The Seventh Victim (Texas Rangers 1)

She zipped up her jacket and tucked her hands in the pockets. “When he was interviewed he confessed to killing the women. Ten bodies were found buried in his backyard in Austin. Three victims linked to him were not found. When pressed he wouldn’t give details.”

“I’ve interviewed him many times over the last three years. But he kept changing his story and ‘forgetting’ where the other bodies were buried. It was all a big game to him.”

She frowned. “He’s dying of cancer, from what I hear. Doesn’t have much time to live.”

“Docs say the disease spread to his liver. Less than a couple of months.”

She was silent for several seconds. “He’s going to his grave with his secrets and will deny closure for the victims’ families. It’s the last bit of control he can exert.”

Brody’s jaw tightened and released. He’d used every trick in the book to get Smith to open up but endless hours of interviews had been a waste. Smith had taken pleasure in jerking his chain.

“Smith told prison authorities late yesterday that he wanted to talk. He knows time is running out, and he wants to cleanse his soul. He’s agreed to tell where the bodies are buried.”

Jo shifted her stance. “He’s made similar promises before. You said it yourself. It’s all a game to him.”

“I know. And I’d love to tell him to rot in hell. But this might be my last chance to talk to him and to find those bodies.”

She nodded. “And you can’t let it pass. I get that.”

“That’s right.”

She met his gaze. “Why me?”

Brody pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Because Smith requested that you hear his last confession.”

She shook her head, her brow rising. “Me specifically? I find that hard to believe.”

“He was clear he’d talk to you and no one else.”

“I’ve done some work for the Texas Rangers and I wrote a paper on the guy, but I’m by no stretch the most experienced psychologist. Others have written more about him and have a lot more to offer.”

No traces of false modesty in the clear-minded assessment. “Your record has been impressive.”

Green eyes narrowed. “I’m building a reputation but again, why me? I shouldn’t be on this guy’s radar.”

He settled his right hand on his belt next to his gun. “The guy’s smart as hell. He’s had all the time in the world to do what digging he can.”

A humorless smile tipped the edge of her mouth. “And he figured out that you and I used to be married.”

“That’s my best guess. I interviewed him more than anyone and each session he did his best to pull personal information out of me.”

“I can’t see you discussing personal matters.”

He caught the comment’s double edge. “No, I did not. But like I said, I’m betting he did some digging.”

“And somehow he figured out about me.”

“Somehow.”

A silence settled for a moment. “Maybe he heard about my dissertation. The university published it online. Maybe this is a quirky coincidence.”

Leather creaked on his gun belt as he shifted his stance. “Could be as simple as that. But I’ve never been a big believer in coincidence. By my way of thinking they are as rare as hen’s teeth.”

She tightened her hand on her bag. “You’ve put some thought into this.”

“Since the prison called me this morning, overthinking is more like it.”

She dropped her gaze to the ground, shaking her head.

“If you don’t want to do this, there’s no harm nor foul. I’ll go talk to Smith again and see if he’ll talk to me. He might give in seeing as death is close.”

“And what if he doesn’t?”

Brody shrugged. “Then our last shot at finding those three bodies is lost.”

She drew in a slow, steady breath and then released it. “I’ll do it. I’ll go. Least I can do for those families.”

Jo might not cross a street to spit on him, but she’d give up her Saturday to talk to a killer to help grieving families. “You sure about that?”

“As I remember, Smith is a control freak who only cooperates if all his demands are met. When does he want to see me?”

“Today.”

A brow arched. “Right now?”

“My plane is gassed and ready to go at the airport. I can have you in Livingston in two hours.” Livingston, Texas, was home to the prison that housed death row for male inmates.

“I didn’t bring a change of clothes here. I need to swing by my house.”

“I’ll follow you.”

She fished her keys out of her bag and offered him a less enthusiastic, “Great. Let me tell Doug and the girls I’m leaving.”

Without another word she hurried into the gym. She reappeared moments later, crossed the lot and slid into a sleek, black BMW. He wasn’t surprised that she was doing well. He’d always known she was meant for a big life. From what he’d heard, and he always made a point to listen when her name came up, her easy style was getting big results.

Brody slid behind the wheel of his Bronco and watched her as she pulled slowly out of her space and through the parking lot. She came to a complete stop at the stop sign, put on her right blinker and turned.

“Still following all the rules,” he muttered.

The drive from the gym to her small earth-toned bungalow in Hyde Park, a neighborhood north of Austin, took minutes. Built in the twenties, Hyde Park was now home to mostly university professors, students and professionals.

As she pulled in the driveway he noted her yard had been neatly landscaped at one time but like everyone else who’d endured the Texas drought for the last few years, she’d had to let her lawn go when the water restrictions had been implemented. Still even grassless, she managed to keep the place looking tidy.

Because the Rangers had transferred him several t

imes over the last three years, he’d lived a gypsy’s life, settling for short-term leases in nondescript apartments. He’d always figured by this age he’d have been in a home with wife and kids. But work, maybe his own faults, had kept him single.

Out of her car, she grabbed mail from a white mailbox with carefully lined numbers on the side and motioned for him to follow. “Might as well come inside. It’s gonna take me about a half hour.”

He’d have been fine staying in the car, but now was not the time to put up any kind of fuss. She was doing him a favor when she could have easily told him to fuck off.

“Sure.” He shut off the engine and followed her up the sidewalk, cracked in spots by last summer’s heat.

He studied the empty window boxes freshly painted turquoise and the front door also newly painted in black. Precise. Orderly. By the front porch a one hundred-year-old pecan tree had grown so large its leaves hung over the porch and its roots ate into the porch foundation.

As if reading his thoughts, Jo said, “I’m redoing the porch this summer. Last couple of years I focused on the inside of the house.”

“Considering the drought, a good choice.”

Jo had always had her shit together. Back in the day, without trying, she had made him feel like a clod. He’d resented her in those days. Maturity had taught him that he, not her, had been the root of his problems.

She opened her storm door and he caught it, holding it open for her as she fumbled with her keys.

“I’ve three cats,” she said. “They won’t bother you, but don’t be put off when you see them. They’re former strays and look a little rough.”

“I can handle three cats.”

“Great.” She opened the door, flipped on the light and set her purse and keys by the front door as she likely did every day she’d lived here. The living room was warm and cozy, an overstuffed chair in front of a fireplace reserved for frigid Austin nights. The floors were a yellow pine and the ceiling high and vaulted. A long farmhouse table filled a dining room that led into a kitchen.

“Have a seat on the couch. There are bottled waters in the fridge. Even a soda or two. I’ll be as quick as I can.”