I stood and stared at the charred remains of what once was a walking, talking, breathing human being. Burned flesh has a distinctive smell. It's wrong. I can't eat pork anymore, God alone knows how the HEAT guys manage it, but since my first 'crispy critter' roast pork makes me want to vomit.
My eyes stung from the suppressant foam used to kill the flames, the chemicals mixing with roasted human flesh and char-grilled vehicle. I swallowed, blinked back the sting and lifted my gaze to the HEAT investigators watching me.
"Michaels," I said in way of greeting.
He offered a lazy smile. "Detective Keen, a pleasure as always."
"Wherever you get your kicks," I muttered. "What can you tell me?"
His smile hadn't wavered, but a serious glint entered those dark eyes as he turned his attention back to the vehicle and sole occupant.
"A petrol based accelerant was used, but only in the rear part of the vehicle. The boot itself. It would have engulfed this part of the car," he used his long arm to pinpoint the area under question, "within seconds. The victim, if conscious, wouldn't have stood a chance. It probably took mere minutes for the rest of the vehicle to become fully involved. But I won't know more exact timing until I analyse debris and determine the correct mix of accelerant back at the lab."
Nothing I hadn't already considered myself.
"Have you met our newest member of HEAT?" Michaels asked, indicating the blond guy to his side. "This is Russell Clarke," he offered. "Clarke, this is the detective I was telling you about."
Michaels' choice of words was deliberate. Just what had been said before I arrived?
I nodded to the guy, but didn't bother speaking. Silence is a good tool if used well.
"Nice to meet you, Detective Keen," the guy said and thankfully didn't add the expected, "I've heard a lot about you."
I dismissed both investigators with another nod and then started to pace the circumference of the car. I heard Michaels mumble something indistinct to Clarke, and both men took several steps back to give me space. Maybe Damon Michaels did know me well.
"What's on your mind?" Pierce asked quietly as he followed a step behind.
"Does there have to be something on my mind?"
"Yes, you've got that look."
I crouched down beside the opened driver's door and stared inside the ash filled interior of the car.
"What look is that, Pierce?"
"The I-know-what-I'm-going-to-find look."
My head turned to glance at him briefly, then eyes back on the seat of the car. "There's an I-know-what-I'm-going-to-find look?"
"You bet ya. And you're wearing it. So, spill. What do you already know?"
What did I already know? Too much. And not damn near enough.
"There'll be a message," I finally said, all three men now close enough to hear what I had to say.
"This isn't message enough?" Michaels asked.
I shook my head. "This is the look-at-me moment. The message will be somewhere inside this car, or near the victim."
"And what's the message going to say, Lara?" Pierce asked.
I stood up and dusted my hands down my creased trousers, feeling the sweat wipe clean on my palms.
"It's not so much what it says, Pierce," I countered. "But who it'll be addressed to."
I turned and started walking toward my car.
"That's it?" Pierce shouted after me and I stopped.
Looking over my shoulder I added, "The scene's yours Michaels, don't fuck it up. And let me know what forensics uncovers, Pierce." I turned back in the direction of my car and said over my shoulder, "And find me that message!"
"Yes, sir!" Pierce shouted back, and despite the location and reason for us all being here at just after four in the morning, there was amusement in his tone.
If you can't find the will to laugh, you might as well curl up and die along with the victims.
Another Carl Forrester piece of wisdom.
I slid into my seat behind the steering wheel and laid my head back on the headrest, eyes closed for a short span of time.
"I could really use your guidance, Old Man," I whispered. "This one's personal and I'm fucking scared it's nowhere near over yet."
I started my vehicle, and with one final look out of the window towards the organised chaos of the scene, my eyes connected with the dark brown of Damon Michaels'. He held my gaze for several long seconds, then turned his attention back to the body in the boot of the burned out car.
If anyone could find me a message in the charred remains of that murder scene, it would be him. It was a strangely comforting thought, even as I found myself frowning at the fact that I'd have to talk to the over confident HEAT investigator again.
And the last time I had more than a few curt words to say to Damon Michaels he'd ended up inside my head, plastered against my body and way too far into my pants.
Not to mention my heart.
Oh, yeah. This was going to be fun.
About The Author
Nicola Claire lives in beautiful Taupo, New Zealand with her husband and two young boys.
She's tried her hand at being a paramedic, bank teller and medical sales representative, (not all necessarily in that order), but her love of writing keeps calling her back.
She has a passion for all things supernatural, spiced up with a good dollop of romance - as long as they include strong characters, alpha males and capable females, and worlds which although make-believe are really quite believable in the end.
There's nothing better than getting caught up in a compelling, intriguing and romantic book.
When she's not writing or reading, she's out on her family boat at Lake Taupo, teaching her young boys to fish, showing them the beauty that surrounds them in nature and catching some delicious trout for dinner.
Kindred has been a joy to write, creating a rich world with dynamic characters and paranormal twists that shock and awe has been pure bliss for this author. And just as well, because there's a lot more story yet to tell...
Find more Nicola Claire books at:
Nicola Claire Website
Connect with Nicola Claire at:
Facebook
Twitter
Google +
Goodreads
Pinterest
Sweet Seduction Stripped (Sweet Seduction, Book 7) Page 32