-year-old Native American in a burial mound in Kentucky.” She glanced up. “I don’t think you need to worry about age.” She stood up and wiped her palms on her jacket. Her jeans were soaking wet, but she didn’t even seem to notice. She’d said she was “jazzed” and Vito could definitely see the energy in her clear green eyes. “Let’s go.”
She got to work, scanning along the height dimension of the first grave, slowly and precisely. Vito could see why scanning the whole field would take so long. But if they found something, they were in for a lot more man-hours than that.
Jen went still. “Sophie,” she said, her voice urgent.
Johannsen stopped for a screen check. “It’s the edge of something. The soil changes here, abruptly. It goes maybe three feet deep. Let me get a few more rows.”
She did, then frowned. “There is something here, but it looks like it’s got metal in it. We tend to see that in cemeteries with older, lead-lined caskets. The shape isn’t right for a casket, but there is definitely metal here.” She looked up, her eyes questioning. “Does that make sense?”