Lara Lacombe - Ranger's Justice

“Time for another water break,” he announced. He led them off the trail a few feet to the shadow of a large rock and did a quick sweep of the ground with the sole of his boot to disturb any creepy-crawlies that might be taking advantage of the shade. Rebecca waited for his nod before sitting down. She removed her pack and took out another bottle of water, her breathing slowing as she rested.

“Doing okay?” Her face was flushed with exertion from the heat, and her tank top was damp with sweat. Quinn had been religious about enforcing water breaks, but perhaps it was time for a longer rest...

“I’m fine,” she said. “Just didn’t expect this much of a workout.”

“Some of these trails are pretty tough going,” he said sympathetically. “But we didn’t pick an ideal time to set out. When I take you to the first site, we’ll start before dawn and that will make a difference.”

She nodded and took a healthy swig from the bottle. “Is this the only trail leading to the site?”

“Yes. But it’s possible he approached from a different direction.”

She considered his words for a moment. “Would it be an easier trek if he went off the trail?”

Quinn shook his head. “No. Believe it or not, the trail is the best way to get there.”

Rebecca pursed her lips in thought. “So whoever did this is in excellent shape.”

“Do you—” Quinn hesitated, not sure he wanted to ask the question. But he needed to know, even if the answer would only add fuel to his nightmares. “Do you know if the women were killed at the site or if they were already dead when he left them there?”

Rebecca took another drink. “The coroner thinks they were killed at the site. He erased his footprints, removing all signs of struggle as well. But I have to believe someone would have noticed a man carrying a dead body over his shoulder, even if they only saw him from far away.”

“So he lured them here.” The idea put a bad taste in his mouth that the water did nothing to erase. What kind of man did something so horrible? How could one human deliberately gain another’s trust, knowing they intended to kill them later?

“Looks that way,” she confirmed.

“Those poor women,” he muttered, shaking his head. Discovering the bodies had been bad enough, but knowing the women had been led to their deaths somehow made it worse. The killer and his victim had probably traversed this same trail, chatting as they walked, perhaps stopping to admire a bird or pretty flower. Had she smiled at him, thinking him a friend? Had he shared food with her along the way?

Quinn’s stomach lurched, the water no longer refreshing. He set aside the bottle and focused on a nearby cactus, trying to steer his thoughts in a different direction.

“It was quick,” Rebecca offered. He glanced over to find her watching him, her gaze knowing. “He broke their necks, likely while they were resting. No signs of sexual trauma, either, so they didn’t suffer that way before they died.”

“Is that supposed to make it okay?” He didn’t mean to sound so harsh—she was only trying to make him feel better.

“No,” she said quietly. “But in my line of work, I look for the small mercies to keep me going.”

“How do you do it?” He shook his head, trying to cast off his bad mood. “How can you stand to work with such evil day in and day out?” She didn’t look like an adrenaline junkie, nor the type to get her rocks off on the suffering of others. But there had to be some reason she’d devoted her career to killers and criminals.

Rebecca took a drink as she pondered his question. “I don’t enjoy my work—not in the sense that I think you do,” she said finally. “But I derive great satisfaction from finding a killer or solving a crime. There are bad people out there, and I believe if I can understand them, even just a little bit, I can protect others. I don’t want to learn about killers because they interest me—I study them so I can predict what others like them might do. I guess you could say I do this for the victims, in the hopes of preventing more deaths.”

Her answer made sense, and Quinn felt his emotions settle a bit. But one question still lingered. “How do you keep from bringing your work home with you? Doesn’t something like that contaminate other areas of your life?”

She shrugged. “It can, if I let it. But when I talk to killers, I try to leave my emotions out of it. These people are predators, and it gets them off if they know they’re bothering you. I refuse to give them that satisfaction. I view my job as a puzzle—I try to put the pieces in the right order to solve the case and catch the bad guy. I’ve gotten pretty good at building a wall between myself and what I do. I guess you could say I’m an expert at compartmentalizing things.” She offered a half smile, shrugging slightly.

Quinn couldn’t imagine living that way, with everything put into neat and tidy boxes that weren’t allowed to touch. Maybe he was wired differently, but it seemed that every aspect of his life impacted another. It was part of why he’d loved working at Yosemite—he and Ashley had both loved hiking and camping in the park, and he’d enjoyed sharing the best parts of his job with her. The thought of working a job that needed to be set aside daily for the good of his mental health made him a little sad, and he felt a spurt of pity for Rebecca.

She doesn’t need me to feel bad for her , he thought. Rebecca was clearly a thoughtful and intelligent woman who had found a career that interested her, if nothing else. She was qualified to do any number of jobs, so if she was really bothered by her career, she could find another. Just because Quinn couldn’t imagine living that way didn’t mean she was miserable.

Still, curiosity nagged him. Before he could think better of it, he spoke again. “Does that make it hard to have friends?”

She blinked, clearly taken aback by the question. “What, you mean my tendency to compartmentalize?” At his nod, she shook her head. “Not really. I don’t talk about my work with my friends, and they know better than to ask except in the broadest of terms. Most people don’t want to know the details of a serial killer’s crimes, and I won’t talk about those things if I think someone is just looking for a cheap thrill.”

He nodded, grabbing his water for another sip. Rebecca cocked her head to the side, studying him. “What’s with the twenty questions?” She sounded curious and a little bit wary, as if she hadn’t decided what to make of his interest in her life.

Quinn shrugged. “You’re the first FBI profiler I’ve met. What you do is so foreign to me—I can’t imagine working with killers and investigating murder cases all the time. I’m just trying to understand how you do it, how you handle the more difficult parts.” He shook his head. “I could never do that.”

“You might be surprised what you can handle when you have to,” she said cryptically. She recapped her bottle and glanced at her watch. “Should we get back to it?”

“Yeah.” Quinn stashed his empty bottle and reshouldered his pack. “We’re not too far. Maybe another half hour?”

She waited for him to take the lead again and fell into step behind him. The rest of the hike passed in silence; it was hot, and the going was strenuous. Finally, they arrived.

It wasn’t difficult to find—yellow crime-scene tape was still strung across small bushes, acting as a flimsy barrier to keep out trespassers. The ground was littered with footprints, both human and animal; he saw the distinctive mark of a mountain lion, along with what looked like prints from both a mule deer and a raccoon.

Quinn forced himself to look at the spot where he’d found the woman. He half expected to see the outline of her body in the dirt, but it was blessedly clear of marks, as the wind, animals and the police would have brushed them away. He swallowed hard and looked away to find Rebecca watching him intently.