“If I’m going to be expected to work twenty-four hours straight, I need food. Real food. Not sprouts and weeds and that crap you consider food.”

He needed a hit of grease to restore his equilibrium. Since she needed him performing at top capacity, she decided to indulge him. “I’ll feed you after we hit the morgue.”

“That ought to do wonders for my appetite.”

In the morgue, they found Lindsey working on Willie’s autopsy, assisted by her deputy, Dr. Byron Tomlinson.

“Give me something, give me anything,” Sam said as she strolled into the examination room with Cruz in tow. He took one glance at the Y-shaped cut in Willie’s chest and looked away.

“So far all I can tell you is we’re looking at a single stab wound to the chest that severed his aorta,” Lindsey said.

“Look at the angle.” Byron pointed to the wound. “Judging by the angle of entry, my guess is the perp is a lefty.”

“Could they have come at him from behind?” Sam asked.

“Not likely,” Lindsey said. “I’m thinking it was a seven-to-nine-inch blade. They wouldn’t have been able to get the angle needed to reach the aorta from behind. I’m leaning toward a front-facing attack, a one-shot deal that took him out very quickly.”

“And it would’ve made a big mess,” Byron added. “The aorta blowing would’ve been like a geyser when the knife was pulled from his chest.”

“Let’s hope CSU gets us a murder weapon.” Sam reached for her phone to place a call to the patrol lieutenant, then cursed under her breath when she got his voice mail.

“That would help,” Lindsey agreed. “We’re running toxicology and other labs now. We’ll let you know if we get any hits.”

“Thanks, Doc. We’re on the street, so hit my cell.”

“I thought you were grounded,” Lindsey said.

“Not anymore.”

Chuckling and shaking her head, Lindsey gave her a thumbs-up. “I don’t know how you do it, Holland.”

“Charm, Doc. It’s all charm.”

Cruz snorted loudly as he followed her from the morgue, earning him a glare. “Something wrong with your nose?”

“Nothing a little sleep wouldn’t fix.”

“Don’t act like you’d sleep if I sent you home.” He and his girlfriend Elin spent half their lives screwing like bunnies, or so it seemed as he showed up sleepy and dopey-looking to every crime scene, no matter what time of day or night.

“I’d sleep.” He gave her the slow, lazy grin that drove the girls crazy—other girls, of course. Not her. “After.”

“Ewww. Spare me the details and drive me to Georgetown.”

“What’s in Georgetown?”

“Willie’s condo.”

“You promised there’d be food.”

“And there will be. Soon. We have to notify the family, and I can’t do that on a full stomach.”

“Right. Me either.”