The Seventh Victim (Texas Rangers 1)

“Who did this to you?” His breath brushed hot against her cheek.

She pulled back. “I can’t remember.”

“You don’t remember?”

Tears streamed down her face as she shook her head. “Nothing.”

He’d been patient and loving and attended to her every need, taking leave from work in his woodworking business for weeks. He’d told her over and over again that he’d protect her and care for her, but the specter of not knowing had lingered over her like Damocles’s sword. After eight weeks of police questions, sleepless nights, and jumping at every shadow, she’d left Jonathan and Seattle behind.

When she’d returned to Austin, he’d been thrilled to see her and had offered to take her to dinner. To her relief he’d not brought up Seattle, and when he’d told her about the teaching job, she’d gladly accepted.

“So how were the kids today?” he asked. Jonathan had a long, lean body accentuated by loose-fitting jeans and the V-neck sweaters that he favored. He wore his light brown hair long and tied back at the nape of his neck.

“Just like you warned me. Some love it, most tolerate it, and some hate it. How are your kids?”

“Mine aren’t kids. It’s a master’s class, but like you I’ve got some that don’t love it. Some even think they know more than me and they can be real ... challenging.”

She shut off her computer. “Nice to know it’s not just me.”

“I’ve been at this for ten years. Believe me, most teachers share the same frustrations.” He shifted his stance from side to side. “Any pieces you think will work for the student art show?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. I’ve got one student who’s doing some amazing work. I’ll be sure to talk to her on Thursday and ask her if I can use one of her pieces. What about you?”

“A stunning cherry chest and an ornate desk. Both students outdid themselves.”

“Great.”

“The president of the university plans to attend the opening reception, and he’s bringing board members. Rumors are again flying about budget cuts, so we’ve got to put on a show to hold on to what we have. You are going to submit a piece, aren’t you?”

A faint smile tugged at the edge of her lips. “Are you sure you want my work? Kinda dark.”

He laughed. “Maybe avoid the murder scenes and use the images of the Alamo. The Alamo is always a hit in these parts.”

In recent months, she hadn’t limited her work to just crime scenes but had also started shooting pictures of battlegrounds where death had also left its mark. Though the Alamo was a scene of great bloodshed, it was also a source of pride for Texans. “I’m not so lost in my art that I don’t understand the practical side of life. I’ll print and mount the Alamo series.”

“You’ve come a long way.”

“Really?”

“In Seattle, you were all about career and goals and doing only what you thought was best.”

That was the first time he’d mentioned Seattle since she’d arrived in Austin. “A taste of real life tempered me.”

He frowned. “Lara, you’ve been back eight months, and we’ve not talked about Seattle.”

She stiffened. “I appreciate that you’ve not gone there.”

He dragged long fingers through his hair. “Maybe we should talk about it.”

She shoved her laptop in her backpack. “You were great to me while we were in Seattle. I wish I could have held my act together, but I don’t want to talk about it.”

He nodded. “Deal.”

Relief washed over her.

He kissed her on the cheek. “Friends?”

“Yes. And you’ll come to my opening this Friday?”

He winked. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

It was past ten and his coffee sat cold and virtually untouched as he leafed through the pages of the newspaper one more time. He’d started with the crime section and found a small article.

Of course he understood why his first victim had gotten so little play. He’d left her too far off the road, so it had been over a month before she was discovered. There’d been little to find, thanks to the elements and animals. It made sense that no one would realize who had arrived in town.

But the second victim was different. He’d left her close to the road, and she’d been found quickly. He’d seen the cops and the crime scene roped off with yellow tape as he’d driven by on the interstate.

Didn’t the cops see that this murder was different from most? No crime of passion, it had been a cold, calculated staging to get their attention.

Frustration gnawed at his gut as he drummed his fingers over the newspaper. Where was the coverage?

How many bodies would it take for the cops to connect the dots? Two wasn’t enough? He shoved out a sigh and sat back in the chair.

In the Entertainment section there’d been an ad placed by the gallery featuring Lara’s show. It was a small ad, just two-by-two, but he reread the details a half dozen times. The opening would be a fun affair, and he looked forward to it.

Anticipation had the tips of his fingers burning as he reached for the red book embossed with the gold letters, The Book of Blair.

After Lincoln’s late-night walk, Lara locked up the house and moved into the bathroom to brush her teeth. Her limbs ached with fatigue, and she was ready to sleep. After she rinsed her mouth and raised her head, she stared at her face, wondering for the millionth time what he’d seen in her all those years ago that made him want to kill her. She ran long fingers through her light brown hair and drew in a breath.

“He didn’t see you as a person.” She repeated the words Seattle’s forensic psychologist had told her over and over again. “You were just an object. A means to one of his sick ends. For him, it wasn’t personal.”

“Well, it felt pretty damn personal.” After brushing her hair she stripped off her clothes, hauled on an oversized T-shirt, and then climbed into bed. Lincoln jumped on the bed and curled up at the edge.

She shut off the light and closed her eyes, listening for any kind of sound that might make her jump. Outside a breeze blew, and the branches from a tree by the house scraped against the windows. She pulled her blankets up close to her chin.

She thought about the front door lock and wondered if she should recheck it. Damn. It had been years since she’d been hung up on locks and outdoor sounds. And she knew she worried tonight because of James Beck’s visit.

He was doing his best to drag her back into that old, dark world of shrinks and crime scene photos that had nearly driven her insane.

Lara had barely gotten out of that world with her sanity. It had taken nearly seven years in exile, but she was finally healthy and whole again, and she’d be damned if she’d go back. Beck would not take her back to hell.

Healthy and whole.

Her laughter echoed in the dark room. Lincoln perked up his ears and grunted in response. “And w

hat are you doing, Ms. Lara Church, at the crack of dawn in the morning?” She hesitated and then answered herself, “You’re taking pictures of a murder scene.”

She rolled on her side and curled her body around her pillow. “Yeah, that’s healthy.”

Chapter 8

Wednesday, May 22, 4:45 AM

Lincoln glanced up from the passenger seat of the truck, yawned, and laid his head back down as Lara climbed out of the front seat of her truck cab. Eyes heavy with sleep and joints stiff after a restless night’s sleep, she stretched her arms and glanced at the night sky perched on the edge of dawn.

When her alarm had sounded at three thirty she’d been so tempted to roll back over and go to sleep. She’d tossed and turned too much last night and had not gotten more than a full hour of sleep at any given time.

But as much as she craved the warmth and security of her bed, she needed to get up and photograph this spot. Her art wasn’t a job. It was a compulsion, a jealous mistress that required her attention and kept her from straying too long.

She’d exited the interstate onto the access road and then, spotting a flat stretch, drove off the side road onto the dry, cracked land. The truck bumped and rocked as she crossed to the murder scene. She’d parked as close as she could to the site, knowing she’d have to move quickly to prepare her negatives and catch the rising sun.

“Stay put, boy. See you in a bit.” As the dog relaxed against the seat, she shut the cab door, moved to the back, and opened the lid of the camper top.

Between the cobbled sections of clouds, stars winked clear and bright. The scent of rain hung in the air.

Switching on her flashlight she did one last inspection of her equipment and then studied the path ahead.