CHAPTER TWO

Twenty minutes later, under the watchful morning sun which glinted off the desert dunes, Rachel arrived at the crime scene. She parked behind a line of police cruisers, their lights still flashing red and blue. She spotted the abandoned sedan immediately, surrounded by a swarm of officers. Yellow police tape cordoned off the area, fluttering gently in the breeze.

Rachel stepped out of her truck, slamming the door shut with more force than necessary. She squared her shoulders and marched down the small desert trail, her eyes scanning the surroundings with a trained gaze. As she approached the trailhead between two dunes, she saw Ethan waiting for her.

"Morning, Rae," Ethan greeted, his voice far too chipper for the early hour and the grim circumstances.

"Ethan," Rachel acknowledged with a curt nod. She came to a stop beside him, her gaze still fixed on the crime scene ahead.

"Rough night?" Ethan asked, his eyes flickering over her face, no doubt taking in the dark circles beneath her eyes.

"You could say that.”

Ethan's brow furrowed in concern. "Everything alright?"

Rachel finally turned to look at him, her expression unreadable. "Just peachy. What have we got?"

Ethan hesitated for a moment, as if considering whether to press further, but then seemed to think better of it. "Female victim looks to be in her late twenties. Gunshot wound to the chest. Rattlesnake bites. Coroner's en route."

Rachel nodded, her mind already racing with the scant details. "Any ID on the victim?"

"Not yet. We're running the plates on the sedan now."

Rachel's gaze drifted back to the abandoned vehicle. "Let's take a closer look."

As they walked towards the crime scene, Ethan fell into step beside her. Two cops parted, and one of them moved towards the rangers, gesturing along the trail. This land was close enough to a reservation that jurisdiction disputes were likely to result if Rachel didn’t move fast.

One of the officers led Rachel and Ethan down a narrow trail, the desert landscape stretching out before them in a vast expanse of sand and scrub. The sun beat down mercilessly, the heat oppressive even in the early morning hours. Rachel's boots crunched against the rocky path, her eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of disturbance.

As they rounded a bend, the crime scene came into view. A woman's body lay sprawled on the ground, her wrist handcuffed to a metal tent peg. Rachel's stomach twisted at the sight, a wave of anger and sadness washing over her. She approached the victim, her movements careful and deliberate.

"Gunshot wound to the chest," Rachel said, her voice tight. She crouched down, examining the entry point. "Looks like a small caliber, maybe a .22."

Ethan nodded, his eyes sweeping the area. "No signs of a struggle," he observed. "The killer must have taken her by surprise."

“It was a long range shot.”

“You sure?”

“Mhmm.”

“How do you know?”

Rachel pointed at the girl's chest, where the round wound was surrounded by a darkening bruise. "See this? The bullet went straight in. If it was close range, there'd be more tearing around the edges from the muzzle blast. Plus, look at the angle." She traced an imaginary line from the bullet hole towards the top of a nearby dune.

Ethan followed her gaze, his brow furrowed. "A sniper?"

"Seems like it." Rachel rose, her gaze steady on the dune. "This would be a good vantage point. Clear view of the path here and an easy escape route through the back."

She double checked her angles, frowning at the blood spray which streaked the sand.

Rachel stood up, her gaze drifting to the top of a nearby dune. "The shooter was positioned up there," she said, pointing. "Had a clear line of sight."

"Amateur… or an experienced sniper?" Ethan asked, his brow furrowing.

"Possibly," Rachel replied, her mind racing. She glanced back at the victim, taking in her appearance. The woman was young, maybe mid-twenties, with long blonde hair and a slender build.

Ethan gave a sort of whistle and his hand emerged from a tangled shrub, pulling out a lanyard. “Rebecca Morris,” he called. “Journalist.” He dangled the laminated item for her to see.

“A journalist?”

Ethan was nodding, already pulling out his phone to search the name through their slew of databases. “Here we go,” he said. “Rebecca Morris. Twenty-six. Works for the El Paso Tribune."

Rachel was silent for a moment, processing the information. "A journalist in the middle of nowhere..."

"Maybe she was working on a story?" Ethan suggested.

Rachel looked around at the desolate surroundings, then back at the body. "Doesn't seem like much to write about out here."

Ethan shrugged, already beginning to pace around the area. Rachel watched him for a moment before turning back to survey the scene. Her gaze was drawn again to the dune, its high ridge offering a perfect vantage point for an ambush.

She turned back to stare at where Rebecca Morris lay, her eyes on the cuff wrapped around the woman’s wrist. She felt bile rise in her throat. No sign of the rattler… but preliminary report had spotted the angry gouges from the snake bite. The gunshot had been reported secondarily in the first responders’ report, as if the officers had been most stunned by the snake attack.

But the chain attached to the tent peg… someone had wanted Rebecca to suffer. To be afraid.

“Sadist…” she muttered under her breath, her eyes narrowed. She tilted the brim of her white hat, the single feather fluttering where it was tucked in the leather band wrapped around the brim.

Rachel's heart sank. Another innocent life lost, another family shattered. She thought of her own past, the pain of losing her parents at such a young age. The memories threatened to distract her, but she pushed them back, forcing herself to focus on the present.

She'd often been able to suppress emotional pain, but she wasn't proud of this skill.

Her eyes darted surreptitiously towards Ethan. He lived his life like an open book, and yet he was one of the more chipper and playful people she knew. It was part of what attracted her to the sandy-haired, doe-eyed ranger. He had an ever present smile, and a boy scout temperament. This, in part, was from growing up in a large, homeschooled family. He’d felt a sort of love she’d never tasted in her youth.

It only troubled her further thinking about the woman who had raised her. Was Aunt Sarah just another predator who’d masked herself as an accomplice?

The thought caused Rachel’s heart to sink, and she found herself watching Ethan even more closely.

She shook her head, taking a step back to gauge the scene.

Sometimes that’s all it took.

A single step back.

And now, as she peered down at the scene, she found her eyes roaming.

Rachel's sharp gaze caught a glint of metal nestled in the sand near the victim's outstretched hand. She stepped closer, careful not to disturb the scene. A small, silver pendant lay partially buried, its chain broken. Rachel recognized the intricate design immediately - a symbol often associated with the notorious Sonora Cartel.

"Bag that pendant," she instructed a nearby forensic technician, her voice low and steady. "Make sure to get clear photos before you move it."

The technician nodded, setting to work with practiced efficiency. Rachel turned her attention back to where a middle-aged man shambled towards them, carrying a large black bag. She recognized the man as the coroner: a figure with a paunch and more than one chin, his glasses perched precariously on the tip of his nose. His name was Gordon Pike— a local coroner who had seen more than his fair share of violence in the region.

"Morning, Rae, Ethan." He grunted in acknowledgment, setting down his bag and pulling on a pair of gloves. "Thought I'd get a day off for once. Seems like the desert has other plans."

Rachel offered him a tight smile, her gaze drawn back to the woman's body. She felt a familiar pang of frustration. Every life lost was a failure —a mark against her name in a ledger that only she could see.

Pike began his examination with an air of detached professionalism that Rachel admired.

As Pike worked, Rachel moved away from the body and towards the incline leading up to the shooter's vantage point. The sand was disturbed here and there by footprints quickly fading under the desert wind.

She frowned, glancing along the ground, searching for the trail that the killer must’ve taken.

She shook her head and then looked back to where Pike—with a deep breath—examined the victim's wrists, one raw and chafed from the handcuffs.

"Time of death appears to be between 2 and 4 AM," the coroner reported, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Cause of death is a single gunshot wound to the chest, but there's also evidence of a rattlesnake bite on the left ankle."

Rachel's mind raced, processing the information. The presence of the snake bite suggested the victim had been left to suffer before the fatal shot was fired. Cartels were known for their cruelty.

"I didn’t see any—did you notice any sign of a struggle?"

The coroner shook his head. "Apart from the handcuff marks, there's no indication she put up a fight. The snake bite likely incapacitated her quickly.”

Rachel felt a surge of anger at the thought of Rebecca Morris, helpless and in agony, waiting for a bullet to end her suffering. She clenched her jaw, her resolve hardening.

As the coroner continued his examination, Rachel let her gaze drift back to the pendant. She examined it closely, studying the emblem where it now rested in an evidence bag by a yellow tag.

The symbol was familiar, she had seen it several times in her career. It was a rattlesnake coiled around an opium poppy, the signature emblem of the notorious Sonora Cartel. Rachel’s mind filled with images of past crime scenes, all bearing the same brutal mark of the cartel.

Rachel's gaze shifted to the dune once more. The wind had already begun to erase the footprints, but she could still make out the trail leading up the sand.

The cartel connection was troubling. A distraction? She took a photo of the pendant in the evidence bag.

Rachel nudged Ethan, tilting her head towards the towering dune behind them. He nodded, understanding her unspoken request. They trudged forward, their feet sinking into the soft sand with each labored step. The sun beat down mercilessly, the heat oppressive and unrelenting.

As they approached the base of the dune, Rachel's mind drifted to the missing guns from her aunt's collection. The caliber of one matched the one used in this murder. Coupled with her aunt's knowledge of rattlesnakes and reservation deserts… Perhaps she was overthinking it, but Rachel was willing to consider all options. Could her aunt be involved? The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.

"You think the shooter was up there?" Ethan asked, his voice strained from the exertion of the climb.

Rachel squinted against the glare of the sun, her eyes scanning the crest of the dune. "It's the perfect vantage point. High ground, clear line of sight."

They continued their ascent, the sand shifting beneath their feet, making each step a struggle. Rachel's shirt clung to her back, damp with sweat. She could feel the heat radiating off the ground, the air shimmering in distorted waves.

Rachel's gaze settled on a small depression in the sand, barely visible amidst the shifting dunes. She crouched down, her fingers tracing the edges of the disturbance. The imprint of a rifle bipod, the mark of a boot heel. Signs of the shooter's presence.

"He was here," Rachel said, her voice low and steady. "Set up shop, waited for his target."

Ethan nodded, his eyes scanning the surrounding area. "No shell casings. Professional job."

Rachel stood, her hand resting on the butt of her holstered gun. The metal was warm against her palm, a familiar comfort. She turned to face the crime scene below, the distant figures of the other officers and the coroner milling about like ants.

She studied the body from afar, taking in the details. Rebecca's hair fanned out around her head, almost as if she were sleeping.

"We need to get forensics up here," Rachel said, her voice breaking the stillness. "Comb every inch of this spot. If there's anything left behind, I want it found."

Ethan nodded, already reaching for his radio. Rachel turned back to the horizon, her eyes searching the vast expanse of the desert. Somewhere out there, the killer was hiding. Waiting. But she would find them, no matter how long it took.

Ethan frowned, his brow furrowed in thought. "But why handcuff her first? If the sniper's goal was to kill, why bother restraining the victim?"

Rachel paused, considering the question. Her mind raced through possibilities, trying to make sense of the killer's actions. "It's possible they were toying with her.”

Ethan's eyes widened, a look of disgust crossing his features. "You think the sniper's some kind of sadist?"

Rachel nodded, her jaw clenched tight. "It fits the profile. The careful planning, the choice of location, the unnecessary restraints. This isn't just about the kill. It's about control, domination."

She scanned the area around them, her senses on high alert. The desert stretched out in all directions, an endless sea of sand and scrub brush. Somewhere out there, a killer lurked, watching and waiting for their next move.

Ethan's voice broke through her thoughts, his tone grim. "We need to find this bastard, Rae.”

She didn’t reply. Didn’t see the need to.

Rachel moved forward, her boots sinking into the soft sand with each step. Eyes narrowed, she scanned the ground, searching for any sign of the sniper's passage. Ethan followed close behind, his hand resting on the butt of his holstered gun.

The heat shimmered off the dunes. Rachel ignored the discomfort, her focus solely on the task at hand. On the hunt, she often felt most in touch with her heritage. How often had her people hunted this land? She’d grown up on the reservation but had left her past behind.

Now, the hunt was all she had left.

Suddenly, she froze. There, barely visible amidst the shifting sands, was a faint indentation. A footprint, partially obscured but still discernible to her trained eye.

"Ethan." Rachel's voice was low, urgent. She pointed to the mark. "Look."

Ethan crouched down, studying the impression. "Could be anything. An animal, maybe."

Rachel shook her head. "No. It's a boot print. And there's more." She gestured to a series of faint disturbances in the sand leading away from the dune. "A trail."

Ethan frowned. "It's barely there." Ethan was a pro when it came to interrogations and navigating social politics, but his experience didn't entail tracking.

"Trust me." Rachel's tone left no room for doubt. "Whoever made this knew what they were doing. They tried to cover their tracks, but they missed a spot."

She straightened up, squinting against the glare of the sun. The trail stretched out before them, disappearing into the distance. A sense of foreboding settled in her gut, a chill that had nothing to do with the desert heat.

"We need to follow it." Rachel's voice was grim. "But we have to be careful. If the sniper's still out there, they could be watching us."

Ethan nodded, his expression mirroring her own. "Lead the way."

Rachel took point, her steps measured and cautious as she began to follow the trail. The rugged terrain made for slow going, the shifting sands threatening to swallow her boots with each step. Ethan followed close behind, his presence a reassuring constant at her back.

As they walked, the sounds of the crime scene gradually faded, replaced by the eerie silence of the desert. The only noise was the crunch of their footsteps and the occasional whisper of the wind.

Rachel's mind raced as she navigated the treacherous path. She'd tracked plenty of criminals in her time as a Ranger, but this felt different. The sniper's methods, the brutal efficiency of the kill - it spoke to a level of ruthlessness she rarely encountered.

"Why go to all this trouble?" Ethan's voice broke the silence, his words echoing her own thoughts. "Covering their tracks, leaving the body out in the open like that?"

Rachel shook her head. "They wanted us to find her. Wanted to make a statement."

"But why? What's the point?"

"I don't know." Rachel's jaw tightened. "The cartels are often vicious.”

“Think that pendant was intentionally left, though? Red herring?”

“Possible. But also they might want to take credit for their work. A warning to anyone else who might cross them.”

They pressed on, the trail twisting and turning through the dunes. Rachel's eyes never left the ground, her focus unwavering.

Just as she was beginning to wonder if they'd lost the trail, Rachel spotted something in the distance. A glint of metal, barely visible against the sand.

She froze, her hand instinctively reaching for her weapon. "Ethan."

He stepped up beside her, his eyes following her gaze. "What is it?"

Rachel didn't answer. She was already moving, her steps quickening as she closed the distance to the object. As she drew nearer, the shape became clear - a spent shell casing lying in the sand.

She crouched down, carefully picking up the casing with a gloved hand. It was still warm to the touch, the metal gleaming in the sunlight.

"Rachel?" Ethan's voice held a note of concern.

She looked up at him, her expression grim. "We're on the right track. And we're not alone out here."

Rachel stood up, the shell casing clutched in her hand. The wind whipped at her hair, sending strands dancing across her face. She scanned the horizon, searching for any sign of movement.

"This feels familiar," she said, her voice barely audible over the wind. "Like when I was tracking that mountain lion a few years back."

Ethan frowned. "A mountain lion?"

"It was terrorizing a small town," Rachel explained, her gaze still fixed on the distant dunes. "Killed a couple of hikers before the state called me in."

She remembered the hunt vividly - the long days spent tracking the beast through the rugged terrain, the sleepless nights spent waiting for it to strike again. It had been a grueling experience, both physically and mentally.

But the lion hadn’t tried to cover its tracks… Part of her had often wondered if the lion had wanted to be found. It kept circling back in her direction.

"I spent weeks on that animal's trail," she murmured, her voice taking on a distant quality. "Learned its habits, its movements. In the end, I was able to predict where it would strike next."

Ethan nodded slowly. "And you think this is similar?"

"In a way. We're dealing with a predator. A human one, but a predator nonetheless. And like any predator, they'll have patterns. Habits."

She looked down at the shell casing in her hand. "We just have to find them."

With that, she tucked the casing into her pocket and started walking again. The trail led them deeper into the desert, the dunes rising up around them like ancient sentinels. The sand shifted beneath their feet, making each step an effort.

But Rachel didn't slow down.

The sun beat down on them mercilessly, the heat shimmering off the sand in waves. Rachel could feel the sweat trickling down her face, stinging her eyes. Her throat was parched.

Still, she pushed on. The trail was growing fainter now, the tracks harder to discern in the shifting sands.

She paused. The gap between the dunes had widened now. She stared at the casing in her hand.

The killer hadn’t left brass at the actual crime scene.

She paused, wrinkling her nose. Something felt off. They were exposed here. The wind had picked up, suggesting less obstacles. She glanced one way then the other, her body tensing as she surveyed the landscape.

There… along a ridge, near dark shrubs…

She frowned. The prickle along her spine heightened, and her hands clenched.

Rachel's eyes narrowed, her body tensing as she scanned the barren landscape. There, in the distance, a glimmer caught her attention. Sunlight reflecting off metal.

"Get down!" she yelled, already moving.

She cursed under her breath, flinging herself at Ethan with all her strength. They tumbled down the side of the dune, a tangle of limbs and sand. Gunshots erupted, the sound deafening in the stillness of the desert.

Rachel felt the heat of a bullet whizzing past her ear, too close for comfort. She rolled to the bottom of the dune, dragging Ethan with her. They came to a stop in a hollow, momentarily shielded from the sniper's view.

"You okay?" Rachel panted, her heart hammering in her chest.

Ethan nodded, his face pale. "Yeah. You?"

"I'm good." She reached for her gun, the metal hot against her palm. "But we won't be for long if we don't get out of here."

She risked a glance over the top of the dune. The glimmer was gone, but she knew the sniper was still out there. Waiting. Watching.

"We need to move," she said, her mind racing. "Find cover."

Ethan looked around, his eyes wide. "Where? There's nothing but sand for miles."

Rachel gritted her teeth. He was right. They were sitting ducks out here, exposed and vulnerable. But they couldn't stay put either. The sniper would pick them off like fish in a barrel.

"We run," she said, her voice grim. "Zigzag pattern. Make ourselves harder targets. To the dune there—they can’t reposition to hit us.”

Ethan swallowed hard, but nodded. "Okay. On three?"

Rachel took a deep breath, her finger tightening on the trigger. "On three.”

She counted down silently in her head. Three. Two. One.

Then they were up and running, sand spraying beneath their feet as they zigzagged across the dunes. Gunshots cracked and whined around them, but they didn't stop. Couldn't stop.

Rachel's lungs burned, her legs screaming with the effort. But she pushed on, focused on the distant line of scrub brush that promised some meager cover.

Just a little further, she told herself. Just a little further.

Another shot rang out, this one kicking up sand just inches from Rachel's pounding feet. She cursed, her heart slamming against her ribs. The sniper was toying with them, leading their desperate sprint with mocking potshots.

Ethan stumbled beside her, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Rachel grabbed his arm, hauling him upright without breaking stride. They couldn't afford to slow down. Couldn't give the sniper an easy target.

The scraggly brush loomed closer, tantalizingly near. Just a few more yards. Rachel's vision tunneled, her entire world narrowing to that one patch of cover.

Almost there. Almost—

Pain exploded in her shoulder, a white-hot lance of agony that sent her sprawling. She hit the ground hard, sand filling her mouth and nose. Dimly, she heard Ethan shouting her name, felt his hands on her, dragging her those last few feet into the meager shelter of the brush.