Page 30 of Into the Veins
“I used county resources as a sheriff’s deputy to arrest my parents’ murderer, and if any of you find yourselves in the same situation, I will support your need for answers and for justice as my CO supported me,” she said. “But more importantly, I’m sorry if my choices have put any of you in a position to question your service here. If you feel as though you can no longer remain under my command—however long that lasts—please put your resignations or transfer orders on my desk. I won’t hold it against you.”
The numbness burned faster. Numbness from losing the closest thing she’d had to a partner all these years, a friend, someone she could trust. Numbness from the lies she’d believed. Numbness from the life she’d imagined she and Colson might’ve had together once they’d caught the killer. His choices had put her career in jeopardy and threatened her command, but she couldn’t focus on that right now. Any of it. Another victim had been taken, and she was running out of time to stop her from meeting the same end as Rachel Faulkner and Cardin Townsend; afraid, agonized, alone. She recognized the similarities between the victims’ final moments and her own heart ripping itself to pieces, but Blair forced one foot in front of the other and headed for the station’s front doors. “As you were.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The report had come over his police scanner.
Brennan Jefferson, age twenty-eight, single female, Hispanic descent, lived alone. A neighbor had noticed her apartment door open, and when Brennan hadn’t answered, she’d pushed inside to find the place destroyed. A struggle had occurred, that much he’d been able to get from the officers responding across the frequency. Seattle PD were at the scene now, but they’d reached out to King County Sheriff’s Department as a possible connection to their—Blair’s—case.
Colson sped along the 169. The SUV’s wipers swished across the windshield, leaving more dirt and water behind than before he’d hit the mechanism.
According to his rushed study of the victim’s social media account and website biography, Brennan Jefferson had grown up in New York City where she’d worked tirelessly in field hockey, lacrosse, cheerleading, and track. She was a two-time all-state field hockey player and an all-country track runner in high school and went on to cheer in college right here in Seattle where her team had won a national championship. Majoring in business and finance, she joined corporate America and used fitness as an outlet, taking clients to workout classes instead of fancy dinners but made the full transition into fitness soon afterward. Armed with business, finance, and fitness, she’d grown her social media following to over one hundred and fifty thousand fans and had landed herself a sponsorship with one of the most well-known fitness brands in the world.
Turning herself into a target along the way.
Adrenaline dumped into his veins. Three victims, two bodies recovered. There was still a chance this one was alive. Static punctured through the constant tick of rain. He had Brennan Jefferson’s address, but searching the apartment would only be a waste of time. Time he didn’t have. Not if he wanted to make this right for Blair. They hadn’t recovered anything from the previous victims’ homes that would lead them to recovering their bodies before it was too late, but Colson had a good idea of where the killer was headed next. Evyn Garder had removed three photos of Cougar Mountain Regional Wildland Park from her main feed within the past twenty-four hours.
There were no secrets on the internet.
She was involved.
Colson accelerated far above legal limits and wound north through evening traffic, his pulse thudding in rhythm to the chaotic swing of the windshield wipers. Oncoming headlights blurred through the windows as the highway took him northwest for the next few miles. He’d screwed up. He should’ve known backing out of the deal he’d made with a grieving father wouldn’t only destroy his future but anyone he’d come to care about. He’d been prepared to accept the former but hadn’t even given thought to the latter. The son of a bitch had stepped over the line, and he’d make damn sure Rachel Faulkner’s father paid for his mistake.
Blair’s expression as he’d told her the truth filtered through the white noise in his head, and he lost the fight to stay tense. His hand skimmed down the steering wheel, the leather hissing under his touch. She’d trusted him. Despite her past experience with private investigators, he’d seen it in the way she’d answered his ice-breaker questions, the way she’d invited him into her home, and given her access to her guarded life. He could still smell the paint mixing with the scent of her skin as they’d memorized, tantalized, and pleasured each other for those short few hours in the garage. And he’d thrown it all away for a couple of hundred thousand dollars.
Colson signaled to exit the highway and turned east toward the vivid wall of blackness that made up one of the largest plots of wilderness in the state. He scrubbed a hand down his face, but the incessant green glow from the dashboard wouldn’t let up.
He’d messaged Blair his suspicion Evyn Garder had taken her latest victim to the wildlife park but hadn’t received an answer. He couldn’t blame her. He deserved every last ounce of hatred that’d laced her voice when she’d banned him from the case and then some, but he wouldn’t leave her to face the killer alone. Not again.
Dim lights contorted through the rain peppering the windshield as he drove through Coalfield. Hundred-year-old trees blocked his view of the houses set back from the main street, and regret hooked into him harder than the effects of ketamine. He’d never imagined settling down in a house like one of these, hadn’t imagined much of a future at all really. There’d been the next adventure, the next paycheck, the next meal. He’d never worried about tomorrow when all he could focus on was living in the moment each day, but Blair…
He’d let himself design a life where she’d dramatically rave at him for using the mugs she’d sculpted for his morning coffee. He’d pictured how she’d smile at him while she brushed her teeth before bed or how she’d ask him to move into the house she’d made into her own and become a permanent part of her life. He’d envisioned himself realizing the next adventure hadn’t ever been out there, it’d been in the meals they cooked together or laughing while they tangled each other up in the sheets. The fantasy hadn’t come from his old childhood journal sliding across the passenger side seat. It’d been right in front of him. It’d been real.
And he’d lost it.
The SUV’s shocks failed to absorb the bumps along the unpaved road and threw him back into the present. Colson jerked the steering wheel center and followed the signs along the back road leading to the nearest trailhead. His headlights barely penetrated through the sheets of rain pitting against the hood of the vehicle, and the pain in his side reignited from the last time he’d gone into the woods alone. The butt of the weapon CSU had recovered in the woods slid against his ribs under his coat. The shoulder holster dug into his back, but he’d rather endure the discomfort now than have a murderous zoologist surprise him again.
Still, the connection between Evyn Garder and the last two victims was thin. All the victims were social media influencers, all with different approaches to the platform and different degrees of followers. She followed them all and a dozen other influencers Colson had never heard of.
Rachel Faulkner and Cardin Townsend knew each other personally and professionally, but there’d been little to no overlap between them and Brennan Jefferson. Colson circled the trailhead parking lot and threw the SUV into park. An author and business coach, a singer, and a fitness instructor. Unpocketing his phone, he scanned through Evyn Garder’s feed. The photos of Rattlesnake Mountain and Tiger Mountain trails were still publicly visible, but the posts detailing her trek through Cougar Mountain had been taken down. Why delete those unless she had something to hide? He set his phone on the dash, the screen lighting up the underside of the windshield and unholstered his weapon. Releasing the magazine, he counted the bullets and secured it back into place. Whatever Evyn Garder’s motive, Colson wasn’t going to let another innocent woman die.
He holstered his weapon and reached for the phone, hesitating. The parking lot was empty. No sign of Brennan Jefferson’s vehicle or any other in the area, but the weight of being watched warned him he wasn’t alone. He collected his phone. Releasing the glove compartment, he pulled a flashlight and a taser from inside. He wasn’t taking any chances this time. The FBI had cut off the killer’s access to the Strychnos nux-vomica trees she’d made the poison from and the ruby-eyed pit vipers she’d bred. There was little chance she’d be able to recreate the MO of the first two victims, but he had to be prepared for anything.
Shouldering out of the SUV, Colson secured the door behind him and scanned the trailhead. Storm clouds battled overhead just as they had the night the suspect had attacked them in the state forest. Only this time, he would be the hunter. He crossed the parking lot. Rainwater soaked through his socks within the first few steps. Lightning struck overhead and highlighted the sign standing guard at the beginning of the Wilderness Cliffs trailhead, the main trail climbing Wilderness Peak. The exact location Evyn Garder had photographed herself six months prior to removing the posts. She would be there.
His hamstrings burned as he battled to keep himself from sliding back in the thick mud along the wide trail. No footprints to follow this time. No drag marks to guide him to the victim’s location. Rolling thunder vibrated through him, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. Flashlight in one hand, his weapon in the other, Colson hiked the steep incline as fast as he could. His throat burned, the cold already tunneling deep into bone. He pressed his wrist into the stab wound in his side but wouldn’t let the pain slow him down. Shit. The trail from point to point only ranged a little over a mile, but the switchbacks and steady incline were slowing him down. He’d kept himself in shape over the years, but flat out jogging up the side of a mountain with a stab wound in his side and mud under his heels had to be one of the stupidest workouts in existence. A frustrated growl rumbled from his chest. He pushed himself harder, his lungs on fire.
A rectangular sign up ahead warned against cave-in danger, maximum weight 5000 pounds, and reflected back at him with the help of his flashlight. Mudslides weren’t uncommon under and around this trail, considering the steepness of the hike and the amount of rain eroding large sections of the mountain over the years. But there was no time for caution. Not with another woman’s life at stake. He used his wrist to pull his weight against an arching tree branch angled over the trail and struggled to catch his breath.
“Why the hell can’t you dump your victims’ bodies on days it doesn’t rain?” The answer was already on the tip of his tongue. Although, any other time he probably would’ve gone with the fact Mother Nature contaminated and washed away evidence, which had led to more than a handful of cases lacking forensic proof in court. Colson forced himself to take the next step, and the one after that. According to the map he’d memorized, the trail wound west from here and switchbacked the rest of the way. “Oh, because that would make my life easier.”
There was a reason the killer had chosen to leave her victims along three of the most well-known trails in the state. He just couldn’t see it yet. Rain streaked down his face and dripped from his nose and chin. He dug his boots into the slight incline as an ice climber would leverage the spikes on mountaineering boots into a glacier.
He kept his flashlight beam to the ground a few feet in front of him then slowed. Dead leaves mixed with running water and slid down the trail toward him in thin rivets, but they pooled in a deep divot near the edge of the trail. Colson crouched to get a better look, running his fingers of the hand holding the flashlight around the small wall of mud that hadn’t been eroded by the rain. A footprint. Similar to those he’d noted along the Tiger Mountain trail. Lightning flashed again, piercing through the trees overhead. The killer had made sure to stay off the trail. He brushed his gun hand over the foliage collecting near the base of the trees and recognized at least two other matching imprints. “Clever girl.”
He tracked the pattern higher up the trail.
An elbow slammed into his face from the right.