CHAPTER ONE
Jonah
There are so many people in this world desperate to be seen. Are you one of them?
A simple glance at your phone would be your answer. How many of those pictures stored are of your face, your clothes, your hair, or your smile? Do you feel confident in all of them? Or behind those painted eyes, are you hiding the pain and fear you feel daily?
The misery.
The loneliness.
Is it why you ended up this way?
Reaching my hand toward the young woman’s face, I closed my eyes to feel her terror, my fingers sliding into her hair, gripping the silken strands as I tilted her lovely face to mine. She’s screaming in my head, her blue eyes now cloudy. At one time they had been bulging with mortal fear. How quickly had your time come? How easily? How, sweet Teagan, did you die?
What would all your admirers say now if this were the last picture posted to your timeline?
Beyond her feet and lower body where blood had pooled and bruised the skin with the purple stain of livor mortis, her body is clean. Skull crushed in at the left temple and her orbital bone shattered beneath one dead eye, she is untouched save for the dead leaves that have fallen from the trees to catch in her blond hair. The bruising wouldn’t be noticed until the makeup, liberally applied, was scrubbed clean.
Makeup.
Time and care was taken with the body. One week between the day she was last seen and the morbid discovery made by kids who were looking for a place to be alone.
I step back and take in the image left for any person who happened to wander by, a girl strung up like an abandoned doll, her limp arms tied at the wrists, one to each tree at her sides.
Beyond her, the placid serenity of Grey Lake lies dormant. No wind dares disturb the mirror surface. No rain falls to dot the expanse of deep dark water. Only a mist hangs in the air, droplets clinging to Teagan’s pale skin like the dew that weighs on the petals of delicate flowers.
She doesn’t smell of flowers from where she hangs. Only perfume and the rot of flesh, an offering to nature, naked and displayed - a pittance paid to cruelty and violence as her soul is snatched away.
The intense silence suffocates me except for that scream that echoes like a phantom through the trees, carried and quieted by the wind rustling the leaves.
She couldn’t have been here long. Animals had yet to discover her and take what they could scavenge.
I stared at her again, despondent. Spending time alone with the body, I was allowing crystal clarity to awaken and excite my mind -
“Are you done jacking off to those photos yet, or did you want me to leave you alone with them for a little longer?”
Torn from my thoughts, my head lifted to lock eyes with the stern amber stare of Detective Simon Nichols. A heavyset man with tight shoulders that strained his wrinkled white shirt, he leaned back in his seat and steepled his fingers at his stubbled chin.
The years hadn’t been kind to him, not in this mountain town nestled close to Seattle, yet still far enough away to be secluded.
Only the rich lived here in Winter Ridge with their exorbitant square footage, their prep school brats and a small police force that had seen better days.
Simon, together with the rest of the force, carried the weight of wealthy, agitated parents who wanted to know why two years had passed and yet no one had been sent to death row as payment for stealing the life of their precious daughter.
Their indignant rage was a constant scratch in Simon’s ears, just like his voice was scratching at me now.
Shrugging, I cocked a brow and noted Simon’s sly grin behind a stern expression. It was at odds with his disturbingly playful banter.
“I’m serious. I could light some candles and play soft music. Might help the mood with the way you’ve been gawking at the picture of a dead, naked teenager for the past half hour.”
He paused, his distrustful gaze giving me the once over before returning to my face.
“Tell me you didn’t get into this career just so you could get your rocks off on images of victims.”
The photo I’d studied fell silently to the top of the pile.
“I assume, based on your behavior since I’ve arrived at the station, that you’re not happy to have me assigned to this case.”
“I think it’s unnecessary,” he shot back, his beefy hand reaching up to shove at thinning blond hair.
Simon’s chair creaked beneath his weight, the only sound in the room that broke the tense bursts of silence between us. The air was charged with electric fury, its vengeance walking like fingertips down my spine.
“I’ve had a handle on it since the day her body was discovered. It’s only a matter of time before I put the jackass who killed her away for the rest of his pathetic life.”
It was too bad for Simon that his piss poor attitude didn’t intimidate me; not after the men I’d encountered in the few years I’d spent with the FBI. Still, I wouldn’t wave the red flag at a bull with his stomping hooves and flared nostrils. I wasn’t the type to get in any man’s face. Not when I could gain the advantage by sneaking up behind him.
Without immediately responding to his comment, I rounded the table that separated us and leaned against it, close enough to look down into Simon’s narrowed eyes. Crossing my arms over my chest, I chose to disarm the situation rather than egg him on.
I’d offered to act as a consultant on the Teagan McKay murder because I would be in town for the next few months. The case had intrigued me ever since the body was found and a beaming smile of the town’s darling prom queen was plastered over every front page with the grim reminder that nobody in this world is safe.
At the time I’d offered, Captain James Spitz had accepted gratefully. Judging by the scowl now adorning Simon’s face, he didn’t share the gratitude and enthusiasm.
“Tell me what I don’t know about this case, Simon. I’m not here to question your process in solving this crime. I’m only here to help you put away whatever sick son of a bitch killed the girl. So let me help you or get out of my way.”
Simon scoffed as he glanced at the wall behind me. If this had been the first time we met, I would assume Simon’s defensive posture was simply a mask for the failure he felt in not solving the case, but we’d known each other for years and had never been the best of friends.
We both grew up in Crayton, a smaller town a half hour south of Winter Ridge. We were just two of the forgettable faces caught in a rundown suburb of modest homes. Two latch key kids created by the long commutes and laborious hours our parents worked just to make a living.
The view in Crayton was picturesque, but the schools, stores and other community facilities told a tale of the economic collapse that occurred a decade past, as well as the already struggling families who broke beneath it.
His family broke more than mine, only because my parents made their money on the certainty of suffering and crime together with the bodies that piled up as a result of it. Suicide went up when the economy tumbled. Crime went up right beside it. We stayed afloat due to the misfortune of others, even if we were shunned for the sudden opportunity.
Standing from his seat, Simon stepped close, the heat of his breath brushing my face, the scent of cigarette smoke acrid against my nose.
“You’re only here because Spitz thinks you’re the next best thing after your father. But we both know you weren’t shit when you were a weird ass kid, and you definitely ain’t shit now.”