“Administration,” he automatically corrected her. Most people were probably not aware that the A actually stood for Administration and not Agency. But he would know—if he were truly a DEA agent. “Are you sure the sheriff’s not on the warden’s payroll?”
“No. I can’t be sure,” she admitted. “There are rumors that the warden made some pretty significant donations to the new sheriff’s election campaign.”
He groaned, probably not in pain but in frustration.
“You need to contact the Drug Enforcement Administration,” she pointed out. And if he were really an agent, wouldn’t he have already done that?
“I know for sure that someone with the DEA is on the warden’s payroll,” he said. “That’s why I can’t trust anyone. Nobody else can find out I’m still alive, or I’m a target.”
She shrugged, feigning indifference. Even though she didn’t know him and didn’t trust him, she didn’t want him to be killed. But helping a fugitive would land her in prison like her brother. And, unlike Jed, she wouldn’t be innocent of the charges brought against her.
She probably shouldn’t have treated this man’s injury, but she had nearly become a doctor and as such, she would have taken an oath to do no harm. In Macy’s opinion that included providing medically necessary treatment no matter the circumstances. After putting in the last stitch, she swabbed antiseptic on the wound. He sucked in a breath, and when she affixed the bandage, he covered her fingers with his.
“And if Warden James finds out I’m alive,” Rowe continued, “then Jed’s a dead man, too.”
“Wh-why?” she sputtered as her greatest fear gripped her. She tugged on her fingers, pulling them out from under his.
“Jed disobeyed the warden’s order to kill me, and instead he helped me escape.”
If Warden James had ordered Jed to kill another inmate, then her brother had become a liability to the man. Not that anyone would believe a convicted cop killer over a respected prison warden. But the warden might not be willing to take that chance. Nor would he want other prisoners believing they could get away with disobeying him.
The grinding of the descending elevator drew their attention to the open door of the morgue. “Is there another way out?” Rowe asked in an urgent whisper.
Macy shook her head. “There is no other way out of here.”
“If I’m discovered and sent back to Blackwoods, I will be killed,” he insisted, his blue eyes intense with certainty and desperation.
Damn it. She believed him and not just because of what he knew about her and her brother, but because he seemed too sincere to be lying. “And if you’re killed, so will Jed…”
A door creaked open and a male voice called out, “Macy? You still here?”
“Y-y-yes, Dr. Bernard. I’ll be out in a minute,” she said. Then she rushed toward the wall and pulled open a drawer.
Rowe’s dark gold brows drew together as he grimaced in revulsion. But he climbed inside the metal compartment. Macy threw a sheet over him. As she drew it up his bare chest, the backs of her fingers skimmed over skin and muscle. Her face heated, her blood pumping hard.
Rowe caught her wrist in his hand again. “Can I trust you?” he asked.
“If you’re telling the truth, you don’t have a choice,” she said.
But despite knowing about the scar on the back of her head, was he really telling the truth? If he were actually a DEA agent, wouldn’t he have been able to call someone to get him out of Blackwoods?
He released her wrist and drew in a deep breath as she pushed the drawer closed. But not tight.
“What are you doing?” Dr. Bernard asked.
Macy whirled toward her boss, stepping in front of the door behind which she’d hidden Rowe. “Wh-what do you mean?”
“I thought you’d be gone for the day by now.” The doctor pushed a hand through his thin, gray hair. “I thought I’d be home by now.”
“But you were called out to the prison again.” For another body. Her pulse quickened. Had someone realized Rowe wasn’t dead? And had they realized that Jed had helped him escape? “Wh-who was it…?”
“It was—it was…” His voice cracked with emotion.
God, not Jed…
Dr. Bernard’s hand shook as he pulled it over his face. “It was…Doc.” He expelled a shaky breath. “Doc was killed.”
Again she felt that quick flash of relief, which guilt and regret then chased away. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know he was a friend of yours.”
“Even if he wasn’t, nobody should die like that.” The older man shuddered.
“Oh, my God—what happened?”
Dr. Bernard sighed. “I can determine cause of death even before I do a full autopsy. Someone beat him to death. What I can’t tell you is—why.”
“I’m sorry….”
His eyes glistened with a sheen of tears. “Why would someone do that to Doc?”
Maybe they had been trying to get information out of him. If they’d forced him to confess to declaring a live man dead, the coroner would probably be called out next for her brother. Her relief fled completely, leaving her tense and anxious.
“Bob’s bringing Doc’s body in, but the warden wants me to do the autopsy on that prisoner who died this morning first,” Dr. Bernard said.
Nerves lifting goose bumps on her skin, Macy stepped away from the drawer. “Wouldn’t the warden be more concerned about Doc?”
“You’d think. I know I am. I just don’t know if I can autopsy him.” Dr. Bernard shook his head, his gray eyes filling with sadness. “Too bad you hadn’t gone to medical school. I could use an extra pair of hands around here.”
“If I’d gone through medical school, you wouldn’t be able to afford me,” she teased, to lighten her boss’s mood, like she always tried to lift Jed’s spirits.
“True. And you’re still my extra hands,” Dr. Bernard said. And as a morgue assistant, she was much cheaper than a doctor. “Did you take a look at the prisoner?”
She nodded. “Cause of death is pretty obvious. Stab wound.”
“So he’s dead?”
She fought the urge to shiver. “I don’t think he would’ve let me shut him in a drawer if he wasn’t.”
“Is that him?” He gestured toward the not-quite-shut drawer.
She shook her head. “No. That’s Mr. Mortimer. The crematorium is coming to pick him up soon.”
“That’s why you’re still here.”
“I’ll wait for Elliot.” Elliot Sutherland worked at his uncle’s crematorium/funeral home, but Elliot wasn’t coming to the morgue. She had agreed to take the body to him, so that he and his band would not have to miss a gig. “And I’ll wait for Bob to bring in Doc’s body from the prison,” she offered. “You go ahead home. The autopsies can wait till morning.”
The coroner ran his hand over his face, etching the lines even deeper. “They’re going to have to. The only cause of death I could figure out tonight would be my own. Exhaustion.”
“Go home,” she urged.
He offered her a halfhearted smile. “You’ve been a godsend, Macy. I’m not sure why you came to Blackwoods,