There were a few women here.
Tonight, one of them would be leaving with him.
All he had to do was paste on a smile, buy her a drink, and use his smoky-eyed look to draw her under his spell.
He already knew her name. Knew her weaknesses.
Parking himself on a bar stool, he nudged his Stetson hat lower to shade his face, then scanned the gyrating bodies and the bar for the woman he’d come to find.
He was a patient man. He’d wait until the time was right. Then he’d take her home and she would be his for the night––and forevermore.
Twenty-Five
Crooked Creek
Her body throbbing with fatigue and debating her plan of action, Ellie let herself inside her bungalow.
There was no doubt in her mind she was dealing with a serial killer. Although Heath was still looking into the first victim’s enemies, she thought they could safely put that theory on the back burner. If killing Courtney had been personal, there was no reason to kill another woman.
Yet self-doubt nagged at her. Was she equipped to handle another big case?
Pouring herself a vodka, she carried it to her back deck and curled onto the glider. Tonight the sharp mountains towered toward the dark sky, tall and ominous.
Knowing the images of the wildflower graves would haunt her sleep, she grabbed her phone and debated calling her therapist. She’d said to call anytime, day or night.
But first she needed to process the crime scenes herself.
Inhaling the crisp citrusy scent of her favorite Ketel One, Ellie took a long slow sip before booting up her laptop and making notes about the latest crime scene for the file she’d created for the Wooten murder. She listed each detail of the woman’s appearance, outfit, injuries and the location where the body had been left.
Laney’s earlier comment echoed in her head. Why had the killer sent her the message instead of the sheriff? She had been thrust into the limelight, but so had Bryce.
With the bodies being left on the AT, she had to consider the fact that the perp might live in Bluff County. Or perhaps he’d seen the story about the Ghost case and was drawn to the area because of it, researching locations of significance that fit his pathology.
And why the nursery rhyme? It had to mean something. In itself, it wasn’t creepy. But the sinister aspect came from the fact that the rhyme didn’t fit the victim, that it seemed to contrast. So what had this woman done to fall from grace?
Leaning back, Ellie rubbed her temples. The one thing she knew for certain was that he was going to kill again. And if he stuck with his pattern, another woman would die tomorrow. At that thought, Derrick Fox’s face floated through her mind. He was more experienced with serial predators and profiling. But did she want to invite him back into her life, even just for work?
Her phone buzzed, dragging her away from thoughts of Derrick. She checked the number calling. It was unknown.
Her stomach tightened. Was it the killer?
She clenched her drink in one hand, then pressed accept, her pulse hammering.
“Ellie… help me.”
The glass slipped through Ellie’s fingers and crashed to the floor, spilling vodka across the wood. The citrus odor flooded her senses, growing stronger as it splashed on her legs.
“Shondra?”
“Help,” her friend cried.
A second later, there was another voice, an altered one.
“Wednesday’s child is full of woe,” the voice said. “Will you find her in time, Detective?”
Twenty-Six
Nerves clawed at Ellie as she phoned back. If the killer was taunting her, maybe he’d want to talk. But yet again the call didn’t go through.
Shaking all over, she stabbed the sheriff’s number, pacing in front of the doors leading to her back deck. A plane buzzed above, disappearing into the clouds that crept across the sky, obliterating the stars and the moonlight, casting the mountains in gray.
“Dammit, Bryce, where are you?”
The call rolled to voicemail, and she hung up and rung again. Finally, he answered.
“Sheriff Waters.”
Her stomach curled at his voice, but she steeled herself. Shondra needed her to be strong. “It’s Ellie.”
“Are you finally calling to tell me you found another body?”
“I just got home,” she said, irritated at his tone. “The victim is on her way to the morgue. But that’s not the reason I’m calling.” Panic made it hard to breathe. “It’s Shondra.”
“Shondra?” He made a disgruntled noise. “So you talked to her and what? Does she want me to beg her to work for me? Because I’m about