Hell. “What happened?”
“One of our guys found a body.”
* * *
The cold slicedinto me as I walked up the trail, a silent warning of what was to come. A bird called overhead, and the wind rustled the pine branches. It should’ve been peaceful, calming. It was anything but.
I rounded a curve, and the first hint of voices sounded from up ahead. My team had beaten me here, but they were already on duty. I’d had to explain to Hallie that I had a call and say goodbye to the kids.
I’d seen the silent question in her eyes. The way her face had paled. But I hadn’t been able to give her any reassurance. Not when the worst was likely to come.
Roan’s large form came into view. His hands were shoved into his jacket pockets, and he looked pissed as all hell. His chin lifted in greeting.
“It her?” I asked. Kimber Anderson. Twenty-four years old. Here on damned vacation.
A muscle in Roan’s jaw ticked. “Looks like it. Luisa won’t say officially until there’s a DNA match, but—”
“It looks like her,” I finished for him.
I’d seen the woman’s photo; we’d sent it far and wide, hoping to find her. Her red hair and freckles were fairly unique.
I moved closer to the scene.
Roan shifted slightly, blocking my path. “It’s a bad one.”
I didn’t take offense at the warning. Roan didn’t say it because he thought I couldn’t handle it. We’d both seen things that would be burned into our memories forever. He’d said it so I could steel myself. Prepare the best way I knew how.
By locking everything down. Turning off all emotion. Going blank.
I took a deep breath and let the pine air fill me. I’d hold that scent in my lungs the best I could to fight the smell of death.
Moving toward the group of crime scene techs, I nodded at Luisa. “Thanks for getting here so quickly.”
She glanced up at me with amber eyes, her dark brown hair pulled back in a bun. “I was already in town. Getting a scone and some coffee at The Brew. This really put a damper on my morning treat.”
I turned my gaze to the body and had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from showing my reaction. Pain helped. It kept you from cursing or puking or whatever other reaction surged to the surface.
Kimber Anderson lay sprawled across the trail as if she were nothing but a piece of trash a hiker had carelessly left behind. She was missing her jacket and her pack. Her shirt was torn, and so many stab wounds covered her torso I lost count.
An angry, dark blue mark across her neck said she’d been choked or strangled. As my eyes narrowed, I could see the impression of a rope, the tiny lines branded onto her skin.
My gaze flicked to Luisa. “What killed her?”
Luisa’s expression went hard. “The petechial hemorrhaging in the eyes suggests it was strangulation, but I need to confirm back at my office. It looks like some of the stab wounds were inflicted perimortem, others post.”
“Rage,” Roan said from my left.
Rage was an understatement. This kind of fury wasn’t easily quenched.
I glanced at Roan. “This feels personal. But she’s a tourist.”
“Someone could’ve followed her from home,” he suggested.
“True. I’ll get in touch with the PD in her hometown and talk to the friend. Maybe there’s a partner or ex in the picture.”
Luisa leaned forward on her knees. “There’s something else you should see.”
With a gloved hand, she lifted Kimber’s shirt a fraction, exposing her hip bone. There was a wound there. I squinted but couldn’t quite make it out.
