Free Blood of Innocence (Sloan Skye) by Tami Dane

noticing,” JT said, shaking a fry at me.
    “Good point.”
    “When we find her, we’ll know it.”
    “I hope you’re right.”
    We ate for a few minutes in silence, but then our gazes locked. My heart lurched. My mouth went dry. I knew what was coming.
    He said, “Sloan, about that conversation we had—”
    “Please don’t, JT. Let’s keep things like this, friendly but professional. It’s better for both of us.”
    “But I’d like to explain.”
    “There’s no need.” I’d eaten all I was going to. I pushed my plate away, dug out a ten-dollar bill, and put it on top of the bill. “Where to first?”
    “I guess we’ll pay Sprouse’s doctor a visit first.” He dropped his wadded napkin on his empty plate.
    “I’m ready to go when you are.”
    “Okay.” He tried handing my ten back to me; but when I refused to take it, he slid it under the candle centerpiece, placed a twenty on top of the bill, and grabbed his laptop bag.
    We headed out into a bright, sunshiny morning. As I inhaled the scent of freshly mown grass, I thought that somewhere, out there, our killer was already hunting his or her next victim.
    The drive to Sprouse’s doctor’s office was quick and relatively painless. Rush hour was winding down and the roads were passable.
    In the lobby/reception area, JT introduced us to the young woman manning the front desk. She took our names and informed us someone would be with us soon; then she slid the little glass partition closed.
    We waited among a dozen or so visibly pregnant women. A couple of them smiled at me after flicking their eyes at JT. I could only imagine what they were thinking. As tempting as it was to explain we weren’t patients, I didn’t bother. Several patients were called before we were. I was getting antsy by that time and had skimmed every Parents magazine in the lobby. Finally I heard my name.
    As we strolled through a doorway, following a cheerful nurse dressed head to toe in scrubs (who, ironically, could be a cold-blooded killer), I peered into the bustling center of the practice. The office was staffed by at least a half-dozen women who were working phones and computers. Any of them could be the killer too. I nearly bumped into a woman pushing a cart full of sonographic gear—yet another suspect—as I rounded the corner, following the nurse down a crowded hallway. Our eyes met. Then hers flicked to my flat stomach. She smiled and apologized.
    Numbered examination rooms were positioned at regular intervals along one wall. We were ushered into a teeny, tiny room by the nurse and asked to wait there.
    JT sat on the chair pushed into a corner before I could. He grinned and pointed at the bed—the one with the stirrups.
    “If you were a gentleman, you’d give up the chair,” I pointed out.
    “I guess that cinches it then, huh?” he joked. “I’m no gentleman.”
    I bit back a smart-ass retort and climbed up on the bed, leaving my legs swinging over the side. The paper crinkled under my ass. It was such a precious, wonderful, delightful moment.
    Not.
    JT’s eyes glittered. “If you’re sleepy—”
    “Don’t you dare.” I crossed my arms over my chest and crossed my ankles too. “This is bad enough as it is. Do you really need to make inappropriate comments?”
    His eyes sparkled. “No, I don’t ‘need’ to. But it’s kind of fun.”
    “Stop it.”
    “Done.” His lips quirked for a split second.
    I stared at the wall, trying to pretend I wasn’t shut in a room the size of a closet with a man my body thought was the next best thing to chocolate. My mind knew better, thankfully. And my mind was in control.
    What felt like an hour later, I checked the time on my phone. It had been fifteen minutes. “Sheesh. How much longer is this doctor going to make us wait?”
    “Don’t know. Should I poke my nose out and check?”
    “Sure.”
    JT sauntered to the door, opened it. “Hmm,” he said just as the sound of a woman’s scream echoed down the