Loe raamatut: «Forbidden Lover»

Chapter One

The bones talked to her while she worked. As Dr. Erin Casey painstakingly examined the human cranium on her worktable, the story of a life began to unfold for her.

The skull was small and lightweight, which told her the remains were female, and the width of the hipbone concurred. Further examination revealed a small indentation on the pubic bone, indicating that the woman had given birth to at least two children.

The unidentified female was someone’s mother.

How old were her children? Did they still wonder what had happened to their mother? Did they sometimes lie in bed at night, missing her so badly they ached? Did they still dream about her?

Behind her goggles, Erin’s eyes closed briefly as an image of her own mother flitted through her mind. She’d been dead for nearly a year now, but sometimes the loss still seemed too much for Erin to bear. Sometimes the urge to talk to her mother was so strong, the need so great, that Erin would find herself lifting the phone to her ear, only to realize all over again that if she dialed her mother’s number, a stranger would undoubtedly pick up.

Madeline Casey had been everything to Erin—a devoted mother, a best friend, a trusted confidante. The two of them had been on their own from the time Erin was just a baby, moving from city to city for the first few years of her life, running, she now knew, from a past that had colored her life in ways she was only beginning to understand.

Perhaps that was why she’d accepted a faculty position at Hillsboro University, a small, private college in Chicago, the city where Erin had been born and where her mother had grown up. Erin had family here, but none of them would recognize her if they met her on the street or heard her name. She hadn’t seen any of them, including her father, since she was nine months old, nor they her. And Erin’s mother had long ago legally changed both their names, not so much for safety’s sake—though that had undoubtedly been a consideration—but in an effort to sever all ties with a family that had been morally and legally corrupt.

Erin felt no bitterness about the separation. She understood her mother’s motives all too well. The reason she’d moved back to Chicago had nothing to do with renewing ties with her father or his family. Far from it.

She’d come here solely because of her mother. From the moment the offer from Hillsboro had been presented to her, Erin had sensed her mother’s presence would be strong here. Madeline had grown up in Chicago, gone to school and fallen in love here. She’d married and given birth to two children here. When she’d moved away, she’d left a part of her heart behind, and in some strange way, Erin knew this was where she would finally find a sense of herself, here in the shadow of her mother’s past.

And, of course, the state-of-the-art laboratory of which Erin was in charge had played no small part in her decision. Funded almost entirely by a wealthy, anonymous donor, the Forensic Anthropology and Human Identification Laboratory, usually referred to as FAHIL, rivaled the one at the University of Tennessee, where Erin had received her doctorate in physical anthropology and where the famous “body farm” was located.

All in all, she considered her move to Chicago from the sometimes sweltering climate of Knoxville to be a wise one. The campus was small with the usual petty jealousies and academic backstabbing, but in the two months that Erin had been on staff, her reception had been fairly warm. She suspected the ease with which she had been accepted had more to do with the reputation she’d earned at the Anthropological Research Facility in Knoxville than with her personally.

As one of only a handful of board-certified forensic anthropologists nationwide, her presence at Hillsboro was something of a coup. Her name had quickly been added to the Chicago Police Department’s consultation list, as well as law enforcement agencies all over Illinois and the Midwest. Hillsboro’s board of trustees were very aware that a high-profile case could bring donors out of the woodwork.

Case 00-03, the unidentified mother on Erin’s worktable, was her third consultation with CPD, and though it didn’t promise to be high-profile, there was something about the woman’s remains that had captured Erin’s imagination.

The skeleton had been discovered less than a week ago, beneath an old house that was being torn down in Chinatown. Erin hadn’t been invited to examine the skeleton in situ, but instead, the remains had been dug up and transported in a black plastic bag to the pathology lab at the Chicago Technology Park. The pathologist on duty had quickly concluded there wasn’t enough tissue remaining on the bones for an autopsy to be of much use, so Erin had been called in.

Carefully, she took facial measurements, narrating her findings for the video camera that recorded every nuance of her examination. The notes would later be transcribed and included in the report she would give to the police.

The broad face, squared winglike cheekbones, and small low-bridged nasal bone were characteristics of the Mongoloid race. Since the skeleton had been found in Chinatown, Erin knew there was a very good chance the remains were Asian.

An Asian mother of at least two children.

The story continued to unfold.

Next, Erin began to determine the woman’s age by studying the degree of fusion in the femur, the closure of the cranial sutures, and the—

“Dr. Casey?”

Absorbed in her work, Erin jumped at the unexpected sound of a human voice. The bones talked to her, but they never spoke out loud.

She glanced up. Gloria Maynard, her secretary, stood tentatively inside the lab door, her expression wary. She didn’t like coming down here. The shelved bones and skulls patiently awaiting identification made her nervous, but then death made a lot of people nervous. But not Erin. If anything, she took comfort in the knowledge that stripped of skin, tissue, and muscle, human beings were all pretty much the same underneath.

Including the tall, good-looking man who hovered outside in the hallway, just beyond the open door.

Erin frowned. She didn’t like strangers invading her private domain, for security reasons among others. “What’s going on?” she asked Gloria.

The secretary glanced over her shoulder. In spite of her discomfort, her eyes danced excitedly. “There’s a detective outside to see you. I told him to wait in your office, but he insisted on coming down here. He said he needed to talk to you about an urgent case—”

The man pushed past Gloria into the lab, as if too impatient to wait any longer. Erin didn’t much care for his attitude, but whoever he was, he certainly had excellent bone structure, she’d give him that. She automatically cataloged his features. Wide shoulders, narrow waist, lean hips. Moving to his face, she noted the high cheekbones, the well-defined brow, and the piercing blue eyes, so striking against his dark coloring.

His impatience emanated from every nerve ending in his body. He looked incapable of standing still. He wore a sport coat with charcoal trousers, and his hand swept restlessly down his striped tie as his gaze roamed every nook and cranny of the lab, undisturbed, he would have her think, by the rows of human skulls grinning silently from the shelves.

Satisfied with what he’d seen, his blue gaze came back to rest on Erin. Her stomach fluttered, not from attraction or sexual awareness she was quite sure, but from apprehension. Somehow she knew the man’s presence here in her lab did not bode well for her future peace of mind.

“So you’re the bone lady,” he said, in a voice deepened not so much by age—Erin judged him to be in his early thirties, possibly two or three years older than she—but by confidence and authority, a man who liked telling others what to do.

She bristled instantly. “No,” she told him coolly. “I’m not the bone lady, although I thank you for the compliment. That moniker belongs to another forensic anthropologist, one I admire very much.”

“Fair enough,” he said easily, although his gaze seemed to intensify on her. “But you are Dr. Casey, aren’t you? Dr. Erin Casey?”

“Yes.” She shoved her goggles to the top of her head, then peeled off her gloves and disposed of them in the waste receptacle before she ventured across the room toward him. “And you are…?”

“Detective Gallagher,” Gloria piped in, as if she had only now remembered his name. Her voice was higher than normal, and she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off the man. “He’s with the Chicago PD.”

Detective Gallagher shot her a bemused glance. “Thanks, but I can take it from here.”

A blush sneaked up Gloria’s neck, fascinating Erin. Outspoken, flirtatious, occasionally obnoxious, Gloria Maynard was not the type to embarrass easily, but Detective Gallagher had definitely flustered her. She seemed torn between wanting to escape from the lab, and hanging around long enough to somehow get his phone number.

“What can I do for you, Detective Gallagher?” Erin asked him.

He took a few steps into the lab. “Could we speak in private?”

The blush on Gloria’s face deepened. “I’ll be at my desk if you need me,” she muttered, spinning on her heel and closing the door with a soft thud behind her. Erin was fairly certain that Gloria wasn’t used to being dismissed so curtly—at least not by a man. Her shiny black hair, short skirts, and tight sweaters usually drew lingering and longing stares from the male members of the faculty and student body alike. But Detective Gallagher didn’t even seem to take notice of her leaving. Erin warmed to him a little.

“We’re alone now,” she said, then felt her own face color at the suggestive way she’d phrased her observation. She pulled down her goggles and plunked them on her nose as she turned back to her worktable. “Mind if I work while we talk?”

“Not at all, as long as I have your attention.” Detective Gallagher walked around the table, so that they were facing each other. Erin drew on a fresh pair of latex gloves and handed him a pair. “Just in case you get curious.”

Reluctantly, he took the gloves. Erin had never understood the mindset of police officers who could work bloody crime and accident scenes so coolly and calmly, but then grew uneasy—some downright green—at the sight of skeletal remains. Detective Gallagher didn’t particularly strike her as the squeamish type, but he did seem to have a healthy respect for his surroundings.

At any rate, the bones spread over Erin’s worktable were nearly pristine. All that remained were the clues that would unravel the woman’s identity and cause of death.

“Do you know who she is yet?”

Erin glanced up in surprise. “How did you know it’s a she?”

He shrugged. “I’ve learned a few things over the years. So, who is she and what happened to her?” His tone was faintly challenging.

“I haven’t finished my examination,” Erin said almost irritably.

“Oh, come on.” His blue gaze taunted her. “Your reputation precedes you, Dr. Casey. According to Dr. Wyman, your abilities are nothing short of mystical.”

Erin had met Dr. Lawrence Wyman, the Cook County Medical Examiner, a couple of years ago at a conference in New York. They’d hit it off, spent several hours together, and since then had kept in touch by e-mail. He’d been ecstatic when he’d learned she was moving to Chicago.

“Did Dr. Wyman send you here?” Erin asked.

“Like I said, you come highly recommended.”

She frowned at his evasion. “What kind of case do you want me to consult on?”

He nodded toward the skeleton. “Tell me about her first.”

A test, Erin thought. He wanted to see for himself how good she was. Not that she needed to prove anything to him, but Erin began reciting in a monotone everything she had learned from the bones. “She gave birth to at least two children. Mongoloid, more than likely Asian. Height, around five feet. Weight, around 110, 115…” she trailed off, examining the muscle attachment markings on the tibia.

“Anything else?” Detective Gallagher quizzed her.

“She was a fairly accomplished athlete. A runner, I’d say.” Erin smiled slightly. “And of course, she was murdered.”

ERIN CASEY was a strange little woman, not at all what Nick had expected. He studied the framed diplomas, certifications and professional affiliations on her office wall with half his attention while the other half tried to reconcile his preconceived image of her with the actual person.

For one thing, she was a lot younger than he’d imagined. Dr. Wyman was in his sixties, but he’d spoken of Erin Casey with the reverence and respect usually reserved for one’s contemporaries and elders. He doubted she was even thirty, and her slight stature made her seem even younger. Nick was willing to bet she was often mistaken for a student on campus, although her intensity, her almost trancelike absorption in her work was far from juvenile. She was good at what she did. She was very, very good.

Not only had she determined that the subject on her worktable had been murdered, but also that she was likely a runner, an important detail because the habits of a victim could often lead back to the killer.

Nick needed that same resourcefulness and intuition, that same thoroughness, to tell him if the remains that had been discovered yesterday were also those of a murder victim. And, of course, he needed the identity of the dead man. But if he turned out to be who Nick suspected he was…

His thoughts broke apart and scattered. He wouldn’t allow himself to think about that. Not yet. First things first. Excavate the remains. Bring them here to Dr. Casey’s lab. Let her work her magic. And then Nick would take over from there.

He felt the rage building inside him again at the injustice that was about to be perpetrated by the legal system, but he couldn’t let his anger take control of him. Too much was at stake. A murderer was about to go free, but the discovery of the skeleton yesterday could change everything.

If Daniel O’Roarke’s death sentence for the brutal slaying eight years ago of a beautiful, young coed was overturned, he could never again be tried for her murder. But if he’d killed again…if the remains of his second victim suddenly turned up after eight long years of searching…he could be sent back to death row, this time for killing a cop.

The door of the office opened, and Nick felt his nerve endings jump slightly. He was edgy and he knew it, but he’d never worked on a case this important. This personal. And because of the potential for publicity—and danger—discretion was a primary concern. Could he trust Erin Casey?

Dr. Wyman seemed to think so. “The woman’s as honorable as she is brilliant. A very rare combination,” he’d mused wistfully.

The old man was probably half in love with her, Nick decided, as he gazed at Erin Casey with a new eye. He supposed she was attractive, in a scholarly, nondescript sort of way. She was tiny, probably not much over five feet, and Nick doubted she’d weigh more than a hundred pounds soaking wet.

Her hair was dark blond, and she wore the long, wavy strands pulled back and twisted into a thick braid that thumped against her back when she walked. The wire-rimmed glasses perched on her nose made her light-blue eyes appear huge and misty and gave her a dreamlike quality that seemed almost otherworldly. Her skin was smooth and pale, as if she spent most of her time bent over a worktable in her basement lab instead of out in the sunshine with the rest of the human race.

She looked freshly showered, having changed from the disposable scrubs into jeans and a yellow cotton shirt that had an ink stain on the front. Nick was willing to bet she hadn’t even noticed the stain, and if she had, she wouldn’t care anyway. Appearance was obviously not high on her priority list, and yet, she managed to convey a kind of absentminded sensuality that she would undoubtedly find surprising, and Nick found more than a little disturbing.

She sat down behind her desk and gazed up at him. “Have a seat, Detective Gallagher.”

He didn’t want to sit, but it would be rude not to, and besides, his pacing drove most people crazy. The only other chair in the room was stacked with books and papers, and she gave a careless, sweeping wave, which Nick took as permission to transfer the heap to the floor.

When he was finally seated, he could feel the impatience burning inside him again, mingling with the raw energy flowing almost like a drug through his veins. They had to get moving on this, he kept thinking over and over. There was no time to waste.

“Tell me about the remains you’ve found.” Her soft, southern accent was discordant with the topic of their conversation. Her voice came straight from the pages of Gone with the Wind. But there was nothing fragile or coy about Erin Casey.

“A hunter found the bones yesterday morning,” he told her. “In a remote, wooded area in Wisconsin.”

Her brows lifted slightly over the rim of her glasses. “Hardly CPD’s jurisdiction, is it?”

“No, but I know the county sheriff in that area. He called me when the remains were discovered.”

“Why?” Her blue eyes behind the glasses were gently probing.

Nick frowned at her persistence. “He doesn’t want any publicity until he has a handle on what he’s dealing with.”

“You mean until he learns whether the bones are forensic or archaeological?”

“Yes, but his concern is even more basic than that. It looks like a human skeleton, but who knows?” Nick shrugged. “Remember that case down south a few years ago where a man digging in a flower bed in his backyard uncovered several coffinlike boxes that contained what the local authorities thought were the skeletal remains of infants? The sheriff even went so far as to call in the FBI, thinking he had some kind of gruesome serial killer on his hands. Turned out the previous owners of the house had used that spot for their pet cemetery. The remains were a dog, two cats, and a canary. The media had a field day with that poor sheriff and his deputies.”

“Actually, I do remember that case,” Erin said. “I’m the one who examined the bones.”

“No kidding?” Nick had already known that, of course, but he thought it was a good way to make his point. “Anyway, my friend would like you to come up and take a look at the remains, see what you think.”

“Where is the skeleton now?”

“Exactly where it was found. We want you to oversee the excavation.”

“I see.” She was intrigued by the prospect, Nick could tell. Too often, remains were sent prematurely to the pathology lab or to the morgue before a proper excavation and search of the area were conducted.

“The sooner you excavate, the better,” she murmured, glancing at the calendar on her desk. “If it rains, crucial evidence could be washed away, but unfortunately, I’m completely tied up until Wednesday.”

Two days away, Nick calculated. And the weather service predicted a major rainstorm in the next twenty-four hours.

“Can’t you rearrange your schedule?” he urged. “The time factor could be critical here.”

“But you don’t even know whether the remains are human or not.”

He met her gaze. “They’re human.”

“But you just said—”

“I said the sheriff up there doesn’t want to come off looking like some kind of fool, which is true. He’s not sure the remains are human, but I am.”

“You’ve seen them?”

“I drove up yesterday as soon as he called me. We’re trying to keep this as quiet as possible, but in case word leaks out, a couple of deputies are patrolling the area. Just between you and me, though, I’m not sure how effective that precaution will be. They were all pretty spooked by the discovery, and I doubt any of them were willing to spend the night in those woods last night.”

“I understand.” She frowned at her calendar, as if mentally juggling her schedule. “But I’m afraid there’s no way I can get up there before tomorrow. I have classes the rest of the day, and…” her frown deepened momentarily “…an engagement tonight that I can’t possibly get out of…”

Her words trailed off, and Nick wondered if the engagement she couldn’t get out of tonight was a social one. Did she have a date? If so, she didn’t look all that keen on going, so what was the problem?

“I could wait around and drive you up as soon as you’re finished,” he suggested. “We could start the excavation at first light tomorrow.”

“If you’re in that much of a hurry, perhaps you should try someone else. Who did CPD use before I moved to Chicago?”

“Dr. Bernard Rosenbaum, but he’s laid up with a broken leg. Dr. Ernesto Gonzalez occasionally backs up Rosenbaum, but he lives over two hundred miles away, and besides, he’s working in Bosnia right now. There’s no one else available, Dr. Casey. And it’s going to rain tomorrow afternoon,” he stressed. “I need you up there as soon as possible.”

Something in his tone must have conveyed his urgency, because she looked up, letting her blue gaze rest on him for the longest moment before she nodded almost imperceptibly. “All right. I’ll see if I can rearrange my schedule. But you don’t have to wait around for me. Just leave me your number and I’ll call you tonight when I’m finished.”

He stood, fishing a card from his pocket and dropping it on her desk. “If it’s all the same with you, I think I’ll hang around campus for a while anyway.”

“That really isn’t necessary—”

“Look…” He shot a glance toward the door. “I’m a little concerned about security. If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to take a look at your facility.”

“Security? For remains that haven’t yet been identified as human?”

When he said nothing, her gaze grew mildly reproachful. “There’s something you’re not telling me about this case.”

“I’ve told you everything I know about the remains.”

“Then why are you so concerned about security?”

“Security is my job. In case you haven’t thought about it before, you’ve got a murder victim lying in your lab downstairs. Someone out there isn’t going to be too thrilled when you ID her.”

She didn’t seem the least bit fazed by his words. “This building is equipped with a sophisticated security system, including highly sensitive motion detectors. A special lock was designed for the lab doors, and only a few of the FAHIL staff have been issued keys. The doors to the FAHIL facilities are kept locked at night, and the building has its own security guard. Does that sound satisfactory to you?”

Her thoroughness impressed him once more. “You would have made a very good detective, Dr. Casey.”

Again, she gave him a slight smile, but her tone was deadly serious. “But I am a detective. I’m a bone detective. I just don’t carry a gun.”

And if she did carry a gun, Nick had no doubt she would be a crack shot. He had a feeling there were very few things Dr. Erin Casey didn’t do well.

The possibilities, he decided, were pretty damn intriguing.

“DR. CASEY! Wait up!”

Erin, balancing her briefcase, an armload of books and papers, and a can of highly caffeinated soda, turned at the sound of her name. Ross Calvert, her research assistant, hurried up the sidewalk toward her.

“I’m glad I caught you, Dr. Casey,” Ross said breathlessly as he drew alongside her.

“I’m in a bit of a hurry, Ross, so whatever this is about, can it wait?” He looked instantly crestfallen, and Erin cursed herself for her curt tone. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I have that reception tonight at the dean’s house, and you know how much I hate those things.”

Ross nodded sympathetically, his normal good humor somewhat restored. He wore baggy black jeans, a black Primus T-shirt, and his dyed hair had been gelled into orangy-red spikes. The grunge look, including the eyebrow ring and chin stud, belied his keen intelligence. He was one of the sharpest research assistants Erin had ever had.

“You’ll be cool,” he said admiringly.

“I appreciate that, Ross. Now, what can I do for you?”

He hesitated, then said, “There was a man in the lab this afternoon working on Case 00-03 with you.” His gaze lifted suddenly, and his gray eyes had an oddly possessive glint.

Erin thought she understood. Case 00-03 was to be Ross’s solo project. Once Erin had cataloged her findings, he would then conduct his own examination, comparing his conclusions with hers. One always felt possessive of one’s first case, she reminisced nostalgically. “I was working on 00-03,” she told him. “Detective Gallagher was merely observing.”

“Detective Gallagher? He’s not the one who brought her to us. That cop’s name was Stoner.”

“Yes, that’s right. Detective Mike Stoner.”

“So, what did Gallagher want?”

It was Erin’s turn to hesitate, remembering Detective Gallagher’s almost excessive concern for security. “I think he wanted to look over the premises, make sure our security was up to snuff. Some of the remains we work on represent potential evidence in court cases,” she reminded him. “A lot of good detective work could go down the drain if they were tampered with.”