Shadow Fall (Tracers Series Book 9) (14 page)

“Rushing!” Brannon darted across the room and through a door that stood ajar. “Check this out.”

Tara was still scanning the blankets for any sign of life, but the room was empty, and her stomach knotted with fear as she followed Brannon through the doorway.

She knew the room from the videos—every detail, down to the wrought-iron bed and faded black comforter. The bed was empty now, the entire room empty. Her gaze went to the scarred wooden dresser where a frozen yogurt cup had once been.

Now it was gone.

A glint on the floor caught her eye, something peeking from under the bed. She dropped to her knees and pulled out a sequined pink flip-flop, a child’s.

“Son of a fucking bitch.”

“Hey!” Brannon’s gaze snapped to hers. “You hear that?”

She listened. Turned. Behind a floor-to-ceiling curtain over what she’d assumed was a window, there was actually a door.

“Cover me,” Brannon said, pushing it open.

Thin white legs. Bare feet. A mop of brown hair. It was a girl, maybe four, huddled beneath the sink. Tara rushed over, making soft shushing noises she didn’t recognize—a nonverbal soothing that seemed to spring from inside her.

“Chhh, chhh, chhh . . . it’s all right.” She slung her gun to her back and crouched beside the girl. Brannon switched on the light, and Tara saw the glimmer of metal dangling from the pipe beneath the sink. The handcuff was attached to a tiny wrist, rubbed raw.

“Find a key,” she ordered, and Brannon disappeared, leaving her alone with the child.

Matted hair, dirty cheeks. Her wide, dark eyes made Tara’s heart pinch.

“Chhh, chhh, chhh . . . it’s okay now.” Tara reached for the girl, but she cowered back. “It’s okay. You’re safe. We’re going to get you out now, okay?”

More squirming and pulling. In her flak jacket and helmet, she must look terrifying. Tara pulled off her helmet and prayed the social worker would get her ass over here. Then she grabbed a towel off a hook on the wall and wrapped it around the quivering shoulders.

Tara glanced back at the empty bedroom. She’d memorized every detail down to the stains in the Sheetrock.

She looked at the cowering child. “The others,” she said softly. “Do you know where they are?”

“He said don’t talk.”

“It’s okay now. You can talk to me. Do you know where the others went?”

She nodded slowly, and Tara’s stomach filled with dread.

“Where are they? You can tell me. Where are all the girls?”

Tara jerked upright, heart pounding. She stared into the darkness. She glanced around at the clock, the TV, the stripe of gray seeping through the curtains.

Another hotel room, this one in Austin. She brushed her hair from her face. Her T-shirt was soaked with sweat. She peeled the sheets away and walked into the bathroom, still disoriented as she groped around for a light switch. She blinked at her reflection in the mirror.

Damn.

Her skin was pale, her eyes bloodshot. The fluorescent light didn’t do her any favors. Ditto the lack of sleep and the endless workdays strung together, week after week, until it was all a blur.

The most important thing—the life-and-death thing—is focus.

Liam’s words echoed through her head like an indictment. When was the last time she’d focused on anything?

She stared at the mirror, straining to think objectively.

Before the raid.

That had to be it. Days before the raid, her focus had been razor-sharp. It was that utter focus that had allowed her to spot the yogurt cup in the back of a sex video. A small paper cup that she’d traced to a yogurt shop had broken the case wide open.

But that was days ago, almost a week. And now she was running on fumes.

She thought of Liam’s eyes last night, so dark and observant.

Why SWAT?

She’d told him but only part of it.

Yes, she’d joined because she was determined to avoid being pigeonholed. Law enforcement was a boys’ club, and in that sense the Bureau was no different from thousands of station houses across the country. Change was coming but at a glacial pace. People had to retire and die, taking their crusty attitudes with them to the grave.

She hadn’t told him the full story, the emotional part. She hadn’t told him the team was her lifeline. She needed it. Beyond the harsh and sometimes brutal camaraderie, she needed the raw, physical release. She needed to storm through those doors and stare into those faces and slap bracelets on those people who’d
hurt
people. It was her outlet, her antidote for the feelings of impotence that could swallow her, for that creeping sense of being invisible to all but the most calculating eyes. It was her way of slapping back.

Usually. But last week’s raid had slapped back at her.

She had no one to blame but herself. She should have seen it coming.

Tara glared at her reflection.
Get over it.

She had a job to do, and it deserved her full attention. In that, at least, she knew Liam was right.

She reached into the shower and set the water to scalding. She stripped out of her tank and panties and stepped into the hot spray just as her phone chimed from across the room. Cursing, she snagged a towel and rushed to catch the call—M.J.

“It’s six thirty-two,” Tara snapped.

“Are you in Austin?”

“Yes.”

“Where’s Liam?”

“At the moment, no idea,” she said. “But he was here last night. Why?”

“We need you back here ASAP, Tara.”

“Don’t tell me—”

“We’ve got another one.”

THE FOREST WAS
damp and cold, and Tara’s breath frosted in front of her as she slid from the car. She scanned the crime scene, marked off with yellow tape. She saw sheriff’s deputies but no sheriff, and Kelsey Quinn’s fiery hair stood out against the dull gray tree trunks.

The forensic anthropologist knelt on the forest floor, scraping at something with a small tool. The area around her was surrounded by metal stakes and cordoned off with blue twine.

Kelsey glanced up and climbed to her feet. “You made it,” she said, dusting her gloved hands on her jeans. Her knees were black with dirt. “Agent Martinez must have called you.”

“She did,” Tara said. “Is she around?”

“I think she’s with the sheriff.”

“I’m surprised he notified you.”

“He didn’t. The coroner called,” Kelsey said. “Cypress County’s second skeleton in six months. I definitely think he’s feeling in over his head. Anyway, I’m glad he notified me this time. I like to see the remains in place.”

Tara looked down at the excavation site, which had been neatly subdivided into a grid of one-by-one-foot squares. Gray sticklike objects protruded from the soil. They didn’t even look like bones, really.

“Who reported this?” Tara asked.

“Anonymous.”

Tara raised her eyebrows.

“If I had to guess, I’d say hunters.”

“Why’s that?”

Kelsey tucked a tool into her pocket. “Deer season ended a week ago. Could be they were torn between civic duty and wanting to avoid being hit with a fine by the game warden.” She tugged her gloves off. “Let me show you what we have.”

She walked away from the grid to a separate area on the other side of the clearing.

“This is private property?” Tara asked, looking around uneasily. They were only a few miles from Liam’s ranch.

“Belongs to a timber company out of Louisiana, I’m told. Here, have a look.” Kelsey gestured to a smaller site designated with orange twine. Leaves had been cleared, and Tara noted the scoop-shaped depression in the soil.

“A skull?” Tara asked.

“That’s right.”

Tara glanced over her shoulder. “Is it unusual to find it so . . . apart from everything else?”

“That happens a lot,” Kelsey said, “mostly due to scavengers, particularly when remains are buried in a shallow grave or not buried at all. And to make matters worse, we had a flood here not long ago, as I told you back at the lab. So anything could have scattered the bones—scavengers, people, Mother Nature.”

“Where is it now?”

“The skull? I’ve got it boxed already. Don’t worry—it’s been tagged and photographed. We’re extremely thorough, I can assure you.”

“Any obvious cause of death?”

“No bullet holes, slugs, or lead wipe.”

“Lead wipe?”

“Metallic deposits left in bone when a bullet penetrates. Of course, I’m just getting started, so there’s still time.” Kelsey rubbed her forehead with the back of her sleeve. Despite the cold, she looked flushed. Hunching over a grave site was obviously hard work.

“And gender?” Tara asked.

“Undetermined. Although based on a ring discovered with the hand bones, I’d guess female. I’ll have the Big Four by tomorrow, along with postmortem interval and possibly cause of death.” Kelsey met Tara’s gaze. “If it turns out this is related to Catalina Reyes and our Jane Doe, then that’s three victims.”

Tara understood the implication. That many connected murders indicated a serial killer.

Kelsey peered around Tara and muttered a curse. Tara turned to see Jason crouched inside the blue grid.

“Deputy, I need your boots
out
of the excavation site,” Kelsey commanded. “Nobody’s allowed in there besides me and my staff.”

Jason stood up, scowling. He took his time glancing around and then wandered back to the CSI van, where law-enforcement types were milling around.

“Unbelievable.” Kelsey shook her head.

“How long do you think the recovery will take?”

She glanced at her watch. “Hard to say. The canine unit’s still finishing up. Assuming we don’t find any secondary sites, I’d say five or six hours?”

Tara was shocked. “Even with our evidence response team? They should be here any minute.”

“I know, but it’s slow going. An excavation like this requires small wooden instruments and animal-hair brushes to avoid marking up the bones. That takes time. And every scoop of dirt has to be sifted for evidence. A wad of chewing gum or a fingernail or a scrap of duct tape could contain vital DNA evidence.” She nodded at the tent, where several workers in Delphi Center jackets knelt beside a sifter. “We have to go through everything, a thimble at a time.”

“What can I do to help?”

“You’ve called your ERT people, so that helps a lot. I assume they’re trained in body recovery?”

“They are.”

“Hey!” Kelsey strode past Tara. “Did you just
spit
near the grave site?” She stalked right up to Jason, who was hovering over the sifters now.

“Huh?”

“Step away from my sifters, sir. That’s a restricted area.”

His cheeks reddened. “I’m deputy sheriff in this county.”

“I don’t care who you are. If you contaminate my crime scene again, I’ll have you permanently removed.”

Jason stormed off just as Tara heard a whistle from the woods. She turned to see a stocky young man walking over with a German shepherd.

“Something you need to see, Doc.” He glanced at Tara, and she introduced herself.

Kelsey walked over. “Peaches alert on something?”

“About a quarter mile in,” he said. “Follow me.”

He led them back across the clearing and into the woods. A layer of pine needles covered the loamy soil, making it impossible to see footprints. The deeper into the woods, the darker and danker the surrounding air. The dog handler held a branch back so it wouldn’t snap Tara in the face.

“Watch your step here,” he said. “It gets steep.”

Peaches led the expedition, confidently picking her way down an incline into a hollow littered with fallen trees and branches. She stopped beside a rotten log and thumped her tail on the ground.

“Down here,” the handler said, peeling away a tangle of vines with his gloved hands.

Kelsey crouched beside him and took a look, then rubbed the dog’s head. “She’s good, isn’t she?”

“The best.”

Tara looked over Kelsey’s shoulder to see a slender gray bone peeking out from the leaves. “Is it human?”

“Looks like it to me. I’d say a radius.” Kelsey looked at Tara. “An arm bone. I’ll examine the osteon pattern back at the lab to confirm.” She dug a magnifying glass from her pocket and studied the specimen. “Slight scratches. They look postmortem, so my guess is they were caused by scavengers, possibly a raccoon or a coyote. I need to photograph it like this before we do anything.”

They stood up, and the solemn look on Kelsey’s face gave Tara a sinking feeling.

“Looks like we’re dealing with a serial killer,” Kelsey said.

“But how do you know scavengers didn’t drag this over from the other grave site?”

“Because”—Kelsey nodded at the clearing—“that victim’s arms are intact. This bone belongs to someone else.”

TARA RETURNED TO
her room at Big Pines practically drunk with exhaustion. Her shoulders ached. Her knees burned. Even her arm hurt as she reached to switch on the lamp.

She dumped everything onto the bed—phone, food, jacket, plus the map she’d picked up at the convenience store. Feeling faint from hunger, she sank onto the mattress and tore into her Snickers bar but quickly discovered she barely had the energy to chew.

She was wasted, both physically and mentally. And she knew sleep would be fitful tonight. Again.

Last night she’d drifted off thinking of Liam. She’d thought about his mouth and his taste and the warm slide of his hands. The buzz of it all had given her a few solid hours. But sometime around sunrise the raid had come back, just in time to wring her out emotionally before the start of the day.