Cover Your Eyes Read Free

of blood.
    Four well-placed blows had obliterated the sweet, seductive siren’s high swipe of cheekbones, full red lips, creamy skin and thick eyelashes into pulp. No whore deserved to go into the next world with her looks. That smacked of injustice in Baby’s book. A beautiful whore could well strike a deal with the Devil and then return to the earth to haunt.
    The idea of Dixie returning had Baby gripping the cold iron high and slamming it on Dixie’s face in another crushing blow. Blood splattered. Bone crushed. Again and again the tire iron struck until finally, Baby, breathless and blood-soaked, stopped.
    Stepping back, a satisfied smile curled at the utter ruin and destruction of one once so beautiful.
    Dixie Simmons wouldn’t be parading her tart ass around town anymore or singing those songs designed to ruin men’s lives.
    Dead and gone.

October 18
     
    Sugggar . . .
    You are a dirty little man. You shocked me but good when you whispered those bad boy words that swirled in my head like a merry-go-round. Each time they pass my knees go weak. You’ve got me curious. So forget all that I said about good and evil. Come on by after the show tonight. You might find I’m ready to play.
     
    A.
     

    Chapter One
     
    Thursday, October 13, 8 AM
     
    Rain dripped from Detective Deke Morgan’s jacket as he pushed through the doors of the Tennessee medical examiner’s office, his shoulders tense with fatigue and a headache hammering his eyes. His latest homicide call had come after three thirty a.m., minutes after he’d polished off his second beer and scrawled his name on papers dissolving his second, and what he’d sworn would be his last, marriage. Conditioned by fifteen years on the force, he’d swapped regrets, faded jeans, and a Titans T-shirt for purpose, a coat and tie, and strong coffee.
    With rain falling and thunder rumbling in the distance, he’d arrived at the murder scene by four thirty, greeted by the swarm of cops and news vans. “Driver’s license says Dixie Simmons,” said a young uniformed officer, eyes watery and troubled. The license showed the face of a pretty woman, thick lightly colored hair and eyes bright with amusement.
    As the media had been corralled on the opposite corner and were firing questions at Deke, he’d donned gloves, passed the pallid faces of more uniforms, and ducked under the yellow crime-scene tape. When he had lifted the bloody sheet, he’d found an unrecognizable mess, which he’d studied with a clinician’s eye. As he’d left the scene he had heard whispered comparisons to his cop father, also known for a fearsome detachment that had made him as efficient as he was untouchable.
    At the medical examiner’s security desk, separated from the lobby by a thick glass wall, Deke tossed the dregs of a fourth coffee into the trash and dug his badge from his pocket. With an all clear from a burly guard, the locked side door clicked open and he wound his way into the building.
    Assistant medical examiner Dr. Miriam Heller had texted him a half-hour ago and told him his victim would be autopsied in exam room two. Outside the double doors, he put on a gown and gloves and then pushed inside the exam room.
    Dr. Heller stood at the head of a stainless steel exam table, the body of Dixie Simmons covered in a clean white sheet.
    Standing at five-foot-ten, Heller was a slim woman in her midthirties with a smooth olive complexion and long dark hair she kept twisted in a tight knot. Dark thick lashes framed blue eyes with a slight almond tilt. She rarely wore makeup and favored skinny jeans, flats, and sleeveless blouses. Caring and compassionate, she also possessed a dry sense of humor that kept most of the cops on their toes.
    “Dr. Heller.”
    She peered around the computer screen. “Detective Morgan. Where is your partner in crime?”
    Detective KC Kelly had five days remaining until Department retirement. With thirty-two years on the Nashville Police force, he’d worked with