Page 1

A llison Brewer didn’t belong in a morgue. She was a twenty-five-year-old yoga instructor with zero underlying conditions. She never smoked, rarely drank, and was the picture of health and vitality.

Detective Noah Steele sucked in a breath as the coroner, Rod Steinbeck, pulled back the sheet. How many times had he stood over a body at the Yavapai County Coroner’s Office? How many times had he stared unflinchingly at death—at what nature did to humans and what human nature did to others?

She looks like she could still be alive , he thought. No cuts or bruises marred her face. There were no ligature marks. She could have been asleep. She looked perfectly at peace. If Noah squinted, he could fool himself into thinking there was a slight smile at the corners of her mouth. Just as there had been when she’d feigned sleep as a girl.

However, an inescapable blue stain spread across her lips. He could deny it all he wanted, but his sister was gone.

“I’m sorry, Noah,” Rod said and lifted the sheet over her face again.

“No.” The word wasn’t soft or hard, loud or quiet. Noah surprised himself by speaking mildly. As if this were any other body...any other case. His mind was somewhere near the ceiling. His gut turned, and his chest ached. But he let that piece of himself float away, detached. He made himself think like he was trained to think. “What’re your impressions?”

“Fulton’s already been here. It’s his case. And for good reason. You’re going to need some time to process—”

“Rod.” He sounded cold. He was. He was so bitterly cold. And he didn’t know how to live with it. He didn’t know how to live in a world without Allison. “Next of kin would be informed of any progress made in the investigation. I’m her next of kin. Inform me.”

Rod shuffled his feet. Placing his hands at each corner of the head of the steel table, he studied Allison. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with this.”

“She’s dead.” Noah made himself say it. He needed to hear it, the finality of it. “If Sedona Police wants me to process that, I need to know how and why.”

Rod adjusted his glasses. “Look, maybe you should talk to Fulton.”

“She was found at the resort,” Noah prompted, undeterred, “where she works.”

“Mariposa.”

“You were on scene there,” Noah surmised. “What time did you arrive?”

Rod gave in. “Nine fifteen.”

“Where was she?”

“One of the pool cabanas,” the coroner explained.

“Tell me what you saw.”

“Come on, Noah...”

“Tell me,” Noah said. He knew not to raise his voice. If he were hysterical, it would get back to his CO. He’d be put on leave.

He needed to work through this. If he stopped working, stopped thinking objectively, he would lose his mind.

Rod lifted his hands. “She was found face down, but one of the staff performed CPR, so she was on her back when I arrived. Her shoes were missing.”

That could’ve been something , Noah thought, if Allison hadn’t had a habit of going around barefoot where she was comfortable, particularly when entering someone’s home.

The temperature had dipped into the thirties the night before. A little cold for no shoes, even for her , he considered. “What was she wearing?”

“Sport jacket and leggings,” Rod explained. “Underneath, she wore a long-sleeved ballet-like top cropped above the navel with crisscrossed bands underneath. It was a matching set, all green.”

“What do you figure for time of death?”

“Right now, I’d say she died somewhere between one and two this morning.”

She hadn’t gone home to bed , Noah mused. “Any cuts, lacerations? Signs of foul play?”

“Some abrasions on the backs of her legs.”

“Show me.”

Again, Rod paused before he walked to the bottom of the table. Lifting the drape, he revealed one long, pale leg with toes still painted pink. Noah tried not to see the unearthly blue tone of the skin around the nails. He craned his neck when Rod showed him the marks on her calves.

“She was dragged,” Noah said as he realized what had happened. Why did the air feel like ice? The cold filled his lungs. They felt wind-burned, and the pain of it made his hands knot into fists.

“That would be my understanding,” Rod agreed. He replaced the sheet gingerly.

“Before or after TOD?” Noah asked.

“After.”

Noah’s brow furrowed. “She was killed somewhere other than the cabana and staged there.” His voice had gone rough, but he kept going, searching. “Were there any items with her at the scene?”

“Fulton noted there was no purse, wallet or cell phone. She was identified by members of Mariposa’s staff.”

“Were her lips blue when you got there?”

“Yes.” Rod nodded. “Her fingernails and toes were discolored as well.”

Noah scraped his knuckles over the thick growth of beard that covered his jawline. “Who found her?”

“From what I understand,” Rod said slowly, “it was a staff member. You’ll have to get the name of the person from Fulton.”

“Who was there when you arrived on scene?” Noah asked curiously.

“There was a small crowd that had been blocked by officers,” Rod told him. “Several members of security, one pool maintenance person and all three of the Coltons.”

“Coltons.” Noah recognized the name, but he let it hang in the air, waiting for Rod to elaborate.

“The siblings,” Rod said. “They own and manage Mariposa. Adam, Laura and Joshua, I believe, are their names.”

“What was your impression of them?” Noah asked, homing in.

Rod considered. “The younger one, Joshua, was quiet. Laura didn’t say much either. She seemed stricken by the whole thing. The oldest one, Adam...”

When Rod paused, Noah narrowed his eyes. “What about him?”

“He did all the talking,” Rod said. “He ordered everyone back and let the uniforms, Fulton, crime scene technicians and myself work. There was no attempt to tamper with the scene. Although I did hear him speaking to Fulton as we readied the body for transport.”

“What did he say?” Noah asked, feeling like a dog with a bone.

“He wanted Fulton’s word that the investigation would remain discreet,” Rod said. “They get some high-profile guests at Mariposa. He didn’t want their privacy or, I expect, their experience hindered.”

The muscles around Noah’s mouth tensed. “A member of their staff is found dead, and the Coltons’ first thought is how it’s going to affect their clientele? Does that seem right to you?”

“I’m not the detective,” Steinbeck noted.

No , Noah considered. I am. “You’ll do a tox screen?”

“It’s routine,” Rod replied. “As it stands, I don’t have a cause of death for you.”

“You’ll keep me informed?” Noah asked.

“I’ll stay in touch.”

Noah forced himself to back away from Allison’s body. Deep in some unbottled canyon, he felt himself scream.

“Have your parents been notified?”

The question nearly made him flinch. Rod didn’t know. No one did. Not really.

It didn’t matter, he told himself. He’d loved her, hadn’t he? He’d loved her as his own. “She doesn’t have parents,” he said. “Neither of us do.”

“I’m sorry.” Rod placed his hand on Noah’s shoulder. “I’ll take care of her.”

“I know.” Noah turned for the door.

“Don’t get yourself in trouble over this,” Rod warned. “Let Fulton handle it. He’ll find out what happened to her.”

Noah didn’t answer. In seconds, he was out of the autopsy room, down the hall, crossing the lobby. Planting both hands on the glass door, he shoved it open.

Cold air hit him in the face and did nothing for the lethal ice now channeling through his blood.

He thought about stopping, doubling over, bracing his hands on his knees.

He could hear her. Still.

Breathe, Noah. Deep breath in. And let it out.

Noah shook his head firmly, blocking out her voice. He thought of what Rod had said—about the scene and his impressions of the people there.

He took out his keys, walking to the unmarked vehicle that was his. Opening the driver’s door, he got behind the wheel and cranked the engine. The sun was sinking swiftly toward the red rock mountains in the distance, but he picked up his phone. Using voice commands, he said, “Hey, Google, set a course for Mariposa Resort & Spa.”

He studied the GPS route that popped up on-screen before mounting the phone on the dash. Shifting into Reverse, he cupped the back of the passenger headrest. Turning his head over his shoulder, he backed out of the parking space.

To hell with staying out of Fulton’s way. Someone was responsible for Allison’s death. He would find out who.

And he was going to nail the Coltons’ asses to the floor.