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"Her feet," Rachel said abruptly, voice low, as if the night itself might overhear. "No shoes."
Ethan knelt beside her, his flashlight beam dancing over the cracked earth. “Running?"
"Or never had them on." Her fingers brushed the air above Anna's soles, noting their cuts and scrapes. "Look at what she's wearing." Rachel's words were clipped, factual. The moonlight draped over Anna's scanty attire, painting a darker narrative. “She didn’t dress for a desert night.”
"Sex trafficking?" Ethan’s question hung between them, heavy with implications.
"Maybe." Her jaw tightened. The victim’s story was etched into her bare flesh—the vulnerability, the exploitation. Prostitution was a likely chapter in this grim tale.
"ID." Ethan’s voice cut through her contemplation. There was urgency there, a need to strip away the anonymity that death had cloaked around Anna Longshadow.
"Right," Rachel agreed, standing up. She pulled out her camera, snapping photos from multiple angles, every flash capturing another fragment of the victim's forsaken identity. She sent them off to the field office with a terse message: *Confirm ID - urgent*.
"Done," she murmured, more to herself than to Ethan. "Anna Longshadow or Jane Doe?"
"Dawes knew Kendra's fake name. Maybe he found out Anna's..."
"But how?"
Ethan shrugged.
"What if..." she said abruptly, breaking the silence between them. "He knew her, Ethan. Personally, I mean. Knew Anna Longshadow by name."
"Think he was a client of hers?" Ethan looked up from the evidence bag he was sealing, his brow furrowed in thought. "You think Dawes is involved?"
It was strange that he'd invited her onto the reservation. Was it in an attempt to cover his tracks? Muddy the waters?
No. She was getting ahead of herself; there was likely a very reasonable explanation for all of it. "Maybe." Rachel’s voice was flat. "We need to talk to him."
Rachel walked the perimeter once more, ensuring nothing was missed. Scuffed earth. Torn fabric. The metallic tang of blood lingered in the air. Each step felt like a silent accusation against the vast desert.
"Checklist?" Ethan asked, pulling out his notepad, his pen poised.
"Photos. Samples. Measurements." Rachel ticked off each item, visualizing their case file bulking up with evidence.
"Wheel tracks documented," Ethan added, scribbling down notes.
"Bullet casings missing," she continued, her eyes scanning the ground one last time.
"Fake IDs found." His voice trailed off as they both considered the implications of Maria Ramos and her hidden life.
"Good." Rachel took a deep breath, tasting the grit of the desert on her tongue.
She took one last look at the crime scene, the stark reality of it etched into her memory. Two lives ended here, violence staining the earth.
"So think Dawes is gonna be in a talking mood?" Ethan said.
But Rachel was already moving again, frowning as she stalked away from the corpses. Her eyes were now on the outcrop of cliff where the shots had likely originated from.
The underbrush of the desert in Texas seemed to conspire against Rachel as she moved through it. Every step was a dance, a delicate negotiation between her feet and the unruly foliage. Thorny branches reached out, scratching her exposed skin, leaving faint red trails in their wake. The sun beat down mercilessly, casting long shadows that concealed hidden dangers. She kept an eye out for rattlesnakes or copperheads.
Ethan's voice called after her, breaking through the rustling leaves and chirping insects. She turned to see him standing at the edge of the crime scene, concern etched into his features. His gaze followed her as she pressed forward.
"That's a rough climb," he said. "Sure, you don't want to find a way around?"
She shook her head. She knew this place. Knew the terrain. As a tracker, she'd been brought up on these cliffs, along these old, dry beds. She knew the best way to the cliff by road would take them twenty miles off course.
A waste of time. The hike would be just as difficult anyway.
