Page 14 of Risky Passion

"Already on it." I snapped close-ups of the rope work, zooming in on the knots. "The rope is marine grade. Pale blue nylon."

As I switched to speaker and balanced the phone on a chunk of the broken fountain base, the stench hit me in waves: sweet and rancid, like prawns rotting in the summer heat. Even Onyx backed away, her nose wrinkling.

Dropping back into the shallow pit so my feet were on either side of the body, I found a loose end of rope around the victim's neck.

"The knots are professional." I traced the precise loops with my thumb. "Someone knew exactly what they were doing when they tied these."

"How many bindings?"

"It’s the same rope, but bound at three points: neck, waist, feet." I worked the knots loose, documenting each step with more than enough photos.

“Jax, I’m begging you to wait,” Whitney said.

“I'm going in."

“Christ almighty. Then just do the bare minimum and wrap it back up. You hear me? That’s an order.” Whitney was three minutes older than me, and he often used that to attempt to pull rank. In my mind, we brothers stood equal. We might not share identical faces, but we shared the same burning moral compass, the same blood running hot with justice, the same obsession with finding answers. Unlike those badge-wearing bastards who'd let Charlotte's case grow cold.

“What do you see?” Whitney’s desperation bled through the line.

“Hold your horses.” Sweat trickled into my eyes as the merciless sun baked everything: me, the freshly turned earth, and worst of all, the contents of the tarp. The heat amplified that distinctive smell, the one that crawled up my nose and settled in the back of my throat. No amount of academy training could steel a decent person against it.

Onyx paced in tight circles nearby with her ears pinned back, whining low. She always got a bit edgy when the digging started, almost as if she regretted having such a keen nose for bodies.

"Okay." I curled my fingers under the edge of the tarp. "Here we go."

I peeled back the silver fabric, starting at the head. The air hung dead still as if the stone angel watching us from the fountain was holding its breath.

"Oh, fuck." The words escaped my lips before I could rein them in.

Onyx stopped pacing and went rigid beside the pit.

"What?" Whitney's voice shot through the speaker.

"We've got long blonde hair. It's female." The hair was matted with decay, clinging to what remained of the face. The skin had long since taken on that leathery, dark appearance that time and earth created.

Onyx backed away with a growl. Maybe she sensed my shock.

"You sure?" Static crackled beneath Whitney’s words.

"The body is an adult woman. No doubt." My pulse hammered against my throat.

This wasn't just another body. This could be the thread that unraveledeverything connecting the orphanage's buried secrets to whatever darkness still festered here.

"Jax. Cover her up. Now."

He was right. I couldn't risk compromising this potential clue.

A gust of wind lifted the corner of the tarp, threatening to expose more of her to the scorching sun.

I pressed my palm down on the hot, silver fabric. "Okay, I will. But move your ass."

"I am!"

"How far away are you?"

"Ten minutes. Listen, get that tarp back on that body, then find something to shade her from the sun. You got a tent in your Jeep?"

"A tent? Since when do I carry a?—"

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