Page 9 of Not This Soon

Her eyes darted surreptitiously towards Ethan. He lived his life like an open book, and yet he was one of the more chipper and playful people she knew. It was part of what attracted her to the sandy-haired, doe-eyed ranger. He had an ever present smile, and a boy scout temperament. This, in part, was from growing up in a large, homeschooled family. He’d felt a sort of love she’d never tasted in her youth.

It only troubled her further thinking about the woman whohadraised her. Was Aunt Sarah just another predator who’d masked herself as an accomplice?

The thought caused Rachel’s heart to sink, and she found herself watching Ethan even more closely.

She shook her head, taking a step back to gauge the scene.

Sometimes that’s all it took.

A single step back.

And now, as she peered down at the scene, she found her eyes roaming.

Rachel's sharp gaze caught a glint of metal nestled in the sand near the victim's outstretched hand. She stepped closer, careful not to disturb the scene. A small, silver pendant lay partially buried, its chain broken. Rachel recognized the intricate design immediately - a symbol often associated with the notorious Sonora Cartel.

"Bag that pendant," she instructed a nearby forensic technician, her voice low and steady. "Make sure to get clear photos before you move it."

The technician nodded, setting to work with practiced efficiency. Rachel turned her attention back to where a middle-aged man shambled towards them, carrying a large black bag. She recognized the man as the coroner: a figure with a paunch and more than one chin, his glasses perched precariously on the tip of his nose. His name was Gordon Pike— a local coroner who had seen more than his fair share of violence in the region.

"Morning, Rae, Ethan." He grunted in acknowledgment, setting down his bag and pulling on a pair of gloves. "Thought I'd get a day off for once. Seems like the desert has other plans."

Rachel offered him a tight smile, her gaze drawn back to the woman's body. She felt a familiar pang of frustration. Every life lost was a failure —a mark against her name in a ledger that only she could see.

Pike began his examination with an air of detached professionalism that Rachel admired.

As Pike worked, Rachel moved away from the body and towards the incline leading up to the shooter's vantage point. The sand was disturbed here and there by footprints quickly fading under the desert wind.

She frowned, glancing along the ground, searching for the trail that the killer must’ve taken.

She shook her head and then looked back to where Pike—with a deep breath—examined the victim's wrists, one raw and chafed from the handcuffs.

"Time of death appears to be between 2 and 4 AM," the coroner reported, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Cause of death is a single gunshot wound to the chest, but there's also evidence of a rattlesnake bite on the left ankle."

Rachel's mind raced, processing the information. The presence of the snake bite suggested the victim had been left to suffer before the fatal shot was fired. Cartels were known for their cruelty.

"I didn’t see any—did you notice any sign of a struggle?"

The coroner shook his head. "Apart from the handcuff marks, there's no indication she put up a fight. The snake bite likely incapacitated her quickly.”

Rachel felt a surge of anger at the thought of Rebecca Morris, helpless and in agony, waiting for a bullet to end her suffering. She clenched her jaw, her resolve hardening.

As the coroner continued his examination, Rachel let her gaze drift back to the pendant. She examined it closely, studying the emblem where it now rested in an evidence bag by a yellow tag.

The symbol was familiar, she had seen it several times in her career. It was a rattlesnake coiled around an opium poppy, the signature emblem of the notorious Sonora Cartel. Rachel’s mind filled with images of past crime scenes, all bearing the same brutal mark of the cartel.

Rachel's gaze shifted to the dune once more. The wind had already begun to erase the footprints, but she could still make out the trail leading up the sand.

The cartel connection was troubling. A distraction? She took a photo of the pendant in the evidence bag.

Rachel nudged Ethan, tilting her head towards the towering dune behind them. He nodded, understanding her unspoken request. They trudged forward, their feet sinking into the soft sand with each labored step. The sun beat down mercilessly, the heat oppressive and unrelenting.

As they approached the base of the dune, Rachel's mind drifted to the missing guns from her aunt's collection. The caliber of one matched the one used inthismurder. Coupled with her aunt's knowledge of rattlesnakes and reservation deserts… Perhaps she was overthinking it, but Rachel was willing to consider all options. Could her aunt be involved? The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.

"You think the shooter was up there?" Ethan asked, his voice strained from the exertion of the climb.

Rachel squinted against the glare of the sun, her eyes scanning the crest of the dune. "It's the perfect vantage point. High ground, clear line of sight."

They continued their ascent, the sand shifting beneath their feet, making each step a struggle. Rachel's shirt clung to her back, damp with sweat. She could feel the heat radiating off the ground, the air shimmering in distorted waves.

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