Body of Evidence

By Debra Webb

He’ll do anything to protect this doctor’s life in a novel of killer passion and suspense from “a master storyteller” (Allison Brennan, New York Times–bestselling author).

ER doctor Marissa Frasier needs the best protection after she’s wrongly suspected of her ex-husband’s murder. And rugged Colby Agency investigator Lacon Traynor is keeping her close 24/7, helping her find the truth—and uncovering her most vulnerable passion. But someone else wants Marissa for his own . . . and is about to use their desire as one killer trap.

“I absolutely love Debra Webb’s writing, the stories have such effortlessly smooth flow that makes them impossible to put down. The tension sneaks up on you and keeps you on the edge, and while the protagonists have depth and likable personalities the villains are eerily frightening and sinister.” —Books & Spoons

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Integrated Media
• Release date: Jul 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781488033377

Debra Webb

DEBRA WEBB is the award winning, USA Today bestselling author of more than 170 novels, including reader favorites the Finley O'Sullivan series, the Colby Agency, and the Lookout Mountain Mystery series. With more than four million books sold in numerous languages and countries, Debra's love of storytelling goes back to her childhood on a farm in Alabama. Visit Debra at www.DebraWebb.com.

Book preview

Chapter One

The Edge Emergency Department, Chicago

Thursday, June 28, 9:30 p.m.

Dr. Marissa Frasier ruffled the hair of her six-year-old patient, Jeremiah Owens. You were very brave, Jeremiah.

The little boy had arrived at the ER two hours ago with a greenstick fracture to the radius about three inches above his left wrist. After an examination and then X-rays to confirm, he had stoically watched as Dr. Pete Myers, the ortho on call, applied the cast for keeping the arm stable. Jeremiah had chosen royal blue for his cast. Though there had been no serious shift in the bones as a result of the fracture, they wanted it to stay that way, and children couldn’t always be counted on to follow instructions or to keep on a splint. A cast was typically the better route to go with younger patients.

The child’s lips had quivered and his eyes had grown bright during the procedure, but Mom was the only one who cried. The poor woman had apologized profusely. Her sweet son had repeatedly told her that he was okay and that it didn’t really hurt. Being a parent was difficult at times, and this had been one of those times.

Dr. Myers had quickly moved on to an elderly patient who’d arrived with a fracture to the upper quarter of the femur. Never a good thing, but particularly problematic in older patients. Apparently tonight’s theme was broken bones. They’d had three others this evening. Marissa was reasonably confident that was a record for a Thursday night.

Thank you, Doctor, Mrs. Owens said, her tears all but dry now. He was a very brave boy. She kissed the top of her child’s head.

Marissa smiled. Perhaps when Nurse Bowman has gone over the dismissal instructions, a reward is in order for your outstanding bravery, Jeremiah.

I think that’s a very good idea. His mother patted him gently on the back. A reward would be very nice, don’t you think, Jeremiah?

He nodded eagerly, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Nurse Bowman will let you pick something from our special treasure chest. Marissa gave Eva a nod as she walked to the door. Have a safe drive home.

This time Jeremiah actually flashed her a real smile. She couldn’t decide whether he was happier about the treasure chest or going home.

The ER had been buzzing for the past several hours. A couple had misjudged the time it would take to reach their preferred hospital and ended up having to stop at the Edge for their little girl’s entrance into the world. A two-car accident with five victims; a bicycle crash involving two teenagers who suffered broken bones, nasty lacerations and no shortage of bruises; and two concertgoers who’d taken tumbles while crowd surfing had shown up with fractures similar to Jeremiah’s. There was also a knife fight between two thugs in a drug deal gone wrong. Both victims had arrived in the backs of police cruisers.

And yet another little boy, Timmy, who arrived with a scary-looking laceration to the upper arm, caused by a bad idea. The boy had decided he wanted to practice knife throwing the way a character in some movie he’d watched recently had done. Amazingly he had actually hit the tree with the knife he’d sneaked from his mother’s kitchen. The trouble had occurred when he braced his left arm against the tree and attempted to dislodge the knife with his right, slicing across his left arm only a couple of inches above the elbow. He was a very lucky little boy. A little deeper, and he might not have arrived at the ER in time. The brachial artery was closest to the surface near the elbow. Marissa was very thankful the injury was not so deep and had missed the artery.

At the double doors that led back into the lobby, Jeremiah slipped free from his mother’s hand and raced back to where Marissa stood near the nurses’ station and gave her a hug. She crouched down and hugged him back. Her heart reacted. She had so wanted children of her own.

Not meant to be. At least not so far, and with no prospects of a boyfriend, much less a husband, the outlook was rather dim.

When the child skipped back to where his mother waited at the open door, Marissa waved goodbye. As the doors closed, she turned back to the chart she was reviewing.

Dr. Frasier.

Marissa paused and looked up at the registration specialist, Patsy Tanner, who’d called her name. Yes, Patsy?

There’s a man in the lobby who says he needs to see you. She shrugged. I told him you were with a patient but he just keeps pacing the room. He asks for you every five or so minutes. Her expression turned uncertain. He looks very upset.

A frown furrowing its way across her weary forehead, Marissa dredged up a smile. Thank you, Patsy. I’ll take care of it.

Sometimes a father or husband or even boyfriend of a patient would grow agitated and demand to speak with the doctor who had cared for his loved one. Since Marissa hadn’t lost any patients or even attended to any patients with a dire prognosis this evening, she couldn’t imagine the trouble would be too serious. Perhaps one of the two who’d been carried off to jail after their knife battle had a disgruntled friend. She sent a quick text to Security and asked that they keep an eye on the situation as she spoke with the man pacing the lobby.

The moment Marissa stepped beyond the double doors that stood between those waiting for care and the emergency department, she knew it wasn’t going to be so easy.

Even before the man turned around, she recognized him. The rigid set of his broad shoulders. The silky dark brown hair that brushed his collar. He wore jeans and a shirt, not the khakis and a polo he’d preferred before their lives had fallen apart. William Bauer turned around as if he sensed her presence, despite the fact that eight or nine other people were scattered around the room, speaking softly or searching their social media feeds on their phones.

It had been that way between them in the beginning. Even a few hours apart had felt like an eternity. They had sensed each other across a crowded room, their hearts seeming to beat harder and harder until they touched.

Marissa’s ex-husband strode toward her, his gaze narrowing, homing in on her. The anger twisting his lips—the lips she had kissed so many times—warned this would not be a pleasant visit by any definition of the word. Unfortunately, this was not his first unannounced appearance, and she feared it would not be his last.

When he stalled toe-to-toe with her, his six-foot-two form looming over her five-foot-six one, she asked, Why are you here, William?

You changed your cell number. I had no choice.

Thankfully he kept his voice down, but there was no mistaking the fury in his tone.

Marissa glanced around the room. Why don’t we step outside where we’ll have some privacy?

The subtle shift in his posture told her he liked the idea of privacy. Uneasiness pricked her, but security was nearby. Her ex-husband stepped back, allowing her to go ahead of him. She moved toward the exit, keeping her step steady and her smile pleasant. No need to let anyone see the worry and the dread pulsing beneath her skin.

She and William had been married for five years. The first year had felt happy, or at least as happy as any two people with newly minted medical degrees diving into their residencies could feel. More often than not they were either flying high with adrenaline or utterly drained from exhaustion. They had married at the courthouse the day after they finished medical school. Miracle of miracles, the NRMP, National Resident Matching Program, had matched them both to hospitals in the Chicago area. A whirlwind trip to the city had ended with them leasing the cheapest apartment they could find, and they’d been completely thrilled that it had a reasonably large shower, a bedroom and was near both their hospitals.

Then, slowly but surely, everything had changed.

Marissa had done exceedingly well. She’d garnered praise and numerous opportunities for her hard work. William, on the other hand, had floundered. He couldn’t seem to keep up. His work was subpar. He didn’t get along with anyone. He’d barely survived his residency. By the end of the second year, they had argued every minute they were together, which wasn’t nearly enough to sustain a relationship.

A little less than two years ago, he had been asked to leave the practice he’d joined after residency. It was either he leave voluntarily, or legal steps would be taken to remove him. The senior doctor in the practice was a mutual friend. Though Marissa and William had already been divorced for a couple of months by then, he’d called to explain that he had grave concerns about William’s mental health.

Sadly, he hadn’t been telling Marissa anything new. The breakdown in their marriage had mirrored the disintegration of his mental health. Twenty-three months and two weeks ago, he’d finally snapped and he’d turned physical. Marissa had ended up with a concussion and a fractured arm much like little Jeremiah’s. At her ex-husband’s trial, the judge had been particularly peeved by the fact that William was a doctor, and subsequently sentenced him to a year for felony domestic violence. He’d been released six months ago.

The first thing he’d done was come to Marissa and apologize for his behavior. Since that time he’d been volunteering in the community and appeared to be working hard to redeem himself. Marissa had no idea how he was earning any sort of income. He’d exhausted the meager savings they had managed prior to the divorce with his need to prove his status with a new car every year. Unfortunately, his salary as a general practitioner was not that of a cardiothoracic surgeon, as he appeared to want the world to believe.

However much he wanted to act as if he had learned his lesson, Marissa knew better. He was still drinking. Before and, foolishly, even after the divorce, she had tried to help him, but she’d soon recognized that she could not help a man unwilling to help himself. No matter that they had been officially divorced for eighteen months and twenty-two days, he never left her alone for long.

In part, she blamed herself. If she’d made a clean break after he attacked her physically rather than attempting to help him, things might have been different. Now, no matter how many times she told him to back off, he always found a way to insert himself into her life. He discovered something among his things that belonged to her. A letter addressed to her had come to his apartment. A relative was ill and he thought she might want to know. When he’d run out of legitimate excuses, he’d started showing up simply to argue about how she had ruined his life.

She suspected this evening’s visit was the latter, though he had never showed up at her ER before. Too many potential witnesses.

Once they were a few yards from the ER entrance but still within sight of the security guard who monitored that entrance, William lit into her.

Why would you change your phone number? You’ve had the same number since we moved to Chicago.

He stood very close to her, his face so near she could feel his breath on her cheek, could smell the liquor when he spoke. William was a handsome man still. Classic square jaw, straight nose, nice lips, assessing brown eyes. But once things started to fall apart, his eyes were always bloodshot from the sheer volume of alcohol he consumed daily. The final year of their marriage, he would come home from work and drink until he passed out in his chair or on the sofa or wherever he happened to be when the saturation point of alcohol in his blood took control. It was as if he couldn’t bear his life, so he attempted to wash away each day’s memories with booze. Every month or so he would promise to join Alcoholics Anonymous. He even went once.

So ironic. He’d been the best all through high school. Best GPA. Best player on the football team. Best all-around student. Class president. College had been much the same. Even in medical school, he had been the golden boy among the professors and his peers. Never had to work very hard to achieve his class ranking.

Whether it all merely caught up with him in the end or he just couldn’t keep up the pace any longer, he plummeted. From all reports, once he went into practice he was a satisfactory doctor. There had never been any complaints from patients. Certainly no malpractice suits. It was his colleagues who couldn’t tolerate his bullying and bad behavior.

And his wife. For a while, Marissa had taken his mental abuse and, ultimately, his first and only departure into physical abuse. But that mistake would never be repeated. She refused to be a victim like that ever again. Granted, he had been drunk out of his mind at the time, but she would not allow him to use his drinking as an excuse. He had hurt her and that was that.

I changed my number because I would like you to stop calling me. She kept her gaze steady on his. It was important that he understand her decision was not up for discussion. She knew this man intimately. At the moment he appeared reasonably sober, and she wanted him to see and to hear that she meant business. The life they had once shared was over. They were not friends, and they never would be.

You’ve finally found someone else, haven’t you? Rage blazed in his dark eyes.

An alarm she knew better than to ignore triggered. There was something about his eyes, his tone that seemed different tonight—colder, harder. This is not about anyone else, William. This is about you. She kept her voice steady, her tone firm. A year of counseling had helped her to overcome feelings of guilt about the breakdown of their marriage and to stand up for herself, even against the man she had once loved and with whom she had expected to spend the rest of her life. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to my patients.

Is that another kick in the teeth? he growled. I don’t have a career anymore. No patients. No nothing.

She braced herself and summoned her waning courage. You don’t have a career anymore because you drink too much. You need help, William. I can’t help you. Until you commit to changing your life, this is how it will be. She backed away a step. You should go back to AA and seek private counseling.

He grabbed her arm, his fingers clutching like a vise. A wave of panic flooded her.

Don’t tell me what to do, he warned. If you had been a better wife, maybe I wouldn’t have needed to drink. You could have helped me, but you chose to throw me—our life—away.

It was the same exchange every time. When he grew angry, he always blamed someone else for his mistakes. Goodbye, William. She yanked her arm from his grasp and turned away.

One day he would surely come to terms with the reality that he made his own choices, and he executed those choices.

Issy.

She hesitated. Shouldn’t have. Damn it.

Look at me. Please.

How was it that she could still feel sympathy for this man? He had made her life miserable for four years before the divorce. He’d done his damnedest to do the same thing the past six months since his release from prison, but she had managed to handle it better. It was always easier to deal with issues from a distance. And though he insinuated himself into her present every chance he got, they did not share a home...they did not share a bed. He was no longer her responsibility, legally or morally.

She took a deep breath. Turned to face him. First, she said, if you ever touch me again, I will take out a restraining order, and then you’ll have yet another black mark on your record. Now, what is it you want to say?

He stared at her for a long moment. Even from several feet away, she could feel the sheer hatred emanating from him. The bright exterior lighting allowed her to see the desperation in his eyes. She shook her head and started to turn away but his lips parted and, once more, she hesitated.