The Seventh Victim (Texas Rangers 1)

She brushed her bangs out of her face with the back of her hand. “Good art makes people think.”

Beck glanced at her fingertips darkened by chemicals. “What were you doing in the shed?”

“It’s my darkroom. I was developing the prints I took this morning.”

“You must have been pretty absorbed. You didn’t hear me call. Hell, the damn dog was about to bark its head off.”

“I get lost when I’m working. I never heard you, but I did hear Lincoln barking.”

Absently, he rested a hand on his hip. The butt of a gun peeked out from under his jacket. “Mind showing me those pictures?”

At this stage the work remained too raw to show. The idea that anyone, especially Beck, would scrutinize her work left her feeling vulnerable. “Come to my show on Friday. It will give you a good idea of what my work is about.”

His smile held no hint of humor or warmth. “I’m interested in the pictures you took at my crime scene. Today.”

My crime scene. He was a dog with a bone. “The work isn’t finished.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Show me.”

An order. Not a request. “Will you arrest me if I don’t?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

A promise. Not a threat. Demanding a search warrant would likely translate into a lot of lost time for her. “Sure. Follow me.”

She opened the shed’s screened door. Lincoln scrambled past Beck to be by her side. Beck fell in step behind them. His purposeful steps sounded annoyed and angry against the cobblestone path.

She pushed open the door to her darkroom.

The heavy smell of chemicals hung in the air. Above the developing table hung a clothesline where a half dozen prints hung.

“You painted the walls black,” he said.

“Better for the negatives.”

She clicked on the overhead light and moved toward the worktable where the prints dangled. The chemical scents grew more cloying the deeper she moved into the room. If she didn’t keep the A/C window unit running, the smell could leave her light-headed.

She gestured toward the pictures. “See? Just photographs.”

He pulled off his hat, leaned in, and with a narrowed gaze studied the prints. “They look old.”

This close, the restrained power in his body made her skin tingle. “I use a bellows camera. It’s well over a hundred years old.”

He kept his gaze on the photographs. “Why do murder scenes interest you so much?”

“Probably because I almost had my own personal murder scene.”

“Seven years ago.”

She shifted her stance. “You’re not the first person to tell me to get over it. I know I should be back to normal after all this time, but, well, I don’t think that I am.”

His intense gaze soaked up the images’ details. “Why’d you shoot at sunrise?”

“I don’t know. Normally I shoot at sunset.”

“The end of a day. The end of a life.”

“Yeah.”

“But you chose sunrise.”

The beginning of a day. The beginning of life. “Yeah.”

“Someone like you—a survivor—should go out of your way to avoid murder and violence. Someone like you should take color pictures of flowers and clouds. Kittens and puppies.”

A laugh startled from her. “You think? Those subjects don’t feel exactly real to me.”

As he straightened, his gaze settled on her. “It’s because you can’t remember your attacker.”

She cocked her head. “You think you’ve got me all figured out.”

“You’re not so complicated. You were attacked, nearly died, and you are using your camera to jog your memory.”

Annoyed, she brushed a stray hair out of her eyes. “Fill in the memory, and I’ll be all better?”

“You cannot cure a problem that you do not acknowledge, Ms. Church.”

She cocked a slim brow. “Is that my five-cent shrink evaluation?”

“Common sense, Ms. Church. Until you can put all the pieces together you aren’t going to feel whole.”

Silence, as heavy as death itself, settled before she broke it. “I don’t want your advice, Sergeant.”

“Stay away from my crime scenes, and I’ll keep my thoughts to myself.”

She wasn’t sure if she could stay away.

When she didn’t answer, he said, “Like it or not, you are involved in this case.”

“I’m not involved in this case. I am not.” The words rang hollow.

“When it comes to my case your opinion doesn’t mean much.” He flicked the edge of a dangling print with his finger. “I don’t want you close to any evidence.”

She shoved her hands in her pockets. “I never go near an active scene. I wait until the police are finished with the area.”

“Don’t care, ma’am. While you’re in my district you stay away from all murder scenes.”

“You can’t tell me where I can or cannot go.”

“I can when it comes to crime scenes.”

“So what are you gonna do, arrest me?”

“That’s about right, Ms. Church. That is about right.” He swapped the smile for a sneer. “And if you’d care to test me, and see if I am a man of my word, go right ahead.”

Resolve radiated from him, raw and intense, triggering a sudden shakiness that permeated her muscles. She attributed the unsteadiness to her early-morning wakeup call, an empty belly, and too much time in the darkroom. “Fine, I’ve been warned. If that’s all, you can leave now.”

&n

bsp; He took another step toward her. Close enough to bump, but not violate, her personal space. “Ms. Church, we have not seen the last of each other.”

“I bet you we have.”

Grinning, he replaced his hat. “I’ll take that bet.”

Chapter 9

Wednesday, May 22, 1 PM

Lara drove into Austin shortly after Beck left. She told herself she was not skittish or restless because of Beck. Her sudden lack of concentration and frayed, restless nerves were rooted in hunger. Not Beck. She just needed to eat and then she’d be fine.

She had no groceries in the house, and she hadn’t eaten a real meal in twenty-four hours. Lab wasn’t until four so she had time to treat herself to a hot meal at the River Diner near campus.

When she sat at the café’s corner table her stomach grumbled, and she was suddenly anxious to eat. As she glanced at the menu she noticed her nails remained chipped and stained from work. Cassidy had called her this morning and told her she’d scheduled an appointment for Friday morning.

Lara studied her chewed and chemically darkened fingernails. She used to care about makeup, manicured nails, and pretty clothes when she’d lived in Seattle. She’d been in fashion, and appearance mattered. Clothing stores, shoes, and accessories had driven her days. It had been her eye for structure and assembling quirky combinations that had won her the job with the Seattle-based fashion company Forward. She’d gone for an interview with the company’s marketing department, not sincerely believing she had a shot at the job. But the director had liked her mix of vintage and modern and suggested a second interview. A week before the holiday break she’d been offered a job to start after graduation. It was entry level and paid little, but it had been a first huge step toward the rest of her life.

Her life had all been blue skies in those days. Danger and death were reserved for movies and novels. She’d been such a different person then.

“What can I get you, Ms. Church?” Danni said.

Lara glanced up at her student. “Danni, I didn’t know you worked here.”

“Almost four months now.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be in school this morning?”