The doctor nodded. “Since we don’t have a through-and-through, we’re likely looking at a smaller caliber bullet.”

  “The size of the entrance wound reflects that as well,” Maggie said.

  Nate took a step closer. “Most common handgun ammo sizes are 9mm or .38 special. As far as bullets go, I’d classify both of these as medium sizes. Would such a bullet exit the skull?”

  Dr. Owing faced the sheriff. “I’d say on average they tend not to because their velocity is marginal after the first impact, but there are so many factors, making each wound different from the next.”

  “Maybe the slug will tell us something,” Nate suggested. “But then bullets are generally made of lead and would melt at pretty low temps. Could it even have survived the heat?”

  “A jacketed bullet would move the melting point much higher,” Jackson weighed in. “Especially if it was jacketed in steel, but copper’s more common.”

  “Copper’s melting point is still three times that of lead, so we might get lucky on the slug,” Maggie said.

  Nate turned to look around the area. “This shed would have quickly flashed over. Especially with a concrete pad for a floor and nothing much combustible inside. And we can already see that the heat wasn’t as intense back here as other places in the sub. All of that’s in our favor.”

  “But it was intense enough to leave the skull calcined and porous.” Maggie peered up at them. “I don’t want to manipulate it any more right now. Better to do so in a controlled environment.”

  “I concur.” Dr. Owing met Maggie’s gaze. “Our little morgue doesn’t have an anthropology lab, but I’m glad to have you join me at the morgue.”

  “Thank you.” Maggie looked back at the body. “Dr. Owing, did you notice the location of the humeri, radii, and ulnas?”

  “I did.”

  “Whatever you’re referring to sounds significant,” Nate said.

  Maggie nodded. “Without getting into too many details, when muscles are exposed to extreme heat they tighten. This causes the fingers, wrists, and elbows to flex in a pugilistic posture.”

  “So a boxer’s pose,” Jackson clarified.

  Maggie nodded. “Which means when the muscles detached, these bones should not be located under the spine.”

  “But his are.” Nate frowned. “How could that be?”

  “It’s likely that his hands were bound behind his back.” Maggie stood. “I’m also wondering if he was shot elsewhere and the body dumped here.”

  “Why’s that?” Nate’s interest seemed to perk up.

  “He’s laying perpendicular to the door and the entrance wound is on the back side of the skull. There’s no way a shooter could have made this shot in here unless it was point-blank. At that close of a range, I suspect we would have a through-and-through. I have no scientific evidence to support this, of course.”

  “Sounds like a promising theory, though,” Dr. Owing said. “Hopefully a closer look will tell us more.”

  Maggie nodded. “I’d like to help you prepare the body for removal so we’re sure of a safe transport.”

  “I’m thankful for your help and expertise.” Dr. Owing dug her phone from her pocket. “My assistant is waiting in the vehicle. Let me get him down here with the gurney and tools we need.”

  She stepped away, and Maggie continued to examine the remains while Jackson studied her. Her anthropology classes always brought out an intensity in her, and it looked like that carried through into her work.

  He should look away, but he just couldn’t get his fill of her. Man, he missed her. They had this rare relationship where they instantly connected on a level that many long-term relationships never reached. When they were together, he was the happiest he’d ever been in his life. Until he wasn’t.

  The squeaky wheels on the gurney grabbed his attention, and he was glad to redirect his thoughts. He turned to see the assistant bumping it over the ruins. Dr. Owing shone a flashlight in his path to guide him. Jackson stepped back to give him room. The short guy had a thick head of rumpled gray hair and wore a Tyvek suit like the docs.

  Jackson kept an eye out for any immediate danger but continued to give considerable time to studying Maggie as she worked with the doctor and her assistant. Jackson’s last day with Maggie came to mind. He would never forget it. Ever.

  He’d arrived back in town after months of deployment to find her eight months pregnant. His child in her belly. He was so overcome with emotions that he nearly dropped to the floor. Instead, he pressed his hand against her stomach and felt his child move for the first time. His love for Maggie grew tenfold that day. Maybe more. And then…then…just hours later, everything came crashing down around them.

  He shook his head to knock the thoughts free and bring his focus back to the job at hand. To make sure this woman stayed safe. That was all he was here to do. Not rekindle his feelings for her or lead her on. Or even remember their past. Protection was his only job, and he best remember that.

  Once Dr. Owing and her assistant carefully carried the gurney to the street, Maggie yawned and stretched her arms high.

  Jackson loved the way she moved so fluidly and gracefully. Her long arms overhead, her torso stretched, reminded him of how agile she was and highlighted her curvy figure. She turned and caught him watching her, her pink cheeks all he needed to tell him she was aware of his attraction and maybe felt the same way.

  Stow it. Leave it in the past.

  “You ready to go home now?” he asked, hoping she would agree so she could go to bed, and he could bunk on the sofa and breathe normally again without her nearby.

  She nodded, and he didn’t wait for her to change her mind but escorted her up to the road. They passed the truck, and the memories of arriving to find her under attack felt like a mule kick in his gut. He glanced at Maggie to see her reaction. She cringed and shuddered. The urge to take her hand was nearly overpowering for Jackson. He shoved his hands into his pocket and turned his focus ahead.

  In the lot, he pointed at the rusty old Ford belonging to the father of Riley’s friend. “We’ll take my truck.”

  “I don’t like leaving my vehicle out here,” she said. “Isn’t it safe enough if you follow me?”

  “Safe? Maybe, but you’re tired, and I’d rather drive you.”

  She sighed. “I’ll be fine, Jackson.”

  He wanted to keep arguing, but there was no point. “We’ll leave the truck and take your SUV.”

  She watched him for a long time, but finally nodded.

  “Mind if I drive?” he asked.

  She shook her head and handed him the keys. He opened her door, and she slid in. He made quick work of climbing behind the wheel, moving the driver’s seat back, and getting them on the main road.

  She glanced at him. “I’m having a hard time getting used to this new life you lead.”

  “Back atcha,” he said.

  “And speaking of your new life,” she continued. “I need to know how much your bodyguard service will cost.”

  What in the world? “Seriously, Maggie? You have to know I’d never charge you.”

  “But your team. They need to be paid, don’t they?”

  “Scott’s father is paying for us to locate the killer and…” He paused because he didn’t know how to say this properly.

  “You think I’ll be bait for the killer?”

  “I was trying to come up with a nicer way to say it.”

  “And is that really why you’re here?” She sounded disappointed, maybe angry. “To find the killer?”

  “I wish I could say that didn’t play into my plans. But even if I wasn’t hired to find Scott’s killer, I’d be by your side.” He glanced at her. “It hurts that you doubt my intentions.”

  She flinched. “Why? With the way we left things?”

  “Yeah, that wasn’t so great, was it?”

  “No.” Short, concise, one word only, then she turned to look out the window, clearly putting an end to their discussion.

  He wanted to talk about the past, hash it out, so maybe it wouldn’t hold this incredible power over them, but he would respect her desire not to. For tonight anyway. Tomorrow was a different story.

  They drove for fifteen minutes in silence, the SUV nearly bursting from tension. Jackson could hardly believe they’d once been so good together. But they had been. Opposites in so many ways, but still a natural fit. He never loved a woman as much as he loved Maggie in those days. Hadn’t since, either. Everyone he dated paled in comparison to her. He shouldn’t be comparing, but he did every time he met someone, until he just gave up on the whole dating thing. Much easier that way.

  He made the final turn on their route, and they climbed steeper into mountainous terrain until her home came into view. Two stories, it sat on a lot surrounded by towering pine trees. After having just left the neighborhood devastation, he couldn’t help but think that surrounded by all these trees, her home would quickly go up in flames in a forest fire. Conifers were fire magnets. They burned all the way to the top because of the chemicals in the tree, basically turpentine. The small needles allowed oxygen to get between them, and the trees burned in a flare, taking ground fires up into trees and causing the fire to go out of control, spreading it at an alarming rate. He didn’t like that thought. Didn’t like it at all.

  He pulled to a stop in the wide driveway and turned off the ignition. “I always thought you’d be living in some big metro area where your skills as a forensic anthropologist would be in greater demand.”

  “My dad’s health failed, so I came back here to take care of him. He passed away last year, and I inherited the house. I want to have a full-time career in forensics again, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to leave.”

  “I’m so sorry for your loss.” Jackson pulled out the keys and handed them to her, careful not to touch her hand. “I only met your dad that one time at your school, but I liked him.”

  She gave a firm nod and got out. He joined her on the stone walkway, and together they strolled to the house and climbed wide stone stairs. While she located the right key on her ring, he looked around her property. The tall trees blocked the moon, casting dark, almost sinister shadows, stopping him from getting a good read on the place. He’d gotten a cursory view earlier, but not enough to plan a tight safety perimeter. After the team arrived in the morning, he’d take a much better look and make that plan.

  He followed her inside to a soaring foyer that he’d only gotten a glimpse at when talking to her roommate Daria. Maggie turned the deadbolt behind him and dropped her keys on the hall table.

  “You might not want to keep your keys in reach of the front door. Someone could break the side window and grab them.”

  She paused mid-step to stare at him, her gaze appraising. “You really are worried, aren’t you?”

  He started to reply in his usual straightforward way, but when she seemed to curl inward in an attempt to protect herself, he searched for a gentler response. “I don’t want to panic you, but our top focus should be your safety right now. Everything else needs to take a backseat.”

  She lifted her shoulders. “As I said, I won’t stop working the Summit neighborhood.”

  “You made that clear, and I’ll go along with it as long as it’s safe. If that changes, I’ll have to ask you to reconsider.”

  “And I promise to heed your warning, but the victims come first for me.”

  “Above your own safety?”

  She frowned. “I thought you of all people would understand that. As a Beret, you risked your life all the time for others and went overboard to make sure the people you cared about were safe.”

  She was right. That was his thing. Protecting the innocent, especially helpless people, but he wasn’t going to let her sidetrack the discussion to him instead of her. “My service in the Berets was different.”

  “How?”

  “I was trained to protect myself. You aren’t.”

  She seemed to mull that over, but instead of responding, she went to the family room with floor-to-ceiling windows looking black and ominous in the night. He didn’t like the exposure these windows brought but would keep that to himself until he formed a plan on how to deal with it. Another wall held a massive stone fireplace. The remaining walls were covered in slatted wood painted a fresh white, and the ceiling was made of rustic logs.

  A door opened in the hallway and footsteps headed their way. Jackson suspected it was her roommate but rested his hand on his sidearm. He couldn’t be too careful when it came to Maggie’s life.

  As expected, Daria stepped around the corner and rushed over to Maggie. Not much over five-two, Daria was on the plump side with dark curly hair. She wore gray yoga pants with a darker gray T-shirt, and her feet were bare. Her worried expression fixed on Maggie. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “Your neck. It’s already purple.” Daria covered her mouth with her hand and shook her head. “I can’t even imagine.”

  “It’s fine,” Maggie replied almost tersely. “Really.”

  Daria shot a look at Jackson as if asking him to do something to help.

  “Thank you for giving Riley a ride back to the chopper,” he said to change the subject.

  “Happy to do it,” Daria replied then nibbled on her lip.

  “I appreciate it, too,” Maggie said drawing Daria’s attention again.

  “He said he’ll be coming back with others in the morning, and they’ll all be staying here with us.” She sounded panicked by the thought.

  “We haven’t worked out all the details yet,” Jackson said. “We don’t want to be a burden.”

  “No, it’s not that, but there are only four bedrooms.” She clasped her hands together and then shook them out, only to clutch them together again.

  “No worries,” he said to try to stop her fidgeting. “I’ll be bunking on the couch so I don’t need a room, and the others won’t mind sharing.”

  “You can have the guest room for tonight at least,” Maggie said.

  He shook his head. “Couch has a better view of the main access points to the house.”

  “Oh.” She looked around the room as if finally realizing she might not be safe in her own home.

  Daria started shaking. “I…this…I’m afraid.”

  “Perhaps you’d like to stay with a friend until all of this is over,” he suggested.

  She cut her gaze to Maggie. “I couldn’t leave Maggie.”

  “Sure you can. The team will be here with me.” Maggie stepped closer and took her roommate’s hand. “In fact, I’d feel better if you were somewhere safer.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Then I’ll make the arrangements.” She turned and fled from the room as if Maggie’s attacker was hot on her heels.

  Jackson was relieved. It would be better for all of them not to let another person’s safety divide their attention.

  Maggie faced him. “I’m going to grab something to eat. Are you hungry?”

  He was surprised she could eat after her night, but he’d missed dinner and was starving. He nodded. She wasted no time but went to the adjoining kitchen. He took one last look at those tall windows, wondering how in the world he could protect her with so much glass in the room, and trailed her into the homey kitchen. He should have said no to eating and put that much-needed space between them. But she would sleep better if she ate something, and he suspected if he’d said no, she would’ve headed off to bed hungry.

  She was already at the sink washing her hands, and he joined her. She scooted as far away from him as possible while still able to reach the water. He felt like he had some communicable disease. Despite his desire to put space between them, the thought didn’t sit well with him.

  She quickly dried her hands and tugged on the stainless refrigerator door. “I made chicken salad for sandwiches last night. Does that sound okay?”

  “Perfect. Can I help?”

  “I remember your kitchen skills.” She looked back at him. “Have you changed or are you still pretty helpless?”

  “Still helpless.” He grinned at her.

  “That’s what I figured.” She quirked a smile, a welcome change from the avoidance dance at the sink. She gestured at the stools by the large island.

  He took a seat while she retrieved bread and plates, thankful to have at least the island separating them.

  “The bread is two days old so not as fresh as I would like.” She opened the bag.

  “I’m sure it will still be amazing.” Cooking and baking were her hobbies, and when they dated, he rejoined his team after leave a few pounds heavier.

  She sliced thick pieces of bread, loaded them with the chicken salad mixture, and cut them in perfect triangles. She handed him a plate and poured two tall glasses of iced tea. He waited for her to sit next to him, but she remained on the far side of the island. Maybe she wanted to look at him. More likely she wanted to stay as far away from him as possible.

  She waved a hand at his plate. “Dig in.”

  He took a large bite of chicken, apples, and celery in a creamy mixture. The bread was far fresher than she led on, and his taste buds were in serious bliss. He groaned and swallowed. “I missed your cooking.”

  She chewed her bite, warily watching him as if not knowing what to say to that.

  He set down his sandwich, his appetite now gone. “Since we’re going to be together, we should probably set some ground rules.”

  “Like?”

  “Like maybe we should talk about our past and clear the air,” he said, seizing the moment instead of waiting until the morning.

  “No.” She shook her head hard, her ponytail slapping her face. “That’s not going to happen. Not tonight or ever.”

  Her face creased in a stubborn expression he recognized very well. Next, she would plant her feet on the floor and declare she planned to stick with her statement.

  But he could be equally as stubborn. When the time presented itself, he would once again raise the discussion of their past. She could count on that.

  4