Rutherford slid a manicured hand into the pocket of his perfectly creased dress pants. Who dressed up for a crime scene at midnight? “I’ve studied your old case files on Henry Wayne Lassiter. His MO was unique. This crime scene is different.”

Angus swallowed. “Where’s the note?” The psychopath had always left him a note.

“No note,” Fields said as the local techs moved around efficiently.

“Look again,” Angus said evenly, his gut aching so bad he wanted to bend over and puke.

Rutherford planted a broad hand on his shoulder. His law school class ring dug into Angus’s skin through his T-shirt. “Please leave before I have you escorted away.”

Wolfe shoved Rutherford’s hand off before Angus could grab it and break a finger or two.

Angus probably owed Wolfe for that. “There are two options here. Either you get the hell out of our way so we can examine the scene, or we get in a fight, beat the shit out of the two of you, and then we go and examine the scene.” His voice had lowered to a hoarse threat. Once the FBI showed up, he was definitely going to be thrown out of the alley. His exit from the agency hadn’t been cordial.

Wolfe tensed next to him, while West drew up abreast, his shoulders back.

They were ready to fight with him if necessary. Angus would reflect on how much that warmed him later. His team was good. Better than good.

Rutherford smiled, no doubt wanting payback for when Raider, another team member, had broken his nose a few months ago. “I’m ready. You hit one of us, just breathe wrong on us, and I’ll plant your ass in a jail cell. You’re done, Force.”

West cleared his throat, his green eyes piercing through the dark. “If you’re so sure Lassiter didn’t do this, give us a minute with the scene. Force will know the truth.”

Rutherford began to shake his head.

“Okay,” Fields said, stepping aside. He shrugged at his younger partner. “Why not? Lassiter is dead, right?”

“Right,” Rutherford gritted, his gaze promising retribution.

The stench of puke, garbage, and worse filled Angus’s nostrils as he stepped past the agents to venture deeper into the alley. “Lassiter kidnapped women and tortured them for days. We’ll need an autopsy on this one, but we probably won’t know much about her heart.”

“Why not?” West stopped short as the body came into view.

“That’s why,” Angus said, consciously switching from feeling human to something else. Something that would allow him to analyze the crime and not lose his soul any more than he already had.

West’s breath caught. “Oh.”