Kansas City Christmas. Julie Miller
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“I have a few samples in my lab. But the breakdown rate is extreme once they enter the body and react with our biological chemicals.” It amazed as much as sickened her to think that someone had created something that could be deadly one moment, then decompose beyond recognition the next. “You’re welcome to come by and look at one, though I don’t know how much good it would do you. I guess that’s the point of making them in the first place—so someone can commit a crime and not leave a trail that can be traced.”
“I intend to follow that trail all the way to the source.” Edward’s gaze zoomed in on hers. “I need you to understand something, Doctor.”
Holly nearly had to hold her breath to keep from looking away from the piercing sensation of those eyes. “Okay?”
“If I have to break the law to do this, I am going to find out who killed my father.”
There was no question that he meant every dramatic word. “You’d give up your badge?”
He braced his elbows on the table, steepled his fingers together at his scarred-up chin and leaned forward, eating up the space in the booth. “I don’t know how much my badge is worth anymore since it got my wife and daughter killed. But I know what justice is worth.” A chill of destiny—or maybe doom—washed over her, raising a sea of goose bumps across her skin. “If you don’t want to help me, I understand. I don’t want to jeopardize anyone’s career but my own—not my brothers’, not yours.” Holly couldn’t help it, she crossed her arms in front of her and tried to hug some warmth into her body. “But I owe this to my dad. I intend to do whatever it takes to put an end to Z Group and to prove who killed him.”
It still stuck in Holly’s craw that someone—most likely from Z Group—had hacked into her computer files and deleted key elements of reports relating to the murders of John Kincaid and others. She was always thorough, always precise. But now there were gaping holes in her work. Court orders, exhumation of bodies and second autopsies would allow her to replace most of that missing information—if the bodies hadn’t degraded and embalming hadn’t altered lingering evidence. But unless there was a new lead on a case, KCPD and the D.A.’s office hadn’t been inclined to budget the expense or put the victims’ families through any more pain or false hopes. She’d love the chance to make things right, to stamp a Closed on every corrupted investigation file. Reclaiming the accuracy of her work was a gut-deep need that could put professional and personal frustrations and insecurities to rest.
But to skip protocols or break the law to find her own satisfaction or personal vindication?
“Are you asking me to do something illegal for you?”
His steely eyes didn’t blink. “I’m asking you to turn the other way if I
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