Ashes, Ashes, They All Fall Dead by Lena Diaz Page A

pulled a plastic bag out of his suit jacket pocket. Inside was a letter, and an envelope. “I switched the originals back at my studio, just in case Casey was unreasonable. You can either call the police and have them arrest me, or you can come inside and help me find your serial killer. Your decision.”
    He went inside the building, leaving her standing out front with her mouth hanging open.
    She pulled out her cell phone, ready to call the police, or Casey, or both. A minute passed. Then another. Why was she hesitating? Matt had admitted he broke the law. He should be arrested.
    But what would that do to her deal with Casey? Would he consider the deal null and void? Would he let her continue on her own for six more days? Would he force her to drop the case? Or would he take a harder stance and make her pack up her desk, turn in her badge?
    Either way, she was screwed. Damn Matt for putting her in this position. Her shoulders slumped. And damn her for wanting to solve this case so badly that she was about to cross a line she never thought she would cross.
    She was about to break the law.
    She shoved her phone back in her purse, cursing the entire time. Glaring at the gold letters on the door, she yanked it open and stepped inside.
    Matt stood ten feet away, lazily reclining against the counter, chatting with the receptionist. He gave Tessa a confident smile, as if he knew all along she would give in.
    She marched up and leaned in close so the receptionist wouldn’t hear her. “Wipe that Cheshire cat grin off your face before I shoot it off.”
    He coughed into his hand and sobered, but his smile was still there, in his eyes.
    Tessa had never been particularly violent, but right now she wanted to punch Matthew Buchanan right in those sexy abs.
    Lucky for him, he took a step back, out of reach of her fist.
    He waved toward the hallway to his left. “Welcome to the Buchanan Scientific and Forensics Lab.”
    M ATT WATCHED T ESSA press her hands against the glass wall in the long hallway, peering into the dust-free room where one of his scientists was examining the envelope and letter before conducting more invasive tests.
    “Which letter did you take?” Tessa asked.
    “The Sharon Johnson letter.”
    “Mailed in Brunswick, Georgia,” she absently murmured.
    She must have memorized all the names and postmarks.
    “That’s the last letter we received. Is that why you chose it?” she asked.
    “Nope. Opportunity. It was the closest letter on the table when you went into the bathroom.”
    She let out a puff of laughter. “I bet it killed you not to come up with odds first about which letter might yield the best results so you could decide which one to take.”
    He grinned. She was right. It had nearly killed him. But, in the end, random was probably better. He couldn’t have gotten her to agree to more than one letter, and if he had to choose, he would have been in a quandary over which to pick. He’d have wanted the first letter, the last letter, and probably a few in between, preferably ones with latent prints on them. It was only luck that the Sharon Johnson letter happened to be one with a latent.
    “This place rivals the FBI Lab in Quantico.” Tessa didn’t sound happy about that, as if the admission had been wrenched out of her. “How long will it take to complete the tests and get results?”
    Tessa’s excitement was obvious, even though she tried to hide it. She wanted to solve this case so badly she’d come over to the dark side with him.
    When he’d switched that letter at his studio, he knew he was taking a huge risk. But he also knew if he’d asked her permission, she would have said no. He’d gambled that he could convince her not to turn him in by playing on her curiosity and intense desire to solve the case once he got her to the lab.
    Thankfully his gamble had paid off.
    “It’s not quite Quantico,” he said, in answer to her question. “I couldn’t afford anything near that scale. But I do