At that Mya’s smile widened but her eyes were deadly cold. “Yes. Worse perhaps.”
Great.
“Body is secure,” Grace called out, and the sound of a closing door followed.
Mya didn’t wait for his say-so and started shutting the clinic again, double-checking the locks and doors before heading down the hallway to the exit.
He followed, barely clearing the door before she closed and locked it. She was nearly to her car, no goodbyes, no backward glance, when he called out to her.
“It doesn’t have to be this way,” he said, spreading his hands in a gesture of peace.
She paused, her silhouette outlined against the milky light of the one parking-lot lamp. She cut a striking figure in the brisk spring night, her breath curling before her. “It is what it is and we should leave it that way,” she answered and then climbed into her car before he could offer a rebuttal.
He watched as she drove away, and even though Grace was waiting for him in the Rover, he stared after her disappearing taillights, wishing for the briefest of moments for a glimpse into the private theater of Mya Jonson’s thoughts. He wondered what he’d see.
His instincts told him that he wouldn’t like it.
Mya had always been a terrible liar. Her feelings reflected quite clearly in her strong gaze and, assuming that aspect of her hadn’t changed, there was no mistaking how she felt about him.
And it wasn’t nice.
Chapter 2
By the time Mya made it home, her nerves were a mess. Her plans for a bath had been completely trashed. There was no way she could soak in a tub with her thoughts in such a turbulent, chaotic tangle. Instead, she stripped bare and grabbed her yoga mat, flipping it out on the floor beside the large living-room window, under the full bath of the moon.
But before she could start, her cell phone rang; it was her best friend and lead nurse, Iris. Mya considered letting it go to voice mail, but she knew Iris would only keep calling, so she answered.
“So?”
“So what?” Mya asked.
“Don’t be coy. How was your meeting with Angelo?”
“How’d you know— Oh forget it. I swear you have a network to rival the CIA.” If Iris knew, for certain Mya’s older brother, Sundance, knew as well, since he and Iris were a couple. She was surprised Sundance hadn’t driven down to the clinic to welcome Angelo home with a five-knuckle sandwich. “You missed your calling, you know. You should’ve been a nosy reporter for all the gossip you traffic in.”
“Yeah, yeah, get to the good stuff,” Iris said impatiently. “Did you let loose and tell him what a jerk he is?”
“Of course not,” Mya answered, though she wished she could’ve. “We were both acting in a professional capacity. I couldn’t very well turn into a teenager and start yelling at him for breaking my heart so many years ago.”
“Why not?” Iris grumbled. “Hey, did you at least tell him that no one has forgotten?”
“Yes. I also told him that you were going to be his liaison at the hospital should he need anything.”
“Fabulous,” Iris said, with too much delight. “Can I tell him off for you?”
“No. You’ll be the professional I know you are and treat him with courtesy.”
“Mya, I love you dearly, but you suck the fun out of everything sometimes,” Iris groused but didn’t continue to press her agenda. Instead she switched gears, and Mya almost wished she’d stayed on the Angelo-is-scum track. “So, does he look the same?”
“Mostly,” Mya admitted grudgingly. “Older, more mature.”
“Not fat? How about bald?”
“No and no. Fit as ever with a full head of hair.” Those native cheekbones combined with maturity cut a sharp facial plane that was both striking and intimidating. She imagined he used that to his advantage when dealing with criminals. Angelo’s nearly black irises gave him an intensity that had never failed to send dark thrills chasing down her nerve endings. It had been almost feral, the way he’d looked at her at times. Was it any wonder she’d found it difficult to find anyone to fill his shoes? She swallowed and realized her breath had become shallow as memories of his touch escaped her control. “He looks the same, only older,” she said quickly, hoping Iris didn’t notice the catch in her voice, and if she did, would simply chalk it up to fatigue.
“That’s too bad,” Iris said. “It might be easier to stay away from him if he were bald, fat and missing a few teeth.”
Mya chuckled at the image, though it was hard to imagine Angelo letting himself go to hell. He was too focused, too determined to be in control to let something as personal as his physical appearance go downhill. “That’s hardly necessary. I won’t have any trouble keeping my distance. I have plenty to keep myself occupied with my regular schedule, much less this new complication of a dead agent and an old boyfriend to deal with.”
“Wow. Angelo has been downgraded from former fiancé to old boyfriend. Nice touch,” Iris said approvingly, but then her tone sobered as she said, “Listen, you can tell everyone else whatever you want, but I remember what you were like when he left. He was more than a boyfriend and he broke your heart.”
Iris had a point. Angelo Tucker had shattered her heart into a million pieces, but what did it matter now? The past was dead. Just like their baby. She flinched at the spasm that never failed to hit her whenever she thought of the miscarriage that took the life from her womb, and she rubbed at the sting in her eyes, which she blamed on exhaustion. “Iris, I’m beat. I was about to go to bed if you don’t mind,” she said, faking a yawn. She was too keyed up to actually sleep, but neither did she want to field further questions from Iris. “I’ll see you first thing tomorrow morning.”
“But—”
“Good night, Iris.” Mya smiled as she heard Iris sputtering even as she clicked off. She loved Iris, but sometimes she was as bull-headed as Sundance, and it would take more energy than she wanted to expend to deal with her at the moment. Besides, she had more pressing issues at hand.
She needed to settle her thoughts and quiet her mind if she was going to get through this time with Angelo on the reservation. She said a quiet prayer to Great Spirit for clarity and then focused on her yoga poses to achieve some type of serenity. She often caught a little flack from Iris for her penchant to do yoga in the nude, but she found clothes binding when she performed her poses. It was mentally freeing to stand under the moonlight naked, bending and stretching her body as her mind emptied of everything but her muscles and her breathing.
Angelo… His name floated through her thoughts unwelcome. Intruding on her attempts at calm, at peace. She tried harder. He looked good. Perhaps rougher around the edges from whatever life experiences he’d collected, but good nonetheless. He probably had women falling over him with those exotic facial features. He’d kept in shape, from what she could tell. There didn’t seem to be anything soft about him, not around the middle or his jawline. She exhaled slowly, eyes closed, forcing Angelo from her mind.
Except, he remained. She folded on her mat and gazed up at the moon, wishing for more strength than she had at the moment.
She’d thought of this moment many times since he’d left the reservation, wondered how she’d handle the pressure and the pain, but nothing compared to the real deal. He still had the power to make her heart stutter. When she could stomach it, she’d imagined—briefly—how their lives might’ve been different if he’d stayed.
Her hands strayed to her smooth, flat belly. No life there any longer. But once…fifteen years ago, a tiny person had begun to grow. She and Angelo had created a miracle.
And Angelo had never even known she was pregnant.
She sighed and climbed to her feet, annoyed at herself for allowing her thoughts to go down that road. Miscarriages happened all the time. As a doctor she saw them frequently, particularly with the mothers who received little to no prenatal care. She hadn’t expected it to happen to her.
But she’d been young and hardly ready t
o be a mother so she tried to remember that Great Spirit always had her best interests at heart even if it had hurt like hell when it’d happened.
She padded to the bathroom, comfortable in her nakedness in her own home. She owned acres of land so peeping neighbors weren’t an issue. She even had a slate-tiled outdoor shower for the summer nights when she used her sweat lodge.
Peace would not find her tonight so she gave up trying. Her mind fought with memories, pain, loneliness and anger.
She wished Porter was here; he’d at least distract her. Good, solid, dependable Porter with his unassuming manner and quiet strength. She considered calling him to invite him over for the evening, but, as her hand curled around her cell phone, she reconsidered. Porter would want to talk about the fact that Angelo was here. He, of all people, would have the most to lose. But she didn’t want to talk to anyone about Angelo, least of all Porter.
Mya made a sound of disgust at herself and headed for the shower. She was being ridiculous…and shameful.
Angelo turned his back on everything he ever held dear with little regard as to how his actions would affect those around him.
She’d meant what she’d said. She was over him. It didn’t matter if he was back. Her heart had closed to him the day he’d abandoned them all.
And yet…
His hand remained clutched around her heart as if in a stranglehold and there was little she seemed able to do about it—even after fifteen years.
Chapter 3
Angelo jiggled the key in the rusted lock, wiggling it to move the antique tumblers, and when it finally unlocked, the door opened with a shriek from hinges that hadn’t seen much action in years.
“You really know how to treat a girl, Tucker,” Grace remarked wryly, taking in the run-down and forgotten air of the small two-bedroom shack he’d called home his entire life. “This is some dump you’ve got. It’s no wonder you don’t come home often.”
He shut the door and flipped the lights, bathing the small living room—if you could call it that—with dim, flickering light as he did a quick check of the premises. He didn’t figure anyone would make themselves at home in his grandfather’s old place, but he’d been gone a long time and he wasn’t about to wake up with an unexpected visitor traipsing through his bedroom. Grace rubbed her arms in response to the chill in the house and he went to the closet and found some blankets. He tossed them her way. “I doubt there’s any wood for the fireplace. We’ll just have to tough it out for tonight,” he said by way of apology. She was right—it wasn’t the Hilton—but it was dry and it was their only option for the night unless they wanted to take the chance and drive into Forks in the hopes that they might find a vacancy.
Grace caught the blankets and wasted little time shaking them out for any bugs that might be taking up residence in the folds. Case in point, something dark and insect-like tumbled to the worn hardwood-plank floor and she promptly squashed it beneath her booted heel. At least she wasn’t squeamish. Nice to see that army infantry training in her background hadn’t gone to waste. “So tell me, what’s the story with you and the hot doctor chick?” she said, making quick work of creating a cozy bedroll on the old sofa. “I could sense the history between you two even before things got tense.”
Angelo thought of the last time he’d seen Mya. Tears had tracked down her cheeks, open anguish reflecting in her stare, yet she’d refused to consider his offer to move with him. And then, knowing her mind was made up, he’d left her behind. His mouth tensed, even though that day had passed into memory so long ago. He’d never understood Mya’s stubborn, ingrained loyalty to the tribe, just as she’d never understood his need for independence. He’d walked and she’d stayed…but her presence in his mind and heart haunted him.
“Nothing?” Grace pressed, shucking her boots and lining them up perfectly at the foot of the couch and within easy grabbing distance should the need arise. “I get it. It’s private. My guess is that you were an item and things ended badly. When that happens you’ve got no closure, makes it hard to move on.”
Grace’s blithe assessment hit too close to home. “I’ve moved on just fine,” he lied coolly. “My advice? Give up the amateur psych evals and just get to sleep. We’re out of here at 0700.”
She chuckled in spite of his curt reply and climbed into the bedroll, seemingly mindless of the less-than-desirable conditions. She rested her head on her hand as she settled on her side. “You know, for what it’s worth, I think she’s got closure issues, too. She looked like she didn’t know whether she wanted to hit you or kiss you. Or maybe both. I don’t know, maybe that was your thing together.”
“She hates me,” he answered, surprising himself with the flat statement. “The last thing on her mind is kissing me.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right. She did seem pretty pissed at you. Is this going to be a problem for the investigation?” she asked, suddenly troubled.
“No.” Angelo didn’t let anything cloud his judgment. He wasn’t about to start now. And he was finished with the conversation. “Oh seven hundred, Kelly, or your ass is walking,” he said, then disappeared into the bedroom that had been his grandfather’s when he and Waylon were kids.
Safely behind the door, he closed his eyes and inhaled to loosen the tightness squeezing his chest. Perhaps he should’ve driven into Forks. Just being here had awakened something raw and vulnerable.
The old shack groaned with the wind gusting from the Hoh River and he thought of how Waylon had been scared of the sounds outside when he’d been a little kid until Papa had told him the rustling of the wind was simply T’ist’ilal, or Thunderbird, beating his mighty wings. The Thunderbird was the sacred mythic bird that was large enough to carry a whale in its claws.
Waylon, his grandfather, Mya…this place was a minefield of misery.
Even with his eyes closed he found no relief. The Mya in his memory gazed at him with open reproach and sadness; the smooth timbre of Papa’s voice echoed in his ear; Waylon’s fierce spirit lingered in every dark corner, waiting for him to solve his murder, though, to date, he had not.
His eyes snapped open on a soft groan.
Good God. He never should’ve returned to this place.
The sure knowledge that Mya felt the same gave him no comfort. Instead, it hurt like hell.
More than he would’ve imagined after all this time.
He climbed, fully clothed, onto the bed and drew the blanket over him. He knew sleep would be elusive but when it finally found him, his dreams were filled with memories he’d rather forget.
Mya arrived at the clinic, a steaming cup of coffee warming her hand, earlier than the staff so she could open the facility for the FBI team arriving at seven-thirty. She wasn’t surprised to see Angelo and his partner waiting at the back entrance. She offered a brief smile to his partner but couldn’t find the same courtesy for Angelo. Perhaps if she hadn’t slept so fitfully, she might’ve been more charitable, but the grit burning in her eyes prevented much more civility when it came to Angelo.
“When is your pathologist arriving?” she asked, leading the two to the chilly morgue where the dead agent was being held.
“Eight o’clock,” Angelo answered in the same clipped tone. She refrained from glancing at him to surmise if dark circles ringed his eyes as surely as they did her own. “We’ll do our best to keep our team out from under your feet.”
“Yes. Please see that you do. I have a full day on the calendar and I don’t need anything or anyone making it any longer than necessary.” She hesitated as a thought came to her. She considered shelving the question but decided against it when she weighed the importance against her personal feelings. “Whom will you be needing to question on the reservation?” she asked, point-blank.
“Sam Fisher, for starters. He found the body,” Angelo answered, earning a speculative look from his partner. Perhaps Angelo wasn’t supposed to share such details? Mya couldn’t be sure, but what she did know was that likely no one on the reservation w
ould take kindly to questioning from Angelo Tucker, nor to his presence. “How long do you think you’ll be in town?”
“As long as it takes,” he said, though he added, “I hope not long.”
She inclined her head and agreed with a murmured, “Yes, let’s hope,” and continued walking.
Mya felt his stare at her back, but she maintained her stride and pushed open the morgue doors. “I will leave you to your business,” she said. “Should you need anything, find Iris. She’ll do what she can to assist you.”
“Why do I find that hard to believe?” Angelo retorted. She turned and offered him a crisp smile.
“The sooner you solve your case, the sooner you’re gone. That’s something we all can support. Even Iris.”
And then, hiding her trembling hands in the pockets of her white lab coat, she left them behind.
Chapter 4
Barnabus Lipton, aka Dr. Barney, arrived at the clinic, coughing up a lung and holding a hanky to his nose. His disposition, hardly what anyone would call friendly and engaging on his best day, was downright unpleasant as he scowled his way, grumbling under his breath, into the morgue.
“Damn mold spores from all this damp, soggy air… Dragging me all the way here when I hate the coast… Where’s this damn body?” he finally barked to Angelo, who gestured to the slab where it lay covered with a white drape. Barney sneezed into his hanky as he walked to the gurney, jerking gloves and facial protection on as he went, and pulled the covering away. Angelo averted his eyes, not particularly squeamish, but in deference to his fellow agent. Dead or not, it didn’t sit well with him to stare at the man naked.
“You got everything you need?” he asked Barney, to which the man grunted an affirmative. “I’ll be back in about an hour. Is that enough time to finish your examination?” He received a sneeze in response. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He jerked his head at Grace. “Let’s go. Time to start asking questions.”
Cold Case Reunion Page 2