Deadly Sight

She stumbled away in the dark while he got to work snapping pictures from every angle. His hands shook as he wielded the camera. This grisly scene was all too much like another one, years ago—

Violently, he forced the memory from his mind. This was work. He’d seen plenty of blood and guts before. He could do this, dammit. Besides, how would he explain himself to Sammie Jo if he freaked out and ran screaming?

Clenching his jaw with all his strength, he lifted a flap of skin to examine it. Sammie Jo was right. A blade—a sharp one—had made that cut. Luke had been sliced open from rib to rib and hip to hip, then the two horizontal cuts joined with a vertical slash. He’d been laid open like a book. A methodical killer, then. Possible torture. Not a fight or self-defense.

It looked like a lot of the poor guy’s intestines and other organs were missing. Unless Fido or some other critter had eaten them, it would mean Zimmer had been gutted elsewhere. As Gray photographed the ground around the corpse, nowhere near enough blood was present to go along with the crime. Definitely killed elsewhere and dumped here.

The violence of the murder staggered him. Who felt such rage toward Luke Zimmer? Or worse, who would send such a vicious message to others with this killing? Who could the target of such a message be? Zimmer’s boss, maybe? Gray’s alarm ratcheted up another notch. What in the hell had he and Sammie Jo walked into? Who was Proctor?

He continued snapping pictures grimly. There were rope burns around Luke’s wrists. He’d fought for his life against those ropes, for the skin was raw and bloody. Gray reached down gingerly to test the rigidity of the corpse’s clawed hand and arm, and it gave way slightly under pressure.

It took about three hours for rigor mortis to set in and about three days for it to wear off. Luke didn’t stink enough to have been dead for three days, which meant his murder—for what else could this be—had been recent, within four or five hours, probably. And that meant he must have been killed relatively near here, too.

He heard movement nearby and whipped out his pistol.

Sammie Jo’s voice floated out of the dark. “It’s just me. But keep that out.”

It was eerie how she could see in this gloom. And why did she want him to keep his weapon drawn? He searched the woods urgently, but saw only darkness and more darkness. She materialized out of nowhere, and even though he knew she was there, she still startled him.

“I’ve got a blood trail,” she murmured. “Is it possible he wasn’t killed here?”

“It’s probable. Lead on.”

“Should we call the police and let them do the tracking?”

“Not until we have a chance to gather data for ourselves,” he replied. “Once they get involved, we’ll be shut out of the investigation.”

She moved off confidently at an oblique angle to the ridgeline. They’d been walking for several minutes when she asked, “Why on earth would the killer kill someone in an isolated spot and then move the body to another isolated spot to dump it? Why not just leave it where he killed the guy?”

“That’s an excellent question. Maybe the end of this blood trail will tell us.”

No sooner had he said those words than she came to an abrupt halt. His night vision was adapted enough by now for him to stop before he plowed into her, but he didn’t see what she was peering at.

“Road ahead,” she breathed.

“I’ll go first,” he bit out. He moved past her and crept forward slowly. Sure enough, a dirt road materialized, although he had to walk a lot farther to find it than he’d expected. He eased up to its margin and checked both directions. Deserted. “Do you see tire tracks?” he asked her.

“Pass me your camera. The tires look new,” she commented as she pointed the camera, closed her eyes, and snapped a few pictures.

“See anything else?” he asked her.

“Looks like a vehicle parked here. There’s a big cluster of footprints like someone pulled something bulky out of the vehicle here. Then the tracks lead into the woods. I think I see the return set of prints, but they’re hard to distinguish.”

“Amazing.”

“Do you recognize this road?” she asked.

“No, and I’ve studied the maps of the area exhaustively.”

“Google Earth will show it—” she broke off, swearing colorfully. “The guys at Winston Ops will have to mail us a hard copy, won’t they?”

He chuckled at her frustration. He’d banged his head against the technology wall out here a few times, too. “You catch on fast, grasshopper.”

“I’ve seen all I can, here. Now what?”

“Now we hike back to the Bronco, drive to town and call the police,” he answered. The cops were no doubt going to want a statement from them. “We need to come up with a reason for visiting Luke’s place that’ll hold up to a police investigation.”

Sammie answered gaily, “Well, obviously I went to college with him and have come to town to visit the NRQZ at his suggestion. You’re too old to pass for his pal, but I’m not.”

“I’m thirty-five,” he retorted indignantly.

“Like I said. Ancient.”

“How old are you?” he challenged.

“Twenty-eight, Grandpa.”

He’d bet she wouldn’t call him that if he made love to her— He broke off the thought, appalled. Where had that come from?

“I guess folks will believe you and I are a couple,” she commented doubtfully.

He made a worried sound back at her. “I dunno. That’s a bit of a stretch. It’s not like you’re really my type.” He didn’t need supervision to see the hurt that flashed across her face. “Just kidding,” he added hastily.

Huh. Who’d have thought swaggering, leather-clad Sammie Jo had a vulnerable underbelly? Intrigued, he climbed into the Bronco without protesting her opening her own door.

“Okay. So you’re Luke’s friend and I’m your …”

“Fiancé,” she filled in promptly.

The wave of pain that slammed into him was so bad it took his breath away. He’d tried over the years to avoid the pain, to ignore it. But he’d learned the only way to survive it was to go straight into the fire, to experience the hellish agony of it head-on. He took a deep breath and let it wash over him. A person would think that, after five years, it wouldn’t hurt so bad. Granted, the waves didn’t slam into him as often now, nor bury him so deep. But they still hurt just as much.

When the worst of it had passed, he glanced over at his companion. She wanted to pose as his fiancée and not just a girlfriend, huh? Interesting. It suggested a level of intimacy that would take their cover story to a whole different place. He ought to be game to go there. He ought to be all for it, in fact. Those curves of hers practically begged to be touched.

Then the larger problem hit him. “How on earth are we going to explain your—” He broke off.

“Reptilian eyes?” she supplied wryly.

“They don’t look reptilian,” he retorted indignantly. “Insectoid, maybe, but not reptilian.”

Thankfully, he’d judged her correctly. She laughed at the remark. “Seriously,” he continued. “We can’t waltz into the police station with your eyes exposed. And at this time of night, they’ll think you’re stoned if you wear sunglasses the whole time.”

That made her giggle. She had a great laugh. “I’ve got it covered, Sparky. I wear brown contact lenses in public.”

“All right, then. You’re not an alien, and we’re getting married. Have we set a date?”

“I doubt the police will ask, but no. We’re trying to figure out where to live first,” she answered thoughtfully. “Are we considering moving to the NRQZ?”

He liked that idea. It would give them an excuse to poke around the local area openly. “Can you pull off a back-to-nature hippie persona?” he asked her.