Page 3 of Beneath the Scars

But even considering that, I can't explain the out-of-body experience with Agent Scott.

"Karl, can you close her up for me? I'll finish the paperwork and send it off to Detective Kingsley."

Karl doesn't answer—as is his way—and only moves forward and starts closing up the young girl. I can trust him to ensure she's presentable in case the family needs to come in to see the body.

Before I make it to the sink to wash my hands, Karl clears his throat, calling my attention to him.

"Yeah?"

"Agent Scott's card is on your desk, ma'am," Karl utters the unwelcome reminder before focusing back on his work.

Dammit.

Technically, I don'thaveto have him present for the autopsy. And a quick look at the clock tells me I don't even have to get started on it now if I don't want to. My shift ended an hour ago. But let's face it. I have nothing waiting for me at home except for a forlorn-looking cactus named Jeff and two-day-old Chinese leftovers.

"Feel like a bit of overtime, Karl?"

He responds with a nod, and I grab the damn card and phone off the desk before I can chicken out.

"This is Scott." His voice sounds even deeper over the phone. Dammit.

"Agent Scott. It's Dr. Lillian Gale." There's a pause where I wait for him to respond when I realize I never actually introduced myself to him at the victim's apartment. "The medical examiner." Clearing my throat, I breathe to steady my sudden onset of nerves. "I'm starting on Mr Butler's body in about half an hour."

My statement is once again met with silence, and I pull the phone away from my ear to check if I'm still connected. "Agent Scott?"

"Yes, sorry. I'm just surprised to be getting a call from you tonight. I thought you would be working on the autopsy tomorrow."

"If it's too late for you, I can get started without you and send the report to your email tomorrow morning."Please say yes. Please, please, please say yes.

"No!" His voice comes through loud and slightly breathless. "I'll be there in twenty. I was grabbing a bite to eat. Can I bring you some? You know what? I'll get extra." And the asshole hangs up before I can tell him that, no, he does not need to bring me and Karl food because how fucking weird would that be?

I'm shaken from my stupor by a knock on our main door. Before I can put away the phone I'd been staring at, a blonde head pushes through the door.

"Hi, Lillian!" Jayne, my new... friend, calls out. "You almost ready to get out of here?"

Oh shit. "We had plans?" I ask, trying to think back on all our recent interactions. We'd run into each other in the hospital cafe and kind of bonded over a shared love of crappy reality television.

"Nothing firm, but the new season of The Circle is out today, and I wanted to grab a pizza and binge-watch a few episodes together.

She steps into the room and sees Karl wheeling out Mr Butler's body and prepping the main area for the next autopsy.

"Oh! Nevermind. You have a client. Must be serious if you're working overtime," she comments as she eyes the body under the white sheet. "Anyone I would know?" she asks as she waggles her eyebrows. "Not some kind of celeb is it?"

Her antics draw a snort from me before I shake my head.

"No, no one famous. But I do need to get this done tonight. Can I have a rain check? Tomorrow?"

Jayne frowns at me, and I'm worried I fucked up again. I'm way too awkward when it comes to making and keeping friends.

"Honey, tomorrow is Friday. It's date night. At the very least, it's 'get dressed up and go out’ night," she tells me carefully as if trying not to upset me. "Don't you have plans tomorrow night?"

"I'm sorry. Have you met me?" I ask with a self-deprecating laugh. “My plans consist of eating too much junk food and watching too much TV."

Jayne laughs with me before sitting her shapely hip on the corner of my desk while carefully glancing at the body on the slab.

"Okay, how about you come out with me tomorrow night? Club Crimson has a great Happy Hour, and I know the guy working the door; he’ll get us in for free.”

Her invite is sweet. And it comes from a good place. But all it does is send a massive surge of anxiety through my system, and I have to forcibly keep my hand from going up to trace the lines on my scar. It's not often I find someone who doesn'tseemy scar the way most of the world does.

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