The Seventh Victim (Texas Rangers 1)

“You think?”

When she looked at Beck she saw no doubt in his eyes as he shook his head. “Lot of work, Henry. Think you’re up to it?”

Henry straightened, hooking his thumbs in his belt just like his grandson. “Retirement is overrated. A little stress and aggravation will do me good.”

Lara grinned. “Take as long as you like. I’ve got Cassidy’s old car to drive until it’s ready.”

Henry winked at her. “She’ll be running like new when I’m done with her.”

Beck, stifling a grin, came around the truck, and hooked his arm around Lara. “You’re biting off a mighty big bite.”

Henry snorted. “Get out of my garage. I’ve got work to do.”

Lara and Beck walked outside into the sunlight. Lincoln glanced up at her and then at Henry before lowering his attention back to the rawhide.

She hooked her arm around his waist. “You were right,” she said. “Henry needs a project.”

“Treating him like an old man won’t help him a bit.”

For a moment, she tipped her face toward the sun, reveling in the perfection of the day. She had Beck, Lincoln, Henry, and Elaina. Her work was not only selling, but she was hungry to create more. And two very dangerous men were dead. One had wanted to save his victims and another had wanted to steal their bright futures.

She thought about Raines and the detailed notes they’d found in his briefcase. Many of the notes detailed her travels over the last seven years. Crammed in the back of the notebook were newspaper articles that described the Austin murders. In red ink, he’d scrawled LIAR on all. Raines couldn’t stand to see credit for his “good” work tainted by Matthews. His drive to find the imposter had become such an obsession it had halted his own killing spree.

Jonathan’s books had been equally as chilling. The Seattle books had been his attempt to study the Seattle Strangler, a man who’d captured his obsession. He’d spent hours and hours fantasizing about the Strangler killing Lara, whom he felt had betrayed him when she opted not to return to Austin.

One killer saw himself as a savior and the other a righteous thief who owned the promising futures of women so much like Lara.

“You’re doing it again,” Beck said.

Eyes still closed, she said, “What’s that?”

He traced a frown line on her forehead with his fingertip. “Remembering.”

She opened her eyes, a wry smile tipping the edge of her lips. “I spent so many years wishing I could remember, and now I can’t stop.”

“Bad memories don’t go away, but they do ease with time.”

“And in the meantime?”

He grinned. “We make some memories of our own.”

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Prologue

Central Texas

April, ten years ago

Moonlight dripped on the rusted blue ’79 Chevy Impala angled at the end of a dirt-packed rural road. Yards ahead a footpath twisted, slithered and vanished into scrawny woodlands. A coyote howled.

Robbie had never been here before but his father, Harvey Day Smith, had grown up near this property. He’d often talked about it, swearing he could conjure each rock, bump and tree on the field now awash in springtime bluebonnets.

Harvey said the bluebonnets always calmed his racing thoughts and chased away his demons. But imagining the sea of delicate purple flowers did little to ease Robbie’s dread.

Setting the brake, Harvey leaned over the steering wheel and stared at the trail that snaked toward the beloved blossoms. “I bet you money that my baby girl would love to see the blossoms. Yes, sir, she would love it.”

“She’s not a baby, Harvey,” Robbie said. “She’s twenty-two. A year younger than me.”

His smile ebbing, a forlorn shadow darkened the older man’s features. “No, I reckon, she’s not a baby, Robbie. She’s graduated. Earned her bachelor’s and going to get her PhD. Smart kid. A chip off the old block.”

Jealousy stinging, Robbie regarded Harvey. “You should go see her. Tell her you’re proud.”

Harvey shook his head, staring at his smooth hands gripping the steering wheel. “Thought about it. Thought about it a lot. But like I said before, it’s not a good idea.”

“She might like to know you’re out there thinking of her.” Robbie understood he was digging into an old hurt his father carried in his heart. But he didn’t care. He was tired of feeling less when compared to the girl Harvey idolized.

Scowling, his father jerked the door handle up and pushed his shoulder into it. The door groaned open. “Come on, boy. The night won’t last forever.”

Harvey slammed the door hard and moved to the back of the Impala.

Robbie smoothed sweaty palms over his jeans and stared into the rearview mirror watching Harvey insert a key into the trunk lock.

Robbie’s stomach summersaulted and again he hoped his fear didn’t upend his stomach. He did not want to be here.

Opening his door, he lumbered out of the car and braced against the cool night air. He hovered by the car door.

Key still in hand, Harvey glanced up toward the bright moon as if savoring how the stars popped more in the Hill Country away from the bright lights of Austin. He inhaled, appreciating the cool, soft, spring air. “Lord, but I’ve missed coming up this way.”

Robbie shoved trembling hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Why don’t you come back here more often?”

Shaking his head, Harvey twisted the key and the lock released. “Last time I was here, it didn’t go well, so I stayed away. I can see now that this trip was a mistake.”

“Wasn’t this place your family home?”

“Naw. Just a place I liked visiting.” The trunk lid rose, cutting off Robbie’s view. “Come on, boy. We got work to do.” Harvey’s voice, darkly polite, had him tensing.

Anxiety rising, Robbie walked toward the back of the car and peered in the trunk. He stifled a wince, as he looked at the woman who lay gagged and trussed up like a pig ready for the spit.

She stared up at him with mascara-smudged eyes, bloodshot from crying, her pleas muffled by the gag.

Tucking the keys in his jacket pocket, Harvey delighted in the way she writhed and whimpered. “Picked a fine one this time, didn’t I, boy?”

Robbie rattled the change in his pockets. “She’s skinny.”

“Could stand to gain a pound or two, but she’s strong and pretty. Given time, bet she’d grow into a stunning woman.” Harvey trailed a hand along her leg and when she jerked away he smiled. “Beauty’s skin deep, boy. Remember that. What you want in a woman is spirit. Couldn’t coax this one in the car with a fifty-dollar bill like the others. No, sir, this one is leery by nature. Not swayed by pretty words. Careful, cautious. Best kind in my book.”

For this one, Harvey had created an intricate backstory, stolen a late model Volvo wagon with a baby seat in the back, and dressed in khakis and a powder blue button-down shirt. “The kind of shirt a safe guy wore,” he’d said.

In the end, she’d fallen for Harvey’s hoax, wrongly assuming that the outward physical cues reflected the inner man’s true intent.

When she’d gotten into his car and realized her mistake, Harvey said she’d fought, landing a hard blow to his face. The pain had snapped his temper, and he’d backhanded her hard across the mouth. Her blood had splattered the windshield. He’d knocked her out cold.

As they’d planned, Harvey drove the Volvo to the empty parking lot where Robbie waited with the Impala. As Harvey tied up the girl and loaded her in the trunk, Robbie had stayed in the car as he’d been told, but it had taken every ounce of control to stay put. He’d wanted to run. Wanted to hide.

Harvey, however, was enjoying himself. He’d taken care to wake her up. He’d wanted her awake, aware of the danger. She’d jerked and pulled at her bindings, but his knots were sure. Smiling, Harvey had rubbed the tender

spot on his jaw before slamming the trunk closed.

For most of the drive up from Austin, Harvey didn’t notice her kicks and screams. He talked about the weather, the diner that served the best pancakes, even his upcoming teaching assignment. Just another day for Harvey.

But each thump and shriek had raked across Robbie’s nerves, and when he couldn’t stand it anymore, he’d turned on the radio, tuning to a country-western station.

Now as Harvey watched her twist against her bindings, he smiled. “Glad to see the ride didn’t drain all the fight out of you, girl. Nothing worse than a broken spirit.”

Dark eyes narrowed, and he knew this one would go to the grave fighting.

“Robbie,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Time to get this show on the road.”

Harvey grabbed the girl by the midsection, hauled her out of the trunk like a sack of potatoes and hefted her over his shoulder. She smelled of sweat, urine and the faintest hint of department store perfume. She struggled and tried to ram her knees into his belly, but the bindings kept her immobile and easy to handle.

Robbie scanned the darkened road they’d just traveled. “Harvey, I don’t want to do this. I’m not ready. Let me stay in the car.”

“Come on, son, we been talking about this for weeks. You’re twenty-three. Man enough. We’ve put this day off long enough.”

Fear weighed down Robbie’s feet. “I know I said I wanted to do this, but I don’t think I can. Not yet.”

“Don’t be silly, boy. Like riding a bike. Once you get the hang of it, it’s as easy as pie.”

With the girl on his shoulder Harvey followed the familiar path into the woods. It had been twenty plus years since he’d been here, but Harvey didn’t miss a jutting root, rock or bend on the trail. These were his woods. His home.

Robbie trailed after him. A couple of times he stumbled, muttered under his breath, but he kept moving. Harvey had been his father for ten years. And Robbie would have matched Harvey against any father. Harvey had taken him away from a crack-addicted mother, seen that he was educated, well fed and clothed. He was a perfect father except for the fact that Harvey liked to kill women. Not all the time, but every so often. Robbie had never questioned or feared his father’s obsession, and had assumed he’d one day follow. But now faced with this second chance to kill, his courage faltered.