His steely eyes locked on hers as he clicked off his phone, and shoved it into his pocket. Insecurity suddenly shot through her as she remembered that she didn’t have a stitch of makeup on, and not only that, she’d worn her least attractive jogging gear. Damn the laundry!
As he got closer, the look in his eyes had her taking a step back. Usually cool-headed and focused, Zander seemed distracted, off his game… and pissed as hell. Actually, fuming mad was more like it.
He walked up to her. “I’d say good evening, but it doesn’t fit.”
“No, it doesn’t.” She stepped off the rock and looked up at him, realizing just how tall he was. She stopped cold when she noticed an oozing cut above his eye and a knot just beginning to bruise the side of his face.
“What… you're bleeding… are you okay?”
“Fine.”
The sharp, curt tone of his response told her that he didn’t want to talk about whatever the hell had just happened to him.
They fell into step together, walking toward the cave entrance. She had to practically jog to keep up with his long stride.
“Team’s on their way out. How long ago did you find her?”
“Not fifteen minutes ago.” She frowned. “She looks fresh, I’d say within the last twenty-four hours.”
His gaze momentarily cut to her tank-top, and she felt a tingle of sexual awareness run over her skin. “I’m assuming you were out jogging?”
“Yeah, my ninety-minute hot yoga session this morning just wasn’t enough.”
Why the hell did she just say that?
“A little late in the afternoon for a jog… going to be dark soon.”
“I know…”
He looked over at her. “You shouldn’t be out in the woods in the dark. I would’ve thought you knew that, being a PI and all. Jog a little earlier next time.”
She raised her eyebrows—sheesh. Something was definitely up with him. She nodded, only because she wasn’t quite sure how to respond to his vile mood.
He continued, “What brought you to the cave? Off the trail?”
She glanced up. “The buzzards.”
“Always the investigator.”
She snorted. And yet another zing of embarrassment—a snort? Really Raven?
“Did you see anything suspicious this evening? Cars, trucks, people?”
“No. I passed a male jogger on the trail. Baseball cap, dark sunglasses, I’d put him around thirty years old and six feet.”
“Did you recognize him?”
“No, but there was a dark blue truck and red sedan at the trailhead when I parked. Guessing the truck belongs to the male jogger, and the sedan is possibly the woman’s. Last letters of the truck plate were XPG, and the car, HRR.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Good eye, PI. XPG, HRR.” He repeated the letters as if etching them into his brain.
“I can run the plates through the DMV, if you’d like.”
“I’ll handle it.” He slowed, surveying the ground.
“I didn’t see any tracks, but that doesn’t mean they’re not there.”
“We'll do a thorough search.”
They stepped up to the cave entrance. He stopped, paused, and turned to her. “You okay, Rave?”
Rave. Although it was her nickname at work, hearing it come out of his mouth sounded more like something a brother would call their kid sister. His damn kid sister.
She swallowed the lump in her throat that she hadn’t even realized was there, and nodded.
Just then, Deena walked out of the cave, shaking her head. She looked up at Zander, and her eyes widened. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re fine?”
“Yep. Hunter’s fine, too. The helo’s wrecked, though.”
“Holy shit. Why aren’t you home, sitting in an ice bath, drinking whiskey from the bottle?” She put her hands on her square hips. “Seriously Zander, I can't believe you're here.”
Confused, Raven drew her eyebrows together. “What’s going on?”
“Stone literally just got in a helicopter crash.”
“What? I thought I heard a helicopter. What were you doing—
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Deena stepped forward. “Zander, go home, I’ve got this.”
Zander shook his head, his cheeks beginning to flush with anger and annoyance. “I’m fine, alright? Just pissed. And I was only a mile away when I got the call about the body, so here I am. It’s no big deal.”
Deena held up her hands as if to surrender. “Alright, sorry, no more comments about it.”
Raven’s eyes were still wide with shock as Zander looked back at her. “I’m going to go take a look.”
She nodded, and as Deena and Zander descended into the cave, she tried to relax the shock from her face.
A helicopter crash? Zander had just fallen from the sky—literally—and yet, here he was, responding to the call she’d placed about a dead body. She knew he was committed to his job, but this was unbelievable.
Despite the mild temperature, she wrapped her arms around herself as a shiver ran across her skin. Muffled voices echoed from the cave, and flashes of light bounced off the walls where Deena had already begun taking pictures of the scene.
What a night.
She turned toward the sound of more voices coming from the woods.
“Hey, Raven, a little late to be finding dead bodies in the woods, ain’t it?”
Cora McBride, the county medical examiner, stepped over the rocks. Her long, curly, brown hair was tied haphazardly in a knot on the top of her head. She carried a large bag and wore wide-rimmed glasses over tired, shaded eyes. Apparently, she’d been enjoying an evening of relaxation, as well.
“Hey, Cora.”
Cora paused, looking Raven up and down. “Why am I not surprised that you’re spending your Sunday evening jogging?”
“Was working a case, unrelated, and besides, it’s always good to end the day with some sort of physical activity, Cora.”
Cora grinned, and shook her head. “No. No, it’s not, Rave. It’s always good to end your day with a stiff drink. Which I was in the middle of.” She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and popped her neck from side-to-side. “Okay, game-time, need to focus. In the cave?”
“Yes.” Raven followed Cora into the cave, passing Deena on her way out. She blew out a breath as she passed.
The cave was illuminated with flashlights, and standing next to the body, with his fists clenched by his side, Zander’s ice-cold gaze shifted to Cora. “Not pretty.”
Cora sucked in a breath, and then wrinkled her nose at the smell. She yanked on a pair of blue latex gloves as she walked up to the body. “Holy shit.”
“Look at the hands.”
Raven watched the color fade from Cora’s cheeks as she looked down.
“Oh, my God. Her fingers have been cut off.” She squatted down, and her eyes rounded as she looked at the victim’s face. “That’s Abby Collier, isn’t it? Works at the gym, right?”
“Yes.”
Raven frowned. “Who?”
Zander took a step back from the body and walked over to Raven. “Abby Collier, born and raised here.” He paused. “Twenty-one years old.”
Twenty-one.
“Looks like she was out jogging, based on the clothes.”
He nodded.
Cora clicked on her flashlight. “Strangled to death. Manual strangulation. You can practically see the grip around her neck, from the bruising.”
“Can you tell how long she’s been deceased?”
“It happened sometime last night. She’s in full rigor mortis.”
Cora lightly turned the victim’s head, where blood matted the curly blonde hair. “She thrashed while whoever did it. Mashed her head into the rock. She fought him.”
The words were like ice. Raven’s stomach curdled as she imagined the woman—Abby—fighting for her life, gasping for air while someone hovered
over her, pinned her down, and squeezed the life from her. Did she know she was dying? Did she just eventually give up? What are the thoughts that run through a person’s head in their last seconds of life?
Cora sat back on her heels and looked at Zander. Her eyes darkened. “Looks like we've got another murder in Devil's Den.”
CHAPTER 5
A WET, HEAVY mist hung in the air as she turned onto the long driveway that led to Black Rose Investigations.
Darkness had officially fallen.
She flicked on her windshield wipers as she drove under the massive trees that formed a tunnel over the rock driveway. At the end, stood a massive, vine-covered stone mansion, complete with large stone pillars, and an expansive balcony topped with gargoyles that overlooked the grounds. This was her office. Unconventional? Yes, but it was perfect for the kind of work they did—death and darkness were the norm at Black Rose Investigations.
A dim light shone from a second-floor window, but other than that, the house was dark. Which wasn’t surprising considering it was almost nine o’clock on Sunday evening.
Most normal people were home, tucking their kids into bed, or settled in their living rooms with a book or glass of wine. Most people hadn’t just looked down at the body of a woman who had been strangled to death.
Raven drove around to the back of the house, surprised to see her boss’s beat-up truck still sitting outside. That was one of the many things she admired about Dixie—the Knight sisters, Dixie, Roxy, and Scar, had inherited millions of dollars, along with the company, from their parents after they’d died in a tragic plane crash, yet Dixie still chose to drive an old pickup that she’d bought from one of her struggling clients, on the first case Raven had ever worked with her on.
Dixie had recruited Raven just days after graduating college with honors, with a degree in Criminal Justice. Raven jumped at the opportunity and didn’t hesitate to leave Texas and move to the small, Southern town of Devil’s Den. That was, until she realized just how small it really was. Nestled deep in the Great Shadow Mountains, Devil’s Den was full of cowboys, small-town stereotypes, and most notably, decades of folktales about spirits, ghosts, and witches.
Dixie, Roxy, and Scar, and their assistants, Fiona and Harley, were strong, independent, super-smart, badass women, and they’d made Raven feel right at home since her first day on the job. And although it was a far cry from where she grew up, over the last few years, she’d settled in, and had everything in place… except for a man.
She rolled to a stop next to a sports car that she didn’t recognize, turned off the engine, grabbed her bag, and yanked up her hood before pushing out of the car. Just as she shut the door, the back door of the house opened, and a disheveled, curvy redhead scooted out the door. She was barefoot, with her purse slung over her shoulder, and six-inch red high-heels in her hands.
Raven grinned. “Evening.”
The redhead looked up, startled. “Oh. Um, hi. Um…” Her cheeks turned the color of her heels as she darted into her shiny little sports car.
“Hey, there.” Ace Zedler, Black Rose’s office manager, super genius, and diehard ladies’ man, stood at the back door in nothing but a robe, boxer shorts, slippers, and a beer in his hand. And a grin that stretched from ear to ear.
Raven shook her head as she walked briskly across the driveway. “She’s lovely, Ace.”
“She sure is.”
“Will we ever see her again?”
He sipped his beer. “Who knows.”
Raven stepped onto the back porch and stopped in her tracks. A chill snaked up her spine as she stared down at a lifeless, black cat just inches from the doorway.
“What the hell is that?”
Ace looked down. “Oh, shit.”
She looked up, her eyes rounded at his casual reaction.
“Another one.”
“Another one?”
He nodded and grabbed a shovel from behind a potted evergreen. “Yeah, this is the… third one.”
“The third what? The third dead cat? What the hell are you talking about? Since when?”
“Since our little Eagle Eye Dixie exposed Marden Balik for who she really is.”
Raven’s mouth dropped open. “Krestel. You’re freaking kidding me.”
He shook his head, casually scooped up the carcass, and placed it into a black bag. “I wish I were kidding. Krestel’s cursed us. All of us. She’s cursed Black Rose. Come in. Rain’s about to hit.” He put the bag in the trash, grabbed her hand and pulled her inside.
“Seriously, there’s been three dead cats at our back door since Marden Balik escaped her jail cell?”
“Yep.”
“Does everyone know? The whole team?”
“Roxy initially wanted to keep it a secret, so you guys wouldn’t get spooked. But then it happened again. So yeah, everyone knows. I think you’re the last to find out, actually.”
She frowned. “Could just be a coincidence… doesn’t actually mean we’re cursed.”
Ace rolled his eyes. “Whatever you need to tell yourself, Rave. Anyway, nothing we can do about it—just keep an eye out. Keep your head on a swivel.”
She shook her head. “This is unbelievable… and fits right into my damn night.”
He lifted his drink. “Sounds like you could use a beer.”
She raised her eyebrows—yes, an ice-cold beer to take the edge off.
As if reading her thoughts, Ace padded across the massive kitchen and pulled a lager from the fridge. He popped the top and handed it to her.
“Thanks.”
He leaned against the counter, and cocked his head. “Wanna talk about it? What’s going on?”
She sipped the frothy beer, and closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the split-second of bliss in an evening filled with darkness.
She opened her eyes. “Found a dead girl on the trail, in Hatchet Hollow.”
Ace’s eyes bugged. “What?”
Just then, Dixie walked in with a bag of trash, and an armful of dirty coffee mugs. Her long, straight, dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, accentuating her porcelain skin and almond-shaped eyes, and radiating the beauty that the sisters were known for. Apparently, Dixie had decided to do some much-needed house cleaning on the gloomy Sunday evening.
Dixie’s eyes lit up as she saw Raven. “Well good evening, I didn’t expect to see…” Her smile faded. “Wait… something’s up.”
“Raven just found a dead chick in the woods.”
Dixie dropped the bag of trash and slid the cups onto the counter. “What?”
Raven took another deep sip, praying the buzz would kick in, and begin to numb the adrenaline coursing through her body. “In Hatchet Hollow, just off the trail.”
“You’re kidding. Did you call—
“Of course. Zander, Deena, and Cora are there.”
Ace sipped his beer. “Do we know her name?”
“Abby Collier.”
“No shit? Yeah…” Ace gazed up at the ceiling, searching his memory. “Yeah, I think I know her. Kinda cute. Well, she used to be, I should say.”
“What do you mean, used to be?”
“I’ve only seen her, occasionally, over the last few months or so, but every time she was wearing all black. Head to toe. And dark makeup. Looked totally different. Gothic.”
“Really? This is a change?”
“Oh, yeah, definitely. The dark is definitely new. She used to just look like a normal twenty-something. Always pretty quiet and shy, though.”
Dixie leaned against the counter. “So a change in personality, a behavior shift recently...”
“I’d say so.”
“Interesting.” Dixie turned to Raven. “Tell me everything. What’s your initial read?”
The image of Abby Collier’s mutilated body flashed through her head. She took a deep breath and then said, “She was wearing exercise clothing. All black come to think of it. Makes me think she was out on the trail, jogging, and taken from there. She was stran
gled to death—fought through it according to Cora.”
“How horrible.”
“And… her fingers had been cut off.”
“What?” Dixie’s mouth fell open.
The room fell silent for a moment.
Raven continued, “She had blood coming from her mouth and bruising under her chin, which makes me think she was punched, maybe initially. Maybe knocked out, and then dragged to the cave.”
“Was anything else… cut off?”
“No. Not that I could see, anyway.”
“Jesus. Did they find the fingers?”
“No.”
“Gross. The killer took them with him.”
“Possibly. Assuming it's a him.”
“Yes, assuming.”
“I just can’t wrap my head around it…” She paused. “Why the hell would the killer cut them off? I mean, she was tortured enough. Why the fingers?”
Dixie shook her head. “Sick son of a bitch. Crazy, psychotic son of a bitch.” She looked at Ace. “Do you know anything else about her? Crazy boyfriend, drugs, anything?”
“Not really. She seemed single—always alone—every time I saw her. And no, my initial impression is that she wasn’t into drugs.”
“Possibly a random murder.”
Raven shifted her weight. “But the fingers… possibly a ritualistic murder.”
They sat silent for a minute, as they pondered the question that would no doubt keep them up all night, until Ace’s phone dinged. He clicked on the screen, grabbed his beer and began walking out of the kitchen. “Roxy needs me to hack into some FBI case files. See y’all.”
After he left, Dixie turned to Raven, and put her hand on her shoulder. “You okay?”
Raven took a deep breath. “It was pretty bad, Dix, I’m not going to lie. But more than that, I just have a feeling… my gut tells me this is no ordinary murder.”
Dixie nodded, all too familiar with that feeling. As a private investigator, one of the most important tools is your gut instinct. And the women of Black Rose Investigations were notorious for letting their instincts—their gut—guide them. Sometimes it got them into trouble, but more often than not, it solved complex cases, and put stone-cold killers behind bars.
A faint rumble of thunder sounded in the distance.
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