by Rita Herron
The head nurse had scribbled Ellie’s name on the whiteboard facing Sarah’s bed, and Ellie had insisted she write her own number on there for emergency’s sake. But she hadn’t been able to bring herself to leave.
She stretched out in the recliner beside Sarah’s bed, willing the young woman to survive and name her attacker.
She thought it was Ryder Rigdon. But she needed proof. A positive ID would be the easiest way to nail the bastard.
Her eyes hurt from lack of sleep the night before and her head throbbed like a mother.
Machines beeped, oxygen feeding the battered woman air. Her arm was broken, reset through surgery and now cast. Bruises marred her face, her eye was swollen shut, her lip cut. Other injuries included three cracked ribs and a concussion. A heart monitor verified she had a pulse, although you’d never know it from the still way Sarah lay, as if death had already claimed her.
Not long ago, Ellie’s own mother had nearly lost her will to live in this very hospital.
Don’t think about it. Vera made it. Sarah will, too.
Closing her eyes, she fell into a fitful sleep. In her dreams, she was combing the trail in search of more bodies. The dead called to her. The predator’s eyes peered at her through the dark cover of the trees and bushes. Sinister sounds echoed in the still air, the howl of a lone wolf. The growl of a bobcat.
The whispered hum of a killer.
By dawn, she jerked awake, overwhelmed by the sense that another woman had fallen victim to the ruthless killer. Had they left Sarah for dead and gone after another?
She rose, tiptoed over and gently eased Sarah’s hair aside to check behind her ear. No hourglass carving behind the left one. Her breath tightening, she examined the other. But there was no carving there either.
Had he been interrupted before he could finish the job?
The nurse came in to check Sarah’s vitals, and she moaned, but faded back into unconsciousness.
“How’s she doing?” Ellie asked.
“She’s in critical condition,” the nurse said. “Her body needs rest and time.”
“When do you think she might wake up?”
“That’s hard to predict,” the nurse said. “People heal at different rates. But the next twenty-four hours will be key.”
Ellie glanced at the clock. She needed to get a shower, obtain that warrant and search Ryder’s house. But the thought of leaving Sarah here alone, to wake up without a hand to hold or someone to talk to, made her heart ache.
Debating what to do, the answer suddenly came to her, and she called Shondra’s number. Two rings, then Shondra’s voicemail kicked in, and she left a message. “Shondra, I know you’re having a hard time, but I need your help. Last night I found a young woman who’d been severely beaten. I’m at the hospital with her now.” She swallowed, waiting, but Shondra didn’t pick up. “I have to execute a search warrant for a suspect this morning, and I hate to leave her alone. When she regains consciousness, we need to question her. Could you sit with her? You’re a professional, and you understand more about what she’s been through than I do.”
She sighed, on the verge of hanging up, when Shondra picked up. “I heard you, Ellie. Where is she?”
Relief filled Ellie. “Bluff County Hospital. Her name is Sarah Houston. She and a man named Ryder Rigdon discovered the body at Death’s Door. I went to question them but found Sarah on the floor unconscious.”
“I’ll come and sit with her.”
“Thanks. I figured if anyone could help her, you could.”
67
Cold Springs
Brittle twigs and weeds clawed at Janie as the man dragged her through the forest. She kicked at him and punched his legs, but he backhanded her, and stars swam behind her eyes.
God help her. She’d almost gotten loose for a moment and tried to outrun him, but he was a bear of a man and so strong that her punches didn’t faze him. His eyes looked distant and dull, his movements almost robotic as he’d tied her hands together then bound her feet.
Pain stole her breath from the blow he’d delivered to her ribs and face, and sharp rocks and briars scraped her cheeks as he dragged her over a hill. The fetid scent of a dead animal assaulted her, and she gagged. Creek water gurgled nearby, then he hauled her around a tree stump, over some damp moss, and through a section of dead pine needles.
When he came to the creek, he halted. This was her last chance.
“Please let me go,” she cried. “I promise I won’t say anything. I’ll disappear and no one will ever know.”
He towered over her, his black T-shirt and jeans making him almost invisible as the dawn light struggled to penetrate the woods. The ropes around her wrists and feet dug into her skin. He grabbed her arms and hauled her into the water. She kicked and struggled with all her might, but he pressed his boot on her chest and pushed her so hard that she sank beneath the surface.
The icy water stung her eyes and cheeks, and she held her breath, kicking and flailing. Fear choked her as her lungs strained for air. The water swirled around her, slapped at her face and seeped into her nostrils as he pushed her deeper. Her limbs felt heavy, and she tried to grab his foot, but he knelt and looked down into her face, using his beefy hands to pin her down.
Terror rushed through her. She couldn’t hold her breath any longer. Frigid water gushed into her mouth and throat and her body felt as if it was on fire. Needle-like pain stabbed her eyes and ears, then she felt her lungs expanding as water filled them. Faces of strangers she’d never known blurred in front of her, then images of her son the night he was born. She’d been alone and frightened. She thought she’d found a safe place to hide and had escaped her past.
Blurred images—faces, children’s, babies—floated in front of her eyes, the sound of a crying infant ripping through her mind. She made one last attempt to reach for his hands, but she was too weak and death took her.
68
A calmness overcame him as he watched her body jerk and shake, then go still. Her brown hair floated in the water, swirling like snakes around her face. Her eyes stared back at him in the shock of death, her skin blue, her mouth slack as water bubbled to the surface.
She sank deeper into the abyss, almost disappeared into the murky creek, but he wasn’t finished yet. He lifted her in his arms, carrying her to the bank and laying her on the dry dirt and weeds. Pulling his knife from his pocket, he eased her head into his lap, then twisted it sideways to expose the back of her ear. Feeling with his fingers, he located the mastoid bone then pressed the tip of the blade into her skin.
The sound of the water lapping back and forth transported him back in time. The world blurred then the bright light beamed in his face, painful and hot.
Faces blended together, the soft drone of the man’s voice. The screams of the girls. The flicker of the flames.
The hourglass was there, turned over, the grains of sand slipping through, counting away the minutes. Ticktock, ticktock.
His breathing grew ragged. Sweat dripped from his face. Please stop, he wanted to cry. But he couldn’t move. Couldn’t stop it. Could only stare into the horror.
The sound of a swooping vulture rent the air, jarring him back to his task, and he twisted the knife into her flesh. Muddy creek water dribbled from her mouth and onto his pants. With his gloved hand, he dug deeper, shaping the hourglass into her skin, smiling as the knife hit bone.
69
Crooked Creek
Back home, Ellie made an extra strong coffee to jump-start her fatigued body and opted to drink it black. Inhaling the rich pecan odor, she carried her mug to the glass doors overlooking her backyard. Rain clouds dotted the distance, thunderclouds gathering.
Running a hand through her damp hair, she studied the shadows, wondering if Rigdon knew they were looking for him. Was he the man torching the women’s bodies? Or was another predator lurking in the hills, feeding his sickness by tormenting his victims then watching their bodies go up in flames?
Her doorbel
l dinged, startling her. Cord again?
She carried her coffee with her to answer the door, where Special Agent Fox stood on the other side.
For a moment, her heart stuttered. A lock of his thick dark hair fell across his forehead, his jaw set into a frown, his big body rigid. He glanced around her yard as if automatically checking for someone lurking around.
The morning heat blasted her and she opened the door. Or maybe it was how damn sexy the man was. She’d tried her best to forget that they’d slept together, but sometimes at night when her bed was cold and empty, she imagined him there warming it. Soothing her nightmares. Chasing away the demons. But none of that mattered now. Focus on the case. You called him, remember?
His eyes raked over her, taking in her robe, and a muscle jumped in his jaw. Her body tingled as if he’d touched her bare skin.
“Ellie, I hope it’s not too early.”
She tugged the top of her robe together and waved him inside. “No, I was just about to get dressed. It was a long night.” She gestured to her coffee. “Want some?”
“Sure.”
He followed her to the kitchen where she poured him a cup. He slid onto a bar stool at her island. “What happened?”
Ellie explained about Ryder and finding Sarah unconscious. “Deputy Eastwood is sitting with Sarah so she can talk to her when she wakes up.”
His brow shot up. “Deputy Eastwood is back at work?”
“Not officially,” Ellie said. “She’s been taking some time off.”
“How about you? That maniac attacked you, Ellie. Didn’t you need some time off, too?”
“I don’t have time to take off. I’ve got three murders to solve.”
“Someone else can work the case,” he said, worry in his tone.
“You sound like my father. If you’re going to nag me, you can turn around and go straight back to—”
“You called me for help,” he said, cutting her off. “But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried. You just worked and solved two major cases and nearly died both times. That’s enough to warrant anyone taking a break.” He exhaled. “Even the toughest law officers do it.”
Heat climbed Ellie’s neck. “I wish to hell everyone would stop telling me that. Let’s just concentrate on finding this killer.” She circled around the island. “I’m going to get dressed.”
She rushed into her bedroom, quickly pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, tugged her hair into a ponytail, and jammed her feet into her boots. Her gun and holster came next, then she met Derrick back in her living room.
His face was troubled as he turned to look at her. “Does the sheriff know you called me?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I told Captain Hale.”
“Waters won’t like it.”
“I don’t give a damn.” She snatched her keys. “Let’s go.”
70
Crow’s End
With his eyes closed, the nightmares claimed his soul, taking him back in time. Back to where it all started.
Red hot heat cloaked him, shimmering and mesmerizing against the darkness. Through the window he saw the stones. Tall, jagged, giant river rocks standing in a circle. Fire danced in the middle, flames flickering.
Cold fear made his limbs heavy and his body feel as if it had been dragged across the ground for hours. Hours without sleep.
Hours where he prayed the voices would quiet.
But they were incessant. Filled his head with images of all the ways he could take a life.
Filled his vision with what he had done. With the sins he couldn’t outrun.
The girls’ screams filtered through his hazy mind, the bulging whites of their eyes stark with fear as the firelight was reflected in them.
His hand trembled as he lit the match. He didn’t want to do it.
But they had to die.
Ticktock. Ticktock. The command came again, this time more forceful. He struck the match and dropped it into the pile, then watched as the flames turned the bones into ashes.
71
River’s Edge
After stopping to pick up warrants. Ellie and Derrick drove to Rigdon’s house. A streak of lightning shot above the mountains in the distance, thunder rumbling.
She flipped on the radio for an update on conditions. “This is Cara Soronto, your local meteorologist. The heatwave continues, folks, with no relief in sight. In fact, today expect temperatures to soar to ninety-nine with conditions ripe for thunderstorms, which may include hundreds of lightning strikes that can ignite the dry soils and vegetation that serve as fuel for fire. Air quality is poor today, so those with respiratory and heart conditions should stay inside. In the next two days, we can expect wind gusts to pick up, possibly reaching thirty miles per hour.”
Ellie shuddered. If that happened, the wildfires might spread rapidly, making it even more dangerous to be on the trail. People in the area might have to evacuate.
The town’s Fourth of July celebration would have to be cancelled. The vendors would lose money. The children would be disappointed. All the decorations and floats would have been done for nothing.
But she pushed thoughts of the town celebration aside. How could she celebrate with people dying all around her?
“Do you think Rigdon is responsible for the burned girls?” Derrick asked.
“Hard to say right now. He and Sarah found victim number three, Vanessa Morely.” Her stomach clenched. She wished she hadn’t let their friendship fall apart. “Rigdon seemed distant at the crime scene, almost cold and unaffected.” Ellie hesitated. “Don’t killers often want to revisit the scene of their crimes?”
“They do,” Derrick said. “But if that was the case, why take Sarah with him?”
“Maybe he planned to kill her there,” Ellie said with a frown. “Although if that was his motive, why report the body?”
Derrick’s brows arched in question.
“And then why go back to Sarah’s and beat her?” Ellie murmured. “Doesn’t make sense.”
Arriving at Rigdon’s, Ellie killed the engine and looked up at the house, which still looked dark inside.
Sunlight fought through the rain clouds and glimmered off the windowpanes, almost blinding. There were no cars in the drive and no tire tracks on the dry ground, indicating Rigdon hadn’t been home at all last night.
Weapons at the ready, they approached cautiously, scanning the property around the cabin. The scent of rotting garbage swirled through the air.
Derrick pounded on the door and identified himself, then Ellie set to work unpicking the lock.
He raised another brow at that, but she simply shrugged. Her father had taught her a few tricks long before she’d attended the police academy. Pushing the door open, she stepped inside. “Mr. Rigdon, it’s Detective Reeves. Anyone home?”
The sound of a ceiling fan whining echoed from the living room, a clock ticking from the kitchen. Derrick motioned that he’d go to the right, down the hall to what appeared to be the bedrooms, and she nodded that she’d sweep the living room and kitchen.
Senses alert, she inched past a hall hatstand, noting it was bare. Light from the floor-to-ceiling window in the living area spilled onto white oak floors, dust motes floating in the shards of light. There was no evidence of anything personal in the room. No photographs, no decorations.
Trail guides, maps, and books about the Appalachian Trail lined the oak built-ins, in alphabetical order and exactly aligned. She crossed the room to the pine desk, checked the drawers and found them empty.
Moving onto the kitchen, the cupboards were bare except for one which held assorted canned goods. Just like the books, they were lined in order alphabetically and this time exactly an inch apart.
Ryder Rigdon had to be OCD. Or ex-military, with that kind of order and precision.
The refrigerator was bare, the dishes stacked neatly, all white. It struck her that there was no color in the space. Walking over to the deck, she saw it had no furniture but overlooked the thick forest
leading to the river.
Derrick’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Did you find anything?”
“Nothing,” she said as he came down the hall toward her. “It’s almost as if no one lived here.”
“I agree. There were no clothes or personal items anywhere in the bedrooms.”
“If he was here, he’s gone.” And if he was the unsub, he’d taken all evidence of his crimes with him.
72
Crooked Creek Police Station
An hour later, Ellie and Derrick were in the conference room at Crooked Creek Police Station.
The sheriff strode in, looking a little rough around the edges.
He took a look at Agent Fox and cursed. “What the hell?”
“I called him,” Ellie said, determined not to take any bullshit this morning. The men had disliked each other from the moment they’d met. Bryce was defensive and territorial and resented the fact that Derrick was a fed. When she’d called Derrick in on the last case, he’d almost had her fired.
She offered him a saccharine smile, knowing it would piss him off more. “We have a new kind of serial killer on our hands, Sheriff, and logic insisted I find out if this perp had struck elsewhere.” That shut him up. “Now, let’s get started.” She indicated the whiteboard with the victims’ details.
“The receptionist at Raintree Family Services stated that Gillian took work files with her when she left last Thursday, which was unusual. She’s trying to determine exactly which files were taken so we can explore the motive behind her murder. I’m also waiting on a list of possible disgruntled people Gillian worked with.”
“Send that list to Deputy Landrum and he can follow up there,” Captain Hale said.
Ellie nodded, then continued by summarizing what they knew about Katie Lee Curtis. “She attended Ole Glory Church. Landrum, did you get a copy of their parishioners?”
