Chapter 1
I didn’t kill her, but I might as well have. Looking down at the tiny body, my heart performed a slow thud. Once. Twice. He’s back.
I stumbled from the body and pressed my lips together, my hand to my stomach.
“Jansen? No way you’re getting sick on my scene!” Drake, my boss, rushed over, steering clear of the blood spatter near the girl. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
He pinched my upper arm and pulled me from the black spots dancing in my vision.
“You’ve never gone green on the scene before.”
“I know, I’m sorry,” I managed. “I’m fine. Seriously.” I bit back the bile and faced him while I redid the messy brown knot on top of my head.
“This is just another case, just another body.” Drake raised one woolly eyebrow. “Right? Can’t go messing up the scene before we let the detectives on site.”
At my nod, he moved off, his large frame heading towards Noah Carter, who snapped another photo before pointing at something I couldn’t see.
With a fortifying deep breath, I turned back to the girl. She couldn’t have been more than nine. Ten maybe. The wounds were the same. From what I could remember, the dark stain in the leaves under the body was the same, as was the blood Jackson Pollocked on the tree near her. Even the wooded area seemed familiar, despite the vast geographical differences between Houston and Spearfish Canyon.
He’d found me. I don’t know how, but he’d found me here, in the vastness of the city I’d lost myself in. He was back, he’d killed again, and he was daring me to fail this little girl like I’d failed Sarah.
I moved closer to the body and looked around before kneeling.
The photographer was still talking to Drake, snapping pictures as he gestured at the tree trunk a few feet away. The rest of our crew had spread out around the scene.
My friend Vanessa flicked her dark ponytail behind her shoulder before returning to her sketching.
The evidence was bagged by another co-worker who shot me a grin and a wink before he bent over with tweezers and a baggie at the base of the tree, his golden fingers steady.
It’s now or never.
Just thinking about doing it brought a bead of sweat to my upper lip. Still, I bit down, took another calming breath, and prepared to tank my career. No way I was letting him get away with this again.
I forced my left index finger through the protective gloves I always wear on scene. Then, with another quick glance, I confirmed the others were still busy.
Come on, Jansen. Just do it.
I couldn’t hesitate. I had to be quick. The blood was almost congealed, but there might be some deep enough that was still in liquid form. I shifted my body to block the view of the others. I pushed my naked finger into the closest wound where the blood was still relatively fresh, a jagged tear about a dozen inches long across the victim’s abdomen.
Like a vicious, blinding headache, the vision was there as soon as I touched her blood, just like it had always appeared. I lost my balance, falling back on my ass.
I could hear Drake yelling at me again, but I ignored him. After 25 years, the masked killer was back, and once again, I knew his name.
