The Seventh Victim (Texas Rangers 1)

Thoughts of Lara stabbed at Beck as he made his way to the body. Hands clenched at his side, he studied the swollen, bloated body, dressed in white and ravaged by the Texas heat. As bad as the body looked, he’d learned one critical fact. It wasn’t Lara.

Relief washed over him, taking with it the gnawing worry that had hunted him since the DPS phone call less than an hour ago.

As Santos approached, Beck sensed the other Ranger’s honed eye for detail had shifted to him. It wasn’t like Beck to rush into a crime scene as a loved one of a victim might.

Santos tipped his hat back. “Pull you away from anything interesting?”

“Paperwork.”

If Santos had questions about Beck’s behavior he didn’t air them, and Beck was glad of it. At this point he didn’t understand it himself.

“There’ll be a mountain of paperwork on this one,” Santos said.

Beck turned from the body. “She’s like the others.”

“Yeah.” He rested his hands on his hips. “No identification yet, but if she’s like the other two she’ll be a student. You heard about Fisk.”

“Found the penny.”

“Yeah.”

They watched as Melinda snapped pictures of the entire scene and Eliza Rio, a medical examiner technician, examined the victim’s neck.

Without glancing up, the olive-skinned Rio said, “She appears to have been strangled. Her body dumped at least twenty-four hours ago.” No good morning. No how’s it going. “Bruising around the neck suggests that he may have strangled her several times.”

The killer had been playing with his victim. “Other injuries? Sexual assault?”

“No visible bruising on her body, and I’ll need to get her back to the lab to determine sexual assault.”

Beck stared at the blond woman dressed in the white dress made of soft cotton and lace. “What about the pennies?”

“One in each hand,” Melinda said.

Santos glanced at Beck. “That Raines fellow still in town?”

“I think so.”

Santos looked like a man about to swallow a bitter pill. “As much as I hate to say this, might be time to call him. Bring him into this.”

Beck hesitated, his first instinct to handle this case internally. And then the image of Misty Gray’s decomposed body flashed in his mind. Yes, he’d caught Dial, but the kid had died. A hollow victory.

He nodded. “I’ll call him.”

Raines read the article on Lara Church three times. Seven years of silence had ended and now the world knew the secret he’d worked so hard to guard in Seattle. He never would have guessed Lara Church would tell the media.

He sat back and sipped his coffee. Its bitter taste said that Danni wasn’t working today. He liked seeing Danni. She was a good kid, and he was a creature of habit. When he found a restaurant, a clothing item, even a style of car, he stuck with it. His wife joked often enough that they’d go on vacation to get away from it all and within twenty-four hours he’d create a brand-new rut.

“Mix things up, for God’s sake,” his wife would say to him.

This article on Lara was certainly going to change the dynamics. No more hiding. No more running. “Time to remember, Lara.”

An unknown waitress brought him a stack of pancakes and a fresh pot of coffee.

“Thanks.”

She refilled his cup. “Hope you like the coffee. Danni says you like a fresh cup, not too bitter.”

He smiled, gratified the kid had remembered him. He held up his cup. “Thanks. To both of you.”

As he sipped the still-too-bitter coffee, his phone rang. He recognized the number instantly—Ranger James Beck. Wiping his hands, he wondered if Beck had seen the article as he picked up the phone. “Ranger Beck.”

“Detective Raines. Do you have a minute this morning?”

Liking the sound of Detective, he relaxed back in the booth. “For what?”

“To visit a crime scene.”

Raines pulled off his glasses. “Another woman?”

“Why don’t you meet me?” He rattled off directions and exits. “Do you know where that is?”

This nightmare scenario was playing out as he’d predicted, but he experienced no joy. “That’s close to the first two sites.”

“Correct.”

Raines checked his watch. “I’m leaving now.”

“Where are you?”

“The River Diner. Austin.”

“See you in twenty minutes.”

“If not sooner.” Raines paid his tab and hurried out to his car. Excitement pumped through his veins. For seven years he’d waited for the Strangler to make a move. But the killer had remained dormant. And now, the son of a bitch had at least two and possibly three killings to his credit in this area.

He didn’t care why the killer had awoken after seven years of slumber. Theories about the killer being hurt, jailed, or dead never had meant much to him. All that mattered was that he was active again. “Keep it up, you son of a bitch. Keep it up, and I will nail your ass.”

Maneuvering out of town proved to be more frustrating than he’d expected, but he soon found access to the interstate and within minutes parked behind a parade of cop cars with flashing lights.

He moved toward a uniform. “I’m Mike Raines. Sergeant James Beck called me.”

“May I see your ID?”

For twenty years he had been the insider. The Seattle cops had looked on him with respect. When he entered a crime scene, people got out of his way. Now, he was nobody, accountable to a uniform who looked twelve years old.

Raines shoved aside irritation and pulled out his Seattle driver’s license, conscious of the fact that it didn’t carry the weight of a badge.

The DPS officer inspected the license and then Raines a couple of times. He handed the ID back. “Thank you, sir. Sergeant Beck is just over the rise. I’ll show you the way.”

Beck inhaled pride and a renewed sense of purpose. He’d convinced himself over the last six years that money and regular hours could take the place of the Job, but he’d been kidding himself. He’d fucking missed the Job.

“Not necessary.

I see Sergeant Beck. Should I follow the path marked by the tape?”

“Yes, sir.”

Sir. He liked that.

Dust and dirt kicked up on shoes that he’d had polished in Denver’s airport nearly a week ago while waiting for his connection. He almost laughed at his blunder. He had lost his touch. No smart cop wore his good shoes to a crime scene.

As he moved closer to Beck, he gave the Ranger credit. He wasn’t sure if he’d have put his ego aside and relied on a cop from the outside.

“Sergeant Beck.”

Beck turned and extended his hand. “Mr. Raines, I appreciate you coming down here.”

He wouldn’t have missed it for the world. “Glad to help.”

“I’d like you to meet fellow Ranger Sergeant Rick Santos from the San Antonio office. These crimes have fallen right between our jurisdictions.”

Santos’s ice-blue eyes projected distrust. “Mr. Raines.”

Raines didn’t miss the tension ripping through Santos. “I would have been pissed if I had to deal with an outsider at my crime scene.”

Santos offered no apology. “I’ll do what it takes to solve this crime, but understand that I do not trust you.”

“I’d worry if you did.” Raines glanced at the white-hot sun. “I swear I’ll never bitch about the rain in Seattle again.”

Santos’s expression remained neutral.

So much for humor. “Can I see the body?”

Beck held out his hand. “This way. We kept her here so you could see the positioning, but we’re going to have to move her soon. The heat’s not helping.”

Raines stared out across the grassy field. “Let’s get to it.” He accepted rubber gloves from Beck, donning them as he had thousands of times in the past. Death’s sick, sweet scent trailed out toward him even before he reached the body. Automatically, he blocked out the stench.

The woman lay on her back, her hands crossed over her chest. She wore a white dress and no shoes, and her blond hair was strewn out on the ground behind her. There were blue and purple fingerprint marks around her neck. “Take away this damn heat, and I could be back in Seattle at one of my old crime scenes.”