She almost seemed genuine. Deven had to remember this was the cop’s job. So, she nodded and reached for the paper towels to dry her face. “I’ll be okay,” she answered. No use entertaining anything other than professionalism. This woman was not her friend.

“I know this is hard for you,” Officer McKinney was saying. “I’ve lost a few very dear friends of mine in the line of duty.”

Did she really think that was comparable? Friends who chose their dangerous career path? People who knew the risks and repercussions? A badge was target practice, plain and simple. A death like this . . . well, Deven didn’t even know how to formulate the words for this one. But the officer’s sympathetic attempt failed to extinguish the tumor of misery festering in her stomach.

“I just don’t think that’s her,” Deven mumbled, almost to herself. Similar yes, but not her.

Officer McKinney paused, clearly trying to find the “right” words. “Denial is the first stage of grief . . .”

And there it was again. It was like everyone was reading from the same ‘things to say to someone who suffers a loss’ handbook. Had Deven also sounded this formulaic?

“No, you don’t understand.” She shook her head to clear the jumble of thoughts. “I know you all say that’s her, but I don’t think that’s my sister. At all. They look alike but . . .” It was so hard to explain. None of them knew Kennedy. They knew their records and data analyses and blood samples and crime scene reports. They didn’t know Kennedy’s most recent surgery was to permanently arch her eyebrows, or that her lips had a very distinct pout or that she would never be caught dead—literally—without her sew-in hair. Not to mention Kennedy was overseas and she most certainly didn’t do drugs. That woman in the picture, whoever she was, was not her sister.

“We found her wallet with her in the home,” Officer McKinney reasoned. “It had her driver’s license with her picture. She was found in the residence that is in her name and you did confirm was hers—”

“Yes, I know that but . . .” Deven blew out a breath. It just didn’t make sense.

Officer McKinney sighed. “The coroner is going to run some more tests, okay? Just so we can cross all t’s and dot all i’s.”

Deven felt the flood of relief. Good. Now everyone could stop with this nonsense.

“In the meantime,” Officer McKinney went on, her tone gentle. “I would advise you to start making those preparations.”

“Not until I hear the results of the tests.”

The officer nodded, though she was unable to hide the shadows of pessimism darkening her face. “I understand,” she said. “But I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”