Page 15 of A Curse On Black Lake (Black Lake Gothic Cowboys #1)

Chapter eleven

Killian

The fog sits heavy, obscuring my surroundings. Trees stand tall and foreboding around me as if they are looking down, watching every move I make.

My heart pounds, and sweat collects at the base of my spine. Where am I? Am I home? Why am I outside?

“Help me! Help!” a girl screams.

I don’t think and follow the voice, running through the trees as hard as I can to a clearing, over a hill, towards the voice.

“Killian! Save us!” she screams.

“I’m coming!” I yell.

I push harder going over the next hill.

“Please!” she screams.

Every time I crest a hill, no one is there.

“Hold on! Just hold on!” I yell.

I keep pushing, trying to find her, but it sounds like her voice keeps getting farther and farther away.

“No, please!” she screams, and then it’s silent.

I stop at the top of another hill and listen.

“Where are you!” I scream, hoping, praying she’s still alive even if I know better.

But it’s silent.

The fog feels like it’s wrapping its ghostly hands around my throat, and I choke. I can’t breathe.

I try running again, but the noose around my neck gets tighter.

My vision dots and I know I’m on the edge of passing out.

Air is harder to drag in as the fog fills my lungs. I fall to my knees, and crawl. I won’t give up. I won’t give in.

Black invades my sight, and this feels like the end.

And then I hear a whisper in my ear, “I will take all you know and love. You will not escape me. There is no escape from me.”

I jolt awake, out of breath, and look around. I’m home. I’m in my bed.

No one is here.

My hands fist and I focus on willing my heart to return to a slower rhythm. It was one of my worst fears in law enforcement … trying to save someone who I couldn’t get to fast enough. And it feels like what I saw wasn’t a nightmare. It was a whole hell of a lot more.

Later that morning while I work on my chores, my mind spins and spins. It still feels like the fog is sitting in my throat, choking me, or maybe it’s my own dower reality. I’m in a terrible position, with no logical way out.

There is no doubt in my mind that they will try to pin this on me.

People are scared one of their own has been doing something so terrible right under their noses.

Wyatt is digging in, and I understand he might be doing his job, but he’s not doing it well.

He’s been back three times trying to come onto my land without a warrant.

Since he doesn’t have one, that tells me a judge won’t issue it because there isn’t enough evidence.

He’s grasping, the town is pushing, and I’m an easy target.

“Come on, Kill, if you have nothing to hide, then let me take a look at things again, without a warrant.”

He must think I’m an idiot.

When I was on the force with him, I always took the lead.

But we were always on the same page. The evidence may appear to point to me, but I obviously didn’t do it.

And it’s become painstakingly evident to me that I will have to solve this murder on my own.

Meaning, I have to solve, or at least find an alternative killer for all of these cold cases in order to protect myself, all without having the evidence to refer to. Is this something I can do on my own?

Eliana pops into my mind, and I immediately shake her out. I have no idea what she was getting at. She is certainly strange, but that doesn’t give anyone the right to run her into a ditch. I don’t understand people in this town. I didn’t when I was a kid, and I still don’t now.

I bring Daisy to a canter heading for the rocks I found the woman on. I’ve forced myself not to come over here because there’s nothing to find. But now that I’m running my own investigation, I have to.

The dogs follow behind Daisy and I, sniffing and running around. I hook Daisy’s reins around the horn and leave her to graze while I look around.

Coming up to the rocks, nothing sticks out to me.

But it’s been almost two weeks since I found her.

If there was any evidence here, it’s long gone.

But maybe the murderer left something else the cops didn’t catch that can’t be washed away or destroyed by the sun.

Since this woman was different based on the K-wound post mortem and the hair color.

It’s safe to assume he did something new with the body dump.

I take a deep breath and look up at the cloudy sky, much like my mood.

It bothers me that I don’t know her name. She deserves to be remembered.

Checking the perimeter first, I don’t spot anything that sticks out to me. It rained a couple of days ago. Any blood or other bodily fluids would be gone and disintegrated by now.

Stepping under the curve of the rocks, I study the smooth surface. There is slight ridging, common from water running against the stone, like that of the Grand Canyon. Other than that, it all looks natural.

I take a step back from the rocks and put myself in the murderer’s shoes.

He would have had to carry her out here or bring her on horseback.

It would have been difficult to get a vehicle out here without me noticing, but it is possible.

The Sheriff’s Department struggled to get a truck out here, but they did it.

If there were tracks from another vehicle, they would be gone, or ridden over by the police vehicle that was out here.

I look around the outcropping of trees surrounding the rocks.

But he couldn’t have made it all the way to the rocks with the vehicle, assuming he had one.

So, that would indicate he carried the victim to the rocks.

I wouldn’t bring Daisy up here, she could handle it, but her risk of breaking an ankle is too high.

If I’m trying to dump a body and get out of here without being caught, I wouldn’t risk my horse.

There should be footprints, and hoofprints, or there were.

Clicking on my flashlight, I walk around the larger perimeter of the trees to see if I can find anything. I don’t have high hopes, but it’s worth a look.

I walk around the trees, inspecting every angle that would make sense to carry a body and not fall. If he fell, there would be more askew. He was sure-footed.

Going around the green ash and pecan trees, a breeze flows through the leaves like rushing water, stirring the branches, and right in front of me, the way the dim overcast light catches it — hair.

It reflects in the even light tone, and it’s blonde. Grabbing the baggie from my back pocket, I gingerly slip it over the strands and seal it up.

He must have carried her through here to the rocks.

Following the path to the rocks, I look for footprints, cigarette butts, trash, anything that may have come off the killer.

I go all the way up to where I found her and stop short.

A sprig of lavender lays within the rocks.

No one would have noticed if they weren’t looking.

Lavender is nowhere on this land. It struggles to grow here unless carefully, intentionally cultivated.

So, why is a dried sprig of lavender here? And what did he use it for?

Placing the sprig in another baggie I brought with me, I search the area one more time and don’t find anything else. But I found something, and it’s a lead.

I get Daisy and head back to the barn with the dogs. Tiny follows, sniffing at my heels, and when I get to the top of the hill leading to the house, I find Eliana sitting on the steps in a tank top and cut-off shorts with her bike and the slightly bent rim, leaning against the porch railing.