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bounced in her gut.
    "Over here, Kincaid."
    She inhaled deeply and approached the body.
    "Don't touch his skin. We don't want to lose any prints."
    Though she'd heard the advice, she couldn't help but feel an odd sense of awe at the image of fingerprints left on the dead man's skin, a final testament to the agony he had endured. A niggling voice whispered in her ear: Will yours be among them? She shook it off. She'd followed regulations and hadn't touched a thing. She thought of her earring and touched both ears quickly. Greg caught her eye and raised an eyebrow but she only smiled in response.
    "You take the shoulders, Kincaid. Roback and I'll get the body. You make sure it all ends up in the bag," he called to the guy from the ME's office. "Just onto his back, okay? On three. One. Two. Move."
    Alex rotated the man's shoulders. His neck wobbled as the remaining shards of muscle and ligaments struggled to hold the weight of his head. She'd been right. He'd been shot in the back of the neck and the bullet had exploded on the other end, leaving very little of the front of his neck remaining.
    At the sight of the exposed veins in his neck, she swallowed the bitter taste of bile that rose in her throat. She would not be sick. A wave of the metallic smell of blood and burnt skin hit her nose and she blinked hard. She would not be sick, she repeated to herself.
    Greg was groaning on his end. "Jesus, he stinks."
    "What are you—a girl?" Lombardi chided.
    "No, but I've got a good nose and this asshole stinks."
    Alex remained silent.
    The victim's head knocked back against the ground, the thin tissue ripping, and she looked straight at his face for the first time. Gasping, she jumped back.
    Lombardi looked puzzled. "What the fuck?"
    An image flashed through her head. A man's face—this man. But how did she know him? A cold sweat breaking across her body, she backed up slowly, her heart racing.
    "Kincaid, what's wrong?" Greg stepped into her line of vision, but she could still see the man.
    Her knees wobbly beneath her, she began to shake. Fighting it off did no good. Small white dots formed before her eyes. Damn this. Damn it all. She shook her head, trying to push the image of his face from her mind. Why did she know this man's face? The image in her mind shuttered and she saw the front of Noah's Bagels. He'd tried to talk to her. He'd used her name. Pointing, she tried to speak.
    Greg centered her shoulders to him, forcing her gaze off the man. "What?"
    "What the fuck's wrong with her?" Lombardi bellowed.
    She looked at Greg but pointed to the man. "Him—"
    He gave her a light shake. "What about him?"
    "He—" The white dots grew, filling her field of vision. She blinked hard, but it only got worse. The room started to spin as she fought a wave of dizziness.
    "He was at Noah's yesterday," she gasped. He'd used her name. What had he tried to say? "He asked me a question." She turned away from Greg, feeling dizzy. "Did you see him?"
    Greg looked at the victim and shook his head. "No, what did he say?"
    "You knew him?" Lombardi demanded.
    She shook her head, the room spinning. "He spoke to me in Noah's yesterday—he used my name."
    Greg shook his head. "Your name's on your uniform, Kincaid. What's the big deal?"
    She looked around the room, feeling it circle beneath her. She reached out to grab something but all she caught was air. She pictured her uniform and shook her head.
    It was a big deal, she thought. Her legs collapsed, and she slammed to the floor with a thud. Then, everything went black.

 
     
     
    Chapter 4

     
    Alex strained against the net of tight cobwebs that circled her brain. She was hung over and exhausted and everything hurt. And yet she couldn't remember drinking. It had been a while since she'd had anything to drink. Her insomnia kept her away from alcohol. The nights she drank were always the roughest in terms of sleep. She lifted her hand to her head and felt a plastic bracelet scratch her cheek. She opened