Page 3 of Vital Signs (Wayward Sons #7)

The prep room door opened, and I scrambled to lower the phone, turning and hiding it behind my back like a child caught stealing.

River's eyes narrowed, and I immediately regretted thinking I could hide anything from my boss.

"He's trans," I said, my words harsh. "The body from county. They sent his things, so I thought..." I slowly brought the phone out, waiting for the reprimand.

"Good thinking," River said and strode into the room. "County probably didn't even bother to try to identify him."

The validation hit me like a drug. River didn't care that I'd broken the rules. He cared about results.

My shoulders slumped. "I don't think they did."

But underneath the relief was something else. Something that made my skin crawl and my pulse quicken in equal measure. River had just approved something I knew was ethically questionable. Had validated the exact kind of boundary-crossing that I'd sworn I'd never engage in.

And part of me—the part that was tired of being the victim, tired of watching the guilty walk free, tired of following rules that protected no one—was grateful for it.

The same part that wanted Hunter. That had broken into a dead man's phone to find him. That would do it again without hesitation.

Was this what falling felt like? Becoming someone who crossed lines and didn't look back?

Was I becoming like River? Like the Laskins? Was this what justice required?

"Get anything from that?" he asked, gesturing to the phone.

"Maybe." I frowned down at the screen and scrolled through a few more pictures, pausing on one of the deceased holding up an ID card. He was grinning from ear to ear and pointing to the M gender marker. My throat tightened.

"Tyler Graham," I said and lowered the phone. "His name was Tyler Graham."

River grunted. "What's with the pill bottles? NervEase. NeuroPath. These aren't drugs I've ever heard of."

"They might be experimental drugs." My expression soured. "University runs drug trials all the time. Maybe he was doing drug trials for money?"

The anger that had briefly subsided came rushing back, but this time the rage built more slowly. More deliberately.

If he had been part of drug trials, it meant he’d trusted the medical system. They were supposed to protect trial participants. Yet he'd died anyway.

The fury spread through my chest like poison, burning away the last traces of professional distance. This wasn't just about Tyler anymore. This was about every system that failed people like us. Every institution that looked at vulnerable people and saw profit margins instead of human beings.

Someone had killed Tyler. Maybe through negligence, maybe deliberately, but someone was responsible.

And they needed to pay.

"We need to find who did this to him," I said, clenching my fists.

River frowned and lowered the pill bottle he was examining. "You can bring it to the family at the next meeting, but..."

"But what?"

"But you need to come with evidence," he said simply. No judgment about the murder fantasies playing out behind my eyes. River understood rage and the need for vengeance.

Maybe that was the problem.

I clenched my fists tighter. "I can do this, River. I'm ready."

River picked up one of the pill bottles and tossed it to me. "Well, looks like you've got an easy starting point. Someone named Dr. Wright is the prescribing physician."

I caught the bottle and turned it over in my hands. Dr. Elliot Wright. Ohio University Medical Clinic. Uptown address.

"We can hold the body for seventy-two hours without additional extenuating circumstances," River continued. "Take the time. See what you come up with and then bring it to the family meeting. They'll be more likely to listen if you come with evidence."

I lowered the bottle. "Thank you."

He just looked away and snorted. "Check his phone for an emergency contact. You can use the office phone to call. I'll put him in cold storage and refile the corrected paperwork."

"Thank you," I said again, not knowing what else to say.

"Don't thank me," he grumbled, already zipping the body bag up. "Just do it right."

Do it right.

The words echoed in my head as I climbed the stairs. River's version of "right" involved breaking into a dead man's phone. It meant crossing ethical boundaries in pursuit of justice.

Was that so different from what I'd been doing on the runways? There, I’d used my body and my face to get what I wanted, manipulating desire in exchange for power.

Maybe I'd always been willing to cross lines. I'd just been crossing different ones.

Upstairs in the main office, I scrolled through Tyler's contacts until I found the picture of the man standing outside. I dialed the number carefully. It rang once. Twice. Three times.

"This is Hunter. You know what to do." The voice sounded rough, gravelly, with a no-nonsense edge.

The beep sounded, and I hesitated. What did I say? Your friend is dead in my morgue? Someone murdered him, and I want revenge?

I cleared my throat. "Hello. This is Michael from the Laskin Family Funeral Home.

I'm so sorry to have to tell you this, but we have a young man named Tyler Graham here.

The county has been unsuccessful in reaching his next of kin, so I thought.

.. I thought I'd start reaching out to his other contacts.

Please call me back when you get this. For Tyler. " I left my number and hung up.

Hunter had cared enough to stand vigil outside a funeral home for hours. What kind of man inspired that loyalty? What kind of friend was worth that devotion?

I sat back in the chair, glaring at the phone, willing it to ring, but it stayed silent.

Movement outside caught my attention. A shadow passed beneath the security light at the back of the building.

I switched off the desk lamp and moved to the window. Hunter stood at the edge of the property, examining the service entrance. Now that I knew who he was, his purpose was clear. He was looking for a way in to get to Tyler.

I slid open the window and leaned out. "If you're looking for Tyler Graham, I'm the one who called you, Hunter."

He turned. For a moment, our eyes locked across the darkness. His face remained expressionless, but his posture tensed like a predator deciding whether to fight or flee.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Come inside, I wanted to say. Let me show you Tyler. Let me see if you're as dangerous up close as you look from here.

He held my gaze for several heartbeats, his expression giving nothing away. Then, without a word, he turned and walked away.

"You'll be back," I murmured, pulse still racing. "They always come back."

And when he did, we'd have something in common. Tyler. Justice. Maybe more.

I closed the window, already planning what I'd say when Hunter returned. Because he would return. Men like that always came back to finish what they started.

And I wanted him to.