The Brilliant Pathologist And Her Stoic Cop

Kylee stared at Justice's chest.

She didn't argue. She simply turned on her heel and walked away from the sofa, heading straight for the apartment door.

Justice cursed under his breath. He caught up to her in the hallway, his large hand wrapping firmly around her wrist.

"Kylee, stop," he said.

She yanked her arm back. Her eyes were like shards of ice. "No one in that building knows Dana's medical history better than I do. I know every baseline in her body."

"And if you do the autopsy, any defense lawyer will tear the report to shreds on the stand," Justice countered, his voice rising. "They will claim conflict of interest. They will throw out the evidence, and the bastard who did this will walk free."

The words hit Kylee's logic center like a hammer.

Her physical resistance stopped instantly.

She closed her eyes. She took one deep, controlled breath. When she opened her eyes again, the anger was gone, replaced by a terrifying, dead calm.

"Fine," Kylee said. "Transfer the body to Dr. Vance."

Justice let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He turned and waved down the hallway.

Detective Mickey Nowak, a young cop in a cheap suit, jogged over.

"Mickey, drive Dr. Mcdonald home," Justice ordered. "Make sure she stays there. Do not let her out of your sight tonight."

Kylee let out a short, humorless laugh. "This isn't protection, Justice. It's house arrest."

Justice didn't deny it. He just looked at her, his eyes heavy with warning, before turning back to the crime scene.

Kylee walked to the elevator. Mickey followed her like an anxious puppy.

They rode down and got into Mickey's beat-up Ford cruiser. The smell of stale fast food and cheap air freshener filled the cabin.

Mickey started the engine. The silence in the car was suffocating.

"Do you, uh, want to stop for some coffee?" Mickey asked, gripping the steering wheel tight.

Kylee didn't look at him. She stared out the passenger window at the blurring streetlights. "No."

Her brain was moving at a million miles an hour. She mapped out the timeline of Darius Cash and Dana's interactions in her head.

She turned her head, locking her piercing, analytical gaze onto Mickey. "Officer Nowak, if Darius Cash is the prime suspect, his financial footprint over the last week will be entirely digital. Pull up his peripheral banking flags on your terminal. Now."

Mickey glanced over, swallowing hard under the weight of her cold authority. "Doc, you know I shouldn't be running unauthorized queries on an active case..."

"I am not asking you to hack the mainframe, Mickey. I am instructing you to verify a suspect's digital heartbeat. If I am wrong, it takes two seconds. If I am right, you just saved the department a massive tactical error," Kylee stated, her voice devoid of any emotion, presenting pure, unadulterated logic.

Intimidated and outmatched, Mickey typed the query into his police dashboard.

He typed in Darius Cash's name.

The financial flags popped up. Darius owned a shell entertainment company. But what caught Kylee's eye was his personal spending.

For a billionaire who lived on his phone, Darius had zero credit card transactions in the last seven days. No food deliveries, no car services, no online purchases.

A tech mogul doesn't just stop using digital currency for a week.

"Take a screenshot of that financial dead zone," Kylee instructed softly, her eyes narrowing. "Send it directly to Justice's encrypted channel. Tell him to watch his six."

The Ford cruiser pulled up to the curb in front of Kylee's standalone house.

Mickey put the car in park and reached for his door handle.

Kylee unbuckled her seatbelt. She turned her head and locked eyes with Mickey.

"Stay in the car," she commanded, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Do not step one foot on my grass."

Mickey swallowed hard. He slowly pulled his hand away from the door handle and nodded.

Kylee got out. She walked up the concrete steps and unlocked her front door.

The house was pitch black.

She didn't turn on the lights. She walked straight to the kitchen island, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, and poured a heavy measure into a glass.

She drank it in one swallow. The alcohol burned its way down her throat, fracturing the perfect wall of calm she had built.

Her phone buzzed on the granite counter.

It was a text from Justice: Got it. Pinned his penthouse location. Moving in to breach.

Kylee gripped the edge of the counter. Her knuckles turned white. She walked to the front window, hiding in the shadows, and stared at the police cruiser parked outside.

She was waiting for the kill.