Free No One Left to Tell by Jordan Dane Page A

right, you'll be looking for a right-handed person. Not much help there. The slice was clean, no serrated edge to the blade. An incised wound transecting the left and right common carotid artery as well as both jugular veins, causing a fatal hemorrhage." The ME pointed a gloved hand to Blair's throat. "And as for time of death, the chill in the church distorted the time line, but my estimate would put TOD at approximately two hours prior to when the body was discovered and called in to nine-one-one. The absence of rigor at the church gave us that. I'll let you know if I change my estimate after the autopsy."
    "I'll let you know what we find," Scott replied. "Oh, and as for the trace evidence on his clothes and hands, I'll get the analysis bumped up. Put a rush on it."
    "You giving us special treatment?" Tony teased, his dark eyes crimped with humor, putting Raven more at ease.
    "Not for you, you ugly SOB. This one's for Mackenzie. I mean, it's not like I've never heard the word 'rush' before."
    Tony grinned. "Well, thanks for the enlightenment. Call me when you have a report. I'll pick it up." Her partner stepped away from the gurney, tugging at his surgical gown.
    Raven followed, yanking at her latex gloves. Catching a look from her partner, she asked, "What? Spit it out."
    "I think I'm getting an allergy toward coincidences, Raven. And right now, I got hives in every nook and cranny of my body."
    "That's an image I didn't need," she replied. "You talking about the paintball thing?" After he nodded, she heaved a sigh. "Yeah, I know. All my training tells me I should like him for this, but my gut says this is all wrong."
    "Are you sure it's your gut?" He stopped and turned toward her. "Maybe your libido is doing all the talking." When she glared at him and opened her mouth to speak, he interrupted her. "Look, Mac, you're a good cop. I trust you with my life, but the coincidences are adding up. We gotta look hard at this guy. Can you do that?"
    Without hesitation, she answered, "Yes, I can. I've built my life on the law, Tony. It was a gift from my father, the only thing that grounded me after his death. Central Station is my family, for crying out loud." Fixing her gaze on him, she added, "But I gotta trust my instincts on this and speak my mind to my partner. Can you accept that?"
    He searched her eyes for a long moment, then his expression softened. "Yeah, I can do that. I just had to check. Come on. The chief is waiting. And we gotta make nice for the media. Glad I wore my best clip-on tie."
    "You mean you've got more than one?" Raven followed Tony, but her mind dwelled on her reaction to Christian as a man. How could she explain something she didn't understand herself? And her partner had been right on another count. She had to keep her mind focused on the objective. If Delacorte was the killer, she wouldn't have the luxury to ponder her feelings. Tony might press for his arrest, and she'd have no choice but to do her job.
    As Christian entered the Dunhill mansion through the kitchen, he found it spotless, without the normal activity. Fiona dined at this hour and usually invited him to join her. But they hadn't made such arrangements today with his late drive into town. The lights were dimmed. Peering around the stainless pots and pans hanging over the large butcher-block table, he spied the gas stove glistening in the pale light, cold as the room in which he stood.
    A white envelope lay atop the butcher-block table, his name penned with Fiona's elegant script. Without opening the note, he knew what would be inside—the emptiness of the manor closed in on him, telling him all he needed to know.
    He picked up the stationery and walked toward the night light, placing the page on the counter. As he suspected, Fiona had left for Paris, a sudden meeting with associates. He knew from experience that whenever she used the word "associates," she meant the side of the business she'd always kept hidden—to protect him. When he was