Shadow Fall (Tracers Series Book 9) Read Free Page B

toward the woods. “Female victim. No ID, no clothes, no vehicle. Long story short, I don’t have a lot.”
    His gaze settled on Tara, and her shoulders tensed. She could feel something coming.
    “What I do have is an abandoned Lexus down at Silver Springs Park,” he said. “Registered to Catalina Reyes.”
    “Catalina Reyes,” Tara repeated.
    “That’s right. She was last seen there yesterday evening. Didn’t show up for work today.”
    Tara glanced at M.J., communicating silently. Holy crap. She looked back at the sheriff. “How far’s this park?” she asked.
    “Twenty miles due southa here.”
    A deputy strode up to them. “Sheriff, you need to come see this.”
    Ingram trudged off, leaving Tara and M.J. staring at each other in the glare of the lantern.
    Catalina Reyes was a north Houston businesswoman who’d made a run for U.S. Congress in the last election. She’d been a lightning rod for controversy since the moment she announced her candidacy.
    “She was getting death threats, wasn’t she?” M.J. said.
    “I think so.”
    Tara turned to look at the forest, where police had set up klieg lights around the inner crime scene. Workers in white Tyvek suits moved around, probably CSIs or ME’s assistants. Tara saw the strobe of a camera flash. She noted more deputies with flashlights combing a path deep within the woods. They must have assumed that the killer accessed the site from the east, and Tara hoped to hell they were right, because whatever evidence might have been recovered from the route Tara had used had been obliterated by boots and tires.
    The Cypress County Sheriff’s Department didn’t see many homicides and probably had little to no experience handling anything this big.
    If, in fact, the victim was Catalina Reyes.
    Tara bit the inside of her lip, a habit she caved into when she was nervous. Why had Jacobs sent them? Not just agents but specifically her and M.J.? As experience went, Tara came up short and Martinez was green as grass.
    M.J. muttered something beside her.
    “What?” Tara asked.
    She started to answer, but Ingram approached. Tara looked at him, and she knew—she knew —that how she handled the next few moments would affect everything.
    “Sheriff, the Bureau would like to help here,” Tara said. “We can have an evidence response team on-site within an hour.”
    He folded his arms over his chest. “I think we got a handle on it.”
    Just what she’d thought he’d say. “I’d like to see the crime scene,” she told him.
    He gave her a hard look that said, No you wouldn’t, little lady. But Tara stubbornly held his gaze. “Suit yourself,” he said, setting off.
    She followed him, with M.J. close behind. They moved through the trees along a path marked by LED traffic flares. The air smelled of damp pine, but as they neared the bright hive of activity, the sickly smell of death overtook everything. Ingram stepped aside, and Tara nearly tripped over a forensic photographer crouched on the ground aiming her camera at the body sprawled in the dirt.
    Pale face, slack jaw. She looked almost peaceful . . . except for the horrific violence below her neck.
    Tara’s throat burned.
    M.J. lurched back, bumping into a tree. She turned and threw up.
    Think , Tara ordered herself. She forced herself to step closer and study the scene.
    A five-foot radius around the body had been marked off with metal stakes connected by orange twine. Only an ME’s assistant in white coveralls operated within the inner perimeter. He knelt beside the victim, jotting notes on a clipboard.
    Tara’s heart pounded. Her mind whirled. She drew air into her lungs and forced herself to slow down. She felt Ingram’s gaze on her and tried to block it out.
    Think.
    Rigor mortis had passed. Even with the cool weather, she’d been dead at least twelve hours. No obvious bruising on her arms or legs. Her feet were spread apart. Damp leaves clung to her calves. Toenail polish—dark pink. Tara looked at