Page 1 of Into the Veins
CHAPTER ONE
People were poison.
King County Sheriff Blair Sanders followed the deep tracks along the hiking trail winding west around Rattlesnake Lake. Temperatures dropped in the shade of tall pines even as the sun battled the last few inches of winter snow and ice clinging to the final days of March. Her boots suctioned into the mud as low conversation reached her ears.
The crime scene unit had found the body.
Blair nodded in greeting as she passed the deputy stationed at the perimeter and ducked under the crime scene tape. Hikers kept their distance, whispering between themselves. The call had come in three hours ago, but it’d taken the team at least half that time to find the remains. The trail stretched ten and a half miles and switchbacked along Rattlesnake Mountain before delivering hikers on the north side, and the witness who’d called 9-1-1 had had to leave the park to get cell service. Unfortunately for her, service bars hadn’t been all she’d found.
“Who called it in?” Blair’s legs burned as she hiked the small distance toward Seattle’s chief medical examiner who was crouched over the remains.
“Hiker.” Dr. Vanessa Moss pointed to a thin, dark-haired woman outside of the perimeter tape talking with one of the deputies. “Call came in at six this morning.”
From the state of the victim’s clothing, she’d guess the body hadn’t been out here more than a few hours. Jeans, blazer, nice blouse. Whoever the woman was, she hadn’t come out here for hiking. Not in heeled boots. Blair instantly homed in on movement beneath the victim’s silk blouse and leaned in closer. Pointing down, she glanced at Dr. Moss. “You know she’s moving, right?”
“Oh, yeah,” the ME said.
The head of a vibrant green snake burrowed through the victim’s clothing, followed by another. Half a dozen at least. Her gasp filled the scene, and Blair closed her eyes to counter the embarrassment heating her neck and face. She forced herself to stay in place. The snakes’ bright red eyes stood stark against their soft, coiling bodies, as though staring back in warning. Her stomach tightened. It wasn’t uncommon for wildlife and insects to feed off of a set of remains, but this… She had a hard time believing this had been an accident. No signs of a struggle or blunt force trauma. A remote location. “I’ve never seen snakes go after a set of remains like this.”
“The cold drove them to take shelter inside the victim’s remains, but as far as I can tell, they haven’t fed on the body. Nothing has.” Dr. Moss reached a gloved hand for one of the snakes and pulled it free from the body. Handing it off to the Regional Animal Services deputy a few feet behind her, the pathologist shifted her position to the head of the remains. Her dark gaze scanned the victim. With long, brown hair tied at the base of her neck and a shoulder-to-ankle protective bodysuit, Dr. Moss exuded expertise and intelligence in one petite package. The ME didn’t normally respond to death scenes, usually leaving this kind of work to her medicolegal investigators, but Blair appreciated her assistance all the same. Dr. Moss pulled another reptile free, staring into small red eyes a few inches from her face. “Animals will avoid eating dead flesh if they smell something off. I’ll have to get her back to Harborview to know for sure, but we could be looking at a poisoning.”
“I don’t see any bruising or evidence she fought her attacker.” Blair crouched beside the remains. Medium-length brown hair with perfectly shaded highlights spread around the victim’s shoulders. Pristine makeup fought to cover a birthmark above a thin upper lip, professionally sculpted arched eyebrows revealing the victim’s natural coloring. Dried skin and thick foundation flaked off around the woman’s chin. Blair unpocketed a notebook from her jacket pocket and compressed the end of her pen. “Any idea who she is or how long she’s been out here?”
“I’ll be able to check her clothing for identification once I remove all the snakes.” Dr. Moss pushed to her feet. “Judging on lividity and these temperatures, I’d say she was out here between five and six hours. As for time of death, I’ll need to get her on the slab to give you a better timeframe. I will say she was already dead before the killer disposed of her body.”
“Not snakes. Vipers,” a deep, masculine voice said from behind. “More specifically Trimeresurus rubeus or ruby-eyed green pit vipers.”
Blair turned, instantly aware of the six-foot-plus, striking man inside the perimeter tape. She swept her focus the length of his muscular body, void of credentials, and instant stiffness ran down her spine. T-shirt, jeans, boots, and a leather jacket. Short brown hair and a few days of beard growth pronounced the enthralling brightness of his gaze. No uniform. Not a federal agent and sure as hell not one of hers.
“Vipers aren’t indigenous to this area.” He took a single step closer and intensified the responsiveness simmering along her nerve endings. “Whoever dumped the body out here left them behind, too. Maybe as some kind of message or warning.”
“Sir, I don’t know who you are, but this is a crime scene.” Blair faced him fully, her hands automatically sweeping her jacket out of the way to show her badge on her hip. “You’re not allowed to be here unless authorized, and I don’t see a badge.”
“Oh, I’ve got one of those.” He dug into his back pocket, flipping open his wallet before pulling a card from the depths. He handed it off to her, callused knuckles brushing against her hand. “Colson Rutherford. Seems you might’ve found my missing person.”
Blair read the card, her gut souring. A license. “You’re a private investigator.”
“Among other things.” Colson plucked the card from her hand and tucked his wallet back into his pocket, that playful gaze never leaving hers. Amusement deepened the smile lines around his eyes and mouth. He scanned her from head to toe as he shifted his weight between both feet. Sizing her up. “You must be Sheriff Sanders. I’ve read a lot about you. Your work on that serial case two months ago has been topping headlines for weeks.”
The case she couldn’t forget. No matter how many times she’d tried. Three victims—all investigative journalists—forced to swallow gasoline and set on fire out of a killer’s wrathful revenge. Colson was right. That case and her work with the FBI had rocketed her career into the limelight, but fame and recognition hadn’t ever been the reason she’d run for King County’s sheriff four years ago. It was because of people like the man standing in front of her.
Blair pressed the edge of her notebook into her palm as anger bubbled to escape. “I don’t care who you are or why you’re here, Mr. Rutherford. Police solve crimes. Private investigators exploit their clients for profit and leverage. Now get off my scene before I have you arrested for obstructing a homicide investigation.”
She turned back to the remains and forced herself to take a deep breath, but the flood of heat that’d crawled into her neck refused to abate. She made a note to research ruby-eyed green pit vipers and check them against the snakes Regional Animal Services had collected into an oversize sack. Hisses permeated through the fabric, their violent movements a testament to the warning she’d noted in their red eyes. “Let’s check her clothing for an ID, Doc.”
“Her name is Rachel Faulkner.” Colson’s voice penetrated through the focused haze she used to block out the world when working a new case, and her pulse ticked up a notch. He’d stepped back behind the tape, all six-three, maybe six-four, of muscle and mystery honed in on her. “She was reported missing two days ago. I recognize her blazer. It was one of her signature pieces of clothing. Her father hired me to find her.”
A hint of regret infused the last part of his statement, but Blair’s impatience only burned hotter. She turned to face him. “Mr. Rutherford—”
“My friends call me Colson.” The tall, dark, and dangerous private investigator raised both hands, palms forward as though in surrender, but she’d dealt with guys like him her entire life. She knew better. “And I know what you’re about to say, but I figured you’d want to save your department and her family time by hearing what I’ve gathered on the victim these last couple of days. Or are you going to let your personal opinions of private investigators impede your investigation into who killed her?”
The fire under her skin cooled. Her personal opinions, as he’d put it, had nothing to do with solving this case, but if Colson Rutherford had information relevant to the investigation, she needed it. This was what she’d been trained for, what she was good at, and where she felt most in control. And she wasn’t going to let an investigator more interested in money than justice put this case at risk. “Hundreds of people must own jackets like hers, and we don’t have a positive ID yet. How can you be sure this is the missing woman you were hired to find?”
“He’s right, Sheriff.” Dr. Moss rounded the remains and stepped into her peripheral vision. The pathologist’s thin frame was nearly swallowed in her protective gear as she offered a mud-caked leather wallet inscribed with designer gold above the button closure. Tendrils of hair slipped free of the knot at the back of the medical examiner’s neck, softening the severe angles of her cheeks and chin. “I found this under her remains. Driver’s license says this is Rachel Faulkner. Cash, phone, and her cards are all there.”
Blair pocketed her pen and notebook and pulled an evidence bag from her jacket. The ME dropped the wallet inside, and Blair sealed the top. This hadn’t been a mugging gone wrong. Whoever’d dumped the victim out here wasn’t interested in money. She’d have CSU pull prints from the leather wallet and run LUDs on the victim’s phone. She raised her attention to Colson and closed the distance between them. The crime scene tape brushed against her jacket as she lowered her voice. “All right, Mr. Rutherford, I’ll bite. Tell me what you’ve discovered about the victim before she ended up out here, and I’ll make sure you’re not lying about being hired to find her.”
“You have trust issues, don’t you?” Colson slid his hands into his front pockets, his mouth quirking to one side in an attempt to soften her guard. It wouldn’t work. “Rachel Faulkner is the daughter of a CEO who runs a Fortune 500 company in the city.”