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The door opened, and Eve made a face behind the plastic shield protecting her from various types of body fluid splatter. “What’re you doing here?”

Judging by her expression and the obvious reluctance to have company, one would think something nefarious was going on in that room.

Eve sported the usual heavy-duty rubberlike apron over her scrubs, as well as plastic shoe covers over her sneakers. In addition, there were elbow-length gloves. Based on the attire Eve wore regularly, always scrubs and sneakers, black in color, she looked as if she worked at a hospital or a doctor’s office. But that was not the case at all. Eve had no desire to work with the living. Ever. She barely associated with those still breathing, including her sisters. Eve was the quintessential loner. The only breathing human she gravitated to was Suri.

Vera suppressed an eye roll. “We need to talk. Privately.” Which meant a mere phone call was out of the question. Cell phone records and transcripts were too easy to subpoena.

Eve did roll her eyes. “You need to suit up.”

Rather than argue, Vera stepped into the room and did as she was told while Eve walked back to the stainless steel table where her latestvisitorwaited. She didn’t like referring to the dead ascorpsesor using any other term generally associated with bodies. Instead, she called themvisitors. She took great pride in preparing her visitors for their final soiree—the viewing and/or funeral.

Last, Vera slipped on shoe covers. While she adjusted her mask into place, she headed across the room. The female on the table was young. Painfully so. No one Vera recognized.

“What happened?” she asked as she took a position on the opposite side of the table from her sister.

“Car accident.” Eve carefully made an incision in the carotid artery and then another in the jugular vein. Once the incisions were made, an embalming fluid pump tube was placed in the artery and then a drain pump tube was placed in the jugular. While one drained the fluid from the vessels, the other pumped the disinfectant and preservative in. The whole preparation took only a short time.

“She looks”—Vera shrugged—“strangely good for an accident victim.” Beyond the bruising in the chest and abdomen area, anyway. No visible lacerations or mutilations. No twisted limbs.

“Internal injuries,” Eve said, confirming Vera’s assessment.

Once the machine was turned on and working as expected, they stepped away from the table. The distinct hum and occasional gurgling confirmed the ongoing process. Vera worked extra hard at not thinking about how those very fluids being replaced had until recently flowed freely inside this young woman, keeping her alive. A shudder quaked through her.

“What’s up?” Eve asked, her impatience showing.

Vera hesitated; her attention suddenly fixed on a tiny pinkish speck on her sister’s face mask.

Eve glared at her. “What?”

“You ...” Vera pointed to the speck. “You have something on your mask.”

“Why are you here?” Eve demanded, ignoring the speck.

“Okay.” Vera squared her shoulders and focused on her sister’s eyes, a mirror of her own. “Did you hear that Nolan Baker is the latest victim of the Time Thief?”

A line appeared between Eve’s brows. “No. I’ve been here since really early this morning.” She nodded toward the table. “She and herhusbandandher younger brother were all killed in the accident. The families want to have the funerals together.”

“Damn.” Vera grimaced. What a horrible tragedy for the families. “Anyway,” she explained, shaking off the thought, “Nolan was taken late last night.”

Eve barked a half laugh. “I’ll bet Boggie is all over you and Bent. You better find that guy alive and undamaged or—”

“I know,” Vera cut her off. “I’m not as worried about Nolan as I am about what I found in his apartment.”

Eve glanced at the progress across the room. “Okay, so what did you find?”

“Nolan had a voicemail on his landline from Teresa Russ.”

That line between her sister’s brows deepened. “The private investigator in Huntsville?”

“That’s the one. Evidently Nolan asked her about Norton Gates. The message gave me the impression that the two of them have been looking into his case.”

“Fuck me,” Eve muttered.

“Yeah,” Vera agreed. “Fuck us both.”

For years as a deputy chief in Memphis, Vera had carefully monitored her language even around her colleagues. Not that cops didn’t swear plenty, but her job had involved far too much politics. It was important to set the right example and to present the proper image. And although politicians were some of the biggest liars on the planet, they preferred more refined language during meetings. Since coming home, Vera had regressed to saying the first thing that popped into her head when she was with her sister ... or alone, for that matter.

So much for the new Vera she’d worked so hard to build after escaping this place.