All the Beautiful Brides Read Free

mountain and around the woods. Questions assailed him. Was the killer trying to draw attention to the old case and Pike’s upcoming parole hearing? Did he have some kind of hero worship for Pike and want the same kind of attention he’d received?
    Or had the killer simply dumped the victim here thinking no one would find her? That the elements would destroy DNA or forensics? That the animals in the wilderness would ravage her body, making identification more difficult?
    He touched her arm. Her skin was as cold as ice. Her brown hair was choppy, wet, and tangled, the long white wedding dress splattered with mud. Her oval face was devoid of makeup except for the stark red lipstick on her mouth.
    Her green eyes stared at him as if in shock that someone would do this to her.
    Crystals of frozen water had settled on her lashes, sand and limestone particles mingling with leaves and twigs from the falls on her hands and clothing.
    He surveyed the deserted clearing, a sick knot in the pit of his stomach. Was she on the way to her wedding when she was attacked? Had she just gotten married?
    He examined her hand. No engagement or wedding ring. Had the killer taken it?
    The garter was wound so tightly around her neck that purple marks darkened her pale skin. Scratches marred her neck where she’d fought to keep from choking.
    Hopefully she’d scratched her attacker, and they’d find DNA beneath her fingernails.
    But the thorns in her mouth made his stomach clench.
    The fact that she was dressed in a wedding gown suggested she probably knew her killer. Her fiancé? Husband? Lover? Someone who didn’t want her to get married? A jealous woman?
    And if she was engaged, where was her fiancé?

    Confusion clouded Mona’s mind as she left the memorial service. She understood how painful it was for victims and their families to discuss crimes against them.
    After all, her parents had died during a break-in at their house.
    Apparently the robbers, who’d been casing the neighborhood for weeks, had thought her parents were out of town for the holidays. But her mother had had a migraine that day and they’d postponed their vacation.
    At least the police had caught the men, but that hadn’t brought her parents back.
    Fortunately, she’d met Brent during the investigation. He’d tracked down the culprits and put them away.
    After that, she’d decided to add criminology studies to her counseling degree and had spent a year learning about the minds of criminals.
    Then she’d accepted a job with the courts as a victim’s advocate. She’d counseled victims, sat with them during court trials and hearings, and mediated between them and the attorneys. She’d even assisted the prosecutor and detectives a few times. She had a knack for understanding criminal behavior, and helping others had aided her in working through her own grief.
    But when she’d moved here, she’d decided to take a break to research her past so she’d set up a part-time private counseling office. Shortly after she opened her practice, a man named Chance Dyer had approached her and asked her to do a radio talk show, and she’d agreed.
    She parked in front of the radio station, forcing herself to move forward. One day at a time. Her boots sank into the snow and ice, the freezing wind ripping at her, nearly knocking her over. The wind banged the shutters against the wood frame of the older colonial house where the station was located. She battled against the force of it and ran through the slush until she reached the door.
    Chance, the producer of the radio station, a hippie-looking guy in his thirties, greeted her with a smile. He was handsome in a throwback kind of way, and an interesting DJ with a charismatic, honey-slick voice.
    He’d asked her out for coffee once, but she’d gently turned him down. She wasn’t interested in hooking up or opening her heart to a man and getting hurt again.
    She settled into the chair, while Chance went to the sound room connected