The blonde was right behind them, heels tapping, mouth bitching every step of the way. She wouldn’t last a week in Labrador’s bug-infested country. He glanced down at her high-heeled open-toed sandals. Make that five days. He let go of the Doc’s arm and shoved her rucksack into the outer compartment of the blue-and-red Bell 206B. Blood and death. His gut cramped. Jesus, he thought he’d left all that behind years ago. “What’s going on?” Vikki swatted a mosquito that had landed on the exposed skin of her arm. “There was a dead woman in the restroom.” The Doc sobbed and covered her mouth with her hand. “Murdered.” She swallowed repeatedly, looking as if she was going to hurl. Great. “Are you kidding me?” Vikki gasped. Yeah. Big fucking joke. Her eyes were wide with curiosity. “How do you know she was murdered?” “From the extra smile on her face,” he cut in. “Get in the machine.” He loaded the suitcase into the backseat. He’d already packed as much of their equipment as the helicopter could carry before he’d gone to the bar to fetch them.
