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Cora’s lips parted on a tiny exhale, her mind skipping like a needle on an old-fashioned record player. It was happening again. That odd sense of déjà vu that ebbed and swelled around her like it often did when Liam got this close. Everything felt infinitely familiar. The way he stood against the backdrop of trees, enveloping her in the scents of rain and wood smoke and leather. The way he smiled down at her as if he knew her deepest secrets. Even the roughness of his calloused hand against hers... All of it felt like something she’d experienced before.
He gave her hand a squeeze and turned away, breaking the spell. “I’ve no problem looking at dead bodies, if that’s what you’re on about,” he said over his shoulder. “Where I come from, it’s a familiar enough occurrence.”
Cora frowned as she followed him toward the crime scene. Before he moved to Providence Falls, he’d been stationed in Raleigh, but the murder count wasn’t that high there. Unless he was talking about the place in Ireland where he grew up, but just how dangerous could a small, rural town in Ireland be? She’d heard him refer to it as a village once or twice, which brought to mind the flowering cottages and cobblestone streets from those Thomas Kinkade paintings. They didn’t exactly scream Murder Capital of the World.
She smiled wryly and shook her head. Liam was a bit of an enigma. It was strange how she could feel so connected to him in one moment and light-years apart in another. There was so much about him she really didn’t know.Macushla, for example. She kept meaning to ask him what it meant. Whenever he used that word, it did strange, swoopy things to her insides and made her limbs go all soft and melty. But that was probably because his Irish accent grew thicker when he said it. Her reaction had nothing to do withhim, of course. Every woman on the planet knew that a deep Irish brogue packed a heavyweight punch to the libido. Common knowledge.
A gruff voice cut through the hushed silence. “McLeod. O’Connor.” Captain Thompson waved them over, his face as dark and brooding as a thundercloud. He wasn’t a warm and fuzzy person, even on his best day, but today there was an angry tension emanating from him that surpassed his usual stoic demeanor.
Lindsey Albright’s body lay on the ground in a shallow ditch, partially covered in mud and damp leaves. She wore a blue T-shirt, denim shorts and canvas tennis shoes with ankle socks speckled with cartoon narwhals. Cora’s stomach churned. They were too cheerful, those socks. Too sweet and carefree for such a somber scene, and it threatened her composure. She swallowed hard, ignoring the smiling narwhals to focus on the evidence. The only thing that stood out was the angry marks around the woman’s slender neck. Her face was bone white, the soft features devoid of the sunny cheerfulness Cora remembered when the girl had entered the station just days ago.
“Strangled,” Liam said in a low voice. “Just like John Brady.”
“Looks like it,” Captain Thompson said. “Couldn’t have happened more than forty-eight hours ago, but we’ll know more after we send for the specialists from Raleigh.”
“Has anyone interviewed the residents?” Cora asked.
“Yes, and so far no one’s seen or heard anything out of the ordinary,” Thompson said. “Aside from Mrs. Wilson’s complaint about her neighbor’s barking dog. Seems the neighbor finally went to go fetch his dog, and that’s when the body was discovered.”
“This greenbelt isn’t that deep,” Cora observed. About a hundred yards from the jogging trail, traffic was visible from a street on the other side. “If the killer assaulted her while she was on the trail, he could’ve come from that direction. There’d be less chance of being noticed.”
“It’s possible,” Thompson said. “Would be more difficult to trace, if that were the case. That street’s hidden from the main road. Anyone could’ve gotten in and out without being seen.”
“Whoever did this, it was likely someone she knew,” Liam said as he crouched to view the body. “No apparent signs of struggle, and aside from the marks on her neck, the rest of her looks untouched. No rips or tears in her clothing. No visible abrasions on her hands or knees. Even her hair is still neatly braided. It almost seems as if...she was killed somewhere else, and then dumped here.” He stood, scanning the area around them.
“Elaborate,” Captain Thompson said through narrowed eyes.
“If the attack happened on the jogging trail, there’d be mud scuffs on her shoes, or something noticeable in the surrounding foliage, at least,” Liam said. “But everything appears intact, and the ground is undisturbed. No signs of dragging in any direction.”
“It rained some last night,” Cora said.
“Even still, the forest tells stories, if you know how to look,” Liam continued. “There’d be a broken branch or a crushed shrub. There’d be some evidence of a scuffle. A body doesn’t just go limp all of a sudden if someone cuts off your air. Youfightto breathe. At least for a minute or so, until your brain begins to shut down from lack of oxygen, and your limbs go numb and your vision goes dark.”
Cora frowned, wondering how Liam knew that.
He peered through the trees to the road beyond the greenbelt, then stared down at Lindsey’s body. “It would’ve had to be someone strong enough to carry her deadweight quickly through the woods. If this was planned, the killer would’ve hidden Lindsey’s body better, not just tossed her in a ditch like this.” He lowered his head, deep in thought. “Must’ve been in a hurry. Perhaps her death was an accident.”
“Maybe it was a lover’s quarrel gone bad,” Cora said to Captain Thompson. “We just found out Lindsey was seeing a guy who rides with the Booze Dogs. We were on our way to their compound to question him when you called us.”
“All right,” Thompson said with a nod. “Track him down, and bring him in.”
4
It was late afternoon when Liam found himself in a staring contest with a mountain of a man named Bear. The man stood on the other side of a chain-link fence at the motorcycle club compound known as The Doghouse. He was muscular to the point that it appeared uncomfortable, with huge, swollen biceps and legs the size of tree trunks. A bandanna held his hair flat against his boulder-shaped head, and tattoos snaked around his neck and forearms. With a huge hand resting on a faded sign that readTRESPASSERSWILLBESHOT, he made an imposing gatekeeper. Behind him a long line of motorcycles was parked in front of a two-story building, and a party was in full swing on the lawn outside.
Cora flashed her badge with her usual professional politeness, but after initial introductions, Bear seemed less interested in her words and more interested in her lips, her chest, her legs and then her chest again. His grisly mouth lifted, and he let out a hum of pure male appreciation.
Liam stared daggers at him, shifting his weight to maneuver his shoulder in front of Cora. Bear sized him up, and for several long moments they had one of those silent male conversations that, in Liam’s experience, women often missed.
Don’t even think about it. She’s off-limits.
Sure about that?
Aye, so watch yourself or we’ll have a problem.
Bear scoffed, then turned his attention back to Cora.
“So we’d like to speak with one of your club members named Slice,” Cora was saying. “We were told he might be here.”
