Page 35 of Missing Justice

Apparently satisfied, she tucked herself back into his side and rested her head against his chest. She wound her hand through his chest hair and started moving south. At least until he locked onto her wrist. What he didn’t need was little Miss Frisky playing with his hardening dick while he talked business with Gerard.

Still, this, he could get used to. And if it took marathon sex, well he supposed he could sacrifice his body for the cause.

“Who’s with you?” Tony asked. “Did you get lucky last night? Let me talk to her.”

Matt laughed. “Fuck off.”

A male voice sounded from Tony’s end of the conversation. “Wait. Is that Stephens?”

“Yeah,” Tony said, “he’s gonna come out and play tonight.”

“I need to talk to him.” The phone line went silent for a few seconds. “Matt? It’s Justice Greystone.”

Whoa. Greystone—Grey to his friends and colleagues. Not only was Tony awake, he was already at his office. Jesus. “Do any of you people ever sleep?”

“Only when the ME isn’t calling me about a senator’s dead wife.”

Well, all right. That got his attention. Needing to not be in bed with Taylor and his healthy erection, he slid away from her, flipped the sheet off and set his feet on the floor.

“Why’d the ME call you?”

“She’s a friend. Taylor dropped my name the other day. Since it used to be my case, the ME thought maybe I was consulting. I tried Taylor but her phone went straight to voicemail.”

Matt glanced back at Taylor, who’d closed her eyes but wouldn’t be winning any Screen Actors Guild awards because she was, without a doubt, dropping some eaves.

Such a tangled web.

He couldn’t blame her. He’d listen too. And if the medical examiner was calling at dawn, something interesting must be in that report. “What’s the news?”

“Felicity wasn’t pregnant when she died.”

“The anthropologist’s report came back?”

“They’re still working on the skeleton, but knowing she was pregnant they analyzed the hip bones first.”

Matt had learned a few things from Meg, his boss and a forensic sculptor who’d taken classes and studied human bones more than the average artist. One of the lessons was that pregnancy alone wouldn’t change a woman’s bones.

Childbirth was another story.

Completely bare-assed, he hopped off the bed and headed for the kitchen where, the night before, he’d spotted a pad and pen by the phone. He swung around the breakfast bar, found the pad and snatched up the pen. “What’d they find?”

The sound of shuffling paper came through the phone line. “In layman’s terms, they identified small linear indentations on the pubic bones. According to the anthropologist, those dents indicate a woman has given birth.”

Which confirmed Baby Jarvis had been delivered after Felicity was kidnapped but before she was murdered. Was he alive when he was born? Or had he died in utero and she’d had to deliver a dead baby?

Jesus. “So, she gave birth. That probably explains why the baby’s bones weren’t with hers.”

“Exactly.”

Which meant…missing baby.As in alive.

Jesus. “So fucking twisted,” Matt muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing. Talking to myself. If I say pretty please, can I get a copy of that report?”

“Only if you come and get it. I’m not emailing it or giving you the file. You get a hard copy. And you sure as hell didn’t get it from me. Understand?”