Page 35 of Not This Night

Ethan cursed, tugging at the baseball cap jammed in his back pocket.

Ethan looked startled. "You think the killer is targeting people from Scott's past?”

She rubbed her temples, feeling the day's exhaustion creeping up on her.

They both fell silent, soaking in that chilling thought.

“But why?”

“I don’t know,” Rachel said. “But that’s where we need to start. Two other names Kelley gave me. Friends of our victims fifteen years ago.”

“Local?”

“He said they moved out of town.”

“Maybe we can find out if they moved back?”

“At least we can chat with them.”

“But…” Rachel trailed off. “Those bumps—the small scars on their legs from the ritual marks. The coroner said they were from years ago. Maybe this is how. Maybe Scott was the one who taught them how.”

“That might explain why he’s posing them.”

“The killer?”

“Yeah. Maybe he’s connected to their past.”

"Let’s go,” she said. “Have them send the scene photos.”

“Will do.”

The two of them moved grim-faced away from the vehicle as Ethan abruptly lifted his phone. As they walked, Ethan cursed under his breath.

“What?”

“He died. At the hospital. Aken died.”

Rachel's heart sank. The night had turned from bad to worse. "How's his partner?" she asked, her voice slightly strained.

"Still hanging on," Ethan replied. "But it's not looking good."

The grim news tightened a knot in Rachel's stomach. Her gaze wandered over the sea of flashing lights, settling upon the burnt-out skeleton of the patrol car.

Silently, they got into their own vehicle. Rachel started the engine, her fingers tight around the steering wheel. The inside of the car felt cold, the atmosphere heavy with unspoken concern. She pulled away from the crime scene, leaving behind the chaos and descending deeper into the silence that hung between them.

They needed a lead.

It was well past midnight now, and her exhaustion hung heavy upon her.

But there was no rest for the ranger.

And the killer was likely only just getting started.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The neon sign buzzed a tired welcome as Rachel Blackwood's boots crunched over the gravel parking lot of the Lone Star Motel. The orange glow flickered, casting erratic shadows that danced across her weary face. She hauled her duffel bag over one shoulder. The lightweight pack resting with a comfortable sag. As a rule, she packed simple.

Dead ends had led to a decision she hadn’t enjoyed, but it was time to retire for the evening. There was simply nothing left to be done at one AM after an entire day chasing leads.

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