Free Vulnerable (Morgans of Nashville) by Mary Burton Page B

bruises circled a thin white neck. This girl had been strangled, but it would take the medical examiner to determine if that had been the cause of death. She rose up above the body as much as the jagged low ceiling would allow.
    Snap. Snap. Snap .
    Peeking out from the white button-down was a pink, sleek lacy bra, another hint that this girl had harbored secrets.
    A class ring encircled the victim’s right pinky and as Georgia leaned in close, she discovered it was a newly minted college ring. So damn young.
    Her gaze trailed around the body as she searched for anything that might have belonged to the victim. She noted piles of leaves and rocks and along the rock wall several puddles of wax, remnants of candles burned down to the wick.
    On her knees, she passed through something wet and she glanced back to see decomposition fluid on her jumpsuit.
    “It just doesn’t get any lovelier than this,” she grumbled. A sharp rock on the cave’s floor cut into her palms and strained the protection of her latex gloves.
    Beyond the body, the cave narrowed like the neck of a bottle. She tucked the camera into a pocket of her jumpsuit and crawled past the body toward the narrowing space closed off by a pile of neatly piled rocks. The arrangement was too defined to be natural and was reminiscent of the rocks piled in the primary cave’s entrance.
    “How’s it look?” Brad asked.
    “Dark. Very, very dark.”
    “You okay?”
    “I’m doing just swell. You know I live for this.” Her nose itched and she rubbed it with her forearm. As she shifted to the right, she hit her elbow against a jagged rock. Pain shot up her arm and she muttered a curse. Every move had to be deliberate to ensure no evidence was damaged.
    The narrow light of her headlamp caught a wink of metal as she stared up at the rocks. When she leaned closer, she realized there was a pendant hanging from a chain dangling from the rocks. She snapped a picture of the pendant and then glanced in her viewfinder and blew up the image. The pendant was engraved with two scripted letters: BR.
    Shit. Bethany Reed.
    The death scent mingled with the musty wet mossy smells that belonged in caves. She glanced at the ceiling, praying the bats and hairy critters hiding in the darkness would scurry out of her path. Hating the space, she kept her focus on what she did best: cataloging facts.
    She photographed the pendant several more times and then the rocks stacked at the back of the cave. As she set the stones aside a second, smaller area appeared. “What the hell is this place?”
    Shinning her light into the second space, she could see it narrowed so much that once in she would not be able to turn around. The only way out of here was to back out so if something furry charged, she would have to choke back a godawful scream or suffer the jokes of the cops.
    She cleared more rocks so that she could move forward into the second chamber.
    Her left hand settled on something hard, brittle and narrow. She dropped her gaze, her headlight catching the object.
    It was a bone. Human.
    * * *
    Jake stood at the cave’s entrance, listening as Georgia burrowed deeper into the darkness. He admired her guts. He was street tough, but this scene put him on edge.
    Feet braced, he tapped his index finger against the butt of his gun. “Brad, I don’t hear her moving. What’s going on in there?”
    Brad, kneeling at the mouth of the cave, glanced back at Jake as if to caution patience. But when he took a good look at Jake, he silenced his comments and leaned into the mouth of the cave. “Georgia, what’s going on?”
    For a moment, she did not answer and the silence fueled Jake’s concern.
    “She’s fine,” Brad said. “She’ll holler if she needs help.”
    “I understand that.” A blunt tone sharpened the edges of each word.
    Rick shifted his stance. “Give her a few more seconds.”
    Jake’s lips flattened into a grim line. “Brad. Yell in there again.”
    “Georgia!” Brad hollered.