The familiar chill set in around her heart. She could do this. Get in, do the job, get out, just like always.

Except "always" had been her life before. "Always" had never involved an angry Tick Calvert either.

Ducking under the tape, she didn't look at him. A faint trace of clean, male sweat tickled her nose, and sensory memories flashed through her. Hot, bare skin sliding against hers, the rasp of stubble on her breasts and stomach, his dark whisper in her ear. Heat flushed her face, a sharp ache piercing low in her belly.

More memories followed, the loss and emptiness that had come later. The bite of remembered desire disappeared, washed away by another icy chill.

Her heel caught on an exposed root, and she faltered. His hand closed around her upper arm, every finger imprinted on her skin through her silk blouse.

"Thanks." She stepped away, still unable to look at him. She glanced up and straight into Cookie's keen gray eyes. He shifted his gaze from her to Tick and back again, then ran a finger over his mouth, eyebrows raised. She kept her face carefully schooled, shoving down the irritation and embarrassment.

Tick let the tape fall back into place. "We're going to the Kings', then we'll meet y'all at the office."

Cookie's smirk widened to a grin. "Don't get lost, now."

She sensed the stiffening of Tick's entire body. Schaefer turned his head, mouth pinched in a disgusted expression.

"Let's go." His voice tight, Tick gestured toward his truck.

As they moved away, Schaefer's words carried to them. "Cookie, do you just not think before you open your big mouth or what?"

Tick wrenched the passenger door open and waited for her to climb in before closing the door with more than necessary force. Behind the steering wheel, he blew out a long breath. "I should have warned you that Cookie's entire purpose in life is to make me miserable. I'm sorry if he embarrassed you."

She stared at her mud-encrusted shoes and forced a laugh. "I've heard worse."

He turned the key in the ignition and the engine rumbled to life. Without another word, he executed a three-point turn and drove back toward town.

She kept her gaze fixed on the passing scenery, pecan groves and small stands of scrubby oaks flying by. She didn't watch his long-fingered hands on the steering wheel, afraid of the memories that would arouse. Those memories, and the what-ifs they always dredged up, were the last thing she needed right now. Maintaining her distance and objectivity was crucial.

She cast a quick glance at the tight, set line of his jaw, shadowed with a hint of stubble. Why was he making this notification? It was obvious he didn't want to, just as obvious he had the authority to delegate it elsewhere.

"Why didn't you send someone else?" She regretted the words as soon as she uttered them.

He tensed further. "Because it's my place."

"How so?" God, Caitlin, just shut up and leave it alone, would you? Keep it cool and professional.

"Because." The word sounded as if he were grinding glass between his teeth. "Miss Lauree is like family. She's a nurse's aide and she took care of my grandmother for years after the first stroke. I grew up with her oldest boy, David; we played football and baseball together all through school. You don't send someone else to do a job that belongs to you by rights."

Honor and duty. He was all about those things, always had been. It was part of what she admired most about him.

But she'd be damned before she'd be his duty.

He made a couple of left-hand turns, driving deeper into a neighborhood of small houses, each painted a bright color--robin's-egg blue, neon seafoam, Pepto-Bismol pink. He parked in front of the sole white house on the street, its shutters a deep hunter green. The fence was plain field wire, but the yard held a riot of blooming plants and every concrete yard decoration imaginable. Red geraniums and lacy ferns marched up the steps to a tiny stoop. Yellow ribbons fluttered on the gate.

Tick dropped his head, taking an audible deep breath. He pushed open his door and she didn't wait for him to come around the truck. Down the street, music pulsed from a box Chevy, the bass vibrating the air. Three teenagers gathered around the car, washing and polishing. One lifted a hand in greeting and Tick returned the wave. On the porch next door, an elderly woman fanned herself with a funeral home fan and watched with open curiosity.

The gate opened smoothly and Tick let her precede him before he fell in beside her. Tension radiated from him. Caitlin eyed the rigid line of his shoulders and fought a ridiculous urge to take his hand. The wooden front door stood open, the aroma of frying chicken flowing out the screen door. The laugh track of a sitcom filtered out as well. Caitlin stopped on the stoop, Tick one step below. The ordinariness of the scene, the horror of what they were about to do churned in her stomach.

He leaned forward to rap on the doorframe. Caitlin shifted, minimizing their proximity. A small boy appeared at the screen door, his wide eyes a beautiful, luminous ebony. He stared at them a moment and ran down the hall. "Grandma! The po-po's here!"

Caitlin glanced at Tick. "The po-po?"

A mirthless smile flirted with his mouth and disappeared. "Yeah. I've gone from being a Fibbie to being the local po-po. Smart career move, huh?"

He wasn't sure of himself, of his decision to leave the bureau. The hint of vulnerability increased his appeal and she shored up her defenses. Fine. She found him appealing. She craved Ben and Jerry's Phish Food, too, but she turned it down when common sense required her to do so. Same concept.

A woman approached the door, her steps slow and measured. She dried her hands on the red apron she wore over a dress patterned with bees and hives. Resigned fear lurked in her eyes and she clutched the edges of her apron. "Lamar?"

"Miss Lauree. Could we come in for a little while?"

Lauree King placed one hand over her heart and reached for the screen door with the other, pushing it open. "You found my Vontressa, didn't you?"

His lashes fell, and he swallowed, his Adam's apple moving. He looked up at Miss Lauree. "Yes, ma'am, we did."

A horrified "oh" rushed out of the older woman, and her hand fanned over her heart. She sagged, aging further in seconds, and Tick stepped forward into the house, reaching to support her. She hung on to him, tears spilling with her harsh sobs. A wail rent the air.

Caitlin eased into the cool dimness of the hallway, guiding the screen door closed. Miss Lauree clutched at Tick, her grief like a horrible, living thing. Caitlin clenched her hands, nails biting her palms, her eyes burning with empathy. Oh, God, how did he do this?

"Where ... where is she?" Miss Lauree gasped, her hands grasping his arms like wrinkled talons.

"The crime lab in Moultrie," Tick said, his voice gentle. "It'll be a few days before we can release her. I need someone to make an official identification. Do you think David can do that?"

Miss Lauree was shaking her head, mouth working, nothing but rough moans escaping. She crumpled, and Tick went with her, kneeling on the worn linoleum. He murmured reassuring condolences.

His deep voice curled around Caitlin's heart. She swallowed hard. Oh, damn it, the sooner they found this killer, the better. Or she just might go and do something really stupid, like forget the limitations of her new reality and fall for Tick Calvert all over again.