The Seventh Victim (Texas Rangers 1)

“You don’t know anything. And I need for you to leave me now.”

“I’ve met with Beck. He’s got my old case files, and I studied his crime scenes. He wants you to remember as well.”

A bitter, sad smile curled her lips. “Why doesn’t it surprise me that you two are working together?”

“He’s not so different than me. A case gets under his skin, and he can’t let it go.”

She held up her hands. “I have nothing else to say to you.” Lincoln growled, but she kept her hand on his collar. “Leave.”

“I’m not leaving Austin until I crack this case, Lara. I’m not. Whoever this son of a bitch is, he is killing women, and you can bet your last dollar that he is coming after you sooner or later.”

“If I’m such a target why didn’t he just kill me seven years ago? Or when he knew I’d moved to Austin? Why drag it out?” she half shouted.

“Because he’s like a cat. Cats don’t just kill their prey. They toy with them first. He wants to see you afraid. He wants you to suffer. And when you are completely terrified he’s going to kill you.”

Color drained from her face.

“Lara, please,” he said softly. “I don’t want to be an enemy. I want to work with you. I want to catch this guy.”

Dark circles smudged the skin under his eyes. He looked paler to her, but she wasn’t sure if stress had taken its toll, or she’d just become accustomed to Beck’s deeply tanned skin.

If he’d bullied or ranted, she’d have dug her heels in deeper. Even his trademark edge, which she remembered from their first meeting, had vanished.

“Ms. Church, I am Detective Raines with the Seattle Police Department.”

Eyelids so heavy with sedatives fluttered open. Her neck ached so badly she could barely sit. She’d had no idea how many neck muscles she used just to sit up.

Raines’s black jacket and turtleneck combined with slicked-back blond hair made the lines of his face all the sharper. Dark eyes void of compassion glared at her as if she’d committed a crime.

She moistened her lips and stared at him.

A metal chair scraped across the floor as he pulled it closer to the bed. He sat and leaned close. The scent of his soap mingled with stale cigarettes. “I’ve spoken to the doctors, and they told me you don’t remember. But there has to be some detail about this john you remember?”

Hazy, bruised senses sharpened. “What?”

“The john.” A lazy, knowing grin accompanied a lingering look. “How’d you meet him? Did you hook up with him on the Internet like the others?”

“No!”

“Then how? Come on, Lara, it’s just the two of us. You can tell me, and I’ll keep it to myself.”

Confused thoughts rattled in her brain, making it impossible to string the right ones together. “I’m not a prostitute.”

His grin turned bitter and mocking. “So maybe you like to call it something else. Dating service. Escort. Massage. I really don’t care how you earn your money, honey. I just want the guy that attacked you.”

The IV in her arm pulled when she tried to sit up straighter. “I’m not a hooker.”

He tugged her sheet closer to her collarbone. “I got nothing against whores, honey. I don’t. I just want this guy.”

Tears clogged in an already raw throat and burned. “I’m not a whore.”

“Look, if you’re worried Mom, Dad, or boyfriend are going to find out about how you make your spending money, I won’t tell. It will be our secret. Just tell me how you met the guy.”

The hot Texas wind couldn’t erase the chill of the memory. “You’ve changed your tactics, Detective. Do you remember that insulting me didn’t work?”

He shook his head, his shoulders heavy with regret. The lines around his eyes were deeper and the graying around his temples was thicker. “I was exhausted when I met you initially. I’d been chasing this guy nonstop for months. You were my first break, and I was desperate for anything that would crack the case.” He held out his hands in supplication. “I wasn’t fair to you. I’m sorry.”

The man she’d known seven years ago would never have apologized. He’d been so hard, unyielding, and driven, she’d often joked that he’d have sold his own mother to solve the case. “This kinder, gentler Detective Raines just doesn’t ring true with me.”

A frown deepened the lines around his mouth. “I’ve changed a lot in the last seven years.”

“So have I.”

His jaw tightened and relaxed. “Why won’t you work with me?”

“Because,” she said calmly, “you’re an asshole.”

His eyes widened with surprise, but instead of getting angry, he laughed. “I won’t argue that. In fact, I’ve been called worse.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a card. “I’m hoping we can put the past behind us and work together to find this guy, Lara.” He held out the card. “This isn’t just about you. Other women have died and more will die if we don’t catch this guy.”

As tempted as she was to tell him to shove the card, she accepted it. Nervously, she flicked the edge with her thumb. “I don’t remember anything.”

“I’ve seen your exhibit. Something is locked in your mind, Lara. Something dark and scary, and it is begging to get out, otherwise you’d not be standing here.”

“I know the attack left a mark on me. I’ve never denied that.”

He glanced toward her camera and the distant horizon. “It can’t be safe being out here alone.”

“I’ve never had any trouble.”

He shook his head. “Killers often return to their crime scenes. Did you know that?”

“Yes.”

“So are you trying to run into this guy?”

“No.” She shook her head. “No.”

“Come on. It’s the most ugly, hot, piece-of-shit land I’ve seen in years. No artist would give it a second look.”

She didn’t respond.

“And what are you going to do if you do run into the Strangler? The dog will help, but if this guy carries a weapon the dog is going to get hurt.”

She glanced down at Lincoln, k

nowing she now relied on his strength.

“Do you carry a gun?” he said.

She studied the open land around him. Her shotgun was in the truck. If he were the killer and standing this close to her, she might not make it to the truck in time.

“If it’s not in your hand it won’t do you a bit of good out here.”

He was right. She stood in the middle of nowhere at a murder scene. What was she doing out here?

He nodded slowly. “Help Beck and me do our jobs. We need to catch this nutcase.”

“You and Beck. The dynamic duo.”

“I am not the bad guy, Lara. I’m on your side.”

She watched him stride back toward his rental car. He moved with the quiet confidence of a man on a mission.

Lara didn’t believe for one moment that he was on her side.

Cassidy was pleased with Lara’s exhibit sales. Since the article had appeared, she’d had brisk traffic in the gallery. People were curious about Lara Church and her photography. This morning’s gallery visitors were simply curious. But by this afternoon, there’d been a surprising number of return visitors and real interest in several pieces. By close of business she’d had two significant sales from a couple visiting the area and a local.

She clicked on the computer and logged into her online store account. She’d been selling her art collections online for a couple of years, recognizing that her market was far larger than Austin. Her market, with the right kind of Internet buzz, was the world.

She checked her e-mail and discovered that someone had hit the Buy button on an image titled Near Death. She had set the price high on this piece because it was the jewel of the collection. Because it had been taken in Seattle, Cassidy now realized this was the spot where Lara had almost lost her life.

Cassidy blinked and reread the screen. The image had indeed sold, and the payment had been credited to her account.

She sat back in her chair and pushed her glasses up on her nose. “Well, hot damn. That’s gonna be a nice paycheck for both of us.” She quickly e-mailed the seller to confirm shipping instructions. The seller immediately responded and confirmed the San Antonio address.