His Betrayal, My Unmaking, Her Crime

t me comfort. Tonight, it felt heavy, suffocating. Under the focused beam of my work lamp, the skull rested on i

rked with the cold, hard facts of bone structure, tissue depth markers, and anthropological data.

e, mid-fifties, found in a shallow grave in the state forest. No

one, shaping the curve of the jaw. I was close. The face emerging from the sk

created. The high cheekbones, the slight arch of the brow,

uldn'

's Christmas party. I stood between my fiancé, Ryan Blackwood, a

rom the phone scree

nes. The same br

or Blackwood, Ryan's mother, who had vanished without a trace two years ago. T

king so badly I could barely dial. How do you tell the man

st digit, the lab door creaked open

ed. Two men stood in the doorway, their faces obscured by

" the taller

could only nod, my e

oth was clamped over my mouth and nose. I struggled, kicking out, my hand knocking the

sickening chemical haze

in across my face. I tried to scream, but only a choked, gurglin

at, beer, and something metallic that I knew was blood. Loud, puls

n front of me. I didn't recognize the person staring back. Her face was a swollen, brui

ear. It was one of the men from the lab. "A

g into my arm. My muscles went slack, my mind foggy, but

roar of the crowd intensified. I was in a ring, like for a boxing match, but

ugs and swelling. I saw bodies pressed together, men shou

en I s

yan. My heart, already broken, seemed to stop beating altogethe

woman beside him. Chloe Davis. Her hands were wra

roaty sound I knew so well, and then he leaned in and kissed her. It wasn't a friendly

und them hoot

kwood!" one of hi

His eyes swept over the stage, over me, and he didn't even flinch. There was no recognition. No sho

I heard this one's a real artist! S

d up, "Yeah, a forensic artist! Think she

l blow. They were talking about my work, my passion, twisting it into so

orever kissed his mistress, a triumphant smile on her face. Chloe' s eyes met mine for a