Wyoming Ranch Justice
Author
Juno Rushdan
Reads
16.1K
Chapters
24
In these parts He's the law The cowboy code is Matt Granger's trademark as a rancher and law enforcement officer, protective instincts inherent to a man like Matt. So when a serial killer targets students in his small Wyoming town, he's prepared to do what has to be done to deliver justice. What has him confounded, though, is undercover detective Hannah Delaney, a complex woman and excellent investigator he's known for years. Hannah's fearless, a force to be reckoned with and at odds with Matt. Despite professional differences and lingering attraction, they'll have to find a way to combine forces to catch a killer.
Prologue
He’d waited as long as he could, holding back the urge until it took control. Tonight, he would sate the dark hunger gnawing at him and find some sense of relief.
Watching her, he licked his lips, excited and eager for their hookup. He had it all planned. Everything was in place and ready. The SUV. The syringe. The intimate hideaway where they’d have lots of privacy and time for him to play. She looked stronger than the others. Maybe she’d last more than a day or two. He had high hopes for this one.
Jessica logged off the computer in the university lab and began packing up her things.
Now. He threw a book in his backpack, slung it over his shoulder and hurried to beat her to the door without looking like he was rushing. The key to pulling it off, he’d learned the hard way, was in the timing. If he left behind her, then she’d be on the defensive, wondering if he was following her.
Leaving the place first—whether the lab, the café, the rec center—and then luring his prey to come to him had consistently been easier than shooting fish in a barrel and always got him his quarry without fail.
He pretended to hobble on the foot he’d Velcroed into the immobilization boot on his left leg. Shoving through the front door of the Southeastern Wyoming University computer lab, he stepped out into the cool late-night air. No worries about leaving his fingerprints; the seamless flesh-colored gloves solved that problem. He bent his head away from the camera and lowered the bill of his cap pulled over a shaggy ginger-colored wig.
Plenty of traps everywhere, but he was vigilant. He was prepared.
Making his way to the SUV he kept prepped for these special nights, he slowed down when he heard her leave the building and the door clicked shut. Anticipation slithered through him.
She was only a few feet behind him, drawing closer. He limped to his vehicle parked at the far end of the lot, near the alley she liked to use as a shortcut to the bus stop, where she was headed now, rather than take the long way around the block.
Dropping his bag and decoy keys on the ground, he swore loudly. He bent over and feigned struggling to pick up his keys, which he had slid beneath the car with his foot.
“Oh, man.” Another curse flew from him as he glanced around, catching her eye. “Hey.” He gave a quick wave with his right hand, ensuring she could see his other arm tucked in a sling like a broken wing, and she slowed. “Would you mind helping me a second?” he asked, and she stopped. He pushed the nonprescription glasses up on the bridge of his nose and limped a couple of steps, giving her a clear view of the medical boot. “If I get down there, I might not be able to get back up.” Flashing a gentle smile, he fought the impulse to scratch the top of his lip, which itched from the fake mustache. He was anxious to shed the disguise. Even the colored contacts irritated his eyes.
Jessica glanced from side to side, then looked between the sling and the immobilization boot, deliberating.
She was perfect. Precisely his type. White. Slim. Blond. Dark eyes. High cheekbones. Pretty mouth. Only twenty-years-old. Easygoing. Not too wary.
He’d considered a few others, but she was his top pick for his next hookup. This was going to be his lucky night.
“This is what I get for trying to ride my bike more and do my part to save the environment,” he said lightly, raising the sling. “Someone not paying attention hit me. I’ll owe you one.”
With a nod, Jessica headed toward him, making the mistake of thinking he wasn’t a threat. “I’m the same. Even though my parents offered to help me buy a car, I either bike or take the Secure Ride,” she said, referring to the public transportation bus service offered by the university.
Little did she realize that she’d never make it to the bus tonight.
“I would’ve taken the Secure Ride myself,” he said. “But at the closest stop, there isn’t a bench, and I’d have to stand while I wait for the bus. The doc told me to keep pressure off my foot.” As she drew closer, he pulled the grin wider. His excitement over the risk of grabbing her was liquid fire in his veins. The burn was good. “I appreciate you helping me.” He hid his right hand behind his leg, and the sling covered most of the other. Up close, someone could tell he was wearing gloves if they looked carefully. “Can I pay you back with a coffee or something at the Wheatgrass Café?”
Stepping within his reach, she flicked her hair over her shoulder, kicking up the sweet scent of her perfume. The smell reminded him of a previous hookup.
“No need.” She narrowed her eyes at him for a second. “Hey, I know you. You’re in my Mythology 101 class. I nearly knocked you down the other day.” Her shoulders immediately relaxed. A smile tugged at her rosy lips.
Another key to success was to pick one of their classes. The larger, the better, where he could blend in, disappear. Simply sit in once or twice while in disguise. Orchestrate a meeting where they bump into him or vice versa. That first connection, the initial spark, made this moment when he snatched them so much easier because once they remembered him, it lowered their guard.
“Oh yeah,” he said, filling his altered voice with pleasant surprise. “I didn’t recognize you.” The truth was, he’d memorized her face, the shape of her body, the way she moved. Fantasized about tonight a hundred times. “By the way, I’m Theodore Cowell. Just call me Theo.” Introductions put them further at ease.
“Jessica Atkinson.”
His next steps flew through his mind. Take hypodermic needle from sling. Dose the girl. Grab her. Quick tussle—they always fought and lost. Pop trunk. Toss her in the vehicle. Handcuffs. Leg irons. Gag. Drive.
He could do it in under a minute. His best record was twenty-two seconds. None had ever gotten away. By the time he got behind the wheel and sped off, the ketamine would hit her system, keeping her quiet for several hours. Once she woke up, then they’d party.
“Thanks again.” He smoothed his palm over the slight bulge of the compact handgun tucked in the pocket of his lightweight jacket. He only carried it for insurance. Not that he had a problem killing an animal or a person by pulling the trigger—he was a hunter in every sense of the word and was even a long-range deadeye, capable of hitting a target one mile away. But using a gun to wrangle his prey would be cheating.
“Sure. No problem.” She got down on her hands and knees and reached under the car for his keys.
Always worked like a charm.
Time slowed to a crawl. He looked around, sweeping the area once more, ensuring no witnesses lurked nearby. It was just the two of them. His heart throbbed with anticipation as he pulled out the hypodermic needle.