None of it sounded good, so she pulled a U-turn and made her way back toward White Falls Park. She’d noticed a Mexican place on Highway 12, and she had a sudden craving for chips and queso. She soon spotted the red neon sign for Flora’s Tamale House. It was Sunday evening, and she took the packed parking lot as a good sign.
Entering the restaurant, Sara was greeted by Mexican music and the smell of fresh tortilla chips.
“Just one,” she told the teenage hostess.
“Um, there’s a fifteen-minute wait? Unless you care to eat in the bar?”
Sara glanced around, debating whether to wait for a table or risk being hit on. Hunger won out, and she claimed a stool at the bar as her phone dinged with a text message.
R U back in town?
Nolan.
Her nerves did a little dance as she responded: Just got here.
The screen showed him typing, but then he stopped. Sara bit her lip. Maybe she should have called him and asked him to meet her for dinner. She’d thought about it during her long drive but decided not to complicate things. The more time she spent with him, the harder it would be not to see him again after the case ended.
The bartender stopped by, and Sara requested a menu. She skimmed the choices, but she was thinking about Nolan. She shouldn’t second-guess her decision not to call tonight, even if he took it as a brush-off. She was here for work.
“Hey, there.”
She turned around, and there he was. Just the sight of him put a big goofy smile on her face.
“Hi. You found me.”
“Saw your car out front.”
He looked good—tall and broad-shouldered in a dark leather jacket that concealed the gun at his hip. He was wearing boots and those well-worn jeans she liked.
“You here for the night?” he asked.
“Yep. Back at the motel.”
He nodded at the stool beside her. “All right if I—”
“Please. Sit down.”
He took a seat as the bartender reappeared, this time with a smile for Nolan.
“What are you having?” Nolan asked Sara.
“I don’t know. House margarita?”
“Rocks or frozen?” the bartender asked.
“Frozen, with salt.”
“Nolan?” the woman asked, and Sara felt a dart of jealousy.
“Just a Coke.”
Sara looked at him. Maybe he was still on duty.
“Anything to eat tonight, ma’am?”
She shifted her attention to the bartender, definitely catching a tone with the ma’am.
“Yes, I’ll have the chicken enchiladas with a side of queso, please.”
“You got it.”
When the bartender left, Nolan turned to Sara. “Sorry, I can’t stay,” he said. “I’ve got a meeting.”
“On a Sunday night?”
“The task force keeps weird hours. Plus, we’ve been in touch with Dax Harper from Austin, which is putting a fire under everyone.”
“Does he really believe that teenager’s abduction is connected?”
“He does. And we’ve got the FBI involved now.”
“Who’s the agent?” she asked.
“Rey Santos. You know him?”
“Not personally, but he worked a case with one of my colleagues back in the spring.”
Sara glanced at the TV above the bar, which was playing a baseball game. She could feel Nolan watching her.
“So.” She looked at him. “I was planning to call you tomorrow.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Is that right?”
“That’s right.” She leaned her elbow on the bar, trying to appear more comfortable than she felt. “Raul’s meeting me at the park first thing in the morning.”
“He bringing his dog?”
“Yes. I want to make sure we didn’t miss anything at the burial site. And I wanted to update you on something.”
The bartender was back with a Coke for Nolan and a margarita the size of a fishbowl.
“Good Lord,” Sara said.
Nolan tapped his glass against hers. “Cheers.”
“This thing is obscene.”
“It’s not as bad as it looks.”
She picked it up with both hands and took a sip. It was cold and tart.
“How is it?”
“Perfect.”
“Good.” He smiled at her, and she felt a warm tingle that had nothing to do with the tequila. “What’d you want to update me about?” he asked.
She slid the fishbowl away and collected her thoughts. She was here to work, not flirt, and so was he.
“The victims who were buried,” she said. “As you probably know, teeth and bone are the most durable parts of the human body, followed by hair and nails. We ran some tests on the victims’ fingernails, and in both instances we recovered soil, grit, and fecal matter.”
“Okay.” His gaze narrowed. “Any chance this ‘fecal matter’ might have come from something like mulch?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Just thinking about something.”
“I had one of our microbiologists analyze it. He tells me it’s bat guano. And the grit is made up of cryogenic calcite crystals.”
Nolan arched his eyebrows.
“Loose grains of calcite,” she elaborated. “You know, mineral deposits. We think he keeps them somewhere isolated, right? So he can torture them for several days before he kills them.”
“Think it could be a cave?”
“It’s possible. Or maybe a pit.” Sara tried to keep her voice even, although she was cringing inside. “What do you think?”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I think . . . damn. This thing keeps getting worse.”
“You know of any cave systems around here? There was that small one in Rattlesnake Gorge, but we checked it out already.”
“No.” He heaved a sigh. “But I can talk to Tom. He knows the parks better than anyone.”
“It might not be a park.”
“Got to start somewhere.”
Nolan looked up at the baseball game, but Sara could tell he wasn’t really watching. He seemed distracted, and she hated that every time she saw him, he looked more and more stressed about the case.
He was good at his job, and it wasn’t just a job to him. She liked the way he took the initiative. She liked the way he cared deeply about his community. So many investigators she’d met over the years had let cynicism or apathy take over as a survival mechanism. But Nolan had been in this field for almost fifteen years and managed to keep his heart intact.
She studied his strong profile as she took another sip of her margarita. Everything about him was intact. He was a handsome man, and not in that clean-shaven, business-suit way, but in jeans and work boots, with his scarred leather jacket and his two-day beard. She’d never realized how much she liked the rugged look until she met Nolan.
He looked over and caught her staring. The corner of his mouth lifted, as though he knew what she was thinking.
The bartender appeared with a steamy platter of enchiladas that she held with a napkin.
“Hot plate,” she warned.
“Thanks.” After she’d gone, Sara stared down at the massive amount of food.
Nolan smiled. “Hope you’re hungry.” He glanced at his watch, and the smile faded. “I wish I could stay, but I need to head out.”
“It’s fine.”
He stole a chip and popped it into his mouth. “One of these days, I want us to have dinner together.”
“We had dinner at Dairy Queen.”
“That’s not what I meant.” His gaze locked with hers, and the look in his eyes made her nerves flutter.
He stood and reached for his wallet.
“I got it.” Sara waved him off. “Don’t be late to your meeting.”
“Let’s talk later.”
“Sounds good.”
He left, and Sara turned her attention to her food, nearly burning her mouth on the molten cheese.
He w
anted them to have dinner together. He wanted a date.
More than a date, if that look was any indication. He’d looked at her like that once before—in the park right after he’d kissed her.
Somehow she managed to eat most of her food and put a dent in the margarita. She left money on the bar and headed out to the parking lot, which was even fuller than before.
She slid behind the wheel and sat for a few moments, watching the traffic whisk by as the sun dipped low and colored the landscape gold. What should have been a tranquil Sunday evening was marred by images of a terrified young woman huddled in a cave or a pit somewhere. Sara couldn’t shake the thoughts, and her stomach knotted as she pulled out of the lot.
The FBI was involved now, which was good and bad.
Good because they had resources and could cut through some of the red tape. Bad because their presence might increase competition among agencies, which could lead to people hoarding information. She had seen it happen before, and it wasn’t pretty. Nolan was going to have to keep his eye on the other investigators, but he seemed up to the challenge. Having come from a big-city department, he was probably aware of the politics.
Let’s talk later.
Later tonight later? Or did he mean tomorrow? And did he want to talk by phone, or was he planning to show up at her motel? She didn’t know if she could resist the temptation to invite him inside.
Sara reached the turnoff for Main Street, but she kept going, focused on something Mark had talked about in the meeting. He’d analyzed the behavior of predators his entire career, first for the FBI and now for the Delphi Center. Even without creating a full profile, he’d sounded confident in his assessment, and his words kept coming back to her.
These guys evolve, refine their technique.
Was that happening right now, this instant? Was the killer off someplace—possibly someplace close by—thinking of ways to elude the task force that was now hot on his trail?
The park was done.
He had to know that.
Even if he literally lived under a rock and had somehow missed the news stories, he had to have noticed all the police vehicles streaming in and out of one of his favorite places.
White Falls Park was in his comfort zone. Sara hadn’t needed a profiler to tell her that, and neither had Nolan. Two of the killer’s first known victims had been found inside a park as well. They’d been dumped in water and had floated to the surface, possibly explaining why the killer had changed his MO by the time he reached Texas. But regardless of how the killer disposed of the bodies, parks were a common denominator. Was he a park ranger? A maintenance worker? A nature enthusiast?
She hoped the detectives were considering those possibilities and that they’d had more luck than the Tennessee cops who had pursued the same idea five years ago and come up empty.
These guys evolve.
Sara grabbed the map she’d left on the passenger seat and looked it over. She’d hit two nearby parks on her way into town. But both had been small, and neither had seemed like a suitable place to drop a body. There was another park on the southern side of the county, and she decided to swing by while she still had a bit of daylight left.
Her phone chimed, and she dug it from her purse. Aaron.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“That’s what I called to ask you. Kelsey said you’ve lined up Raul for tomorrow?”
“It’s just a precaution, really. I want to make sure we haven’t missed anything.”
“Hmph.”
“What does that mean?”
“Your ‘precautions’ keep resulting in excavations. Are you sure you aren’t following some lead you’re not sharing?”
“Really, I’m not. Just double-checking the area.”
“Okay, well . . . if that changes, I’m available.”
“I know.”
“FYI, I spent most of the day in the lab trying to get a positive ID on that car-fire vic who came in yesterday.”
“Any chance you saw Mia?”
“That’s the other reason I called. I didn’t see her, but she left a note on your desk about that T-shirt.”
Sara’s pulse picked up. “Did she get a hit?”
“She got something, apparently. The note said, ‘Trace blood recovered. Analysis underway. Results TK.’ ”
“Damn, that’s big. Huge, possibly, if the blood belongs to our killer.”
“Our killer? You think you might be getting a little obsessed with this, Sara?”
“Not at all.” Sara spied a gas-station sign and shifted into the right lane.
“Well, you seem very focused on it.”
“Focused is different from obsessed.”
“True. And how much of your personal money are you spending going to Springville? This is your third trip out there, and I’m sure you saw the director’s memo about travel expenses.”
Sara swung into the gas station and pulled up to a pump. The fuel prices were attractive, but the gas station itself was a dump. The pumps looked ancient, and a hand-lettered sign in the window said NO BATHROOMS!!
“Listen, Aaron, I have to run.”
“Nice dodge.”
“What?”
“Forget it. I’ll see you Monday. Unless something comes up, in which case you’d better call me.”
“I will.”
She hung up and got out. Grabbing a nozzle, she turned around to unscrew the gas cap. As she twisted the lid, her gaze landed on a white SUV pulling out of the lot.
CHAPTER 16
Sara stared after it.
“Holy crap. Holy crap.” She spun around and slammed the nozzle back into place. It was a white Chevy Tahoe, around ten years old. She could tell from the vehicle’s shape.
She twisted the gas cap back on and jumped behind the wheel. She hadn’t gotten a look at the driver. Or the license plate. But she could follow it and get both.
Although, of course, it might not be him.
It probably wasn’t, but . . . she had to follow up. She should at least get a plate number. She started her engine and shot a look at her glowing fuel light.
Screw it, she could gas up later. Nolan would want this lead. She whipped out of the lot as the white SUV became a dot in the distance.
Nolan would not want this lead. Not from her, not if it meant her chasing after a potential murder suspect.
Potential. That was the key word.
Really, what were the odds? Investigators were looking for an old white Tahoe somewhere near Springville. This area was the killer’s comfort zone. Not only that, but Sara was on her way to a park where she suspected the killer might be scoping out a new dump site for his next victim.
She grabbed her phone and found Nolan’s number. Damn it, he was probably in his meeting by now. She called and waited for his voice mail, but instead he picked up.
“It’s me,” she said quickly. “I just spotted a white Tahoe that fits your description at the gas station on Highway 194 near Stony Creek Park.”
Silence.
“Nolan?”
“What are you doing at Stony Creek Park?”
“I’m not there yet. I’m on my way. I pulled in for gas and saw this Tahoe. It’s the right color, age, everything—”
“Where are you now?”
“About a hundred yards behind it.”
“Pull over.”
“What?”
“Pull the hell over. Don’t follow him.”
“Don’t you at least want a plate number?”
“Not if it means you getting hurt.”
“Nolan.”
“Seriously, Sara, pull over.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I can get a plate number. He’s right in front of me.”
“Sara.”
She pressed the gas, gaining on the SUV. She was closer now, but a black pickup pulled onto the highway, blocking her view.
“Shit.”
“Sara? Are you pulling over?”
“I will, but I want to ge
t a license plate, in case it’s him. It’s a strange coincidence that he’s out here in a remote part of the county near Stony Creek Park, don’t you think?”
“Sara, pull over now.”
“I’m about to be close enough to read the plate.”
“Would you listen to me—”
“Hanging up now. Bye.”
She tossed the phone away and grabbed the camera bag off the seat beside her. Dragging it onto her lap, she steered with one hand as she fumbled with the camera.
“Come on, move it,” she muttered as she maneuvered around the black truck. There he was. After a few moments, she eased into the right lane.
The Tahoe was in front of her, but still not close enough to read the license place. She lifted the camera, pressed the zoom button, and took a few quick shots.
She rested the camera on her lap as she leaned forward and peered through the windshield. Distance wasn’t the only problem—the license plate was brown with grime.
Sara’s heartbeat thrummed. She studied the silhouette through the back window, but the glass was tinted, and she couldn’t discern much about the driver. Based on the shape, it looked like a man behind the wheel.
The road curved right. She passed hillsides covered with thick brush. The landscape here was untamed, wild, and she hadn’t seen a house in miles. The SUV picked up speed. Sara’s pulse picked up, too. Had he seen her?
Her phone chimed, but she ignored it.
The road curved right again. And again he picked up speed. He’d noticed her. Why else would he speed up?
And why would he speed up at all, unless he had something to hide right now, something incriminating?
Another call. She snatched up the phone.
“What?”
“I’ve got a unit heading your way, so you can pull over.”
She put the call on speaker and dropped the phone into the cupholder.
“If I do that, I’ll lose him. He just sped up, and I think he’s trying to shake me.”
“Jesus, Sara.”
The road curved left, and Sara tapped the brakes. After another curve, she reached a straightaway.
“Damn, where’d he go?”
Stone Cold Heart Page 16