The day was blisteringly hot and arid, as it had been for the past month and a half now since the droughts had first hit. The grass was brittle underfoot, more in need of a good trampling than a cutting, and the still air reeked of baked earth and roasted acacia, and a chalky dust storm kicked up as many feet shuffled along the parched trail. Such unbearable conditions kept the Golden Gate Highlands National Park near the quaint little town of Clarens, devoid of joggers, hillwalkers and other such recreation-seekers, which suited Detective Lieutenant Derrick Soya just fine, particularly since he was now looking at what appeared to be a murder.

He stood on the edge of a dried-up creek, arms trimly folded over his broad chest, and dark shades shielded his eyes from the setting sun. Even so, he could make out the determined stride of a rather intimidating female figure gliding between two hulking SUVs.

"A dress. You're wearing a dress," he said incredulously when the woman neared.

Dr. Liz Mathews was already snapping on a pair of blue Nitrile gloves when she reached him. She wore a simple, sleeveless pink dress that ended mid-thigh, a look that was—according to Derrick Soya¬—very un-Liz Mathews. The only thing that reminded the detective of the partner he habitually worked with was the chunky green bead necklace and oversized pendant that covered the bare skin of her collarbone.

"Why are you saying it like that?" Liz asked as she slipped a hair-band from her wrist and promptly pulled her long tendrils into a tight ponytail. This was a look with which Soya was much more familiar—and comfortable. Sexy Liz was, well, was just that, and it made him remember he was not just her partner, but a strong man standing alongside an attractive woman—dangerous feelings to have in his line of work, so he was glad that he had conversation to distract him.

"Like what?"

"Like you forgot I had legs."

Derrick threw his hands up in anticipation of the fight he felt brewing. "I'm not saying it like that."

"Well, you're staring." Liz put her gloved hand on his shoulder and pushed him aside.

"I am not staring. I'm just not used to seeing you rock up at a crime scene in anything other than work rammies and skirts so long a nun would approve." He steadied himself as she gave him the irritated frown that told him how unbearable he could be. "That is a pretty short dress for you, Liz."

She sighed. "You interrupted my date. I had to spend three long hours on the road. And what do you care how short my dress is?" She never gave him a chance to respond before she said, "Where's the body?"

"In the riverbank, right over there." Derrick directed her head straight downward so that she was looking at some yellowish-brown protrusions in the dry wall beneath her. They might have looked like roots at first glance, but the longer one stared, the clearer it became that something was awfully wrong about the sharp angles at which they jutted. It was evident at once to the archaeologist that they were metatarsals—foot bones.

Derrick continued, "Some hikers spotted the remains and called it in. They sent me in because they know you work with me, and this is a national park."

Liz was proud that she had come first in that statement. So, her little band of geeks was gathering notoriety in the ranks of law enforcement—how utterly satisfying.

Putting all that aside, it was time to get down to business. Her cool, brown eyes scouted the desert-like scene. "Where's the rest of it? I only see the right foot and some of the phalanges of the left."

"Probably still buried down there."

While she carefully circled the suspected scene, Derrick continued the conversation as casually as possible. "You were on a date, huh?"

"Richard and I were just sitting down to dinner when you called."

"You're still seeing Richard, and you're dressed like that." It wasn't a question but a statement heavily laced with disbelief.

Liz placed her hands on her hips and zeroed in on his taut expression. "You disapprove of my look. You know, it's my experience, when observing the male species, that the shorter the dress, the more they like it."

"Well, not all members of the male species prefer simple sex to a meaningful relationship."

"Are you implying that I'm dressed like I'm out for a 'booby call'?"

"Okay, first of all, it's 'booty call,' and second of all, you look beautiful." Liz blinked and dropped one hand from her hip; she had not expected such a reply. However, Derrick continued, "What I'm saying is that Dick911 might misinterpret this change in appearance as you wanting more. He doesn't know you as well as I do, and he might not take this look as you just wanting to impress him, and instead he'll take advantage of you."

"I really wish you'd stop calling him that. And what if I do want more? I'm a grown woman, Derrick, and I can handle myself, and in case you've forgotten, I'm well versed in several disciplines of—"

"All right. Can we just drop it? I'm sorry I said anything."

"So am I," Liz said as she removed her shoes and set them at the base of a nearby tree. She climbed down into the waterless creek and onto a short ladder that helped her better access the precarious position of the remains. She began gently removing the flaky earth surrounding the bones with her fingertips. It was sluggish work, but she did not want to risk disturbing the rest of the remains, as she wasn't sure exactly how they rested beneath the blanket of sward and soil.

"The left distal fibula is broken," she called up to Derrick. "No, wait, not broken, shattered. The splintering here suggests a blow to the ankle, probably by something compact but wielded with great force, like a hammer or a rock, because the talus is also cracked. Must have been awfully painful. I can't imagine this person running very far."

Unbidden images flooded the archaeologist's brain, bright swatches of light and shadow, a silhouette scrambling sidelong across the park at night-time, dragging a mangled foot through the damp prairie. Liz blinked in an attempt to drive the thoughts away, but the silhouette lingered, limping, whimpering and terrified, one arm reaching out for her help.

As she delicately uncovered more remains, Liz began to get a feel for this person. She couldn't fight the overwhelming urge within her to know who they were, to reveal an uncompromising truth as only human remains could tell. She wasn't sure why she felt so connected—she tried never to be personally attached to a case, but there was something about this ankle, the cruelty in the spider-webbing of the bone…

She cleared her throat. "We'll have to get these remains back to the lab to be sure of gender, but I'd tentatively say female due to the size and construction of the foot bones. Also, stress on the heel bone suggests repeated use of high heels."

"You're thinking foul play?" her partner enquired.

"I'm not thinking anything yet. It's too early to say anything definitively. But the fractured fibula suggests that this person had an enemy, someone who had a grudge. This break was most definitely not an accident."

Derrick hunkered down at the edge of the creek, his head hanging over hers like an umbrella. She couldn't see his eyes, but she could feel his gaze—it was almost as hot as the sun on her back. "You know, I can't believe you bought all that stuff about his friend who found his wife online."

"Are we still talking about the remains? Because I told you it appears the victim is female." she asked with a confused tilt of her head.

"No, Liz, I'm talking about that… guy you're seeing."

"Richard. His name's Richard."

"Yes, Richard. I'd bet that was all a line."

"What was a line?" Derrick lifted his glasses and gave her a penetrating look. She decided it was best to stop toying with him, even though the look of frustration that flickered across his face was awfully rewarding. "Oh, you mean about his friends? Jeffrey and Anita, I met them. Good people. Their personalities appear very well matched."

This seemed to faze Derrick momentarily, but he dropped his sunglasses back onto their preferred resting place and composed himself. "You've met them, of course." He paused to shake his head as if to clear it. "Okay, but are they in love?"

Unceasingly, Liz continued working on the exhumation, but her answer came out as perfectly practiced as her skilled hands dusting the remains. "Love is a form of attachment that develops from meetings of similar interests and personality traits. So, yes, Derrick, I'd say they are very much in love."

"No, Liz, that's a cold description, as lifeless as these carcasses you cling to." She felt the tickle of an innuendo but denied herself the urge to explore it. "Love is erratic, unpredictable. It overwhelms you, consumes you, breathes life into you; it changes who you are."

She did not look up at him; she looked only at the remains and said evenly, "I guess we'll just have to agree to disagree."

"I'll bet Dick911 would agree with me."