Page 8 of Not This Way

“I don’t.”

He blinked. “Really? Her family’s in the papers a lot.”

“I don’t read the news,” she said simply.

Again, she received a disbelieving look. But Captain Smith, as he often did, had bounced from one emotion to the next.

Now his rage was gone, and his frustration had returned. But the frustration, at least in part, seemed directed to the file open on his computer. He drummed his fingers against the keyboard in thought as he said, “Heiress to the Austin Drilling outfit.”

This, Rachelhadheard of. More than one dispute with her people had occurred over drilling rights on reservation land.

“The oil company?”

“That’s the one. A multibillion-dollar oil company.”

She blinked. “And Ms. Beaumont is dead?”

“Yeah. Found this morning on a drill site. Got some of the locals spooked. We’re keeping a lid on it for now. But a billionaire found dead in her own oil field? That’s gonna make some headlines. Think you can keep your face out of the press?”

She wasn’t sure what he was implying by this. But again, as Thomas had often told her, don’t let thembaityou.

So she kept her expression stoic. She nodded once. “Yes, sir.”

“Alright. Then what the hell are you still standing around here for? Get going, Blackwood.” He flashed her a final frown, then returned to the computer.

She nodded once, then moved swiftly to the door. Her arm didn’t bother her, though she could feel needles of pain. She hadn’t been tired by her run through the woods, nor her scuffle with Camden.

The ten minutes back at HQ?

Downright exhausting.

But another high-profile case? Just the thing to get the blood pumping. She strode purposefully out of the office, moving with precision toward the sliding glass doors.

A billionaire tycoon found dead on an oil field that had run-ins with Natives.

She wondered ifthatwas why Smith had assigned her. Hoping to find cause to fire her, perhaps hoping trouble would arise because of her roots.

But as a half-Native woman, she’d learned to navigate the politics of the Rangers.

And now, all she wanted was to start the hunt.

CHAPTER THREE

The watchful man’s eyes narrowed as he stared out through the windshield, his knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel. The small wooden charm dangling from his mirror clacked against the glass as it rattled on beads. His breathing was steady despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins. This was it. This was the moment he had been waiting for.

He glanced down at the photo of his next victim taped to the dashboard. Young. Naive. Vulnerable. An easy target. The perfect sacrifice for his ritual.

“Don’t worry, my dear, it will all be over soon,” he muttered under his breath, his voice a chilling whisper.

The car glided silently down the street as he tracked his prey. Up ahead, a young woman walked alone, her pace brisk. She had no idea what was coming. No idea that these were her final moments of freedom.

Closer and closer he crept, anticipation rising. His heart pounded against his ribs like a caged animal, hungry for what would come next. The world narrowed down to just the two of them now. Predator and prey. Killer and victim. This was his design.

When she turned down the empty alley, he seized his chance. The car leaped forward, engine growling as he raced to cut off her escape. She glanced back, eyes wide with sudden terror as she realized too late that she had made a fatal mistake.

He was upon her.

The woman stared in fear as the car screeched to a halt, blocking her only exit. She turned to run, but it was already too late.

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