Chosen To Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

Her eyes narrowed. “Not always.” She noticed that he didn’t so much as flinch. “I checked. You were with the military. Army Ranger. Right?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “And Army Intelligence?”

Not a flicker.

“I’m serious, Santana. Stay out of this. Impeding an investigation, getting into trouble with the law, it’s not worth it.”

His gaze narrowed just a bit. “But she is,” he said tersely as he climbed to his feet. He didn’t so much as smile, just added, “Let’s go, Nakita.” With a whistle to his dog, a husky that had settled in under the chair he’d taken, he strode away. Alvarez watched him go. He was sexy all right and had that I-don’tgive-a-damn attitude some women found fascinating down pat. But he did give a damn.

About Regan.

“Pescoli’s main squeeze?”

She turned and found Sage Zoller, an elfin-looking junior detective who was just a few years younger than Alvarez, standing at the opening of her cubicle. Tiny but tough, Zoller ran marathons and mentored at-risk teens.

“Main Squeeze?” Alvarez repeated.

“I know. Archaic, huh? It’s what my parents call

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each other.” She was watching Santana as he strode around the corner. “Jesus, there’s something about a rugged, good-looking guy with a big dog.”

“Oh, give it up.” Alvarez was not in the mood.

“Yeah . . . good idea. Besides, we’ve got other fish to fry. Another car’s been spotted.”

“Another car, other than Pescoli’s Jeep?” Suddenly Zoller had all of Alvarez’s attention.

“Just this morning. Van Droz caught the call. It’s nose-down in Boxer Creek not far from Keegan’s Corner . . .”

Which was also known by the locals as Dead Man’s Curve.

“A red Saturn. Montana plates. Visible enough to determine that the car is registered to Elyssa O’Leary.”

Alvarez’s stomach nosedived. The name rang a bell. “She’s one of the women who’s been reported missing.” She returned to her cubic

le and sat at her desk. With a few quick keystrokes, she pulled up the file, including a driver’s license and pictures of Elyssa Katherine O’Leary. Brown hair, brown eyes. Freckles. Twenty-six. Nursing student. Only child of Marlene and Brian O’Leary. Alvarez swallowed, thinking that the girl, even now, could be lashed to a tree somewhere in the rugged Montana wilderness, dragging cold air into her already-freezing lungs. “We have to find her.”

“And Pescoli.”

“Christ, yes!” she snapped. “Have you pinpointed this? Put it on the map?”

“Not yet.”

“Let’s go.” With Alvarez leading the way, they cut through several banks of cubicles to the task force room where pictures of the crime scenes and vic-126 Lisa Jackson

tims were posted on one wall. Nearby an enlarged map of the area had been hung and pushpins indicated the crime scenes, not only where the mangled cars had been located, but also the position of the areas where the victims had been found.

“Do you have the exact location of O’Leary’s vehicle?” Alvarez asked, stepping around a large table in the center of the room where the task force met. The chairs now were empty, pushed tight against the table by the cleaning crew. Nearby, a phone with a desk was stationed in one corner, an officer doing paperwork manning it. He looked up as they walked in, then turned back to his reports. All of the calls that came in with tips for the task force were routed here where Zoller, or whoever else was assigned the duty, answered the phones and coordinated the messages with the detectives and FBI agents. So far, in the past few months, ever since the first victim, Theresa Charleton, had been found lashed to a hemlock tree in the wilderness, the department had logged over a thousand calls.

None of the tips had panned out.

“The Saturn was discovered”—Zoller looked at the note in her hand for confirmation—“uh, exactly 4.6 miles from the corner of Henrici and Durango.”

Alvarez located the position, right at the sharp corner, and pushed another pin in place. “If the killer’s M.O. remains the same, we should find her in a two-mile radius from the car . . .” She ran a finger around the area of rugged canyons and hills, forests, and stone outcroppings. “Let’s get the choppers to take a look-see, get some pictures. I think they’re already in the air for Pescoli, right?”

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