The Seventh Victim (Texas Rangers 1)

She raised her hand to silence him. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. Do your work or fail.”

“The coach says art is just fluff.”

“It’s fluff that’ll get you kicked off the team.”

“You’ll lose your job,” he countered.

She grinned at his attempt to threaten. “Mr. Gregory, I was nearly strangled to death seven years ago. Do you think losing a job scares me?”

He frowned but didn’t speak. Several of the kids sniggered nervously.

“I can promise that you won’t pass if you don’t do the work. And whether I’m gone or not you’ll still have an F, and you won’t be playing ball in the fall.”

She hoped her big speech would prompt everyone to sit up a little straighter and pay closer attention, but, other than the random rustling of pages, there was little change from last week.

She dismissed the group into the darkroom, where they worked for the next couple of hours. When lab ended, the students shuffled past her, some glancing at her as if they’d wanted to say more. But under Lincoln’s watchful eyes, none voiced their thoughts and each left.

Danni stopped at her desk. “Hey, if you want to shoot more pictures, I’m in.”

Lara smiled. “Thanks, but it might be wiser if you stayed clear of me for the time being.”

“Because of the other dead women?”

“I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Danni straightened to her full five foot one inch. “I’ve seen my share of shit.”

A half smile tugged at the edge of Lara’s lips as she stared into the girl’s world-weary eyes. “No need to see any more. Thanks, Danni, and as soon as I get the all-clear I’ll give you a call.”

“You better.”

When the last student left, she packed up her bag and breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, Lincoln, let’s take a walk.”

His ears perked up and tail wagged, he followed her down the staircase and out the back door. The air was hot and the sky clear. This would be a good day to shoot pictures and she mentally inventoried her developing supplies.

When she reached her truck a white paper flapped under her windshield wiper on the driver’s side. A glance around confirmed that the same flyer was stuck under all the wipers. An ad. She got into the car, started the A/C and waited until it had cooled a little before she let Lincoln hop up into the passenger seat. She tossed her backpack on the seat between them.

She grabbed the flyer and as she balled it up she caught sight of words scrawled in red magic marker over the advertisement. Carefully, she unfurled the paper to read: The killer is close.

Lara snorted her disgust as she stared at the childish handwriting, reminiscent of Tim Gregory’s. She’d nearly been strangled to death. Been on the run for seven years. And now this little creep thought he’d scare her with words.

She’d have gone to the dean, but knew she’d need more than an anonymous note before sanctions would ever be levied on a star football player. “Nice try, Mr. Gregory.” Resisting the urge to toss the note, she shoved it in her backpack as she slid behind the wheel and slammed the door behind her.

If the damn note had done anything it had solidified her decision to stand her ground. She wasn’t running this time. She wasn’t.

The locals kept talking about the day’s milder temperatures, but Raines believed Texas was hotter than hell. He longed to return to Seattle with its cool misty days, great coffee, and familiar streets.

Staring down at his plate of fried eggs, toast, and grits he fished his cell phone out of his breast pocket and dialed his home number. He waited through the rings until he heard the answering machine featuring his wife’s voice: “You’ve reached the Raines residence, leave a message at the beep, and we’ll get back to you.”

Raines checked his watch and realized he hadn’t allowed for the time difference. It was four in Seattle and Susan had left work and was hustling over to Tara’s school. He dialed Susan’s number hoping to catch her before she reached the chaos of the carpool line.

After several rings, her voice mail kicked in, and he waited until he heard the beep before lowering his voice a notch. “Susan and Tara, it’s me, Mike, a.k.a. Dad. I’m still in Austin and still chasing a bad guy, but I hope to be home real soon. Call me if you get the chance.”

Loneliness knotted in his chest as he thought about his two girls. God, but he missed them.

He needed to catch this son of a bitch and fast so that he could get home to them. He’d given Beck his files and six days’ time. His patience had worn thin. And his promise to stay away from Lara had officially expired.

Flipping open a weathered notebook, he checked the notes he’d scribbled on Lara. Included was a detailed sketch of her schedule. Monday. Her lab would be finished. He glanced out the café window and stared at the bright sky. He was no artist by any stretch, but if he were a photographer, he’d haul out his camera on a day like today and shoot pictures.

He dug ten bucks out of his pocket, dropped it on the table, and glanced toward the diner’s manager. “Got to go, Mack. Money’s on the table.” In just six days he had an established routine with the owner. Susan and Tara would have had great fun with that tidbit.

“Glad having you, Mr. Raines. See you for dinner?” Mack said.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

He grabbed a handful of mints as he walked past the cashier and headed out toward his rental car. When he traveled he always rented the same kind of car, Toyota Camry. For the most part the models didn’t change too much from year to year, which meant he didn’t have to spend needless time fumbling with buttons and knobs.

Soon he was headed south out of town on I-35. When he rolled down the interstate he spotted the black truck parked on the side of the road. Lara’s truck. He almost laughed. Folks said he was rote, but it was his experience that most people were just as predictable. Artists shot their pictures on somewhat of a schedule, cops stuck to old habits that had seen them through too many crime scenes, and killers stuck to patterns.

As he drove past the truck and headed for the exit and off-ramp to the access road, he knew it would be this killer’s habits that tripped him up. He liked blondes. He liked dressing them in white. He liked his pennies. He had violent sexual urges. So far he’d killed three women and Raines knew in his gut that there were going to be more. He had no reason to stop until someone made him stop.

And Raines intended to be that someone.

He pulled up behind her truck and parked. He could see in the distance that she had her big tripod bellows camera out and was preparing to shoot.

Getting out of his car he could see that she had that damn dog with her. Lincoln. The thing looked more like a wolf than dog, and Raines wouldn’t have been surprised if the dog was a wolf. He knew a lot about her, but he wasn’t sure if she’d picked the dog up in Virginia or on her way to Maine last summer.

Careful to stay upwind of the dog, he watched Lara as she stared at her antique lens. No detail or imperfection was too small. Finally satisfied, she replaced the cap on the lens, put the negative holder in the camera, and removed the lens cap. By his count, she waited a full minute before she replaced the lens cover.

She removed the glass negative, still encased in its wooden holder and turned. When she glimpsed him for the first time, she dropped her negative and it hit the rock-hard ground. Despite the casing, glass shattered.

Her expression hardened.

She took several steps toward him. “Detective Mike Raines.”

“Ms. Lara Church. It’s been a long time.” The years had been good to her, leaning out her features and adding maturity he preferred.

“Not long enough.”

“I was at your opening.”

The dog picked up on her edgy tone, and his ears slid back on his head as he stared at Raines. “I didn’t see you.”

He certainly didn’t expect a grand welcome, but he also wasn’t up for a fight either. “Might want to keep a hold

on that dog.”

“Why? I think I would enjoy watching him eat you up.”

“I’d hate to shoot him.”

Her gaze turned murderous. “You’d shoot my dog?”

“If he came after me, yes.” He shoved out his frustration in a breath as he slid his hands into his pockets. “Look, I didn’t come here to stir up trouble.”

Easterly winds blew the wisps of hair in her eyes. She swatted them away like buzzing flies. “Of course you came here to stir up trouble. That is what you do best, Detective.”

“No need to call me detective anymore. I retired six years ago. I’m a private detective now.”

“What’s that mean? You’re going to stir up my life on your own dime instead of Seattle’s?”

“I’m still after the Strangler.” He rattled the change in his pocket. “I knew you were in Austin within weeks of your moving here. When the cop called and said the murders were near you, I knew the Seattle Strangler was active again.”

She shifted her stance, uncomfortable now. “You kept tabs on me?”

No hint of apology. “I always said you were the key to this killer. It made sense to keep an eye on you.”

“Why would you care? You’re retired.”

“You can take the cop out of the job, but you can’t take the job out of the cop. This was the case I could never let go.”

She shook her head. “Leave me be, Detective Raines. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

“Look, I know I was a bit heavy-handed with you back in Seattle.”

She knelt to pick up the negative case. Shards of glass rattled inside. “A bit heavy-handed? I tried to help you. I tried to remember, but you wouldn’t accept that I couldn’t remember ... didn’t have the memories. You followed me around. You gave me no peace.”

“I still believe those memories are locked in your brain.”