Page 18 of Not This Soon

But the mercy he brought was made of the same substance.

He was nothing if not merciful.

CHAPTER FIVE

Rachel paced back and forth at the staging ground of the search camp. Tents were set up as officers could be heard coordinating the desert search. Evening had passed, and now night fell heavy across the sky.

The desert starscape above was stunning, sparkling diamonds scattered across the black velvet backdrop of the night. But Rachel had no time to admire nature’s beauty. Not tonight. Not when a killer was out there somewhere, hiding, bleeding.

She stopped and turned to Ethan. His face was fixed in a grim expression, his eyes reflecting the urgency of their situation. They both knew the stakes. They both understood that every second they wasted gave the sniper more time to escape, allowed the trail to grow cold.

"We're losing him," she muttered, her eyes scanning over the satellite images of the desert spread out on the makeshift table before them.

"I know," Ethan replied, his voice low and controlled. "But we can't rush this. We need to be methodical."

Rachel glanced at him sharply. Ethan was right; of course he was. But it didn't make the waiting any less agonizing. The urge to storm into the desert, to chase after their quarry with guns blazing was strong.

She turned back to the satellite images, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. She searched for anything that looked out of place - tire tracks, footprints, anything that might indicate where the sniper had gone after he escaped from his kill.

“Nothing,” she murmured. “Nothing.” She glanced at Ethan. “What are we hearing from the chopper?”

Ethan winced, likely suspecting this would only further sour her mood. “Nothing good,” he said. No sign of him.”

“Dammit,” she said but caught herself before adding anything further. Rapidly, her thoughts were being swept from Aunt Sarah and Chief Dawes. The two of them were old friends and now on the run together. She couldn’t shake the image of Rebecca Morris, lying pale and bloated in the desert sun, puncture wounds from a rattlesnake in her ankle and the gunshot mortally piercing her.

“This asshole is a sadist… but he knows the desert,” Rachel surmised. “He chose the perfect spot for his kill. Escape routes in every direction, plenty of cover... He’s been planning this."

Ethan nodded, grim agreement etched into his features. "The desert is a killer's best friend. It hides tracks, obscures sightlines, swallows up sound... It's the perfect hideout."

Rachel turned her gaze back to the map. Her thoughts swirled, a maelstrom of frustration and fear. The sniper was out there somewhere, wounded but alive. He'd already proven himself capable of murder, and there was no reason to believe he wouldn't kill again.

“He was bold,” she said. “Taking shots at us?”

“Maybe we were the real targets,” Ethan pointed out.

She frowned, hesitating. “Maybe. Is Rebecca’s family at the station yet?”

Ethan nodded. “Waiting to be interviewed. But…”

“What?”

“Sounds like they’re acting strange.”

She turned to Ethan. “Strange how?”

He shrugged, glancing at his phone where an assisting ranger had been updating them on the Morris’ arrival.

"Defensive. Closed off," Ethan elaborated, his brow furrowed as he scrolled through the messages. "They're not cooperating asmuch as we'd expect considering their daughter just...well, you know."

Rachel gave a curt nod, her eyes narrowing in thought. Families, she knew, could be unpredictable in their grief.

"Have they been told about the...nature of her death?" Rachel asked gruffly.

Ethan nodded, his lips pressed into a tight line. "Yeah, they know. They're claiming they have no idea who'd want to hurt Rebecca."

Rachel sighed, spinning back towards the map. Her fingers traced over the stretch of desert land where Rebecca's body had been found. The wound from the snakebite would have immobilized her, left her helpless to whatever came next.

It was the gunshot that stirred deeper questions within her. A rattlesnake bite was one thing—it could be chalked up to bad luck or recklessness, but a gunshot?

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