In Her Tracks (Tracy Crosswhite #8)(48)

“Right now, I got to get rid of some stuff,” he said. “You practice. When I get back, I’ll call and we’ll go over it until you get it right.”

Franklin knew Carrol wanted to ask him the next question but was too afraid to do so. Franklin didn’t have an answer anyway, not just yet, but if he suspected the detectives knew more than they were letting on, he’d have to make the decision to get rid of the women at the cabin and bury them somewhere in the wilderness.

“We ain’t killers, Franklin,” Carrol said.

Maybe not yet. But they had it in them. Franklin knew that for a fact. He’d seen the evidence of what their daddy had done, what he had gotten away with.

They had killing in them.

And a whole lot more.



Stephanie stood. Her chain was just long enough to allow her to stand and stretch. She put one leg back and felt the stretch in her other Achilles and her calf. It hurt, but it felt good. She switched legs and stretched her right Achilles and calf.

“What the hell are you doing?” Donna asked.

“I’m stretching,” Stephanie said.

“I know you’re stretching. Why?”

“Because I’m tired of just sitting here. I’m tired of being stiff and cold.”

She lifted one knee to her chest, then the other. God, it felt good.

“Sit down before you hurt yourself.”

“You should do it.”

“Why? So I can stay in shape? For what? They’re going to kill us. That’s why they brought us up here in the middle of nowhere. They’re going to kill us and bury us, or leave us for the animals to eat.”

Stephanie shook her head, not wanting to listen. She didn’t have enough chain to do jumping jacks, but she could jog in place. She lifted her knees, speaking while trying to catch her breath. “It doesn’t change the fact that we have to sit here day after day,” she said. “You want to sit there, go ahead.”

She dropped back to the ground and did five push-ups. She felt weak and dehydrated, but she pushed through it. She did five burpees, then ran in place again. Five sets. She’d do five sets. Then she’d do yoga. She could remember most of the moves from the class she took at home. What she couldn’t remember, she’d fake. After yoga she’d meditate for thirty minutes. She didn’t have her phone so she couldn’t follow the meditation app, but she’d done it enough to know how to breathe and count, and that was all there was to it.

She heard chains rattle and looked over at Angel Jackson, who had got to her feet. Stephanie paused.

“Don’t stop,” Angel said. “Show me what to do.”





CHAPTER 21

Early Monday morning, Tracy stopped at the Redmond business park for a scheduled session with Lisa Walsh. She told Walsh she had accepted the Cold Case position.

“Did you take the job because you wanted it, or to spite your captain?” Walsh settled into her chair. The room felt warm, cozy.

“Probably a little bit of both,” Tracy said. “I want to keep working. I love what I do. And I didn’t want my captain to be the reason I walked away from something I love and that I’m good at. But really it was the detective who preceded me in Cold Cases who said something that resonated with me.”

“What was that?”

“He pointed out that the victims and their families have no voice. I can provide one. I can be their voice, and maybe find justice for some victims that others have forgotten.”

“It’s certainly admirable.”

“He also pointed out that what I thought could be a negative, something we discussed at our last session, could actually be a positive.”

“And what is that?”

“I care. In his words, I ‘give a shit.’” Tracy smiled at her recollection of reading Nunzio’s note. “He said that’s what separates the good detectives from those just going through the motions.”

“How did you take that?”

Walsh’s question surprised her. “I took it the way he intended me to take it.”

“Which was what?”

“That it was okay to empathize with the victims—people I’ve never met and never will—to empathize with them and their families because I care. I know what it’s like to lose someone you love to a violent crime.”

“Yes, you do. But do you see how that could also be a negative? How it might impact you?”

Again, Walsh’s question surprised her. The counselor was clearly concerned about the emotional impact the cases would have on Tracy, but again Tracy was prepared. “I think it can be, if I allow it to control me. If I become obsessive about the cases I work. But I’m not that person I was back then. My life has changed.”

“How has it been being back at work, with respect to your leaving your daughter with the nanny?” Walsh changed gears.

“It’s hard leaving Daniella. I missed her first steps the other day, and it was bittersweet, but Dan missed them too. I guess it’s just a part of parenting in this day and age. I’m also working an active case in addition to my cold cases, so I’ve been crazy busy and . . .”

“And . . .”

Tracy’s train of thought had been interrupted, as it often was when working a case. Though she was physically present, her subconscious went over forensic evidence. Or something a witness had said would suddenly become significant. “Sorry. I was just thinking about one of my cold cases, about a mother whose five-year-old daughter disappeared.”