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Authors: Mary Burton
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pulled out a couple of Polaroids taken of the body at yesterday’s crime scene. “They look like this?”
She took the pictures and glanced at crime scene images of Gretchen Hart. Immediately, her face paled and she swayed before she handed him back the images. “You’re full of nasty questions and tricks.”
He suffered no remorse. “Thought if you could see firsthand what I’m dealing with you might be more open to helping me.”
“Get off my land, Ranger. I have no more to say to you.”
He slowly tucked the pictures back in his breast pocket. “I’ll leave for now, Ms. Church, but you are gonna see me again. That I do promise you.”
Gripping the shotgun by the stock, she turned toward the house, her dog following.
As she reached for the front door, he said, “If the Seattle Strangler is active again, don’t you find it a bit odd that he’d take up his work only twenty or thirty miles from where his last victim lives? I don’t know about you, but I’ve never put much stock in coincidence.”
She turned partway toward him, unwittingly giving him a view of her slim neck. “You’re assuming it is the Seattle Strangler. I am not.”
Tension rippled through his body. “It’s a solid assumption.”
She hesitated as if a blast of frigid air cut up her spine and then vanished with her dog into her house.
Lara Church wasn’t the timid artsy type he’d expected. She had steel running down her spine. Getting her help wouldn’t be as easy as he’d hoped. But in the end he would get it.
Raines had been on Texas soil not more than four hours, and he already hated the heat and the dry dust. He blotted a handkerchief on the back of his neck as he pulled up in front of the hotel. He’d been working a surveillance gig in Washington for five days straight. The case, a woman cheating on her husband, had been a lucrative gig. Ferreting out adultery paid the light bill, but it didn’t offer the same rush of police work.
Raines glanced at his watch. It would take Beck several hours to check his story out, and to track down Lara Church. That would give him time to scrounge up a gun dealer open to a cash sale, and find a criminal attorney willing to defend. Sleep would have to come later.
He crossed the parking lot quickly, hating the heat beating down on his back and head. He pushed through the front glass doors and moved to the front desk. A twentysomething girl wearing a maroon vest, white shirt, and black skirt smiled up at him. “Welcome.”
The genuine energy behind the word softened his mood. “Thanks. Hoping you got a room to spare.”
“We sure do. How long will you be staying?”
“Can’t say, but at least a week.” He fished out his wallet and credit card.
She tapped in information into her computer keyboard, swiped his credit card, before handing over the card and a room key. “I’ve got a nice room facing the pool. Top floor. Quiet.”
His slid his credit card into his wallet. “I appreciate that.”
“And we offer breakfast every morning from six to nine. It’s good, hearty fare.”
He smiled. “Stick to my ribs, as you Texans say?”
A faint blush rose in her cheeks. “That’s right, sir. So where are you from, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Seattle, Washington.”
“And what brings you to Austin?”
“Just thought I’d have a look around.”
“Well, we’ve got any kind of brochure you’d ever need on the rack by the elevators. Lots to see in town.”
“What do you recommend?”
“Well, if you don’t mind a bit of a drive, the Alamo is a sight to see. It’s down in San Antonio. Though if you’re driving down I-35 don’t go during rush hour. There’s always a backup.”
He winked. “I’ll be sure to grab some brochures.”
After collecting pamphlets he’d never read, he made his way to the elevators. Less than a minute later he’d stepped off the elevator and found his room. It was neat, tidy, and efficient. Not fancy, but it would serve
She took the pictures and glanced at crime scene images of Gretchen Hart. Immediately, her face paled and she swayed before she handed him back the images. “You’re full of nasty questions and tricks.”
He suffered no remorse. “Thought if you could see firsthand what I’m dealing with you might be more open to helping me.”
“Get off my land, Ranger. I have no more to say to you.”
He slowly tucked the pictures back in his breast pocket. “I’ll leave for now, Ms. Church, but you are gonna see me again. That I do promise you.”
Gripping the shotgun by the stock, she turned toward the house, her dog following.
As she reached for the front door, he said, “If the Seattle Strangler is active again, don’t you find it a bit odd that he’d take up his work only twenty or thirty miles from where his last victim lives? I don’t know about you, but I’ve never put much stock in coincidence.”
She turned partway toward him, unwittingly giving him a view of her slim neck. “You’re assuming it is the Seattle Strangler. I am not.”
Tension rippled through his body. “It’s a solid assumption.”
She hesitated as if a blast of frigid air cut up her spine and then vanished with her dog into her house.
Lara Church wasn’t the timid artsy type he’d expected. She had steel running down her spine. Getting her help wouldn’t be as easy as he’d hoped. But in the end he would get it.
Raines had been on Texas soil not more than four hours, and he already hated the heat and the dry dust. He blotted a handkerchief on the back of his neck as he pulled up in front of the hotel. He’d been working a surveillance gig in Washington for five days straight. The case, a woman cheating on her husband, had been a lucrative gig. Ferreting out adultery paid the light bill, but it didn’t offer the same rush of police work.
Raines glanced at his watch. It would take Beck several hours to check his story out, and to track down Lara Church. That would give him time to scrounge up a gun dealer open to a cash sale, and find a criminal attorney willing to defend. Sleep would have to come later.
He crossed the parking lot quickly, hating the heat beating down on his back and head. He pushed through the front glass doors and moved to the front desk. A twentysomething girl wearing a maroon vest, white shirt, and black skirt smiled up at him. “Welcome.”
The genuine energy behind the word softened his mood. “Thanks. Hoping you got a room to spare.”
“We sure do. How long will you be staying?”
“Can’t say, but at least a week.” He fished out his wallet and credit card.
She tapped in information into her computer keyboard, swiped his credit card, before handing over the card and a room key. “I’ve got a nice room facing the pool. Top floor. Quiet.”
His slid his credit card into his wallet. “I appreciate that.”
“And we offer breakfast every morning from six to nine. It’s good, hearty fare.”
He smiled. “Stick to my ribs, as you Texans say?”
A faint blush rose in her cheeks. “That’s right, sir. So where are you from, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Seattle, Washington.”
“And what brings you to Austin?”
“Just thought I’d have a look around.”
“Well, we’ve got any kind of brochure you’d ever need on the rack by the elevators. Lots to see in town.”
“What do you recommend?”
“Well, if you don’t mind a bit of a drive, the Alamo is a sight to see. It’s down in San Antonio. Though if you’re driving down I-35 don’t go during rush hour. There’s always a backup.”
He winked. “I’ll be sure to grab some brochures.”
After collecting pamphlets he’d never read, he made his way to the elevators. Less than a minute later he’d stepped off the elevator and found his room. It was neat, tidy, and efficient. Not fancy, but it would serve
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