Chapter Thirteen
Homicide Detective Leah Cordon jogged along the familiar path of the Trinity River Trail in Fort Worth, Texas. She was halfway through her run and a cold front had arrived, causing a frigid gust of wind to penetrate the terry hoodie she wore.
December weather in Texas could drop from high sixty-degree temperatures to well below freezing in half an hour. She pushed her pace to increase her heart rate in order to stave off the next couple of blasts.
Leah reached up to tug on the rubber band taming her normally unruly locks and freed her hair from a ponytail in hopes that it would provide a little extra insulation. The loose-fitting hood wouldn’t stay put so she didn’t bother pulling it over her head. Instead, she zipped her lightweight vest up to the neck. She didn’t like the idea of blocking access to her Glock, which was something she hadn’t considered needing on her nightly run until a woman had been murdered near this very spot last night.
At ten o’clock the sky was covered with rolling gray clouds, blocking out all moonlight. She was entering the stretch of trail where trees thickened and there was little artificial light.
“Bad Medicine” by Bon Jovi rocked through her left earbud. She always kept one ear clear in order to listen for faster runners, bikers or in-line skaters. Fatalities with pedestrians who were distracted by earbuds and cell phones were rising at a dizzying pace, especially at intersections. But now she felt the need to listen for a predator.
Leah tugged at her covered thumbholes to hold her sleeves in place over her base layer.
Keeping her pace, she considered turning back for a split second as the exact spot that the woman was pulled off the trail last night and brutally murdered came into focus. Crime scene tape roped off the section of trees where she’d been found fifteen feet off the trail.
A dozen temporarily placed lamps illuminated the path ahead.
The feeling of eyes watching her pricked the hairs on the back of her neck. A cold chill raced down her spine. She blamed it on the cold front, the area. Even so, the creepy feeling took hold.
Looking ahead, a yellow haze from the streetlamp covered a fifteen-foot radius. She stood outside its glow, breath coming in rasps. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell, turning down the volume.
Leaves rustled just ahead. Movement seemed too deep in the underbrush to be caused by gusting winds. They’d died down for the moment.
Leah stopped, pulled out the left earbud and studied the area as best she could in the dim light. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark enough to see decently. More movement ramped up her pulse. She immediately unzipped her lightweight vest in case quick access to her weapon was needed. And then a single low-hanging tree branch rustled. Her eyes tracked the movement. Her heart stuttered and her hand came up to rest on the butt of the Glock holstered inside her vest.
A rabbit scrambled out of the brush, caught eyes with her for a second and then darted off in the opposite direction.
That bunny had really gotten her heart going. Leah breathed a sigh of relief, loosening her grip on the handle.
Normally, on this stretch of trail she would’ve long since hit her stride and whizzed past without giving her surroundings much thought. Her police training had taught her to observe her environment but last night’s homicide had her second-guessing being on this trail in the first place.
She’d be damned if she let her fears rule. Her mind tried to flash back to the past but she forced it on the path ahead. She might not have been able to control what had happened in her youth but she could decide her focus now. She searched the area one more time before replacing her left earbud, drowning out her racing thoughts with the heavy drumbeat and raucous guitar threads.
Tucking her chin to her chest, she balled her fists and started off again. This time, she ignored the eyes-on-her shiver pricking her skin and pushed her legs harder. Running into the spot of last night’s attack was most likely the reason for her case of the heebie-jeebies. An innocent bunny had caused her to jump nearly out of her skin. What would be next? A squirrel?
The sound of footsteps behind her caused her heart to stutter again. She whirled around, running backward a few steps in time to see another jogger. His hood was on, his chin to his chest, and his gait had military precision. A pair of white cords bounced in front of his hoodie that combined into one string midway down his chest.
The runner glanced up, gave a slight wave and then increased his speed until he passed her. The squirrels weren’t getting to her but other runners were. Leah gave herself a mental head shake. Keep it up and she’d have to abandon her late-night runs until she could get her act together.
Stats kept spinning through Leah’s mind despite the loud music thumping in her left ear. Jillian Mitchell, the victim, was five feet seven inches tall. So was Leah.
Jillian Mitchell had espresso-brown hair that had been in a ponytail last night. Same as Leah.
Jillian Mitchell had a runner’s build, meaning she was pretty much all legs. Just like Leah. The killer had severed her right ankle before dragging her into the bushes.
The flashback to high school when Leah’s best friend had been brutally murdered edged into her thoughts. Leah was supposed to sneak out to meet up. She’d fallen asleep instead. The crime had rocked their exclusive white-collar Arlington Heights neighborhood.
Forcing her thoughts to the present, to the trail, she was grateful that lights had been set up in the normally dark stretch known as Porter’s Bend for the curvy pathway. That was a comfort. Leah tried to reestablish her pace. She had almost cleared the winding patch when she caught a glimpse of a man crouching near the brush. He was at the edge of the crime scene tape area and down on all fours. Even at this distance Leah could see that he had substantial size.
Leah slowed to a walk but her heart pounded her ribs as though she’d turned up her speed. She assessed the situation and quickly realized there was no one else around. She bit back a curse as she palmed her cell. She started to fire off a text to dispatch, noting a suspicious person at the scene of Porter’s Bend.
A mix of adrenaline and fear shot through her. Had the murderer returned to the crime scene? Was the person who’d attacked and murdered Jillian Mitchell digging in the shrubs?
Reason argued against the notion. Only an idiot would come back this soon. The criminal who’d murdered Jillian didn’t strike Leah as stupid. He had to know tensions were running high after last night’s attack. People would be on the lookout