Die for Me Read Free

in his throat. “You bastard,” he whispered. “I hate you.”
    One side of Munch’s mouth quirked, but his eyes lit up with an amusement that was more terrifying than his smile. “The others said that, too.” He shoved the water bottle at Warren’s mouth again, pinching his nose until he gasped for air. Wildly Warren fought, but Munch forced the water down. “Now, Mr. Keyes, we begin. Don’t forget to scream.”

 
    Chapter One
    Philadelphia, Sunday, January 14, 10:25 A.M.
    D etective Vito Ciccotelli got out of his truck, his skin still vibrating. The beat-up old dirt road that led to the crime scene had only served to further rile his already churning stomach. He sucked in a breath and immediately regretted it. After fourteen years on the force, the odor of death still came as a putrid and unwelcome surprise.
    “That shot my shocks to holy hell.” Nick Lawrence grimaced, slamming the door of his sensible sedan. “Shit.” His Carolina drawl drew the curse out to four full syllables.
    Two uniforms stood staring down into a hole halfway across the snow-covered field. Handkerchiefs covered their faces. A woman was crouched down in the hole, the top of her head barely visible. “I guess CSU’s already uncovered the body,” Vito said dryly.
    “Y’think?” Nick bent down and shoved the cuffs of his pants into the cowboy boots he kept polished to a spit shine. “Well, Chick, let’s get this show on the road.”
    “In a minute.” Vito reached behind his seat for his snow boots, then flinched when a thorn jabbed deep into his thumb. “Dammit.” For a few seconds he sucked on the tiny wound, then with care moved the bouquet of roses out of the way to get to his boots. From the corner of his eye he could see Nick sober. But his partner said nothing.
    “It’s been two years. Today,” Vito added bitterly. “How time flies.”
    Nick’s voice was quiet. “It’s supposed to heal, too.”
    And Nick was right. Two years had dulled the edge of Vito’s grief. But guilt . . . that was a different matter entirely. “I’m going out to the cemetery this afternoon.”
    “You want me to go with you?”
    “Thanks, but no.” Vito shoved his feet into his boots. “Let’s go see what they found.”
    Six years as a homicide detective had taught Vito that there were no simple murders, just varying degrees of hard ones. As soon as he stopped at the edge of the grave the crime scene unit had just unearthed in the snow-covered field, he knew this would be one of the harder ones.
    Neither Vito nor Nick said a word as they studied the victim, who might have remained hidden forever were it not for an elderly man and his metal detector. The roses, the cemetery, and everything else was pushed aside as Vito focused on the body in the hole. He dragged his gaze from her hands to what was left of her face.
    Their Jane Doe had been small, five-two or five-three, and appeared to have been young. Short, dark hair framed a face too decomposed to be easily identifiable and Vito wondered how long she’d been here. He wondered if anyone had missed her. If anyone still waited for her to come home.
    He felt the familiar surge of pity and sadness and pushed it to the edge of his mind along with all the other things he wanted to forget. For now he’d focus on the body, the evidence. Later, he and Nick would consider the woman—who she’d been and who she’d known. They’d do so as a means to catch the sick sonofabitch who’d left her nude body to rot in an unmarked grave in an open field, who’d violated her even after death. Pity shifted to outrage as Vito’s gaze returned to the victim’s hands.
    “He posed her,” Nick murmured beside him and in the soft words Vito heard the same outrage he felt. “He fucking posed her.”
    Indeed he had. Her hands were pressed together between her breasts, her fingertips pointing to her chin. “Permanently folded in prayer,” Vito said grimly.
    “Religious murderer?” Nick