The Dollmaker(The Forgotten Files #2)(12)

“Good to know.” A subtle smile tipped the edge of her lips. “Come on down. I want to hear all about what you’ve been doing this last year.”

“Great.”

The elevator doors opened, and they both stepped inside. Dr. Kincaid pushed the basement floor button.

“Tell me about the work you did in Vietnam.”

“The directive of Project Identify is to find the remains of US servicemen. We spent most of our time working with our guide and the village elders, who were trying to remember back fifty years ago when an air force F-111 crashed. Once we narrowed our search, we confirmed the actual site with ground-penetrating radar. From there it became a struggle to clear the jungle and excavate twelve feet of earth to find the remains of the two crewmen.”

Dr. Kincaid arched a brow. “Twelve feet?”

“The jungle grows fast and doesn’t like people reclaiming what it’s taken.”

“I understand you were able to make an identification.”

She was proud they’d reunited the lost soldiers’ remains with their families. “You’re well informed.”

“It’s a project I also feel strongly about. And of course, I’ve asked around about you as well.” The doors opened, and they walked the tiled hallway to her corner office.

Dr. Kincaid’s space was small, but the walls were covered with a dozen degrees and awards. Along a credenza behind her desk hung pictures of the doctor with several governors, a couple of senators, and a tall man dressed in fatigues. Neatly stacked papers were piled on her desk beside a University of Texas mug filled with sharpened pencils.

“Tell me about Johns Hopkins,” Dr. Kincaid said.

Tessa detailed her rotations and her interests being pulled away from surgery toward pathology. She also spoke about her residency at Virginia Commonwealth University here in the city and her familiarity with the state system.

“I realized the dead have a story to tell,” Tessa said finally. “And I want to be their translator.”

Dr. Kincaid absently tapped her finger on the still-blank notepad. “Not everyone is comfortable with death.”

“It’s the end stage of life.” She briefly considered a joke about having issues with the living but caught herself. This was a job interview, not a social call.

“Many of our autopsies confirm natural causes of death, but we do get our share of violent deaths. Not always easy to see, especially when dealing with the young.”

“I worked part-time in the Baltimore area hospitals’ emergency rooms while at Hopkins. I’ve seen my share of traumatic death. And when I did my residency here in Richmond, I was exposed to quite a bit in the emergency room.”

Nodding, Dr. Kincaid sat back, regarding Tessa. “I understand the hospital here offered you a full-time job in the pathology department last year, but at the last minute you withdrew your name and opted to work abroad.”

Tessa smiled. “It was an incredible opportunity I couldn’t pass up.”

And it had been. But she’d put her name into the hat for the overseas assignment as a rash wake-up call to Dakota. Commit to the marriage, or I leave. When he’d called her bluff, she’d taken the job.

However, rethinking her answer now made it sound as if she thought the job with the state had not been a great opportunity, which it had been. She could explain about her marriage, but that was a rabbit hole she did not want to explore.

“After working in the jungle,” she hurried to say, “I think I can tackle anything you throw at me.”

Dr. Kincaid waited a beat, and then, “Let’s have a look around the place.”

“I’d like that.”

“Excellent.” Dr. Kincaid moved into the hallway at a fast pace and pushed open the swinging door to an autopsy suite.

The room was outfitted with a long stainless-steel sink and counter, instrument carts, and several empty gurneys. To the right was a bank of refrigerators. Dr. Kincaid gave her what she described as the ten-cent tour, stopping to show her the afternoon logbook of what they would be doing. “We have a stabbing case coming in as we speak. Eighteen-year-old. I’d ask you to stick around, but I can’t have anyone here who’s not on the payroll during official business.” She then said with a wry smile, “The investigating officer can scare the best of people away.”

“I don’t scare easily.”

“Then you haven’t met Agent Dakota Sharp.”

Her smile froze. “Dakota Sharp.”

Dr. Kincaid stood by an instrument table equipped with a tray of wrapped sterile instruments. “You know of him?”

What had she expected? Of course their paths would cross. “I know Dakota Sharp.”

A dark brow rose. “Really?”

She did her best to look calm, marveling how worlds always grew smaller at the worst times. “We’re married. Separated.”

Dr. Kincaid studied her a long moment. “Really?”

“I can assure you,” Tessa rushed to say, “that our relationship will not be an issue. We’re both professionals and dedicated to our jobs. I’m sure he’s still one of the best agents in the state.”

“He is that. And as long as you think you can work with him, I won’t worry about it. Do you have any other questions for me?”