The Seventh Victim (42 page)

Raines was faster than she’d ever imagined. He raced over the ground behind her, his feet thundering fast and hot. She didn’t dare look back as she felt the glance would cost her precious time. She reached for her cell phone and dialed 911, but in her rush, she tripped over a rock and dropped the phone.

Lara stopped to pick up the phone. It was just a second or two of hesitation. But enough time to allow strong arms to wrap around her waist and tackle her to the ground. She hit hard on her side and felt the air whoosh out of her lungs. Stunned by the impact, she didn’t move for a second until she felt herself being rolled on her back and strong legs trapping her as her arms were pinned over her head.

Sweat dripped from Raines’s brow, and he huffed and struggled to catch his breath. “You’re fast.”

He was going to kill her out here in the wilderness, and no one was going to find her body for days or weeks, if ever.

Her survival rested on her shoulders now. No one was going to save her now. She tried to pull her hands free of his grip, but his fingers only bit tighter into her flesh. She flayed her legs and thrashed her body, reasoning if they were fighting at least he wasn’t strangling her. Once he got his hands on her throat and started to squeeze, she’d be dead in minutes.

A burst of energy born of desperation fueled her struggles, which she prayed were taking their toll on him. Sweat dampened his palms, making them slick and allowing her to pull her hand free. She balled up her fist and hit him squarely in the jaw.

He cursed and punched his fist into her belly, knocking the wind and the fight right out of her. She coughed and sputtered.

He wiped the blood from his nose. “Fighting me is only going to make this more painful, Lara. And I don’t want to hurt you.”

She coughed and sucked in hair. “You want to kill me, you bastard.”

“Death is not the worst fate you can suffer, Lara. You know life is full of pain.”

“It’s my pain, you asshole. And I’ll take the good with the bad.”

He wrapped strong fingers around her neck. “It’s better this way.”

“It’s not.” Tears welled in her eyes and trickled down her cheek over his hands. “It’s not.”

He smiled as he started to tighten his hold. “There’s no saving either of us.”

Gun drawn, Beck hustled to the top of the hill and immediately spotted the flicker of movement fifty feet ahead. He spotted the back of a man, hunched forward. There was no sign of Lara. He took a chance and called out, “Raines!”

The man glanced back for an instant, then returned his attention back to where it had been. Beck raced forward another ten yards, saw Lara’s body trapped under Raines. Beck didn’t hesitate. He stopped, steadied himself, and fired.

The bullet struck Raines in the back, knocking him to the side. Lara rolled to her side, coughing and clutching her throat. Raines, clutching his side, rose up as he reached for his gun.

“Leave it, Raines.”

Raines’s gaze sharpened and then he drew his gun.

Beck fired, this time hitting him in the chest. For an instant, Raines stood there, stunned, and then slowly lowered his gaze to the blood blossoming on his shirt. He touched the blood with his fingertips, smiled, and dropped to the ground.

Beck ran toward Raines, picked up the ex-cop’s gun, and checked for a pulse. None. Raines was dead.

Lara rose up and staggered to her feet. Beck raced toward her, catching her as she lost her footing. He stared at the dark red, angry marks on her neck and nearly broke. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

She tried to speak, but her voice sounded like a hoarse croak.

“You don’t have to speak.” In the distance, the sound of sirens grew closer and closer.

She shook her head. “Lic . . . Lincoln.”

“That’s help on the way. He was alive when I saw him.”

Tears flowed down her face.

Beck held her close. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

Epilogue

Six weeks later

“Will the patient live?” Lara said as she glanced over her truck engine into Beck and Henry’s pensive expressions.

Henry, who’d been home from the hospital for over a month, shook his head. “Gonna take some work. This baby has been rode hard.”

Beck glanced up at her, his gaze softening a bit when he looked at her. “Don’t you think it’s time for a new truck, Lara?”

A fully recovered Lincoln sat in the corner of Beck’s Garage gnawing on a chew stick. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he halted his chewing to scratch a shorn patch on his hindquarters. The vet had shaved nearly his entire back leg and part of his right side. The hair was growing back, but he still looked moth-eaten.

Lara’s bruises had healed easily, and she appeared perfectly normal, but the attacks of Matthews and then Raines had left a mark on Lara. She continued to wake up in the middle of the night clutching her throat and gasping for air. Most nights Beck was at her side, holding her close until her panic eased. At Beck’s urging, Lara spent more time with Dr. Granger, who worked with her to unlock more buried memories from her past.

Lara stared at the engine. “But I love this car. It was practically my home for the last seven years.” She’d even slept in it some nights.

Beck’s smile was warm, gentle. “And it served you well, but the time has come to let it go.”

Lara glanced at Henry. “It really can’t be saved?”

“It would take a great mechanic at least a week to fix all that needs fixing.” He kept his gaze on Lara, not tossing even the slightest glance at Henry. “It would cost a fortune. You are better off, and safer for that matter, if you get a new car.”

She smoothed her hand lovingly over the car. “God, but I hate to see her go.”

“Sometimes it’s best to start fresh,” Beck said.

Henry rubbed the back of his neck. Three weeks ago he’d had open-heart surgery. He was recovering well, but without the work of the garage he had grown irritable and sometimes depressed. “Beck’s more doom and gloom than me. I might be able to fix her.”

“You think?”

When she looked at Beck she saw no doubt in his eyes as he shook his head. “Lot of work, Henry. Think you’re up to it?”

Henry straightened, hooking his thumbs in his belt just like his grandson. “Retirement is overrated. A little stress and aggravation will do me good.”

Lara grinned. “Take as long as you like. I’ve got Cassidy’s old car to drive until it’s ready.”

Henry winked at her. “She’ll be running like new when I’m done with her.”

Beck, stifling a grin, came around the truck, and hooked his arm around Lara. “You’re biting off a mighty big bite.”

Henry snorted. “Get out of my garage. I’ve got work to do.”

Lara and Beck walked outside into the sunlight. Lincoln glanced up at her and then at Henry before lowering his attention back to the rawhide.

She hooked her arm around his waist. “You were right,” she said. “Henry needs a project.”

“Treating him like an old man won’t help him a bit.”

For a moment, she tipped her face toward the sun, reveling in the perfection of the day. She had Beck, Lincoln, Henry, and Elaina. Her work was not only selling, but she was hungry to create more. And two very dangerous men were dead. One had wanted to save his victims and another had wanted to steal their bright futures.

She thought about Raines and the detailed notes they’d found in his briefcase. Many of the notes detailed her travels over the last seven years. Crammed in the back of the notebook were newspaper articles that described the Austin murders. In red ink, he’d scrawled
LIAR
on all. Raines couldn’t stand to see credit for his “good” work tainted by Matthews. His drive to find the imposter had become such an obsession it had halted his own killing spree.

Jonathan’s books had been equally as chilling. The Seattle books had been his attempt to study the Seattle Strangler, a man who’d captured his obsession. He’d spent hours and hours fantasizing about the Strangler killing Lara, whom he felt had betrayed him when she opted not to return to Austin.

One killer saw himself as a savior and the other a righteous thief who owned the promising futures of women so much like Lara.

“You’re doing it again,” Beck said.

Eyes still closed, she said, “What’s that?”

He traced a frown line on her forehead with his fingertip. “Remembering.”

She opened her eyes, a wry smile tipping the edge of her lips. “I spent so many years wishing I could remember, and now I can’t stop.”

“Bad memories don’t go away, but they do ease with time.”

“And in the meantime?”

He grinned. “We make some memories of our own.”

Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of Mary Burton’s new novel,

NO ESCAPE,

coming in November 2013 from Kensington Publishing!

Prologue

Central Texas

April, ten years ago

Moonlight dripped on the rusted blue ’79 Chevy Impala angled at the end of a dirt-packed rural road. Yards ahead a footpath twisted, slithered and vanished into scrawny woodlands. A coyote howled.

Robbie had never been here before but his father, Harvey Day Smith, had grown up near this property. He’d often talked about it, swearing he could conjure each rock, bump and tree on the field now awash in springtime bluebonnets.

Harvey said the bluebonnets always calmed his racing thoughts and chased away his demons. But imagining the sea of delicate purple flowers did little to ease Robbie’s dread.

Setting the brake, Harvey leaned over the steering wheel and stared at the trail that snaked toward the beloved blossoms. “I bet you money that my baby girl would love to see the blossoms. Yes, sir, she would love it.”

“She’s not a baby, Harvey,” Robbie said. “She’s twenty-two. A year younger than me.”

His smile ebbing, a forlorn shadow darkened the older man’s features. “No, I reckon, she’s not a baby, Robbie. She’s graduated. Earned her bachelor’s and going to get her PhD. Smart kid. A chip off the old block.”

Jealousy stinging, Robbie regarded Harvey. “You should go see her. Tell her you’re proud.”

Harvey shook his head, staring at his smooth hands gripping the steering wheel. “Thought about it. Thought about it a lot. But like I said before, it’s not a good idea.”

“She might like to know you’re out there thinking of her.” Robbie understood he was digging into an old hurt his father carried in his heart. But he didn’t care. He was tired of feeling less when compared to the girl Harvey idolized.

Scowling, his father jerked the door handle up and pushed his shoulder into it. The door groaned open. “Come on, boy. The night won’t last forever.”

Harvey slammed the door hard and moved to the back of the Impala.

Robbie smoothed sweaty palms over his jeans and stared into the rearview mirror watching Harvey insert a key into the trunk lock.

Robbie’s stomach summersaulted and again he hoped his fear didn’t upend his stomach. He did not want to be here.

Opening his door, he lumbered out of the car and braced against the cool night air. He hovered by the car door.

Key still in hand, Harvey glanced up toward the bright moon as if savoring how the stars popped more in the Hill Country away from the bright lights of Austin. He inhaled, appreciating the cool, soft, spring air. “Lord, but I’ve missed coming up this way.”

Robbie shoved trembling hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Why don’t you come back here more often?”

Shaking his head, Harvey twisted the key and the lock released. “Last time I was here, it didn’t go well, so I stayed away. I can see now that this trip was a mistake.”

“Wasn’t this place your family home?”

“Naw. Just a place I liked visiting.” The trunk lid rose, cutting off Robbie’s view. “Come on, boy. We got work to do.” Harvey’s voice, darkly polite, had him tensing.

Anxiety rising, Robbie walked toward the back of the car and peered in the trunk. He stifled a wince, as he looked at the woman who lay gagged and trussed up like a pig ready for the spit.

She stared up at him with mascara-smudged eyes, bloodshot from crying, her pleas muffled by the gag.

Tucking the keys in his jacket pocket, Harvey delighted in the way she writhed and whimpered. “Picked a fine one this time, didn’t I, boy?”

Robbie rattled the change in his pockets. “She’s skinny.”

“Could stand to gain a pound or two, but she’s strong and pretty. Given time, bet she’d grow into a stunning woman.” Harvey trailed a hand along her leg and when she jerked away he smiled. “Beauty’s skin deep, boy. Remember that. What you want in a woman is spirit. Couldn’t coax this one in the car with a fifty-dollar bill like the others. No, sir, this one is leery by nature. Not swayed by pretty words. Careful, cautious. Best kind in my book.”

For this one, Harvey had created an intricate backstory, stolen a late model Volvo wagon with a baby seat in the back, and dressed in khakis and a powder blue button-down shirt. “The kind of shirt a safe guy wore,” he’d said.

In the end, she’d fallen for Harvey’s hoax, wrongly assuming that the outward physical cues reflected the inner man’s true intent.