The Seventh Victim (29 page)

“The one marked ‘Coffee’?” he teased.

“Yeah. And the filters are in the tin next to it.”

“I see it.”

It felt odd to be sitting at the table having someone wait on her. She lined up the saltshaker with the pepper shaker as Beck moved with ease. “You look like you’ve made coffee before.”

He hit BREW and faced her, leaning against the counter and folding his arms over his chest. “Can’t be in law enforcement and not know how to make a strong cup of coffee.”

He’d invaded her life a little over a week ago—a virtual stranger—and she was about to share a personal and disturbing dream. “How long have you been with the Rangers?”

If he picked up on the delay tactic, he gave it no notice. “I’ve been a Ranger for five years, but before that I was with DPS for eight years.”

“Long time.”

“I like to think I’m just getting warmed up.” Behind him the machine gurgled and spit out coffee. “Cups?”

“Cabinet right behind your head.”

He selected two handmade mugs. One was a bright blue and the other yellow. Filling each, he set hers by her hands and cupped the other as he took the seat across from her.

She sipped the coffee and was amazed it tasted good. “I thought cops made bad coffee.”

“I can only cook a handful of dishes. Number one and two on that list are steak and coffee. You much of a cook?”

“Fair. My grandmother taught me a good bit when I lived with her. I just rarely take the time these days to cook. Seems a waste to pull out all the pots and pans for just me.”

“What keeps you so busy?”

She smiled. “I know what you’re doing.”

“What’s that?”

“Trying to get me to relax so that I’ll feel better about talking to you.”

“I thought I was making conversation.”

She traced circles on the counter with her fingertip. “Cops don’t just make conversation. There is usually an agenda.”

He set his cup down on the counter. “Not always true.”

She shoved aside her nervous energy. “I need to tell you about the dream.”

“There’s no rush.”

He was trying to ease her pain, and for that she was grateful. “When I was seven and afraid to jump off the diving board my grandmother told me to just jump. Get it over with, she’d say.”

He straightened as if bracing. “Okay.”

“In the dream, I couldn’t see the man, but he kept telling me how lovely I would look in the white dress.” Recounting it made her feel dirty. “He was touching me and I knew I was going to be raped.”

“What exactly did he say?”

“How beautiful I was. How he’d been waiting for me for a long time.”

Beck flexed his fingers. “Did you see anything? Smell anything?”

“No.” She shook her head. “Maybe my subconscious is just working through what I’ve heard.”

His gaze turned ice cold. “Or maybe you are starting to remember.”

“Yeah, but it’s been seven years. Why now?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you’ve seen something or someone that’s jogged something loose.”

Her shoulders sagged forward. “But what?”

He raised his mug to his lips. “That’s the million-dollar question.”

She sipped her coffee. “When I was in Seattle, Raines tried to tell me what had happened to me. He wanted me to read the medical reports, but I refused. I didn’t want to remember.”

His gaze held hers. “You suffered one hell of a trauma.”

“I talked a lot about wanting to remember, but I think deep down I thought not remembering would somehow protect me. That was pretty much how I got through my childhood. Easier to live with Mom if I didn’t remember the last fight or the latest disappointment. But now I feel trapped in amber. I didn’t feel pain, and I didn’t feel anything else. I want to know what happened to me. I think I need to know. You’ve read the report.”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me?”

He drew in a slow breath and repeated the facts as clinically as possible. “You were raped. There was no semen present, but there was a lot of vaginal bruising. There were also bruises on your thighs and wrists. There was also skin under your fingernails. DNA was tested, but there was never a match in the CODIS system.”

“CODIS?”

“A DNA criminal database.” He turned his cup slowly from side to side, but she sensed restrained anger. “Based on the bruising the doctors assumed he’d been on top of you when he grabbed your neck.”

“He didn’t rape the other women in Seattle.”

“No. His pattern changed with you, and it is holding consistent in Austin.”

A cold chill shuddered through her body. “Why didn’t I die?”

“The theory is that he was interrupted. For the first time he chose a spot that wasn’t remote. No one knows why.”

“Do you have any leads in this case?”

He shook his head, his frustration clear. “We know he likes the I-35 corridor. All the bodies have been dumped on the southbound side. He dresses the women in homemade white dresses and each has a penny in their hand. We also found footprints at the last two crime scenes that we believe belong to him.”

“He’s getting closer to me.”

“Yes.”

She glanced around the house. “This house was always my safe place to go. It was the eye of the storm for me. Now it feels like ground zero.”

He frowned. “How’d you get into photography?”

“You’re doing it again.”

A brow arched. “What’s that?”

“Changing the subject to make me feel better.”

“I’m interested in the photography.”

She smiled. “Be careful about asking an artist about their work. They can bore you to tears with details.”

Amusement softened his gaze. “Then just tell me the basics.”

“I’d been working my way across the country when I spotted my first camera at an auction. After that I was hooked.”

“Why?”

“I could make the world appear as I wanted it to appear with a camera. I could manipulate light, angle, setting, and mood. And my end product was concrete and a perfect record of my travels. For someone with a key memory missing, a solid record was appealing.”

“Where did you go?”

“All over the country. I think I put fifty thousand miles on my truck last year. But when my grandmother died, she left her house to me and her store property to my cousin, Cassidy.”

“And Cassidy offered you a show?”

“She did. And my friend, Jonathan, got me the gig at the university. Austin, until last week, had become the perfect fit for me.”

“You still planning to stay?”

“I’ve more of my mother’s gypsy blood in me than I realized. But for now, I’ll stay. If this guy found me here, he’ll find me in the next place.” She picked at a thread on her jeans. “Someone has been putting notes on my car at school.”

Lethal energy radiated from him. “What kind of notes?”

“‘The killer is close.’” She dug in her backpack and pulled out the crumpled note and handed it to him. “There’s another in my truck.”

Utter stillness overtook him as he studied the paper. “Who do you think did it?”

“I’m not sure.”

His gaze darkened. “You have ideas.”

“Sure.”

“Tell me.”

She shook her head. “Not until I know for sure.”

“Tell me.”

“No. I don’t want to ruin a college career, until I’m sure.”

“This isn’t a game.”

“I know. And I know you are a pit bull and as soon as I give you the kid’s name you’ll be all over him.”

“Damn right.”

“The kid could just be a jerk and nothing more.”

His grin looked more feral than friendly. “I’ll play nice until I’m sure.”

She shook her head. “No.”

He frowned his frustration. “I want you to be vigilant, Lara. This killer changed his MO in Seattle with you, and now he’s in Austin. Have you considered staying in town with your cousin?”

“She hates dogs. It was all I could do to get her to dog-sit the other day.”

“You could board Lincoln.”

“No. I’m not boarding my guy. He wouldn’t understand.”

“I don’t like you out here.”

“You sound like my friend Jonathan.”

He frowned as if the comparison bothered him. “He’s right.”

“I’ve got Lincoln.”

“Lincoln has been drugged once.” Beck shook his head. “He can’t fully protect you out here. I can’t protect you out here.”

“You couldn’t protect me in town. If this guy wants to kill me, he will.”

Beck’s eyes darkened. “Not on my watch.”

Beck did not like leaving Lara alone in her home. He’d checked all the windows and door locks before he’d left, and he’d asked DPS to swing by several times an hour. Still, she was out in the wind swinging virtually alone. And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

His phone rang as the side road reached the interstate. “Beck.”

“This is Steve Cannon in Seattle. Thought I’d follow up and see how your investigation is going down there.”

He rubbed a knot in the back of his neck. “Not well. We had another murder and so far have no suspects.”

“I called Raines, but he’s not answering his cell. I’m guessing he’s still down there.”

“He is. He’s pretty damn committed to the case.”

“That’s Raines. He never quits.”

“Must have had one hell of a closure rate up there.”

“It was good. After his wife and daughter died it became great.”

Beck hesitated. “His wife and daughter are dead?”

“Eight years ago. Car accident. Hell of a tragedy. His life became all about work after Susan and Tara died.”

Raines gave no hint of the loss. “He still wears his band. Talks about his family as if they are alive.”

“I know. They meant everything to him. Wouldn’t be surprised if he still has Susan’s voice on the home answering machine.”

“How was he on the job after their deaths?”

“It was hard the first two or three months. He couldn’t work. But then slowly he started to come back bit by bit. Some days I could almost believe the old Raines had returned.”

“And then he quit.”

“It tore at him that he couldn’t close the Strangler cases. The brass put a lot of pressure on him. He never said what happened in that last meeting with the chief, but he gave up police work. Said it was time to start making real dough so he could retire to Fiji. Honestly, I’m sorry you got this case, but I’m glad Raines has a second chance to catch this guy. He was one hell of a cop, and he deserves to nail this bastard to the wall.”

They talked a few more minutes and Beck rang off, partly sorry for Raines and more than a little worried that he had an unstable nut on his hands. There was no denying the guy knew the case inside and out, but Beck needed to know the guy could keep his shit together.

Beck pulled up in front of Raines’s motel forty minutes later and knocked on his door. Inside he heard the television and then the rustle of papers.

“Who is it?” Raines called back, his voice gruff.

“Beck.”

“Just a minute.” Beck heard him moving around the room and then back to the door before snapping it open. He wore jeans and a shirt partly buttoned, and was drying his wet hair with a towel.

“You taking the time to hide your gun?”

Raines smiled. “It would be illegal for me to have a gun in Texas.”

“Once a cop always a cop. I feel naked without mine.”

Raines motioned for Beck to come inside. “Why the visit? There a break in the case?”

He opted not to share what Lara had told him. Along the way his priority had shifted to protecting her. “Just got off the phone with Seattle.”

Raines stepped aside and allowed Beck into his room. The place was clean, organized. On a simple desk a high-tech laptop, the screen saver a family photo of a younger Raines holding a towheaded toddler with a smiling attractive blond woman staring at him. On the wall above the desk, a map of Austin covered in yellow and blue sticky notes.

“I’m not surprised you’re working the case from your room.”

Raines chuckled and tossed the towel in the bathroom. “If you were in my shoes would you have handled this any differently?”

Beck had worked the Misty Gray case to exhaustion. “No. I guess I wouldn’t.”

Raines’s smile wilted. “So what did Seattle say about me?”

He sensed the older cop already knew the answer. “Told me about your wife and daughter.”

“That so?”

Beck resisted another look at the screen saver. “Hell of a thing to happen.”

“That’s putting it mildly.” He swallowed and gritted his teeth. “It is more like having your guts ripped out and fed to you.”

“Seattle said work was all you had.”

“That’s about right.” His demeanor offered no hint of apology. “I threw myself into work, especially the Strangler case. I lived and breathed it. It was a lifeline for me.”

“I can appreciate that, but I need to make sure you’re not a loose cannon, Raines. You are dangerous if this case doesn’t stay impersonal.”

He shook his head. “The case has been personal to me for seven years. A change of cities or job titles does not change that. I am going to do whatever it takes to catch this guy.”

“You break any of my laws, and I am going to arrest you.”

Raines held his gaze. “Then I guess I better mind my manners or at least not get caught.”

Beck studied the guy, searching for any whiff of trouble. He wanted to like this guy. Wanted to see him close this case. But he didn’t need a vigilante on the loose. “Keep your nose clean. If you step out of line, I’ll lock you up.”

Raines ran long fingers through his wet hair and smiled. “You’re the boss, cowboy.”

It was after ten at night when he followed her car onto the interstate. He had been watching her for days. He knew where she lived. Where she worked. Her favorite grocery store. Her favorite hairdresser.

Tonight while she’d been in the bar, in a matter of seconds, he’d punctured her back passenger-side tire and attached a cell phone jammer to the inside of her wheel well.

The battery in the jammer was good for several hours, so he knew she’d not be able to place calls from her car. The real unknown was the tire. He’d made the hole small, knowing she’d be on the road by nine thirty because she had an early Pilates class on Thursdays. The air would leak slowly at first and the damage wouldn’t be noticeable until much later. Of course, she could stay in the bar longer or choose a different, more populated route home. In either case, his plan would be ruined. But it was the risk, the idea that he could fail, that added a thrill to the chase. What was a hunt after all if there was no risk?