A new night, a new corpse. Dr. Nigel Townsend hummed cheerily to himself as he prepared to work. Suddenly he froze, then relaxed and resumed his work. He knew without turning that someone stood in the doorway.
"Hello Jordan, come to burn the midnight oil with me, girl?"
"The name's Maggie."
Nigel turned quickly, instruments still in hand. A young woman stood in the doorway, her face partly concealed by a black fedora that topped her long blond curls. Nigel's brow furrowed. "How did you get in here? They don't allow visitors here, miss."
The woman did not budge. Though Nigel couldn't see her eyes, he could tell they were fixed on the cadaver on the table. Quickly he turned and covered the man with the sheet. A sound like a sob made him turn to the woman again. Great, just what he needed . . . a psychotic relative breaking in for one last glimpse. It was pathetic, he had to admit- the girl was lovely and he hated to see a pretty girl in pain. Still, there were rules.
"I'll have to escort you out, miss. Security wouldn't be too happy to see you here." Gently he reached to take her arm, but she surprised him by taking his hand midway. For the first time she looked up at him and he saw her eyes. They were green and brilliant, bright with unshed tears. "Please," she whispered, "Please let me see him." Something in her voice transfixed him- not just grieving for a lost loved one, but a desperate need for some- something. He couldn't place it, and neither could he ignore it. Jordan would kill me for this. So would Garret and everyone else in the damned place. Even as the thoughts ran through his mind, he placed an arm around the girl and led her to the table.
"It's not going to be pretty, you have to know that. The fellow was dying of cancer, but someone beat the cancer to it. The wound is clean, but-"
"Please," she interrupted, "I don't mean to be rude, but I already know what happened. Please just let me see him."
"Of course," Nigel muttered, "How stupid."
Without another word he pulled the sheet back down to reveal the man's face. Whatever reaction he expected from the young woman did not come. She was silent and motionless as a statue. At last she nodded and turned away. Nigel replaced the sheet.
He was at a loss for what to do next. He should call security and have the woman removed; this was breaking at least half a dozen laws. But he remained where he was, his eyes on her. Her shoulders were slender, her form exquisite. But it was her eyes that he could not forget, even when she faced away from him as she did now. Something in them called to him, saw him. He found himself wanting to lie her down in a bed of cool white silk, chasing the storms from her eyes beneath a dark moon. This is mad, Nigel . . . she's grieving and you're perving and you're both going to get in hot water if she stays here any longer.
"Why don't we go out and have some coffee miss . . . I can't promise to answer any questions, as the case is still open, but perhaps I can tell you more than the police."
She hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Coffee would be good. Thank you."