Beyond Limits (Tracers #8)(101)

He gave her a hard look that said, No you wouldn’t, little lady. But Tara stubbornly held his gaze.

“Suit yourself,” he said, setting off.

She followed him, with M.J. close behind. They moved through the trees along a path marked by LED traffic flares. The air smelled of damp pine, but as they neared the bright hive of activity everything was overtaken by the sickly smell of death. Ingram stepped aside, and Tara nearly tripped into a forensic photographer crouched on the ground aiming her camera at the body sprawled in the dirt.

Pale face, slack jaw. She looked almost peaceful . . . except for the horrific violence below her neck.

Tara’s throat burned.

M.J. lurched back, bumping into a tree. She turned and threw up.

Think, Tara ordered herself. She forced herself to step closer and study the scene.

A five-foot radius around the body had been marked off with metal stakes connected by orange twine. Only an ME assistant in white coveralls operated within the inner perimeter. He knelt beside the victim, jotting notes on a clipboard.

Tara’s heart pounded. Her mind whirled. She drew air into her lungs and forced herself to slow down. She felt Ingram’s gaze on her and tried to block it out.

Think.

Rigor mortis had passed. Even with the cool weather, she’d been dead at least twelve hours. No obvious bruising on her arms or legs. Her feet were spread apart. Damp leaves clung to her calves. Toenail polish—dark pink. Tara looked at her arms. No visible abrasions, but the left hand was bent at a strange angle.

Tara walked around, careful not to get in the photographer’s way as she looked at her face again. The right side was partly covered by a curtain of dark hair.

The photographer scrolled through her camera. “I have what I need here,” she told the ME’s people. “You guys are good to go.”

The one holding the stretcher stepped carefully over the orange twine and crouched down beside the corpse. His partner unfurled a body bag.

Tara watched uneasily. They were taking away the body now, processing the scene, for better or for worse. Whatever chance Tara had had to involve the Bureau at this critical point in the investigation was gone. If that had been her boss’s purpose in sending her here, then she’d already failed.

But she sensed there was more to it.

A knot of tension formed in her chest as she cast her gaze around the scene. The fire pit had been surrounded by evidence markers, but here, near the body, there were precious few.

Tara glanced at the deputy watching her sullenly from against the tree. She forced her attention back to the victim. An ME assistant tucked the hands into paper bags, and Tara felt a twinge of relief watching his skilled movements.

Tara checked her watch. Almost two. She turned her gaze toward the dense thicket and shivered, suddenly cold to her bones.

This case was a disaster, and they’d barely started. The circumstances could hardly be worse.

A flash of light above the treetops, followed by a low grumble. Tara tipped her gaze up to the sky.

It started to rain.