Devil's Rock Read online

  “You’re a sweet girl, aren’t you?” She smiled at it. “Or boy.”

  She shook her head, glad no one was here to witness this. She doubted anyone would believe it. And this probably wasn’t the best time to get a pet. She’d gotten the call the day she’d picked it up. She hadn’t had an assignment in two weeks and she was aimlessly traveling, following the cooler weather north. She was in the Utah high country when she stopped to rest, having driven five hours without a break. As she’d walked around stretching her legs, she saw the black ball of fur. It darted under a thick spruce, warily watching her. She didn’t know why she was intrigued by it. Maybe subconsciously she was tired of traveling alone. Or maybe it was the frightened, lost look in its eyes that drew her. Regardless, she squatted down, talking softly to it, hoping to entice it out from under the brush. The kitten was just curious enough, or hungry enough, to come out to inspect her. She snatched it up, fighting tiny claws that hurt like hell as she held it tight against her chest.

  She looked at her hand now, the deepest scratch healing nicely. The others were practically gone. “And you’re such a smart little girl, learning how to use the litter box,” she said. Talk about lost. That was her as she walked into the pet store. Her mistake was telling the sales clerk she had her very first kitten. A hundred bucks later, she had every toy and necessity any kitten could want.

  “And I don’t even know if I’m going to keep you.”

  Oh, who was she kidding? In three short days the little kitten was already a fixture. Especially at night. Cameron couldn’t believe how attached she’d gotten as the kitten curled up close to her head both nights, purring profusely until she fell asleep.

  Her phone rang and she touched the large screen on the dash, answering.

  “Ross,” she said, her voice hard and professional, so different than how she spoke to the kitten.

  “Please hold for Special Agent Murdock.”

  “Yes.” She waited only a few seconds.

  “Ross? Where are you?”

  “En route. What’s up?”

  “I e-mailed you the file. I also was able to get profiles of the deputies there. Only one has extensive training and experience. The others are pretty much local boys with limited skills. If you want me to get a team in there, I can.”

  “Let me check them out first. I’m not the one hunting the killer. I’m the one trying to establish a drop pattern, right?”

  “Right. I’ve got a team in Phoenix. Agent Collie is heading that up.”

  “Collie? Jesus, Murdock, he’s an arrogant ass. A goddamn jerk.”

  “Then you should get along with him fine.”

  “I won’t get along with him fine. I should have shot him the last time we worked together.”

  “It’s not him I’m worried about. Please don’t shoot one of the locals.”

  “That happened one time, Murdock. One time. How long are you going to keep bringing that up?”

  “I’m just saying.”

  She sighed. “I’ll try not to shoot the locals. As long as they don’t piss me off,” she added, getting a laugh out of Special Agent Murdock.

  “Okay. Do you have a place lined up to park tonight? Do I need to make some calls?”

  “I found what I needed online.”

  “You’re surely not parking that rig in a public campground, are you?”

  “Why? Worried about your investment?”

  “Hell, yeah. That thing cost twice as much as my house.”

  “This rig has so much security, no one could break in. But I contacted the ranger at the Coconino National Forest. He put me in touch with one of the guys at a state park right outside of Sedona. Red Rocks. He says he’s got a spot I can park her, away from the public.”

  “Okay. Well, as always, let me know if you need anything. And please be in touch with Collie. He’ll have the most current data on the case.”

  “I don’t know if I can contain my excitement. I’ll call him as soon as I get there.”

  “Read the file first, Cameron. It took me hours to compile all that.”

  “Right. You mean it took Joanne hours.”

  She touched the screen, disconnecting the call. Murdock was really the only one she’d call a friend. He was technically her boss. Technically. They both knew that was an ambiguous title. If she didn’t like something, she didn’t do it. She could walk away at any time. The FBI needed her much more than she needed them. However, the military had invested too much training her to just let her walk away into the sunset. She grudgingly accepted the FBI assignment in the first place but found she was good at it. Her problem was playing nice with others, or so she was told. This latest assignment—manning the rig—suited her. She liked the solitude. She liked working alone. And maybe if this experiment paid off, after a few years she could come off the road and train other agents. Or, she could do as she envisioned years ago—walk away into the sunset.

  She glanced at the kitten who was fast asleep. Or at least pretending to sleep. “Wonder how you’re going to like the desert.” The kitten opened one eye, then promptly closed it again.

  Cameron drove on as Clair, the onboard navigation system, told her she was a little over two hours away. She’d gotten an early start that morning so she should have plenty of time to set the rig up and read over the file before contacting the sheriff’s department. She reached across the console and control panels to the large captain’s chair that was the passenger seat, rubbing the kitten’s ear affectionately. Maybe it was good she had a pet. She had become far too friendly with Clair, often making inquiries just to hear the computer’s voice. At least she hadn’t started conversing with Clair. Not much, anyway.

  “No. That’s what you’re for,” she told the cat.

  “Are you sure you don’t need some help with that, ma’am.”

  Cameron glared at him. “It’s Agent Ross, and no, I don’t need any help.” She’d already unhitched the truck she pulled behind the rig. All she had to do was level it out—which required a push of a button—and put the four slides out, another push of a button.

  “I suppose something that big has a generator onboard. There’s no power out here. We don’t have campsites, but I could rig up something for you, I suppose,” he offered.

  “I have solar panels,” she said, pointing to the roof, “and a backup generator. I should be fine.”

  “What about water?”

  “My tanks are full. Look, Mr. Winfield, the FBI appreciates you cooperating, but I need to get to work.” She held out her hand. “So if you don’t mind,” she said, squeezing his tightly in a handshake, “you need to leave.”

  “Of course. I suppose you’re here because of those young women they found. Sheriff Baker said—”

  “I can’t really discuss it,” she said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  “Well, I’ll be sure to swing by here a couple times a day, make sure everything’s fine. I’m going to put that PARK PERSONNEL ONLY sign down there at the road. That should keep any civilians from coming down here to take a look.”

  “I’d appreciate that. Goodbye now.”

  “You let me know if you need anything.”

  “I will. Goodbye.”

  She lost what little patience she had when she went inside and practically slammed the door in his face.

  “Everybody’s nosy,” she told the cat, who was waiting by her food bowl on the floor—tiny, pitiful meows ensuing. “Didn’t take you long to learn how to beg, did it?” She dished out a little of the kitten food she’d bought, then paused to rub the tiny ears on the cat before going to her office.

  She unlocked the sliding doors, revealing a small, cramped room with her computers and electronic equipment. She’d gone a little overboard when designing this, but she’d been given carte blanche on the cost. The FBI was footing the bill on this mobile crime fighting vehicle so she thought she’d at least fix it up how she wanted. It was a fully functioning office, with Internet and satellite, thanks to the gadge
ts on the roof. The rig itself was totally self-contained, the solar panels her idea. The main reason for the vehicle was to have a working office even in remote areas such as this. Their agreement was for her to use it for one year, then they’d reevaluate the cost and effectiveness of the rig. It had been five and a half months and she’d had eight assignments. This made number nine.

  Instead of sitting down at the stationary computer, she picked up the small laptop and went to the sofa, stretching her legs out as she sorted through her e-mail. She opened the file from Murdock, skimming over the details of the murdered women—she’d already read a preliminary report on them—and reading more thoroughly the profiles of the sheriff’s deputies who would assist her. Six men and one woman. The woman was the only one with experience, having worked in LA for twelve years. There was a side note from Murdock on her.

  Questionable departure from LA. Didn’t have time to dig that up but I can if you need it. Let me know.

  “Shouldn’t matter,” she murmured. Actually, she wasn’t certain how much she’d even need them. Her assignment was to develop a drop pattern. She had at her disposal various algorithms where she could plug in data and hopefully get accurate results. The hard part was finding what data to plug in.

  “Okay, time to meet the troops,” she said, going into her bedroom and kicking off her comfortable driving shoes to exchange them for the more sturdy boots. She didn’t bother changing out of her jeans or T-shirt. Murdock had given up on her professional FBI attire years ago. The last time they’d tried to put her in a damn business suit she’d threatened to retire. She had a reputation with the others as being a recluse and extremely hard to get along with and a whole lot inflexible. Most were probably glad she’d gotten this assignment of solitary travel. She wasn’t really a recluse. She just didn’t like most people and found it annoying to pretend she did. And she certainly didn’t think she was hard to get along with. She wanted things done a certain way—her way—and she wanted them done on her time schedule. That didn’t make her hard to get along with. She’d give them the inflexible part. She didn’t like to compromise. Maybe it came from being on her own so much as a child.

  Or maybe it was because she was usually always right, she mused with a smile.

  She grabbed her phone, deciding to call Agent Collie while she drove. No sense wasting time talking to him here. Driving would at least distract her from the aggravating tone that usually encompassed their phone conversations.

  “Be back later. Don’t get into any trouble.”

  She paused, smiling at the cat who had resumed its spot on the sofa. Then she took a deep breath, wiping the smile from her face. Time to turn into Cameron Ross, irritating FBI agent.

  She locked the door, then using the remote, activated the security system and outside motion-sensitive cameras. There were no loud, obnoxious alarms should someone breach the perimeter. No, it was just her voice. Clear, distinct—warning that they would have ten seconds to back away.

  And then the sound of a shotgun snapping a shell into the barrel.

  She didn’t worry that the warning wouldn’t be heeded. If it wasn’t, the low-voltage electric shock they would get upon touching the rig would do the trick. That was the real security. The shotgun warning was just for her amusement.

  Chapter Seven

  “I’m on my way to the sheriff’s department now,” she said. “I wanted to see if you had anything of note.”

  “I just got back from Tucson, Ross. The last victim, Angela Myers, was apparently killed in her apartment. Preliminary, of course, but I’m convinced it’s the scene. A hell of a lot of blood.”

  “The first two victims, you haven’t found the crime scene yet?”

  “Nothing. I’m wondering if maybe he didn’t kill them out in the desert.”

  “The sheriff here claims this was a dumping ground only, per Murdock’s report.”

  “Yeah, Ross. Since when do you believe a small-town county sheriff?”

  “Since I haven’t talked to him yet or visited the dump sites, I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.”

  “Well, be careful with that group. I think they might be a bit gung-ho. One of their deputies worked up a scenario—Sullivan—linking this guy to unsolved murders going back ten years.” He laughed. “Yeah, right, as if the FBI can’t find patterns in their own database, they need some local deputy to find them. Unbelievable.”

  “Sullivan’s the only one with experience. She spent most of her career in LA. Why don’t you send me the file and I’ll take a look.”

  “I already read through it, Ross. It’s garbage. Ten years? Come on.”

  Cameron gritted her teeth, trying to play nice. “I’d still like to read it, Collie. If you don’t mind,” she added.

  “Waste of time, Ross. Why don’t you concentrate on the dump sites and let my team work on identifying the killer.” He paused. “I think that’s your assignment, isn’t it?”

  “Don’t even think about dictating to me what my assignment is. Christ, Collie, I should have shot you when I had the chance.” She disconnected without another word, hating that he could push her buttons so easily.

  “Fucker. Asshole.”

  Goddamn jerk.

  Talk about a waste of time. Minutes spent talking to him ranked right up there. She took several deep breaths, letting her anger subside. She really needed to do something about her relationship with Collie. He enjoyed pissing her off, and she let him, playing right into his hands. Fucker.

  She checked the GPS, following its direction to the sheriff’s department. Sedona, while a somewhat sprawling town, was larger than she’d first thought. A quick check told her the population was about twelve thousand people and had become quite a tourist destination. Hardly the remote wilderness Murdock had indicated. The town was in a valley, surrounded by the beautiful and wild red rocks that made it famous. She’d had little chance to familiarize herself with the area, other than a quick browse through a few websites. She planned on doing more thorough research tonight.

  The cream-colored adobe building that housed the sheriff’s department sat on a corner on the outskirts of town. She counted a car, two trucks, a newer SUV and an old beat-to-hell yellow Jeep, all with sheriff’s department insignia plastered to the sides. She pulled her truck into a visitor’s spot, next to the lone handicapped parking slot. Shoving her sunglasses on top of her head, she got out and strode purposefully to the door, opening it without hesitation.

  An older lady whom she assumed to be a receptionist smiled at her. Cameron ignored her, going instead to the attractive woman sitting behind a very cluttered desk. She looked uncomfortable in her pressed uniform, the beige sandy color zapping the life from her face. Her hair was dark—brown, not black—cut in a shaggy sort of way that nearly begged for someone to brush it away from her face.

  Cameron couldn’t help herself. She bent down, meeting the woman’s eyes, a lighter shade of brown than her hair. She flashed what she hoped was a charming smile, shamelessly flirting.

  “Andrea Sullivan, I’m hoping,” she said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I said I hope you’re Andrea Sullivan.” Cameron held out her hand. “It would be a pleasure to have someone as lovely as you show me around town, maybe take me to dinner tonight,” she said with a wink.

  Brown eyes narrowed as they ignored her outstretched hand. “Who the hell are you?”

  She straightened. “Cameron Ross. Pleased to meet you.” Her statement was met with a blank stare. “Oh, yeah. Here,” she said, pulling the leather case from her back pocket. “This might help.” She held up her FBI credentials. “I always forget that part of it.”

  The brown eyes looked her over, head to toe. “You’re FBI?”

  “Yep. Agent Ross. You can call me Cameron,” she said, still smiling.

  A fake smile flashed. “Agent Ross, how can I help you?”

  “I thought we covered that already. Show me around. Dinner.” She shrugged. “Are you free this
evening? I would love to get together.”

  The woman stood. “I am most definitely not free this evening. I believe Sheriff Baker is who you want to see.”

  Cameron followed her down a very short hallway, but it was long enough for an uninterrupted stare at a very nice backside. Pity she had a case. This woman would definitely be worth a chase.

  “Sheriff Baker? The FBI agent is here.”

  Cameron paused at the door, turning back to Andrea Sullivan. She couldn’t resist. “I’ll bet you a hundred bucks we have dinner tonight,” she said quietly, hoping Baker couldn’t hear.

  This time she got a genuine smile. “I’ll be happy to take your money, Agent Ross. You can pay me in the morning because I will not have dinner with you tonight.”

  Cameron had to use all of her professional decorum not to tell her exactly how she’d pay her in the morning. She gave a slight nod, then walked into Sheriff Baker’s office, shutting the door behind her. He was older than she’d hoped he would be. Collie was right on that account. He was an old-timer. A tall, slight man with graying hair and a bushy mustache—he stood quickly, offering her a firm handshake.

  “I’m Jim Baker,” he said. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Cameron Ross,” she said, following his lead of omitting the tiresome titles most law enforcement personnel insisted on using. Perhaps if she ranked as a Special Agent, she might be more inclined to use it.

  “I’ve worked with the FBI a handful of times in my career. Most times I’ve felt like they just want me to get the hell out of the way.”

  “Well, actually, it’s just me so I’ll probably need all the help I can get.”

  “I talked to a Murdock, I believe his name was. He said he had an agent working out of Phoenix too,” he said, sticking a toothpick in his mouth. “Andi has been in touch with him.”

  “Agent Collie. He’s working on trying to pinpoint the murder scenes, talk to whoever saw the women last. That angle. I’m here to try to find some sort of pattern in the dump sites.” She paused, not wanting to offend him right off the bat. “I read your report. You’re certain none of the dump sites could have also been the murder scene?”