Page 1 of Beneath the Scars

Chapter One

Byron

Somethingaboutthisisall wrong. I can't quite pinpoint exactly what it is, but looking at the scene and how everything is set up leaves me unsettled.

At first glance, it's all the same. From the young, fit male splayed on the bed, arms and legs spread apart, to the gaping mouth with the missing tongue, it all looks the same. Smells the same.

It takes the crime scene tech a while to realize I'm standing in the doorway, but when he does, he awkwardly shuffles out of my way so I can get a clearer picture of the gruesome tableau displayed in front of me.

The Cat has done it again.

It's a struggle not to flinch at the sight of the crude castration the victim suffered, but I've seen enough of them to have expected it.

"You're from the FBI?" the tech asks me from his corner, where he's dusting for prints. It's a waste of time.Ifthis is The Cat, there won't be any prints. No prints, no DNA, not even the slightest hint of particles left behind for us to get a lead on.

Reaching for my badge, I nod in response before holding it out. "Agent Scott."

The tech's face lights up with recognition of my name. It seems my reputation precedes me even here, hundreds of miles from home.

"We've kept everything for you exactly like we found it, as requested. The medical examiner is waiting to come in and see the body; they're mighty pissed at the delay."

Used to the cold reception from the locals, I shrug at the guy's observation and slowly step into the room to look around. "You can phone them, tell them they can come in."

The young man rushes from the room, and the second he's out of the door, all thoughts of him leave my mind.

Time to get to work.

By the time the medical examiner shows up, I'm not paying any attention to the body anymore. I learned everything I could from it until they did their autopsy.

With my back turned on the victim, I don't see her when she walks in, but her soft floral scent gently wraps itself around me. The tension in the room ratchets up more than a couple of notches, and with the way the hair on the back of my neck stands up, I'd say she's trying to kill me with the way she's glaring at me.

"Can I help you?" I ask without giving in to the temptation to look at the person that comes with the tantalizing scent.

Nothing by stony silence meets my question, and I'm just about to turn around when she speaks up.

"Can you help? You're kidding me, right?" There's a pause before the sweetest voice carries on derisively. "He's kidding, right? Can he bloody well help? It would have fucking helped if he'd shown up earlier. Then I wouldn’t have been stuck waiting for him so I could do my damn job."

I can't help it. I have to turn around then. My curiosity demands it.

A small woman bends over the victim's body. Aaron Butler was a big man, and his large form makes the medical examiner look even smaller than I reckon she is. Her long dark brown hair is held back with a messy braid that runs over her shoulder and nearly makes it to the floor in her hunched-over position. Her oversized blue scrubs hide her shape, but I'd wager she's petite.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. It seems we've gotten off on the wrong foot." I step closer to her and the body, holding out my hand.

That's when it happens.

The floor falls out from under my feet.

Two large blue-green eyes glare at me with such disdain that it almost feels like a physical blow.

I'm so lost in those striking eyes it takes me a while to notice the rest of her face. And what a face! The slight pixie shooting daggers at me has the most delicate features. An upturned, small nose, delicate cheekbones, and a heart-shaped face perfectly match her red rosebud mouth.

The longer I look at her, the harder she scowls at me.

"Are you fucking serious right now? Have you never seen a woman with a damn scar before?"

I blink at her words uncomprehendingly. She turns to the assistant beside her, holding her hand for something.

She thought I was staring at her scar?

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