Cut and Run

by Mary Burton

  “I never been out there, but yeah, I knew what he was doing out there. But that was a long time ago. He hasn’t done anything like that since.”

  “But he kept the ranch. All these years and he held on to it. Why?”

  “I don’t know why he kept it. He never told me. All I know is that Garnet has gotten jumpy in the last few months. I’ve never seen him like this before.”

  “If he’d been smart, he’d have let sleeping dogs lie. The past had been dead and buried until he dug it up.” To remind her that she was living at his pleasure now, he lightly drew the tip of the knife over her cheek again. “You were around the first time he sold babies, weren’t you?”

  She swallowed, her gaze locked on his face. “Yeah. I was around.”

  “Did you help kill those girls?”

  Panic flared in her eyes. “We didn’t kill any of those girls. They all got paid for their time and were sent on their way.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “He told me.”

  How easily people accepted a lie over a painful truth. “You’re a smart girl, Heather. Do you really think that’s what happened?”

  She paled, as if facts she did not want to acknowledge had smacked her in the face. “He didn’t kill anybody.”

  He wasn’t here to debate this point. “That’s neither here nor there. The bottom line is that Garnet is blackmailing a client of mine. He’s got evidence that can prove what went on at that ranch.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “You notice things. Did he give you any hints about where he could have put any evidence?”

  “What kind of evidence?”

  “The kind that could upset a lot of lives if it came to light. Why has he started returning to the ranch?”

  “What?”

  “I have a tracker on his car. Why has he begun going back out to the ranch?” He’d been watching Garnet come and go from the ranch for a couple of weeks, but he’d not investigated, fearful a search of the house would tip off Garnet, who would then expose the evidence.

  “I didn’t know that he was,” Heather said. “Only that he was gone more and more.”

  “Really? I saw a poster of a missing pregnant girl in his bar. Did he have anything to do with her disappearance?”

  “Why would he do that? She was already pregnant when she came into the bar.”

  Ah, more layers to the puzzle. “Why is that important?”

  She hesitated, knowing not telling would cost her more now than telling. “The others weren’t pregnant when they were handpicked. They were selected.”

  “To make babies?”

  “I don’t know. And I don’t know anything about a new girl.”

  “It would explain why he’s going out to the ranch, wouldn’t it?”

  “I swear he hasn’t told me anything,” Heather said.

  A new girl made sense. Her baby would represent revenue flow, and Garnet was now in short supply of money since his last arrangement had ended. He had to pay those gambling debts somehow.

  “Look, Garnet is older and more paranoid. He’s always been worried about the cops. And then that woman came in the bar asking about Crow. She said her father had been a friend of Garnet’s, but her visit freaked Garnet out.”

  The discovery of the graves wasn’t a real issue. All DNA evidence on the property would have led to Garnet. And if anyone had found the new girl on the property, there’d have been a mention in the news by now. And even if the cop had the girl under wraps, whatever DNA she was carrying in her belly wouldn’t trace back. Still, he was left with the problem of finding whatever evidence Garnet was holding against his client. “How long have you been with Garnet?”

  “Thirty-two years.”

  “That’s a long time.”

  “He loves me.”

  Maybe Garnet had some affection for dear sweet Heather, but he’d bet she was as disposable as the girls on the ranch.

  “I swear I don’t know anything, mister.”

  He loosened his hold on her hair. “I do believe you, Heather. But here is a truth, Heather. Garnet is using you just like he used those other murdered girls.”

  “He’s not using me.”

  “Heather, you’re smarter than this, I hope.”

  “Please, let me—”

  Before she could finish the sentence, he burrowed the blade quickly into the side of her neck several times until he had opened a big hole in her jugular. Even a surgeon couldn’t save her now.

  As the air gurgled in her throat, she grappled with the door handle, and to her credit she was able to get it open. Killing Crow at his place had been easy. Not as fruitful as he’d hoped, but easy. Running over Macy had been an impulse and poorly planned. He’d gotten the job done, but he’d taken too many risks. The knife was the best way to finish the task. Blades were far harder to trace than bullets.

  But he’d not found Garnet’s smoking gun, and until he did, he had to tread carefully.

  He got out of the back seat and watched as she stumbled to her feet and staggered forward. He reached over and popped the trunk, walked around to it, and retrieved the gas can.

  Heather stood still under the underpass. She wavered from side to side and then fell to her knees, grasping her throat. She rose up, her throat gurgling, and tried to crawl. Blood traced her path from the car to the spot where she fell.

  He followed at a slow and steady pace, and when she collapsed, he came up beside her, set the can down, and gently rolled her onto her back. Unable to resist her plump, still-pink flesh, he gripped his knife and stabbed her arms, chest, and thighs. He loved the sensation of the knife piercing the flesh. Finally, he wiped the blade on her shirt and, pulling a cloth from his coat pocket, wiped his hands.

  He stayed by her and waited another five minutes, listening to his heartbeat blend with the cars rushing above on the overpass. When his own breathing stilled, he checked her pulse and found none.

  He brushed her hair out of her eyes and opened her shirt slightly so the knife wounds were visible. He removed a playing card. The queen of hearts. What better way to get the medical examiner’s attention? Like a version of a message in a bottle, he thought, smiling.

  He knew he shouldn’t be playing games with Dr. McIntyre, but for some reason he couldn’t resist. He was like a cat, and she was his mouse.

  He doused the body and lit the match. The blue-white flames quickly engulfed her body. “Maybe Dr. McIntyre will help me find what I’m looking for.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Wednesday, June 27, 5:15 a.m.

  Despite his lack of sleep, Hayden felt energized as he picked up Faith at her home. Her hair was pulled up, and she was wearing jeans and a fitted V-neck black sweater that hugged her breasts in a way that was downright distracting. He was certain the woman could’ve worn a paper bag and still looked fine.

  The faint scent of her perfume drifted around him and reminded him she liked to dab the scent between her breasts and behind her right ear.

  She slid into the front seat. If they were a legit couple, he would have leaned over and kissed her. But this was another one of the moments that simply felt like overstepping.

  He looked her over, taking in every detail. “Where are you rushing from?”

  She buckled her seat belt. “I just dropped Kat off at the shelter. She showed up at my place last night and ended up spending the night with me.”

  As she shifted in her seat, her sweater tightened briefly against her breasts. His heartbeat quickened, and he turned to the road ahead. As he left the parking lot, he said, “I need coffee. You want one?”

  “Bless you,” she said. “I would kill for a cup.”

  He pulled up to a fast-food drive-through and ordered a couple of coffees.

  “Toss in a bagel. Cinnamon raisin, and I’ll love you forever,” she said. “I’m starving.”

  He ordered two bagels, refused the money she offered, and paid the clerk at the window. She took the cups, settled
them in cupholders, and removed the drink tab on each. There was an odd intimacy in this moment. Sierra had done the same thing a million times.

  She sipped her coffee while staring out at the city rushing past.

  “How’s Macy?” he asked.

  “I spoke to the nurse this morning. She’s hanging in there, which is saying a lot. No quit in her. And the nurse noticed she twitched when spoken to. It may simply be a reflex, but I’d like to think it was deliberate.”

  “Might have been. Just because someone’s not awake doesn’t mean they don’t know you’re there,” he said.

  “I know,” she said. “And if she’s like me, she’d want me focusing on the case, not her.”

  Hayden nodded. “We found a picture on Macy’s phone that keeps coming back to me.”

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a snapshot of a missing person, Paige Sheldon.”

  She frowned. “The pregnant girl who vanished?”

  “Yeah. I looked up her case last night. She was five months pregnant. Had an argument with her parents, moved out, and vanished two days later.”

  “And you’ve been to Second Chances?” she asked.

  “I have. The owner, Danny Garnet, is smooth. He says he doesn’t remember her.”

  “Maybe I should show up. My face is sure to spook the right person.”

  “Until I know what I’m dealing with and who tried to killed Macy, don’t go Nancy Drew on me. Stay the hell away from Second Chances.”

  “I’ve helped solve a few murders.”

  “You’ve done it from the autopsy suite and lab. Not on the streets. And this case could end up being very personal for you.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  He didn’t believe that any more than she did. “Stick to the science, Faith.”

  “I’ve never been good at making promises.”

  She’d never made demands either. Never pushed. That had been just fine in the beginning, but it bothered him now. He wanted her to rely on him more.

  He pressed the accelerator, cutting through the Texas Hill Country roads until he spotted the turnoff to the ranch. “The crew is meeting us out there,” he said.

  “Great.”

  “You’re off the clock today?” he asked.

  “For today. But there will be two days’ work waiting for me tomorrow,” she said. “PJ Slater called me yesterday. He’s found multiple references to a woman named Josie Jones in one of my father’s old datebooks. He thinks Josie might be my birth mother.”

  “Does he have any information on her?”

  “Not much. She was arrested for shoplifting, and my father defended her in court.” She wrestled with telling him about Kat’s search and decided in for a penny, in for a pound. “Kat and I have been talking a lot lately, and I mentioned Josie to her.”

  “Was it really wise to tell her?”

  “No, but we were having a moment. I was trying to empathize, and I told her about Josie. She did the search on her own. She not only found another picture of Josie but also a woman on a DNA site who might be my half sister.”

  “That kid’s been busy.”

  “Maybe too busy. I have to be more careful with her. She’s more fragile than she lets on, and her attaching herself to me and my drama can’t be healthy.”

  “I can have our own people look into Josie Jones. The kid might have missed something.”

  “It would be interesting to talk to one of Josie’s family members. They must have more information about her.”

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Faith. You don’t have hard evidence that this woman is your birth mother.”

  “Josie vanished thirty-one years ago, Hayden, about nine months before Macy and I were born. Crow sends Macy out to the ranch, and we find what might be graves. And Macy is snapping pictures of another pregnant girl who’s missing. The coincidences are starting to pile up.”

  He shifted in his seat.

  The sun grew brighter, chasing them as they traveled west toward the house Macy had found in Hill Country. Faith took one last bite of her bagel. Gravel spit out from under his tires as Hayden drove the last fifty feet and parked behind the forensic van.

  As they got out, he could see that the recovery team had already unloaded a ground-penetrating radar machine, and two officers appeared to be mapping out their plan of attack on a paper grid.

  He introduced Faith to a tall uniformed officer with dark hair and a football lineman’s broad frame. “Dr. McIntyre, I’d like you to meet Officer Lance Pollard. He runs this equipment.”

  She extended her hand. “We worked together before, in a way. About two years ago. Remember the man who killed male prostitutes and buried them on his land?”

  Pollard tugged his right ear and glowered. “I found them, and you identified them.”

  “That’s exactly right,” she said.

  Hayden remembered the case. There’d been fourteen victims, and Faith had yet to identify all of them. In her press briefings, she’d promised she would not quit until every last one of the victims had been identified.

  Pollard tugged on latex gloves. “Do you have any idea how many victims we’re looking for today?”

  “Judging by the terrain and those stones, I’d say there are three,” Hayden said.

  “We’ll sweep the area in a grid pattern, starting by the house and working our way out,” Pollard explained. “As you remember, the equipment puts off an electromagnetic wave into the ground. The signal keeps traveling until it hits any dense object such as rock, bone, or buried debris. The material will reflect the signal, and its image will show up on my display.”

  She folded her arms. “The medical examiner’s van is on standby.”

  Pollard flipped the switch, and as it hummed to life, he studied the display console mounted at the top. Satisfied, he began to move in a straight line that ran parallel to the house.

  “Hayden, do you know who owns the house?” she asked.

  “We traced it back to a man by the name of Sam Delany. He’s currently serving a lifetime sentence for murder. However, the property taxes are not in arrears,” Hayden said.

  “Who did Mr. Delany kill?”

  “His girlfriend. They were fighting. He hit her. She stumbled, struck her head on a stone fireplace, and died.”

  “Were you able to get a search warrant for the land and the house?” she asked.

  “I did. Utilities were shut off to the house years ago, but there’s a generator there. It’s relatively new, but it’s almost bone-dry. We’re refueling the generator, and it should be up and running soon.”

  Her gaze shifted to Pollard, and she carefully watched him complete his first row. “This could take a while.”

  “Very easily.”

  She shook her head. “What else have you found out about Sam Delany?”

  “Not much yet. My partner is pulling his police record as well as financials.”

  The generator motor started up, and the lights in the house behind them switched on. The forensic team started to assemble their gear and move toward the front door.

  The sun cast a brilliant hue over Faith’s features, and Hayden found himself staring at the high slash of her cheekbones, the brilliant blue of her eyes, and the curve of her full lips. He’d always recognized that she was a stunning woman and, in the years after Sierra had died, acknowledged his strong sexual attraction to her. He’d thought that one evening in the hotel would have put to rest all the fantasies he’d had about her. But what he’d learned was that once was not nearly enough. In fact, he was finding it hard to envision a day when he didn’t want to be with her.

  Faith nodded toward the house. “I’d like to see inside.”

  “Sure. We’ll get booties and gloves and have a look.”

  At the forensic van they slipped on booties and gloves, and he held back, allowing her to go first as they approached the officer positioned at the yellow crime scene tape perimeter.

  They showed their identificati
ons to the officer whose job it was to protect the integrity of the scene. He recorded both their names as part of what would be an ongoing log of anyone who visited the scene.

  As soon as they crossed the narrow front porch and entered the front door, Hayden was struck by the musty, stale smell of the house’s interior.

  “Unpleasant but manageable,” Faith said.

  They both were acquainted with the sickly sweet smell of a rotting body that could permeate nostrils, clothes, and shoes. It was a scent never forgotten. However, as they moved closer to the kitchen, he detected the faint whiff of a cleaning agent.

  “Do you smell that?” She threaded her long fingers together, working the gloves deep between her fingers.

  “I do. Someone recently cleaned this room.”

  “The house looks in too good a shape to have been closed up for the past thirty years.”

  She stood back, studying the small living room with an oversize easy chair that had been patched in several places with duct tape. Beside the chair was an old end table with a large brass lamp.

  On the end table was a picture of a woman standing beside a tall, lean man. Hayden didn’t recognize him but wondered if he was Delany. Judging by the clothes and hair, he guessed the photo was taken decades ago.

  The woman in the photo had shoulder-length blond hair, pale skin, and blue eyes. Like Faith.

  “Who is she?” Faith asked. Her expression was pensive, as if she were reading his thoughts.

  “I don’t know.”

  Faith cocked her head, her gaze roaming over the woman’s smiling face, which was vaguely familiar. “She’s not Josie.”

  “No.”

  “I find myself looking into the eyes of any woman who’s at least fifty and wondering if she’s the one.” Faith picked up the picture and turned it over. “I would like to talk to Garnet.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll be returning to talk to him as soon as I leave here.”

  “I understand, but I want to be present. I need to know, and so does Macy.” Carefully, she stepped back from the photo. “What’s Jack Crow’s connection to all this?”

  “Still a mystery.”

  “He knew Garnet, so he must have had some idea of what happened here.”