Body of Evidence (Evidence Series) by Rachel Grant Read Free Book Online

area.”
    Palea grinned. “You call it luck. I call it instinct. Po-tay-to, pa-tot-oh.”
    A loud boom rocked the floor and rattled the windows. The tech glanced from Palea to Curt. “Sonic boom?”
    Palea shrugged. “They’re getting sloppy on the base. Heads are gonna roll for that.” The phone on Palea’s hip chimed. He glanced at the display. “I need to take this,” he said and answered the call.
    Curt studied the weapon, so close to where the corpse had lain. Five years ago, at the age of twenty-three, Roddy Brogan had completed US Army Ranger training but was injured in a training exercise. Permanent nerve damage to his right—and dominant—hand forced a medical discharge, but a Raptor headhunter had snatched him up while he was still recovering, recruiting Roddy for his linguistic talents. From what Curt had been able to learn, during the last five years Roddy had become nearly as proficient with his left hand as he’d been with his right.
    The weapon on the floor lay only inches from where Roddy’s left hand had been. If he’d been murdered, the killer had known about his disability.
    Palea closed his phone. “The serial number on the gun is a match. It’s Roddy Brogan’s Raptor-issued weapon.”
    “It seems unlikely Roddy could be caught off guard and killed with his own weapon,” Curt said. But petite Mara claimed she took him down with a swift chop of her small hand.
    “I know,” Palea said. “He must have known his killer. Someone he trusted.”
    “I agree.” He turned away from the crime scene to look out the window. Plants crowded upon each other, threatening to take over the backyard. The nearest neighbor wouldn’t have seen a thing through the thick foliage.
    His phone vibrated in his pocket. He checked the number. Hawai’i area code. Few people in Hawai’i had his cell number. He left the bloody kitchen for the adjacent living room and answered. “Dominick.”
    “This is Colonel McCormick,” a clipped voice said. Sirens wailed in the background. “Shit, Dominick. I need you to sit down.”
    Icy fear spread through Curt. He knew with sudden certainty the noise that shook the house a few minutes ago hadn’t been a sonic boom. He held the phone in a knuckle-burning grip. “What’s going on, Colonel?”
    “There’s been an explosion. The jet… It’s gone.”
    The room around him narrowed to a small, airless tunnel, and the bright noon sun dimmed. “Mara,” he said before his voice cut out.
    “She was inside.”
    The putrid scent of death that permeated the house became stronger. He stumbled across the room and into the screen door. The door gave way, and he tumbled onto the porch.
    His job had been to save her.
    His fault. Jesus. He’d left her behind.
    He leaned against the porch railing and realized he still held the phone in a death grip. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
    “I’ll send a car—”
    The rest of his words were lost as Curt saw a vision walking down the long driveway. He didn’t believe in ghosts or spirits or even angels and had always believed he’d been born without a faith gene. He was a man who relied on facts and evidence, and walking toward him was an ethereal, beautiful sprite. The sun glinted off her blond hair, and damn if it didn’t glow.
    The phone dropped from his hand and clattered on the wooden planks. His throat seized. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even think.
    Her brow wrinkled in confusion as she approached. Finally, the vision spoke. “Before you yell at me for disregarding your orders, I want to know what the hell you’re doing at my house.”

C HAPTER S IX

    T HE EXPLOSION HAD drawn all pleasure craft for miles, making his boat one of many on the water. He was just another fisherman, curious, watching fire trucks and ambulances race down the runway toward the fiery wreck that had been a luxury private jet a few minutes before.
    The blast had taken out the windows of the nearest building. The