Chapter Three

The car headlights sliced through the dark, making drifts of mist glow white against the road. Art slowed as he drove through a small town, stopping at a red light. A thin, mangy dog trotted down the side of the road, a rabbit hanging from his mouth. The dog paused to look over its shoulder before bolting for the woods at the side of the road. Art watched it go, thinking of all the bad things he'd seen in those same woods.

The car bumped over a rough patch of road, jolting it's passengers. Raylan opened his eyes slowly, blinking away sleep. He shifted in his seat, tugging at the seatbelt. The movement jarred his shoulder. He held his breath until the pain eased, then glanced at his boss. The clock on the dashboard told him he'd been out for the better part of an hour.

"Any word?" His voice came out low and hoarse. "About the girl?"

Art shook his head. "No. We did get a preliminary report on the patrolman though."

"He was shot?" Raylan cleared his throat, glancing out of the window. "That's what it looked like."

A truck passed by on the other side of the road, lights turning the glass into a mirror for a brief moment. The reflection looking back at him didn't look happy.

Art nodded. "Twice in the chest with a deer rifle. Someone wanted him dead. The video from his car is on the way to the lab now. We should have something back by morning."

"What were they doing out there?" Raylan murmured. "I can see the Tahoe breaking down, and the patrolman pulling over. The folks in the Tahoe freak out because they have something they shouldn't and shoot him." He tapped a finger on his knee. "Where does the girl come in, though?"

"Did it seem like she was running to the car or away from it?"

Raylan lifted an eyebrow, face thoughtful. "Well, she was in the woods when I first saw her."

"Might not be connected," Art said. "Maybe the girl escaped from somewhere, heard the car and ran towards it. She sees the patrolman get shot and gets scared, runs back into the woods."

"Maybe." Raylan tilted his head, lips pressed together. "Why run from me? I told her who..." He let the sentence trail off as both phones started to ring.

Art frowned. "I told them not to ring you," he muttered, and slid his own phone out of his pocket. "Art Mullen."

Raylan slumped against the seat again, taking a swig of water from the bottle he'd left in the glove compartment. His gaze turned back to the woods, wondering if the girl was still alive. His gut was telling him that she wasn't. He ignored it. His gut had been wrong before.

The night had turned cold and crisp. The ground fog seemed to hang in the air, drifting through the trees. Silver tipped moonlight reflected on the tree branches. It made the woods look like the set of a horror movie.

The headlights reflected on the eyes of some small animal, turning them green and eerie for a split second. He blinked, and they vanished back into the scrubby undergrowth. A tumble-down house flashed by in a blur of white and faded red. Raylan got an impression of a rusted car up on blocks in the front yard.

Art sighed and dropped his phone into the central console.

"They found her." Raylan made it a flat statement rather than a question. The look on his boss' face had already given him the answer.

"They did." Art rubbed the bridge of his nose. "She's dead. Shot in the back with a deer rifle. Looks like the same one used to kill the patrolman."

Raylan blew out a long breath. "So they're connected."

"Looks that way." Art braked, turning the car onto another road.

"Where'd they find her?" Raylan drank another swig of water, glancing at the clock to see if he could take another dose of painkillers.

"Little cabin out just off the old logging road. Nothing much inside of it. The local police are sending over the photographs that they took."

Raylan picked at the tape on his bandages. "This is making my nape hairs stand on end."

Art blew out a breath. "Yeah, I don't much like it either."

He let the car slow as they drove into the city limits. His phone rang again. The two men shared a look before Art answered the call.

"Thanks, Rachel," he said after listening for a few minutes.

Raylan tilted his head in question. "More bad news?"

"Well, we know who the girl was now. She was nineteen, called Shelley Decosta. Parents reported her as a missing person three weeks ago up in La Grange. Fingerprints were in the system from a minor drug offence a year ago."

The traffic lights in front of them turned red. Art coasted to a halt, turning to look at Raylan. In the pale light, the younger man looked tired. A crease between his eyebrows suggested that his wounds were growing painful again.

He raised his eyebrows at his boss. "How'd she get from La Grange to the woods out by Big Sandy? Teenagers usually head to the nearest big city."

"I don't think she was a run away." Art tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

"You think she was snatched." Raylan fiddled with a button on his jacket. "She's not the only one, is she?"

Art shook his head grimly. "I hope so, but I really doubt it."

Raylan sighed. "Me too."