Particles of Murder (A Shadow of Death Romantic Suspense Series Book 1) (2 page)

“Ouch,” I say. I can feel my tension starting to melt away, and a warmth spreads under my skin. “I’ve never thought blind dates were a good idea. I mean, the person you are when you’re around your friends has to be different from the person you are in a romantic relationship.”

“Exactly,” he says. “They’re not even really friends. Just co-workers. I don’t have time to make friends past the people I work with. I don’t know why I thought I’d have time for a relationship. I probably shouldn’t be complaining—she’s likely talking about me right now, too. I wonder what she’s saying? I did mention Victoria’s death. That probably wasn’t the best conversation piece.”

“Well, at least that means she won’t be desperate to get back with you,” I say. “Nobody has time to date anymore. We all just want some instant pleasure so we can continue on with our lives without changing anything. I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t think about whether it’s good or bad,” he says. “There’s not enough time on Earth to dwell on those things. You do what makes you happy because we’re all just wasting time until we die.”

“I hope you told your date that because that is the most morbid thing I’ve ever been told in bar,” I say.

“Sorry,” he says, laughing. “I’ve read too many books with existential questions and a nihilistic outlook.”

I watch him in the corner of my eye as he finishes his drink. If it’s happiness I should be pursuing, I can think of a few ways to find some quick joy that I may or may not regret in the morning.

* * *

W
hen John
and I stumble into my apartment, he sits down on my white carpet in the center of my living room.

“Shouldn’t you have a coffee table in here or something?” he mumbles. “Why is there nothing but this rug?”

“Because I like that rug,” I say. “It’s a great rug.”

He laughs. “You’re drunk.”

“You’re the one sitting on the floor.” A second passes before I sit down beside him. I smile. “Have you ever played two truths and a lie?”

“I don’t know what it is,” he says, “but it vaguely sounds like every relationship I’ve ever had.”

I giggle. I never giggle. “Okay, it’s when you tell me three things about yourself except one of them is a lie. I have to guess which one is the lie.”

He shakes his head. “You need to go first. I can’t…I’m not sure if I understand right now.”

“Okay. Three things about me. Hmm. My parents own a magic shop. I hate my red hair, although everyone else is always commenting about it. I have an older brother.”

“Mmmm.” He skims the carpet with the palm of his hand. I can imagine the soft texture against each of his fingers. He looks back up at me, smiling. “You can’t hate your hair.”

I laugh. “I do. I hate it. So much. It’s all people notice about me when they see me. Everywhere I go, people refer to me as the redhead.”

“It’s not the only thing people notice,” he says. “You also have stunning green eyes. I’ve never seen that color before. It’s…it reminds me of those vintage green bottles.”

“Yeah, you’re definitely drunk now,” I say. “I don’t have an older brother. I have a younger brother. He actually goes to Tuskmirth College, and he’s studying sociology. His name’s Liam.”

“Liam…what’s your last name?”

“Solano.”

“Liam Solano…I’ve never met him.”

“You can tell just from his name? You remember every student you’ve had?”

“Absolutely,” he says.

“I don’t know if I believe that,” I say. “Which is good because it’s your turn. Two truths and a lie.”

“I don’t know. What would you even want to know? Hmm. I’ve been teaching for a decade now. I love science fiction and…I was overweight until four years ago.”

“I want to say that your last one was a lie, but I don’t think you could have invented that out of thin air.”

“I am a writer,” he teases.

“No.” I shake my head. “That’s not it. You don’t like science fiction.”

He laughs. I could spend a lifetime listening to that laugh, feeling it send warmth throughout my body. I lean in. Our lips touch and it causes a magnetism between us and my body is pulled toward him through an electrical charge. His hands brush against my skin as he pulls off my shirt and I can feel the ridges of his spine as my fingers brush over his back. He moves on top of me.

In a career path that’s so full of death and violence, it’s good to find that the body doesn’t just endure pain. It also seeks pleasure.

* * *

W
hen I wake up
, my neck has a cramp in it. I’m leaning against my bed, my red plush blanket pulled half-heartedly over my lap. John is beside me, his arm draped over my thighs.

I definitely need to stop drinking.

It was a bad decision to sleep with someone involved in a current case, but he’s not a suspect—I’m certain his alibi was solid—and it sounds like the case is going to be closed soon, anyway.

I shove his shoulder. He jerks awake.

“You should get going,” I say.

He rubs his face. “You’re not a morning person, are you?”

“I just need to get to work,” I say. “And I’m sure you need to get to work too.”

He sits up, pulling the blanket toward him and nearly leaving me exposed. I grab the blanket, pulling it up around me as I stand up. His physique is just as impressive as I thought it was when I was drunk. I’d thought there was a possibility that the alcohol made him look better because I can’t see any scenario where an English professor spends his time in a gym.

“I’m going to shower. You should be gone by the time I get out.”

“Wow,” he says. “I liked you a lot better when you had a drink in your hand.”

“And I liked you better when you weren’t talking.”

He presses his lips together, preventing himself from saying whatever he wants to say. Instead, his eyes wander to my arm and he gestures toward my bracelet. “Why are you wearing a child’s bracelet?”

I force a smile. “I’ve already told you too much about me. Be gone by the time I’m done showering.”

I turn around and shuffle my way to the bathroom. I don’t mean to be harsh, but I really shouldn’t have slept with him, and after my last boyfriend (if I could even call him that), I have zero interest in forming a relationship with anyone. I don’t even want to risk it.

I wait until I hear the creak of the floor as John walks into the hallway. I turn on the shower and close my eyes as the room fills with steam.

Pleasure is meant to be fleeting or it would be meaningless. At least, that’s how it has always seemed to me.

* * *

E
d Bunt
, the other forensic scientist who lacks hair but still maintains a baby face, is lifting a fingerprint off a camera’s on/off button. I watch him as he brushes white powder in the direction of the fingerprint. The fingerprint’s ridges begin to appear.

“You smell like waffles,” he remarks as he presses a piece of tape against the powder. When he removes it, the fingerprint is almost perfectly etched into the tape. “When do you ever eat breakfast?”

“I woke up earlier than usual,” I say.

He presses the tape against a black fingerprint card. “You never wake up early.”

“How would you know?”

“Because you’re always rushing in here late, telling me how you missed your alarm,” he says. “Don’t worry. I won’t pry into your personal life, though I’ll certainly be creating my own theories. I’m going to guess it was either a man or a secret service assignment.”

“Both are equally possible,” I say. As I grab a pair of gloves, he shakes his head.

“You may be on time today, but Detective Stolz already called. She wants you to go down to that office in Tuskmirth College and check over everything again.”

I scowl. “Why?”

“Because she doesn’t want to close the case without being certain,” he says. “And she said you were the one upset over the idea of closing the case this soon. She said that she didn’t think you would be satisfied unless you were the one who did it.”

“Or she hates me and she’s purposely trying to piss me off,” I say.

“It’s possible,” he says with a shrug. “But if you do want to continue the investigation, I suggest you get down there and find evidence that someone caused Ms. Glassman’s death.”

“I have some suggestions for you too,” I mutter, but I grab a few kits that I might need and pack them into a duffle bag. I leave the lab within minutes of arriving.

* * *

W
hen I arrive on campus
, there’s a crowd of people in front of the student union. A young bald man with an impressive beard is standing on top of a short ladder. The crowd surrounds him, staring up at him like he’s their savior.

“These cops don’t care about the truth,” the man declares. “They just want to close up the case and pretend they mourn like we do. They did the same damn thing with the rape cases from last year, and the media plays right into their hands. The local newspapers won’t press the police for more information or insinuate they can’t do their jobs because then the police will refuse to talk to them when another crime is committed. The media can’t risk losing their viewership when they don’t have the facts from the police. This is not a conspiracy theory. This is the truth and you are all here today because you believe in the truth. Let’s stand up for it now because I know we’re all sick of being on our knees.”

As the man steps down, I approach him.

“Hey, Liam,” I say. “That was quite the speech.”

He flashes me a smile. “Hey, sis. Is the government paying you well to ignore a young woman’s death?”

“I’m actually here to continue investigating,” I say. “So what you’re telling your friends isn’t actually true.”

“It will be,” he says. “I mean, they must have said something to you already. You know they’d rather investigate the senator’s murder because that will get them better press than a student’s mysterious death.”

“That’s right. It is mysterious, which means it could be completely natural.”

“They do have you brainwashed,” he says. “That’s cute. Next, you’re going to tell me that I can’t protest, right?”

“No, carry on,” I say. “But if I come around and tell you that the autopsy showed her death was caused naturally and not by some mysterious murderer that doesn’t leave a trace on the body, then I’d like it if you backed off. This is the last thing the police need to deal with.”