Becoming Forever (Waking Forever Series) (7 page)

Ash
shook her head. “Well, of course I
know
doct – Emma. I was just wishing we had the opportunity to meet under – that’s not to say I want to meet you somewhere – I mean we work together, and that would be awkward and –” Ash slammed her eyes shut, and willed herself to shut up.

Luckily Emma seemed oblivious to Ash’s stammering as she made an incision down the length of Paul’s chest.
“He was very fit. Do you see the tightness and the density in the sternocostal head of the pectoralis major muscle?” Emma peeled back a flap of skin to expose the underlying muscle. “Whomever restrained him was incredibly strong.”

Ash wasn’t particularly
squeamish, but watching the dissection of a once alive and vibrant man was nauseating for reasons unrelated to the anatomy lesson. Without looking down Ash nodded. “Oh yeah. Very fit.” She looked at Emma. “Doctor?”

Emma continued to peel layers of skin away from the sub dermal tissue. “Hmmm?”

“The bites? What caused them?” Ash felt a flutter in her lower abdomen when Emma looked up and their gazes locked. The doctor had the most amazing blue eyes that looked right into Ash.

“So
me sort of metal prosthetic. Given the severity of the bites, the assailant doesn’t have any teeth of their own; so nothing to impede the bite.” Emma hesitated, and a flash of color across her cheeks further accented her eyes.

Ash couldn’t stop th
e smile that snuck onto her lips, and then blushed when she realized how inappropriate her line of thought was considering where she was, and what she was talking about.

Note to self. G
et laid, Haines.
“So toothless?”

Emma nodded and went back to cutting.
“And strong.”

Ash shifted her
stylus back and forth between her fingers. “Toothless strong man.” She sighed. “Great.”

Emma put the scalpel down, and placed her hands on the side of the table. “Why do you assume it’s a man?”

Ash shrugged. “If the victim is as strong as his muscle tone would imply, it’s a reasonable assumption that a male culp -”

“I
don’t make assumptions in my line of work, detective.” Emma reached for a power tool with a jagged, circular blade at the end.

“Call
me Ash, and in my line of work assumptions are synonymous with hunches, and those can get us headed in the right direction.” Ash’s tone was harsher than she had intended. She knew what the two of them did - though interconnected - were two disciplines that came at a problem from entirely different angles.

Em
ma pulled the clear face guard up. “The diameter of the bite marks are more consistent with a female bite radius.” Emma looked at the corpse and cocked her head to the side. “Or a male below average size.”

Ash flipped her iP
ad shut and put her stylus back in her jacket pocket. Her mind went to the mysterious, and as yet unseen, Michelle. “So what we’ve got here is a short toothless man or an average size toothless woman?”

Emma turned the saw on. “
I’ll have the saliva test back for you by Thursday.” Without another word, she began sawing through what was left of Paul Garrett’s cracked sternum.

Ash shook her head, and without saying goodbye, turned and left the examination room. Walking down the hall toward the exit, she pulled her cell phon
e out of her back pant pocket, and pressed the smart-key for Cristelo.

“Yo.” Cris answered with his usual fanfare.

“This is not a yo day, partner.” Ash walked along the sidewalk toward the parking lot adjacent to the Medical Examiner’s building.

“What’s wrong?
” Cris’ tone instantly shifted to professional.

“The medical examiner is getting nowhere fast on the Garrett autopsy.” Ash rolled her eyes as she recalled the conversation. “What we’re dealing with is a man - maybe s
hort - or a woman - very strong – wearing crazy ass dentures.” Ash hit the unlock key on her Jeep remote.

“Thank God for science.” Cris laughed. “Look, give them a few more days. The report isn’t even due until Friday.”

Ash started the Jeep, and wedged the phone between her ear and shoulder. “I know, but the M.E. is exhausting.”

“Which one is it again
?” Ash could tell Cris was in a restaurant with the sounds of plates clattering and drink orders being called out.

“Where are you at?” Ash asked.

“Grimaldi’s in the Quarry. Want to join me and Diane for dinner?” Cris explained.

“No. I’m tired and the M.E. put me in a mood.” Ash snapped her seatbelt on.

“Who’s the M.E.?” Cris repeated.

“Dr
. Atman.” Ash replied.

Cris chuckled. “I’ve
heard about her. She’s by the book, but you’re inclined to forgive her the stick up her ass.”

Ash
pretended to be confused. “Why’s that?”

There was a long pause. “Really?”

Ash smiled. “Really, what?” She was going to get her happily married partner to say it, just so his lovely wife - who no doubt was sitting next to him - could punch him in the arm.

A loud sigh
echoed through the phone. “Christ, she’s attractive, okay.” A split second later Cris yelped into the phone. “Ow. What!?”

Ash laughed. “I have to go
, partner. Enjoy your dinner. Say hi to Diane for me.” She hit the end button on her phone, and put the Jeep in drive.

Pulling out of the parking lot, Ash
couldn’t help but agree with Cris. Emma Atman was beautiful. She had been kind to her in what could have been a very uncomfortable situation, and though she loathed her partner’s turn of phrase, you hardly noticed the stick for the perfectly shaped ass.

As Ash was judging herself for having devolved into a pubescent teenage boy, her phone
buzzed. Smiling as she glanced at the caller ID on the Jeep’s dashboard display, Ash tapped the Bluetooth button on her steering wheel. “Hello.”

“Sweet Jesus
, is this Ashley Erin Haines?” A man’s voice filled the Jeep’s cabin.

Ash laughed. “I must be in trouble if you’re using my full name.”

The man laughed. “I can’t be bothered to be angry, I’m too hurt by your thoughtlessness.”

Ash shook her head. “Dramatic
, Alan.”

“And yet, it rings true.” Alan
Martelli had been Ash’s best friend since they met their freshman year at the University of Texas, and he was right in calling her out. They hadn’t seen each other in nearly two weeks.

“What are you doing now?” Ash asked.

“Meeting you at Blue Box in thirty minutes to do our worst,” Alan insisted.

Ash was exhausted, but she needed a completely non-work related outing, and Alan was her ticket. “Done. See you there.” Before Alan could throw another pithy comment her way, Ash hit the end butt
on, performed an illegal U-turn, and headed toward Blue Box Bar.

***

Ash watched Alan as he walked across Blue Box, with the base from Muse’s Uprising thumping in the background. True to form, and always a slave to fashion, Alan’s attire made Ash’s modest black Kenneth Cole pant suit look like a K-Mart blue light special.

He wore a pair of Gucci skinny black jeans, black patent leather Prada dress shoes, and a
slim fit electric blue Ralph Lauren dress shirt. Ash shook her head because not only was he paying tribute to numerous royals of the fashion world, but having known him since college, she could actually identify each designer without looking at a label. Her friend’s taste, if not his budget, had worn off on her.

Regardless
of wardrobe, Alan would have caught anyone’s eye. His father was Italian and his mother Chinese. The combination had afforded Alan the best of both worlds, gifting him with thick black hair, pale smooth skin, a lean frame, and slightly elongated light brown eyes.

His father was a dentist, and had hope
d in vain that his only son would follow in his footsteps. Alan, always an individual, had opted for a small business loan instead, and opened a high end women’s clothing boutique in Alamo Heights, an upscale neighborhood in central San Antonio.

“I’ll never understand how you drink this stuff .” Alan
slid onto the bar stool next to Ash, grabbed the pint of Real Ale Lost Gold IPA from in front of her, and took a deep, exaggerated breath in through his nose. “It smells like hay.” He was clearly in rare form this evening, and Ash was bracing herself for a bumpy, but amusing ride.

Ash carefully removed the frothy glass from her overly dramatic friend’s hand. “That's hoppiness, and
I
don’t understand how you drink that olive ladened concoction you have.” Ash nodded toward the martini she had ordered Alan while she waited.

“I’m keeping it classy
, dear girl.” Alan plucked an olive from the glass with the silver cocktail fork and popped it in his mouth.

Ash cringed. “I can’t stand olives. They make me gag.” She took a long drink from her beer.

“This from a woman who thinks hot dogs are one of the major food groups.” Alan shook his head, and before even finishing the last of his first cocktail, gestured for the bartender to bring him another round.

The
pair sat at the far end of the mahogany bar in Blue Box. Located in the heart of the renovated Pearl Brewery complex, the bar was named after the blue boxes the brewery employees took free beer samples home in. It featured an extensive cocktail menu of hand-crafted drinks, along with local craft beers. The ambiance was modern industrial, with exposed brick and iron throughout the intimate space. One of the features that had drawn both Alan and Ash to the bar was they didn’t have a food menu, but instead chose to focus on the quality of the liquor, beer and wines they offered.

“So, it’s been a couple weeks. What’s up with you
, friend?” Alan thanked the bartender for the fresh martini, and turned toward Ash.

“Same old, same old. Relatively
heavy case load right now, and the ones I have are -” Ash hesitated, trying to find the word for what had been happening with the Garrett case. “Gruesome.”

Alan’s eyebrows lifted. “Oh. Do tell.”

Ash shook her head, and emptied her pint glass. “You know I don’t like talking about the details of my work.” She caught the bartender’s eye, and gestured for another beer as well. “Let’s just say it’s awful, and nothing your delicate psyche should be exposed to.”

Alan frowned. “But I like exposing my psyche.”

Ash shook her head. “Pervert.”

She
pulled the fresh pint of beer toward her and thanked the bartender. Lifting her head back slightly to take a drink, her eyes wandered to the seating area on the second floor balcony that overlooked the main level of the bar. Her stomach did a slight somersault, and she nearly choked on her beer.

Alan began to pat Ash on the back. “Christ. Are you okay?”

Ash wiped at the beer dripping from her chin, and reached across the bar to grab a black napkin from the bartender’s caddy. “I’m okay.”

Feeling more composed, Ash rolled her eyes toward the balcony, and lower
ed her voice. “The blonde woman sitting nearest the railing is the M.E. working one of my cases.”

Alan immediately pivoted
on his bar stool and looked directly at the woman. “Fuck me. She’s gorgeous.”

Ash pulled her friend back around by the shoulders. “Would you please not make a scene?”

Alan shrugged Ash’s hand off and twisted his neck back around to look at the woman again. “She
is
a scene, friend. I mean just look at her. If I was ever going to cross the street and join your little clique, she would be the crossing guard.”

Ash rolled her eyes. “You’re
ridiculous, and it’s not a clique.” Ash looked up at Emma and then at Alan. “Do you think she’s
that
attractive?”

“Are you serious?” Alan took Ash’s chin in his hand and turned her head upward so she was forced to look at Emma again. “Are your eyes attached to your brain like a real person?”

Ash squinted and looked at Emma closely. She knew the woman was beautiful, but the last thing she needed was Alan deciding to play match maker. “I guess. I’ve only seen her in scrubs and usually with a face guard on.”

Ash felt heat rise to her face as she took in what Emma was wearing now. She was in a sleeveless silk green blouse that
accentuated perfectly shaped biceps, and a dark brown pencil skirt that from Ash’s vantage point, showed just the right amount of Emma’s shapely legs. To further add to the flush spreading through Ash’s body, her eyes wandered down past Emma’s perfectly shaped ankles to a pair of brown suede Manolo Blahnik heels.
Christ, is that what she had on under the scrubs earlier?

“What’s her name?” Alan continued to stare at the woman.

“What?” Ash looked at Alan who wore a mischievous grin on his face.

Alan nodded his head toward Emma. “The
gorgeous shrew’s name?”

Ash looked down at her beer, refusing to make eye contact with her friend. “D
r. Emma Atman.”