The Seventh Victim (34 page)

“What was your average day like?”

“I was always up by five, to the gym by six and classes or the library by eight. I treated school like a workday.”

“You studied fashion.”

“Fashion merchandising and business.”

Beck found himself drawn in by Lara’s easy smile. Since the day they’d first locked gazes, she’d been tight and guarded. At her art show opening he’d seen glimmers of this old Lara. More than ever he wanted to catch the man who had crushed the free-spirited Lara.

He pulled a notebook from his breast pocket, scribbled a note, and handed it to the doctor. She glanced at it and nodded.

“Lara,” Dr. Granger said. “Let’s now fast-forward to you walking outside the club. You’ve had a couple of drinks, you are relaxed and you are so hopeful.” She glanced at the note. “Do you remember who was standing outside the club? Anyone that just for an instant caught your gaze.”

A frown furrowed her brow. “It was drizzling that night, so there weren’t many people. There were several cabs out front, the drivers behind the wheel. A couple walked past. They were huddled under hooded raincoats and hurrying.” She sighed. “There was a man standing under an awning. He was huddled under an umbrella, and his collar was turned up. He was looking in my direction.”

Beck nodded to the doctor, silently encouraging her to continue asking about this man. “What caught your attention about this guy?”

“He had an umbrella, not a rain jacket with a hood. Tourists carried umbrellas, the locals wore jackets with hoods all the time because it rained most of the time.”

“Take a moment to focus on this man. What did he look like?”

“His face was turned down, and his jacket collar up.”

Beck scribbled a list of questions and handed it to the doctor. “What was the color of his jacket?”

“Black.”

“Did the jacket have a logo?”

“Something in red on the sleeve, but I didn’t get a good look.”

Dr. Granger nodded. “What about his hair? Was it long or short?”

“Short. Light color. His hands were shoved in his pockets, and he was tapping his toe. He looked like he was waiting for someone.”

You
, Beck thought.
He could have been waiting for you.

“What else was he wearing?”

“Jeans and boots.”

Dr. Granger glanced at her list. “When you got into the cab, what did he do next?”

“Once I was in the cab and settled I glanced back out at him. I guess I felt sorry for him. He was running to the cab behind mine.”

“Did you get a better look at his face?”

“He was still holding his collar up. I couldn’t see his face at all.” Her head cocked and she sat up.

Beck jotted down notes.
Tourist. Blond. Midsized. Black jacket. Red logo.

“The cab took you back to your apartment?” Dr. Granger said.

“Yes. I got out of the cab and hurried through the rain to the entryway. As the cab pulled off I was fishing my key out of my purse. I always had my key out, but I’d forgotten that night. I was pretty tipsy. Before I could get it out . . .” She stopped and her breathing grew shallow.

“What happened?” Dr. Granger said.

Lara raised fingertips to her lips. “Someone pressed a rag to my face.” Panic sharpened her tone. “The smell was awful. And then everything went dark. The next thing I remember is the hospital.”

Beck motioned to the doctor. He wanted to ask the next question. The doctor hesitated and then nodded.

He leaned forward, his knees nearly pressing against hers. “Lara.”

Tension rippled through her shoulders and her breathing slowed.

“Lara, it’s Sergeant Beck.”

Her frown eased.

“In the dream you had the other night, you said there was a man. The man commented on your white dress.” He didn’t mention the sexual assault, fearing she’d shut down.

She smoothed her hands over her jeans as if it were the imagined white dress. “He liked the white dress.”

“What did he like about it?”

“He said ... he said it made me look like an angel.” Beck met Dr. Granger’s gaze. The doctor nodded, prompting him to continue. “He said you looked like an angel?”

“An angel that fell from heaven. His voice was barely a whisper.”

“What did he smell like?”

She hesitated and then wrinkled her nose. “He smelled like lemons.”

“Lemons?”

“Yes. Very strong.”

“What else do you remember?”

“He liked hurting me.” Her brow wrinkled. “When I cried out, he laughed.” A tear spilled down her cheek and she quickly grew restless.

Dr. Granger touched Lara gently on her knee. “You are safe, Lara. He isn’t here, and he can’t hurt you.”

Lara stared out with vacant eyes. “But he can hurt me. He can see me, but I can’t see him.”

Her entire body tensed, and she leaned forward as if to get off the couch. Beck shifted to the couch and sat beside her. “Lara, you are safe.”

Lara leaned into his warmth. “I am not safe.” She raised her hand to her neck and tears welled in her eyes.

“I’ll wake her up,” Dr. Granger said.

Beck hated seeing her suffer, but if he didn’t find the Strangler, more women would die. He took her hands in his. Her fingers, small and delicate, were rough with callouses. “Did he say anything else?”

Her fingers fisted around his. “After he got off me his mood changed. He sounded angry. Said I needed to look at him. I needed to see him.” She started to weep.

Beck nodded to the doctor, signaling her to end it.

Dr. Granger immediately snapped her fingers. “Lara, it’s time to wake up. Wake up, Lara.”

Lara’s lids fluttered open revealing blue eyes filled with panic and fear. Wet tears streaked.

“It’s okay,” Beck said.

As she lifted her gaze toward his face, she saw that he was still holding her hands. Instead of pulling away, he held tight with surprising strength. Slowly, her wild look calmed.

She closed her eyes and when she reopened them she looked controlled. She pulled her hands free, swiped her cheek dry, and sat straighter. “Did I help?”

“You remembered that the man from your dreams smelled of lemons and that he wore a bandage on his hand. Any ideas that could fill in more details?”

Silence, and then she frowned. “Sorry. Not a clue. But I’ll think about it.”

Dr. Granger said, “I think that’s enough for today.”

“I agree,” Beck said.

Lara nodded. “I should stop by the gallery and check in with Cassidy. She sent me an e-mail and said I’ve had more sales.”

Beck made no move to ease his body away from hers. He liked the feel of her next to him. “Maybe you should give it a rest.”

She pushed her palms over her thighs and rose. “I’d rather keep moving. Life is simpler if I’m busy and don’t have too much time to think.”

Beck also rose. “Why is that?”

“When I’m busy I’m not worrying. When I have downtime I get a little panicked.” She kept her tone light, but it didn’t lesson the punch of the words.

“Why?” Dr. Granger said, standing.

“The hole in my memory stirs up all kinds of worries.”

“What are some of the common worries?” Dr. Granger said.

“That he is close. That he always knows where I am. I think that is why I was on the move so much. I just wanted to stay ahead of it.”

“Were there times when it is worse than others?”

“Around the anniversary of the attack.”

June 1 had been the date on the first police report. “That’s tomorrow.” He’d been wondering why the killer had returned to Austin but had left Lara alone so far. Was he waiting for the anniversary?

“What are you thinking?” she said.

“Just tossing around ideas. It’s what I do all the time.”

“It’s more than tossing around ideas. You’ve settled on a theory.” She cocked her head. “He’s waiting for the anniversary.”

“We don’t know that.”

Keen eyes assessed him. “No, but you are thinking it.”

He smiled. “I think a lot. Why don’t I follow you over to the gallery?”

“You don’t need to do that. I can handle myself.” She looked at Dr. Granger. “Am I good to go?”

The doctor smiled. “Yes. But if you have more memories or thoughts, call me. Don’t worry about the time of day.”

Lara, Lincoln, and Beck moved to her truck.

“Bring that tire by Beck’s Garage, and I’ll patch it up for you.”

“You’d patch a tire for me?”

“I can patch a tire, fix any engine, and hit any target with just about any gun. But don’t ask me to dance.”

She laughed. “No dancing?”

The laughter made her eyes brighter. “Two left feet. Been a few women who stumbled off the dance floor cussing and using the Lord’s name in vain after we took a spin.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. What else can’t you do?”

“I’m not fond of chick flicks, fancy restaurants, or wearing a tie.”

“And what do you like?”

A half smile flickered at the edge of his lips. “I like you.”

She arched a brow. “Me? Sergeant, now I’m worried about you.”

“Why’s that?”

“I’m a neurotic artist who hasn’t lived anywhere for more than six months in the last seven years. I work insane hours, and I’m extremely moody when the work isn’t coming together.”

“Other than the neurotic artist part you could have just described the life of a Ranger.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps we are kindred spirits after all. And,” she said, “I’m not so fond of dancing either.”

“What do you like?”

“I like my work. I like Lincoln. I’m starting to like my house and Austin.”

He took her hand in his and traced her palm with his calloused thumb. “I’m going to catch this guy.” Clear. Decisive. “You are going to be safe.”

“You sound a little like Raines. He said almost the same thing to me in Seattle. And now here he is seven years later still hunting the same killer.”

The comparison to Raines was not a comfortable one. “Do you know much about Raines?”

“No.”

“What about his personal life?”

She cocked her head, questioning. “I remember him showing me a picture of his daughter and saying he did what he did for her.”

“Did he tell you that his wife and daughter died?”

Her skin paled. “No.”

“Car accident about eight years ago.”

Her gaze softened. “I’m so sorry. I don’t like the guy, but I wouldn’t wish that kind of tragedy on my worst enemy.”

“He still wears his wedding band. And I would never have known if one of his old coworkers hadn’t mentioned it.” Beck hooked his thumb in his belt loop. “You’re right when you say he is a lot like me. Raines and I are both driven, and we both live for the job.”

“You’re afraid you’ll end up like him.”

Nail on the head. His forced vacation had made it painfully clear that he had no life outside of work. He’d never minded the long hours or his meager social life. In the last few years the line between him and the work had blurred.

Even that realization hadn’t bothered him until he’d met Lara. “I might be a bit worried about that.”

She drew in a breath as if she was bolstering her courage. “I try to picture myself in ten years. Will I still be tromping around the country alone taking pictures? Yes. But will I be coming home to an empty house? Lincoln will likely be gone by then, and I won’t have anyone.” She chewed her lip. “I don’t love that vision.”

He put his hand in his pocket, resisting the urge to touch her. “Might not be that bad.”

A blush colored her pale cheeks. “When this is all over, Detective, why don’t you come by my place for dinner?”

“A vegetarian dinner?”

She shrugged. “Some of the mushroom dishes taste a lot like meat.”

He leaned toward her, grinning. “But you and I would both know it wasn’t the real deal.”

Lara tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Kinda the point.”

His look was probing. “Saying I do come over for a meal.” He spoke carefully, each word deliberate. “How about I bring a couple of steaks to cook on the grill? You do have a grill, don’t you?”

“I do. But a couple of steaks?” She shook her head. “I don’t eat steak.”

He arched a brow. “I was thinking about Lincoln.” The dog’s ears perked at the sound of his name. “We carnivores got to stick together.”

She savored the warmth of his hand against hers. “I’m sure he could be talked into it.”

Beck stood just inches from her, so close he could smell the mingling of her scent with her soap. Another loose strand hung over her eyes and he wanted so much to brush it back. Instead, he released her hand and stepped back. “The difference between Raines and me is that I am going to catch this guy.”

Beck arrived at the medical examiner’s office just after grabbing a quick sandwich. Santos stood by the table watching as the doctor made his external examination. “Sorry I’m late.”

Santos looked up. “How is Henry?”

“Hanging tough, but he’s going to have to watch it for a while.”

“Steve there?”

“I left word with him.”

“Good.” Santos drew in a breath. “I called the hospital, and because I’m not family I wasn’t allowed to visit.” Sadness drifted behind the words.

“Go any time. And if they give you shit, call me.” He hesitated. “Visits should be made sooner than later.”

Santos frowned. “Got it.”

“He’ll like the visit.” Beck took a deep breath, and as he released it, he brushed his personal problems into a box and locked it up tight. Later when he had time to worry and fuss he would, but for now it was all about the case. “What have you found so far?”

The doctor peered through clear goggles. “I was just inspecting the dress and noting it is different than the others.”

“How?”

“Style is simpler. Less lace. No trim.”

“I was thinking about the dresses,” Santos said. “What if we lined the dresses up and had my aunt look at them?”

“Your aunt?”

“She’s a seamstress. Made all the costumes for a lot of the bands and singers in town. She can tell a lot about the way a person sews.”

“It’s worth a try. Set it up.”

The doctor carefully undressed the body and placed the dress in a paper bag. “There are no signs of external trauma,” he said. “Except, of course, for the bruising around the neck.”