Deadly Silence

Book 1: Blood Brothers

by Rebecca Zanetti

Genres: Romantic Suspense; Suspense

Synopsis

DON’T LOOK BACK

Under siege. That’s how Ryker Jones feels. The Lost Bastards Investigative Agency he opened up with his blood brothers has lost a client in a brutal way. The past he can’t outrun is resurfacing, threatening to drag him down in the undertow. And the beautiful woman he’s been trying to keep at arm’s length is in danger…and he’ll destroy anything and anyone to keep her safe.

Paralegal Zara Remington is in over her head. She’s making risky moves at work by day and indulging in an affair with a darkly dangerous PI by night. There’s a lot Ryker isn’t telling her and the more she uncovers, the less she wants to know. But when all hell breaks loose, Ryker may be the only one to save her. If his past doesn’t catch up to them first…

Full of twists and turns you won’t see coming, DEADLY SILENCE is New York Times bestselling author Rebecca Zanetti at her suspenseful best.

Release date: October 4, 2016

Publisher: Grand Central

Print pages: 311

Sample

Prologue 

Twenty years ago 

Ryker never figured he’d find sunshine in hell. He looked up at the shining ball in the too-blue sky. How could it be warm and sunny here? At twelve years old, after spending most of his life in a series of orphanages with a few foster homes thrown in, he knew hell was more of an abstract idea than an actual place. 

Some people just ended up there and stayed. 

Sure, some of the foster homes had been nice, but he’d been ripped out of those quickly. He’d escaped from the other ones and ended up back in orphanages. 

But this place. Oh, this place was something special. Whatever he’d done in a past life to deserve this must’ve been really bad. A dark need to fight back, to hurt the adults running his life, slithered inside him, and it wasn’t the first time, so he probably deserved hell. 

But something told him the younger kid fighting the three bullies on the edge of the dirt field didn’t deserve this beat down. Or maybe Ryker was just tired of the wrong guys winning every time. North Carolina sun shone down, pretty but not strong, illuminating the scene as the new kid fought hard and fast. And dirty. 

“It’s time to step in,” Heath said, picking a scab on his chin, his wiry body on full alert. 

“He’s giving a good fight, and those guys need to know he won’t roll over if we’re not around,” Ryker said, his own hands clenching into fists. “We can’t always cover his back.” 

The second Heath had caught sight of the little guy—another wounded animal for him to save—he’d tried to jump into the fray. Ryker had stopped him with a hand on his arm, promising to save the kid when it was time, trying to see the entire picture at once. His heart raced and the injustice of it all clawed through him, but he had to tamp down raw emotions to survive. 

It was a lesson he’d learned early and Heath had yet to figure out. 

Ryker and Heath had been best friends for the six months they’d spent in the boys home, facing off against too many bullies to count—kids and adults both. Ryker had been at the home for a month when Heath arrived. The kid instantly tried to save a lost kitten he’d found on the outskirts of the ranch. Seeing Heath take a beating for hiding the kitten made Ryker approach him the next day. He’d never approached anybody, but Heath had needed a friend. Maybe Ryker had, too. 

Having Heath at his back kept him from going crazy, and he had to adapt and think things through for them both, so they didn’t run on emotion and totally screw up. “Let the kid get in one more good shot.” 

The new kid—a gangly, dark-haired boy—bit into the neck of one of his older attackers, an asshole named Larry. Larry and his buddies were around sixteen and ruled the boys home when the jerk of an owner wasn’t telling everyone what to do. They’d be kicked out soon to go be adults. 

The kid dug in, slashing deep with his teeth. 

“Jesus.” Ryker ran forward and yanked the kid away from the bully. If the kid hurt anybody bad enough to need stitches, Ned Cobb, the owner of the boys home, would beat him to death. Stitches cost money. 

Blood poured down Larry’s cheek, and he slapped a hand to it. “You’re gonna die for that, prick.” 

Ryker got into his face. Even though he was four years younger, they were the same height, and Ryker filled out his shirt better. Fury threatened to eat him whole. “Leave him alone.” 

Larry snarled. “You taking on another pet, shit-for-brains?” 

Ryker stepped closer, and his hands closed into fists. In a couple of seconds, he wouldn’t be able to control his temper, so he let it show in his bluish green eyes. “I really wanna hurt you, Larry.” 

Sometimes the truth just worked. 

Larry blinked twice and then backed away. “You are so not worth my time.” He turned and headed for the older kids dormitory, and his lackeys followed. 

“Denver? You okay?” Ryker asked the kid, noting a bruised lip and swelling black eye. He tried to make his voice gentle, but he really didn’t know how. 

The kid pivoted and faced him squarely, his shoulders bunched. 

Ryker held up a hand. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Too many people had clearly already hurt the boy, and his tortured eyes probably didn’t give the whole story. A part of Ryker, the part he didn’t like, wanted to walk away and not look back. Not take responsibility for one more person. Not care about one more person since their chances of surviving stunk. He could barely keep Heath from going off the deep end. What if he couldn’t help both Heath and Denver? What if he wasn’t smart enough or lost his own temper and things went to shit? 

The kid whimpered, barely, and it was that sound that gave Ryker no choice. 

Ryker straightened. Heath was right. This kid needed help. They could protect him in a way nobody had ever protected Ryker before he’d met Heath. “I broke into the main office and read your file after you got here yesterday.” The kid had been abandoned in Denver as an infant and then had been claimed by a so-called uncle who had problems with booze and anger. However, considering the asshole hadn’t even known Denver’s real name, if he’d had one, there was some doubt there. That was how Denver earned his name, which seemed to fit him anyway. “Your life has sucked so far.” 

The boy drew back and then snorted. 

Ryker grinned. “Your file says you don’t really talk.” The file didn’t say why Denver didn’t talk, and Ryker wasn’t sure he wanted to know. 

Denver didn’t answer. 

Fair enough. Talking just got kids hit, anyway. Ryker jerked his head toward their dorm. If they could get Denver there, he could take care of the cut bleeding down his chin. “It’s gonna be okay. Oh, it’s gonna suck for a while, and that’s the truth. But in the end, I promise it’ll be okay.” He’d save this kid when he and Heath made a break for it. From day one, Ryker was all in or all out, and he didn’t know how to be another way. If he gave Denver his friendship, his loyalty, it was forever. Heath had been Ryker’s only friend, and if Heath needed to save this kid, then so did Ryker. 

A car roared up the dirt driveway. 

Ryker’s gut clenched as he noticed it was the sheriff’s dusty brown car. 

“Shit,” Heath muttered, kicking the dirt. He pushed back his dirty hair. “We don’t have time to run.” 

“No.” Ryker settled his stance, his knees wobbling. The owner of the boys home and the sheriff were brothers, which explained why they both liked to hit so much. “Denver? If the sheriff gets out and starts swinging, get behind me, okay?” The kid had already taken one beating, and the sheriff was known to use his nightstick on rib cages. 

Denver didn’t answer. 

The car came to a stop, and Sheriff Cobb jumped out. The sheriff was in his midtwenties with way-too-light blond hair and blue eyes colder than a glacier. Probably. Ryker hadn’t ever seen a glacier, but it was the coldest thing he could imagine. 

The passenger door opened. “Dr. Daniels,” Ryker said, watching the woman carefully, his sides cramping. The urge to run away was overwhelming, but he kept his body visually relaxed. “Here for more tests, ma’am?” He’d been impolite to her once by refusing to take one more damn written test after a long day, and the sheriff had made sure he couldn’t walk for about a week without puking up blood. Ned Cobb had watched the beat down with a smile on his face, interjecting only once to remind his brother not to break anything because medical doctors kept records. 

The woman stepped out, her fancy designer dress looking as out of place in the dismal home’s terrain as a wild peacock would. She smoothed her long dark hair, and her bright red lips pursed. “Ryker. You’ve grown three inches, and it’s been only a few months.” 

Her voice purred in a way that made him shuffle his feet. It was like she was seeing him differently somehow, and he didn’t understand his reaction, but he knew he didn’t like it. 

Why was she always making Heath and him take written and physical tests? She paid no attention to the other kids at the home. 

Then her gaze, a dark blue one, turned to Denver. “I’m here to welcome Denver to the boys home as well as study him a little. Denver, your file says you have a case of selective mutism.” 

Ah shit. Another test subject? Why them? Ryker glanced at the kid, who’d sidled closer to him. The kid had good instincts to be wary of the calculating woman. “What’s that?” Ryker asked. 

“He doesn’t talk,” Heath whispered. 

Ryker bit his tongue. No shit. But they had to hide their brains around the lady who had them take so many tests. Why, he didn’t know. But his instincts were usually good, too. 

“I can make him talk,” Sheriff Cobb said, striding around the car and flexing his chest muscles. 

Denver swallowed audibly. 

“Oh, Elton, that won’t be necessary,” Sylvia Daniels said, clasping her hands together. “I’m sure I can get Denver to speak. Right, boy?” 

Ryker eyed the gun at the sheriff’s hip. 

Sheriff Cobb’s lips peeled back. “Try it, kid. Please.” 

Ryker didn’t answer, but he met the cop’s stare evenly. Cobb was just another bully in a world full of them, and someday they were gonna meet on even ground. 

When that day came, only one of them would walk away. 

Ryker glanced at Heath and then at Denver. His chest heated and cooled. The only way they’d survive this was if he remained calm and used his head, never letting his temper take over. When he stopped thinking, he was as bad as the sheriff, and now with Heath and Denver counting on him, he had more to lose than Sheriff Cobb did. That had to count for something, right? 

 

Chapter 1

Present day 

Zara Remington brushed a stray tendril of her thick hair back from her face before checking on the lasagna. The cheese bubbled up through the noodles while the scent of the garlic bread in the oven warmer filled the country-style kitchen. Perfect. She shut the oven door and glanced at the clock. Five minutes. 

He’d be there in five minutes. 

It had been weeks since she’d seen him, and her body was ready and primed for a tussle. Just a tussle. Shaking herself, she repeated the mantra she’d coined since meeting him two months ago: Temporary. They were temporary and just for fun. This was her reward for working so hard: a walk on the wild side. Even if she was the type to settle down and devote herself to one man, it wouldn’t be this one. 

Ryker Jones kept one foot out the door, even while naked in her bed doing things to her that were illegal in the Southern states. Good damn thing she lived in Cisco. Wyoming didn’t care what folks did behind closed doors. Thank God. 

She hummed and eyed the red high heels waiting by the entry to the living room. They probably wouldn’t last on her feet for long, but she’d greet him wearing them. While she still wore the black pencil skirt and gray silk shirt she’d donned for work, upon reading his text that he was back in town, she’d rushed to change into a scarlet bra and G-string set that matched the shoes before putting her clothes back into place. 

If she was living out a fantasy, he should get one, too. The guy didn’t have to know she’d worn granny-style Spanx panties and a thin cotton bra all day. 

A roar of motorcycle pipes echoed down her quiet street. Tingles exploded in her abdomen. Hurrying for the shoes, she bit back a wince upon slipping her feet in. The little kitten heels she’d worn to work had been much more comfortable. 

A minute passed and the pipes silenced. 

She drew air in through her nose, counted to five, and exhaled. Calm down. Geez. She really needed to relax. The sharp rap on her front door sent her system into overdrive again. 

Straightening her shoulders, she tried to balance in the heels as she passed her comfortable sofa set, the shoes clicking on the polished hardwood floor. She had to wipe her hands down her skirt before twisting the knob and opening the door. “Ryker,” she breathed. 

He didn’t smile. Instead, his bluish green eyes darkened as his gaze raked her from head to toe…and back up. “I’ve missed you.” The low rumble of his voice, just as dangerous as the motorcycle pipes, licked right where his gaze had been. 

She nodded, her throat closing. He was every vision of a badass bad boy she’d ever fantasized about. His thick black hair curled over the collar of a battered leather jacket that covered a broad, well-muscled chest. Long legs, encased in faded jeans, led to motorcycle boots. His face had been shaped with strong lines and powerful strokes, and a shadow lined his cut jaw. But those eyes. Greenish blue and fierce, they changed shades with his mood. 

As she watched, those odd eyes narrowed. “What the fuck?” 

She self-consciously fingered the slash of a bruise across her right cheekbone. Cover-up had concealed it well enough all day, but leave it to Ryker to notice. He didn’t miss anything. God, that intrigued her. His vision was oddly sharp, and once he’d mentioned hearing an argument several doors down. She hadn’t heard a thing. “It’s nothing.” She stepped back to allow him entrance. “I have a lasagna cooking.” 

He moved into her, heat and his scent of forest and leather brushing across her skin. One knuckle gently ran across the bruise. “Who hit you?” The tone held an edge of something dark. 

She shut the door and moved away from his touch. “What? Who says somebody hit me?” Turning on the heels and barely keeping from landing on her butt, she walked toward the kitchen, remembering to sway her hips before making it past the couch. “I have to get dinner out or it’ll burn.” She kept several frozen dishes ready to go, not knowing when he’d be back in town. The domestication worked well for them both, and she liked cooking for him. Enjoyed taking care of him like that…for this brief affair, or whatever it was. “I hope you haven’t eaten.” 

“You know I haven’t.” He stopped inside the kitchen. “Zara.” 

She gave an involuntary shiver from his low tone and drew the lasagna from the oven and bread from the warmer before turning around to see him lounging against the doorjamb. “Isn’t this when you pour wine?” Her heart fluttered at seeing the contrast between her pretty butter yellow cabinets and the deadly rebel calmly watching her. “I have the beer you like.” 

“You always have the beer I like.” He didn’t move a muscle, and this time a warning threaded through his words in a tone like gravel crumbling in a crusher. “I asked you a question.” 

She forced a smile and carried the dishes to the breakfast nook, which she’d already set with her favorite Apple-patterned dinnerware and bright aqua linens. “And I asked you one.” Trying to ignore the tension vibrating from him, she grasped a lighter for the candles. 

A hand on her arm spun her around. She hadn’t heard him move. How did he do that? 

He leaned in. “Then I’ll answer yours. I know what a woman looks like who’s been hit. I know by the color and slant of that bruise how much force was used, how tall the guy was, and which hand he used. What I don’t know…is the name of the fucker. Yet.” 

“How do you know all of that?” she whispered. 

He lifted his head, withdrawing. “I just do.” 

There it was. He’d share his body and nothing else with her. She didn’t even know where he lived when he wasn’t on a case. From day one he’d been clear that this wasn’t forever, that he wasn’t interested in a future. Neither was she. He was her first purely physical affair, and that’s why he could mind his own business. “Bully for you.” She shoved past him for the wine waiting on the counter and twisted in the corkscrew with a little more force than was necessary. Why was he changing the game on her? 

“Are you seeing somebody else?” 

She stilled. Hurt, surprising in its sharpness, cut through her. “No.” Yanking out the cork, she turned to face him. “We said we’d be exclusive for however long we, ah, saw each other.” 

He rubbed the scruff on his chin, studying her. “Part of exclusivity means nobody hurts what’s mine.” 

She blinked twice at the possessive language. “I think we both know I’m not yours.” What was going on with him? She studied him closer. Lines fanned out from his eyes, and a tenseness lived in his broad shoulders. “Are you okay?” 

Without moving, he seemed to withdraw. “Yes. Been on a case.” 

“Is it finished?” 

“No.” A vein stood out along his tough-guy neck. 

Ah. Ryker was a private detective who specialized in finding the hard to find. “Want to talk about it?” 

“No.” 

Yeah, she’d figured. “Then let’s relax.” She poured two glasses of Cabernet and took a seat, carefully unfolding her napkin. Her toes ached in the sexy shoes, and for the first time, she wondered if all the effort was worth it. “We can have a nice dinner.” 

Slowly, he shrugged out of his jacket and draped it on his chair, drawing the chair out to sit, his movements controlled and with a hint of something…violent. 

Her breath caught, and she filled their plates. 

“I like your hair down,” he rumbled, reaching for his napkin. 

“Yet I kept it up,” she said primly. They were on even footing. This was casual, and apparently they both needed a quick reminder. Sitting back, she took a deep drink of the potent brew, almost humming when it warmed her stomach. 

He lifted his chin, amusement partially banishing the irritation in his eyes. “Have I done something to piss you off?” 

Her gaze dropped to the food. “No.” She wasn’t being fair. Her law firm had hired him as a private investigator on a case, and one night after going through files together and drinking way too much beer, they’d ended up in bed for the most fantastic night of her life. He’d made it clear it was just temporary, they were just casual, and she’d agreed with her eyes wide open, meeting up whenever he was back in town. “You haven’t done anything.” 

“Then why won’t you tell me who hurt you?” 

She sighed, her gaze meeting his. “Because that’s not what we have.” 

“Oh?” One eyebrow drew up. “What do we have?” 

She snorted and then caught herself, embarrassed. “We have this.” She gestured toward the food. “And sex. That’s all. Food and sex.” He’d never proclaimed to be a knight in shining armor, especially hers, so why all the questions? “My everyday life doesn’t include you. You’re a fantasy who shows up periodically for fun, and then you’re gone. Stop acting like you’re more.” 

If the words affected him in any way, he didn’t show it. Instead, he reached for his wine, his gaze holding hers like a lion watching a doe, and drank down the entire glass. Setting it aside, he tossed his napkin on the table. “Are you hungry?” 

“Not even a little bit.” She was more out of sorts than she’d thought. 

“Good.” He pushed back from the table, stood, and moved toward her. “This is a conversation better had where I can touch you.” Dipping his shoulder, he lifted her in corded arms. 

She yelped and grabbed his chest for balance. “What are you doing?” she whispered. How was he so strong? Even for a healthy guy who worked out, his strength was somehow beyond the norm. Fluid and natural. 

He turned, grabbed his jacket, and strode for the living room, dropping onto her couch and setting those thick boots on her glass coffee table. The jacket had landed next to him. One arm remained beneath her knees and the other around her shoulders, easily cradling her against his rock-hard chest. His lips snapped over her jugular with just enough force to make her jump. 

Then, clearly indulging himself, he tugged the clip from her hair, which cascaded down. Burying his face in the mass of dark curls, he breathed in. “I love your hair.” 

She tried to perch primly on his lap and not snuggle right into him. His strength was as much of a draw as his passion. “What conversation did you want to have?” 

He leaned back and waited until she’d turned her head to face him. “We agreed to keep this casual.” 

“I know.” She played with a loose thread on his dark T-shirt. 

“Then you started cooking me dinner.” 

She blinked. “I like to cook.” 

“Then you started keeping my beer on hand and lighting candles with every meal.” 

She shrugged. “Candles create nice light that helps with digestion.” Could she sound like any more of a dork? 

“Right.” He played idly with her hair, heat from his body keeping her toasty warm. 

Flutters awakened again throughout her body, and her nipples hardened. Good thing the bright red bra had plenty of padding. She tried to shift her weight, not surprised when he kept her easily in place. “I have not asked you for anything,” she murmured, panic beginning to take hold. 

“I like that about you.” He punctuated the words with a tug on her hair. “In fact, I like you.” 

“I like you, too.” The words went unsaid, but that’s all they had, and that’s all they were. It was an adventure, and she was truly enjoying the ride. She knew where they stood. “Stop playing with me.” 

“I’m not playing.” His gaze dropped to her lips right before he leaned in to rest his mouth over hers. 

Liquid fire shot from her chest to her sex. 

He nibbled on her bottom lip, kissed the corners of her mouth, lightly whispering against her. “This is playing.” The hand in her hair twisted, drawing back her head and elongating her neck. “This is not.” He swooped in, angled his mouth over hers, and took. Deep and hard, he kissed her, his mouth alone having enough power to drive her head back against his palm. 

Hunger slammed through her, and she moaned low in her throat. Pleasure swamped her, head to toe, vibrating in waves as she kissed him back. Her nails dug into his chest, and she tried to move closer into him. He controlled the kiss, taking her deeper, his erection easily discernible beneath her butt. 

Finally, he lifted his head, his eyes the color of a rocky riverbed beneath a stormy sky. “Who hit you?” 

The simple words struck like a splash of cold water in the face. Shock dropped her mouth open. Had he been trying to manipulate her by kissing her like that? Sure, he’d been passionate with her many times, but something felt different. A wildness she’d always sensed in him seemed to be breaking free. “Forget you.” Slamming her hand against his chest, she shoved off his lap. 

“Zara.” One word, perfectly controlled. He held up a hand, showing a long scar across his love line. One that he’d never explained, even when she’d asked nicely. 

Her knees shook, but she backed away until her shoulders hit the fireplace mantel. Anger and panic welled up in her, and she couldn’t separate them and think, so she just spoke. “Unless we’re eating or screwing, my life is none of your business.” She was trying hard to keep her sanity and so did not need mixed signals from him. He didn’t get to act like he really cared—not that way. “Got it?” 

He stood, towering over her even from several feet away. “That may be true, but no way am I going to let anybody harm the woman I’m fuckin’.” 

Fuckin’. Yeah, that’s exactly what they were doing. She was so out of her depth, she’d lost sight of the shore miles ago. “Stay in your own compartment, Ryker. My business is my own, and you’re not to get involved.” 

For the first time, anger sizzled across his features. “Be careful what you say, little girl. I’ll make you eat those words.” 

She blinked. Sure, he’d been commanding in bed…a lot. But outside the bedroom, she’d never seen this side of him. “Don’t threaten me.” 

“Then don’t be obtuse. If you think I’m going to allow a man who hit you to keep walking, you’ve lost your damn mind.” He put both hands on his fit hips, looking like a pissed-off warrior about to bellow a battle cry. “We may be casual, but even I have limits. A woman who cries on my shoulder after watching a stupid movie with dogs is someone who should never be harmed.” 

She gasped. “It wasn’t stupid.” It was sad when Juniper had died, darn it. 

“Yeah. It was one of the dumbest movies ever made, and you turned into my shoulder to cry it out.” He took a step toward her. “You don’t want to mess with me on this. Trust me. Just give me the name, and tell me what’s going on.” Another step. 

She couldn’t back up any more or she’d be in the fireplace. So she held out a hand. Panic cramped her stomach, and she sucked in air and tried for anger. There it was. “I created a situation, there was an issue, and I’ve taken care of it.” The truth would change his opinion of her, and she kind of enjoyed the view from the pedestal he temporarily had her on. 

“No way did you create any situation that resulted in violence.” The tone was almost mocking. 

“That’s it. You don’t know me.” Her chin lifted. 

Something too dark to be amusement lifted his lips. “Oh, don’t I?” 

“No, you don’t.” Steam should be coming out of her ears. She reached down and plucked a high heel off. It was time to stop pretending to be somebody she just was not. “I don’t like these, and I sure as shit don’t walk around at work in them.” Her tone was two octaves higher than normal, and she couldn’t help it. Angling back, she threw the shoe at his head. 

With lightning-quick reflexes, he grabbed the strap before the shoe took out his eye. “Zara.” The tone was low and controlled…like always. 

“You wouldn’t like the real me.” She kicked off the other shoe, her mind buzzing and her temper flying free. Reaching under her skirt, she yanked off the G-string underwear that had been shoved up her butt, her legs wobbling when she pulled them down and over her feet. “Nobody likes these.” She flung it at his head. “I only wear them for you.” 

He snatched the flimsy material with one finger, his cheek creasing. 

She fought the urge to stomp her foot and look like an idiot. He wasn’t getting it. “I don’t even know where you live,” she yelled. 

His phone buzzed, and he held up a hand. “Put the tantrum on hold, just for a second.” Drawing the phone out, he read the screen. Both his eyebrows drew down, and he lifted the phone to his ear. “We’ve had movement?” Then he held still. His jaw hardened even more. “Damn it. Okay, I’m going.” He paused, and his eyes darkened. “Because you just got shot. It’s my turn to go, and I’ll be right there.” He shoved his phone back into his pocket. 

Her breath heated. “Who got shot?” 

“My brother.” 

Ryker had a brother? 

He took several steps forward to grasp her neck. 

She stilled. He’d never grabbed her neck before. Sure, his hold was gentle, but his hand was wrapped around her neck. “What are you doing?” she squeaked. 

He leaned in, pressing just enough to show his strength. “I know you don’t wear shoes like that at work, and I know the underwear set is just for me. I like that.” He pressed a hard kiss to her mouth before drawing away. “I have to go, or I’d stay until we reached an agreement tonight. That bruise on your face offends me, and I’m done coddling you about it. You’ve got until tomorrow morning to give me the name of the guy who hit you, so I can have a conversation with him.” 

Ryker released her to grab his jacket and stride for the front door. 

“Or what?” she asked, her voice trembling. 

He opened the door and paused, looking back at her. “Or I’ll find him myself and take him out for good.” He yanked on his jacket, looking exactly like the badass rambling man he was. “And Zara? About where I live?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I moved permanently to Cisco a week ago.” 

 

Chapter 2

Life didn’t make any damn sense. Ryker leaned back against a tree and ignored the pounding rain. Blue and red lights swirled through the darkness as FBI techs hustled around the secured vacant land north of Salt Lake City, looking for evidence that wouldn’t be there. This killer was too good to leave evidence. 

Being this close to any law personnel gave Ryker a gut ache, but he didn’t have a choice. At least his disguise wouldn’t reveal his true identity, although to the best of his knowledge, the FBI wasn’t after him. Yet. 

Two guys wearing jackets emblazoned with yellow FBI letters finished setting up a tent to protect the body from the elements. 

Ryker had caught a glimpse of the girl’s matted red hair but hadn’t gotten close enough to see her face yet. But he knew. Yeah. The body was Maisey Misopy, and he was too late again. The idea of some psycho hurting the innocent plunged him right back into his childhood, and he had to fight to keep in control of himself when all he wanted to do was punch the nearest tree. 

Why did people with loved ones get killed while a guy like him, who for so long hadn’t had anybody, still walked the earth? 

“How the hell did you get the news?” asked an irritated female voice from his left. 

He turned to see Special Agent Loretta Jackson stepping gingerly over broken bottles and what appeared to be a dead possum. “Connections,” he said easily, r. . .