The Seventh Victim (Texas Rangers 1)

It had taken Lara six years to get up the nerve to return to Seattle and shoot. She’d started trembling the instant she’d crossed into Washington state. At the scene, she’d sat in her car for almost an hour, before she’d found the courage to get out and set up her equipment.

Her hands had quaked so badly, the collodion hadn’t entirely reached the edges of glass so the negative had had an uneven edge that instead of detracting had enhanced the dark, moody quality.

She’d glared at the scene countless times before the show opened, willing it to talk to her. Who did this to me? Who? But it had remained as stubbornly silent as her mind.

“Isn’t this the one you said was the jewel and you priced it the highest?” Lara said.

Cassidy managed a smile. “I know when a piece is going to sell for a good price.”

As she imagined the piece she could feel the cool Seattle breeze thick with rain. The ground had been wet that day and her feet had been soaked by the time she’d crawled back in the truck.

“Who bought the piece?”

“A Mr. D. Smith of San Antonio. And he paid full asking price. Which means,” she added in a singsong voice, “you can get a new truck.”

Lara barely heard what Cassidy said. “Did he come to the show?”

“I didn’t ask. He purchased the image online.”

“Did he read the article about me?”

“Didn’t ask. When someone is offering to buy it’s best just to say thank you.”

Tension inched up her spine. “I don’t feel so good about selling this one.”

“What do you mean? It is the most expensive image in the collection.”

“It just feels odd selling it now. The article. The murders. It feels like I’m profiting from another death.”

She’d never expected to feel this way. The images had begun as a form of therapy for her. She wanted to see through photography what her naked eye did not.

But she’d come no closer to understanding violence.

“I don’t want to sell it.”

Cassidy blinked, her tone annoyed. “It is not about what you want anymore, Lara. It’s a done deal. I processed his credit card and shipped the image. It’s gone.”

Sickness twisted her belly. “That soon?”

“He was willing to pay extra to take possession of the photo before the show closes next week. And considering your battered truck and my upcoming mortgage payment, I agreed. The money has been spent. We can’t go back.”

“It doesn’t feel right.”

“This is just one of those artist moments. You all get attached to a work of art and when the sale goes through you have a moment of panic. Like surrendering a child.”

It wasn’t that at all. She was happy to let the other pictures go. But not this one and not to a man who might be a killer. “I almost didn’t include the piece,” she said more to herself.

“I’m glad you did.”

“I’m not.”

He was glad to see the latest killing had finally made the paper. He’d started to think the cops would try to hide his work from the public. He wanted Lara to worry and fear. He wanted her to admire his cunning and intelligence.

Poor little Blair Silver. She’d been so full of fire and spit, like she was better than him, when in fact she was nothing more than his little plaything.

He’d kept the police guessing for almost seven years. Who was the Strangler? Why did he choose his victims? Why go dark? Why return?

Before he was finished the police would look like fools, and Lara would be a terrified mess. He would crush her hoity independence and she would never make him feel ignored again.

He glanced at the article in Sunday’s paper, traced the line of her jaw in her photo image, and looked at his most recent purchase—her gallery photo.

He took pride in knowing that his actions then and now had totally shaped the course of her life. She might claim independence, but her life had been completely controlled and manipulated by him.

After he’d chosen not to kill her, he had been furious with himself. Why hadn’t he killed her? He had been tempted to go after her in the hospital, but he held back, telling himself it was better to let her live in fear. Soon he’d have a second chance with her.

He held up a necklace that had belonged to Lou Ellen Fisk. The waitress/student had told him proudly she was going places. She wanted out of Texas and wanted to see the world. He’d listened quietly. Later that night, when she’d been driving home, he’d been waiting for her at her house. When he’d pinned her to the ground that first time, the shock in her gaze had been priceless. And when he’d wrapped his hands around her neck and started to squeeze, he’d imagined Lara, and had felt a sweet rush he’d not known for a long time.

Lou Ellen. Gretchen. Blair. Seeking his satisfaction with others had its own reward, but soon the games would end.

And it would be Lara’s turn.

Chapter 16

Wednesday, May 30, 11 AM

Danni’s head pounded when she showed up for her shift at the café. Her eyes felt gritty and dry, and her muscles ached. She needed sleep but found it had been damn near impossible to nap for more than minutes at a time in her mother and stepfather’s house. Her stepfather, a.k.a. Mr. Creepy, had been wandering the halls last night. He’d tried her bedroom door several times, but found it locked. As she’d sat in bed and watched the handle jiggle, she’d gotten up and pushed her dresser in front of the door. Mr. Creepy had laughed.

She now glanced at her reflection in the stainless door of the refrigerator and grimaced at the dark smudges under her eyes. Her blond hair looked like a bird’s nest and her cheeks sallow.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Mack joked.

She glared at him. “Very funny.”

He grinned as he set a stack of dishes on the wash station. “Too much partying?”

“Too much studying. Exams coming.”

Shoving her purse in her locker, she grabbed her apron.

He laughed. “Studying? Is that what they call it these days?”

“No. Really. Studying. Got to make the grade if I hope to win the scholarship.”

He shook his head. “You, a scholarship?”

“Yeah, I’m going places.”

His grin faded. “What’s so wrong with here?”

She rolled her eyes. “Everything.”

His lips flattening into a grim line, he carefully and deliberately wiped his hands on his apron. “So what are you gonna study in college?”

“Whatever gets me out of Texas.”

He sniffed. “Texas ain’t so bad. It’s been good to me.”

She didn’t answer, not trusting her surly mood. Mack loved Texas, his old football days, and anything to do with the past. “Yeah.”

Feeling his glare on her, she stepped out onto the restaurant floor one minute late. The next half hour was a buzz of people, food orders, and dishes. All the while her head pounded in the back of her skull, making her wish she’d taken five aspirins instead of two.

When she spotted Mike Raines the strain in her back eased a fraction. He had quickly established himself as a welcome regular. Not only did he tip well, but also he was nice, always wishing her a good day on the way out. Too bad they didn’t make more guys like Mike.

Coffeepot in hand she moved up to his table, her smile now genuine and not forced. “So can I get you the regular?”

He glanced up from his paper over readers. His gaze skimmed over her and he frowned. “What happened to you?”

Danni shrugged her stiff shoulders. “What do you mean?”

He set down his paper and removed his glasses. “You look like you’ve been hit by a truck. You sick?”

“Not sick, just need a good night’s sleep.”

Lines furrowed his brow. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”

His voice carried a paternal hint that made her yearn for better. “That’s kind of personal, don’t you think?”

“I like you. I?

??m concerned. So why aren’t you sleeping?”

Danni shrugged, trying to make light of a situation that grew more serious daily. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“I disagree.” He leaned toward her. “What gives, Danni?”

“Look,” she said, dropping her voice a notch. “It’s not that big a deal. I was just up late studying.” Which had been true for part of the night.

Behind the intensity radiated genuine concern. “Spill it.”

Her guidance counselor had been asking the same question for weeks, but now she wanted to answer. “My stepfather is a douche. But he’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Is he hurting you?” All the lightness evaporated and what remained distilled to menace.

Her fears and worries rushed to the front of her mind and begged to be told. And then she caught herself. “No, nothing like that. He’s just being an ass.” She glanced toward Mack, who was staring at her. Always staring. “Look, we better drop this, or I’m going to lose this job, which I need. So can I get you the pancakes?”

He leaned back in the booth, making a visible effort to relax. “Pancakes sound good.”

As she moved into the kitchen, embarrassment burned her cheeks. She’d nearly told a total stranger a nasty truth. She’d tried to tell her mother once, but she’d called Danni dramatic and selfish. Since then she’d never told anybody about her new stepfather.

When Raines’s order was up she was half tempted to get another waitress to deliver it. She didn’t want to see pity or sadness in his eyes when before there’d only been easy laughter. He was one of the few people she enjoyed.

“Man up, girl,” she muttered as she stared at the steaming plate of pancakes.

She grabbed the order, thrust back her shoulders, and pushed through the swinging doors. He sat at his table, just like always, reading his paper. She liked the half glasses perched on his nose. They had a way of softening the sharp edges of his face.