with the here and now. I saw a murder that took place over a hundred and fifty years ago, and the murderer himself is long gone. I guess what I saw was a residual haunting. No blood—the poor woman was strangled. So, perhaps we should get back to what we’re actually dealing with. Dead women. Corpses dumped here, there and everywhere in San Antonio. I’m assuming you have more to work with than just photos, Agent Crow?” He nodded. “I’m set up at the police station, about a mile away. I’ll pay for our meal, then we’ll go there and you can see how far we’ve gotten. Tomorrow, I’ll be briefing local law enforcement, but for now, you can come over and get started.”
“Whoa, Agent Crow. I haven’t agreed to be part of this team,” Logan reminded him.
Crow raised one shoulder. “You don’t want to see what we have?” he asked.
Logan let out a deep breath.
Of course he did. This was happening in his city, and Jackson Crow had been right about one thing—he had to be in law enforcement.
He had to be involved.
And since he’d seen the pictures of the remains…
He turned to face Kelsey O’Brien. She was watching him with her intent green eyes, and he wondered if she felt the IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012
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same sense of urgency he did. The same need to know, despite the risks.
“Ready when you are,” he said quietly.
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T his is not going to work! Kelsey thought.
Jackson Crow seemed pleasant enough, like a man who could be a team player. But Logan Raintree seemed almost hostile. Except that he’d pitched in with information about the Longhorn and he’d also risen to her defense when Crow had been hammering away about what she’d seen at the inn. Still, it was pretty obvious that he didn’t want to be a member of any team, and if he wasn’t part of the team—was there a team? There would be a task force, she supposed. Now that the FBI had become aware of the number of corpses, there’d have to be. The fact that a serial killer was suspected of targeting the area was bound to become known, and the public would demand it.
But
did
she want to be part of it?
Something inside her wanted to recoil. And something else wanted to go with the two men, go and look at the available evidence.
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So she went. She had certainly seen violence and death as a U.S. Marshal. Gun battles happened on the open sea when drug traffickers found themselves under siege. Bodies were dragged out of the Gulf and the Atlantic. She’d seen the ugly side of human nature. Despite that, the murders of the women seemed far more horrific than the cold and impersonal violence she most frequently witnessed. Co-caine dealers shot their rivals and their enemies—people who worked for the law.
True, she’d found those bones in Key West… . And because she had, the victim had been identified, and a family had learned the sad truth.
She forced herself to appear cool, professional, stoic as they reached the police station and passed through the outer areas, where petty offenders were being booked. San Antonio was not without its share of prostitutes and thieves, and a number of them were being interviewed, along with traffic offenders and others brought in by the police for their various misdeeds. But Jackson Crow barely noticed them. With a brief word to the desk sergeant, he led her and Logan through a hallway to a large room enclosed by smoked glass. Within that room were several desks, a free-standing, forty-inch computer screen, a small lab area, a board with marker notes and a private snack station with a large coffeepot and a small refrigerator and microwave oven. It was almost its own little fortress.
This could be her place. For now at least.
A man sat at one of the desks, but rose when they all entered. He
“Whoa, Agent Crow. I haven’t agreed to be part of this team,” Logan reminded him.
Crow raised one shoulder. “You don’t want to see what we have?” he asked.
Logan let out a deep breath.
Of course he did. This was happening in his city, and Jackson Crow had been right about one thing—he had to be in law enforcement.
He had to be involved.
And since he’d seen the pictures of the remains…
He turned to face Kelsey O’Brien. She was watching him with her intent green eyes, and he wondered if she felt the IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012
9780778313298_HC.indd 56
11-12-01 3:55 PM
57
same sense of urgency he did. The same need to know, despite the risks.
“Ready when you are,” he said quietly.
IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012
9780778313298_HC.indd 57
11-12-01 3:55 PM
T his is not going to work! Kelsey thought.
Jackson Crow seemed pleasant enough, like a man who could be a team player. But Logan Raintree seemed almost hostile. Except that he’d pitched in with information about the Longhorn and he’d also risen to her defense when Crow had been hammering away about what she’d seen at the inn. Still, it was pretty obvious that he didn’t want to be a member of any team, and if he wasn’t part of the team—was there a team? There would be a task force, she supposed. Now that the FBI had become aware of the number of corpses, there’d have to be. The fact that a serial killer was suspected of targeting the area was bound to become known, and the public would demand it.
But
did
she want to be part of it?
Something inside her wanted to recoil. And something else wanted to go with the two men, go and look at the available evidence.
IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012
9780778313298_HC.indd 58
11-12-01 3:55 PM
59
So she went. She had certainly seen violence and death as a U.S. Marshal. Gun battles happened on the open sea when drug traffickers found themselves under siege. Bodies were dragged out of the Gulf and the Atlantic. She’d seen the ugly side of human nature. Despite that, the murders of the women seemed far more horrific than the cold and impersonal violence she most frequently witnessed. Co-caine dealers shot their rivals and their enemies—people who worked for the law.
True, she’d found those bones in Key West… . And because she had, the victim had been identified, and a family had learned the sad truth.
She forced herself to appear cool, professional, stoic as they reached the police station and passed through the outer areas, where petty offenders were being booked. San Antonio was not without its share of prostitutes and thieves, and a number of them were being interviewed, along with traffic offenders and others brought in by the police for their various misdeeds. But Jackson Crow barely noticed them. With a brief word to the desk sergeant, he led her and Logan through a hallway to a large room enclosed by smoked glass. Within that room were several desks, a free-standing, forty-inch computer screen, a small lab area, a board with marker notes and a private snack station with a large coffeepot and a small refrigerator and microwave oven. It was almost its own little fortress.
This could be her place. For now at least.
A man sat at one of the desks, but rose when they all entered. He
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