Macy Follows the Bread Crumbs

One way or another, she’d meet Faith McIntyre. But for now, the Hill Country and East Austin addresses waited. She typed in the rural address, and when it loaded, she took a right onto the road and drove past a lone strip mall and scattered homes before the turnoff to Blanco, Texas, appeared.

The moonlight was bright enough to illuminate sparse brown land covered with scrub trees and bushes. But the land and her surroundings barely registered as her mind spiraled around the idea that she might have a sister. Did Faith McIntyre know about her? One way or another, they would have questions for each other.

Which led to renewed questions about her birth mother, who had always been shrouded in we-don’t-knows and mumbled comments about a closed adoption. If her mother or Jack really knew who she was, they’d never said, regardless of how often she’d pressed.

Her headlights cut into the deepening darkness. Hoping to settle her racing mind, she switched on the radio and found a country western station . . . she always felt at home when she heard country music. She cranked it, hoping the melody would drown out her thoughts.

The Maps app on Jack’s phone reminded her of an upcoming turn, snapping her back to the present. She slowed as she searched the road for a sign. There wasn’t one, and she was halfway past a small rusted mailbox when she realized she’d found her turn. She backed up and took the left, grimacing as the dry brown dust kicked up around her car.

Ahead, her headlights sliced over a brick house that faced east. The windows were boarded up, and the roof looked like it had taken a beating in a recent storm. It had a low porch that ran across the entire front and a single rocker that stood eerily still.

She stopped. As the engine idled, she studied the house bathed in moonlight. Out here unexpected guests could just as easily be met with the barrel of a shotgun as a welcome . . . a lesson she’d learned in the Colorado mountains her first year on the job. She’d been searching for several missing girls. The woman on the other end of the gun had demanded her name as her gnarled finger twitched above the trigger. Macy had grabbed the gun and twisted it out of her hands, but her supervisor had reamed her out for ending up in the tight spot.

After a few minutes and still no signs of life, she shut off her truck’s engine, checked the gun holstered on her hip, and got out of the car. The day’s blazing heat still hadn’t dissipated.

Sweat beaded on her back almost as soon as she started walking toward the house. A rusted wind vane squeaked softly as her gaze swept the entire area a second time.

Climbing the front steps, she noticed the shades were drawn. There were also footprints in the dust scattered on the porch. “Was that you, Jack?”

She stood to the right of the door. Hand tightening on the grip of her weapon, she knocked on the front door and waited. Being out here alone at night wasn’t the smartest maneuver and something she’d never dare if this wasn’t so damn personal. A round object caught her peripheral vision, and she looked up to find a small camera covering the front porch.

The house remained silent, with no response to a second knock. She descended the stairs and walked around the back. Moonlight glittered on an old set of patio furniture. Windows facing the back of the barren property were also covered in shades.

She then walked to the back of the property. Dust coated her ankle boots and the hems of her jeans.

Other than the footprints on the porch, it looked as if no one had been out here in years.

Her gaze was then drawn to a row of three large rocks, arranged in a perfectly straight line. That kind of symmetry didn’t happen in nature, and for some reason, the hair on the back of her neck rose. She realized what she was looking at. Grave markers.

As she unholstered her weapon, she moved slowly toward the stones and saw a set of large footprints that circled the first stone several times. The footprints trailed to the second stone and the third. She knelt by the first and placed her hand on the sunbaked rock. The stones had no markings, but they were spaced almost exactly five feet apart.

Jack had hidden this phone in a compartment beneath the carpet for a damn good reason. Using the Maps app was way out of his wheelhouse. “Pop, the phone tells me you were out here, but it doesn’t tell me why.”

She scrolled to the next address. East Austin. She was convinced her old man had left her a trail of bread crumbs, and in her entire career, she’d never been afraid to chase a lead. But this time, she truly feared what she’d find.

 Copyright © Mary Burton 2018

Coming Soon

Sunday, August 15, 2004; 11:42 p.m.

It was a hot, muggy night when I stumbled up to the front door of the Riverside Drive house. I was fairly new to the area and still easily turned around. It was nearly midnight, and the residents of this affluent neighborhood weren’t accustomed to drunken late-night visitors. I’d lost track of time and to this day don’t know how I made it up the hill from the river to the Hudson residence.

Dispatcher: “911. What’s your emergency?”

Caller: “My name is Jack Hudson. I live on Riverside Drive. There’s a young woman on my front porch. She’s banging on the door and begging for help.”

Dispatcher: “Have you spoken to her?”

Caller: “Just for a second. She appears drunk. She’s incoherent. Hysterical . . . Oh, shit! She just threw up in the flower bed.”

Dispatcher: “Do you know why she’s upset?”

Caller: “She claims she and her friend were attacked on Riverside Drive. Her friend was then kidnapped.”

Dispatcher: “Did you ask the woman her name?”

Caller: “Her name is Kaitlin. I didn’t catch her last name. She lives down the street with the Mason family. They have a daughter, Gina.”

Dispatcher: “I’ve dispatched officers. What is the woman doing?”

Caller: “She’s pacing in my driveway.”

Dispatcher: “Is she bleeding or hurt in any way?”

Caller: “I can’t tell. Let me flip on the porch lights.” Feet shuffle. A switch clicks. “She has blood on her arms. Jesus, she looks insane.”

“Burton’s latest romantic thriller takes inspiration from the true crime podcast sensation…the narrative, which shifts from collected interviews regarding a fourteen-year-old murder and the current day murder spree it inspires, moves quickly and provides the reader with plenty of intriguing connections and building suspense…there is a good deal to enjoy here, particularly the richness of the two protagonists and their developing relationship.”
RT Book Reviews

“The writing is sharp and crisp. The characters are flawed, scarred and tenacious…Burton has written a highly entertaining, intricately woven mystery with a touch of romance that is satisfying, enthralling, and doesn’t disappoint.”
What’s Better Than Books?

“A gritty thriller that will stick with readers long after they close the book…readers will not want to put the book down.”
Book Him Danno

Walking with Dr. Hayden was an elderly woman. Dr. Hayden smiled as she pointed down the terminal, leaning in to explain something until the woman nodded and walked off. The doctor quickly dropped her gaze to her phone and scrolled through what must have been emails that had accumulated during the flight.

When she looked up, her gaze searched and settled on him. She crossed to him as if they’d already met. “Detective Mazur.”

“I look that much like a cop?”

She barely blinked. “You do.”

If not for the suit, he’d never have nailed her as a Fed. She looked younger than her thirty-plus years, and picturing her small frame chasing a bad guy almost made him smile. “You need to make any stops before we hit the road?”

“No. Thank you. I assume the autopsy is still scheduled for this morning.”

“It is.” He checked his watch. “They’re waiting on us, so when we can get there, they’ll start. The victim was well known in the local business community. She had many friends on the city council and in state government.” He reached for the handle of the suitcase. “I can take that for you.”

“You don’t have to.”

Jesus, he hoped she was not one of those hard-assed feminists. “This is Texas.”

“You’re from Chicago.”

“Accent gave it away?”

“Yes.”

“When in Rome.” That seemed explanation enough for her, and she allowed him to take the suitcase. He guided her through the busy airport and toward ground transportation and the parking deck. The November sun was already high in the sky, and the weatherman was promising another warm day.

“Different than Virginia, I imagine.”

“I haven’t been home in six weeks. Utah was my last stop. But I understand the leaves are changing in Virginia.”

The hints of warmth he’d seen as she spoke to the old woman were gone. The pleasantry was spoken almost as an afterthought, as if she’d memorized the phrases from an FBI handbook on conversation. Her small stature belied her stiff tone. And if he wasn’t off the mark on his action heroes, she also wore a Wonder Woman bracelet.

But warm and fuzzy wasn’t what he was looking for just now. He needed this case solved.

©Mary Burton 2017

“Will do.”

He followed the pair to the stairs, and when Dr. McGowan moved to heft her end of the stretcher, he nudged her aside and took the weight. It was unwieldy more than heavy and slow going up the stairs. It took maneuvering to get the stretcher around the tight kitchen door corner. When they cleared it, he and the assistant carried the gurney out to the sidewalk.

“Thanks,” Dr. McGowan said. “I’ll never say no to a bit of brawn.”

“How well do you know Agent Vargas?”

Since Novak and Julia had started sleeping together, he had resisted the idea of learning more about Julia Vargas. He respected her privacy and halfheartedly believed she would eventually open up to him about herself. Now, asking about her didn’t feel as intrusive. She was part of his case, so it was business. And when it came to a case, all bets were off.

“She’s worked with my husband, Agent Sharp, on a couple of cases. She’s new to the criminal investigations unit. She’s dedicated. Did a couple of years’ worth of undercover work near Virginia Beach. We’ve been out for drinks once, so I can’t say I know her well.”

“Does she ever say much about herself?”

Dr. McGowan cocked her head. “If you want to ask her out, then do it.”

“It’s not like that. We found evidence connecting her to this body.”

“This body? She would have been a kid when the woman died.”

“I know.”

“What did you find?”
“A picture of her with her father in the victim’s wallet.”

Dr. McGowan brushed a strand of hair from her eyes. “Did you ask her?”

“I did. She didn’t recognize the woman’s name or face.” And if she had, he wasn’t sure she’d have told him. She guarded her thoughts closely. “I thought you might know about her family.”

“Like I said, we went out the one time, but she never mentioned her family.”

“What’s she like in general?”

“When it comes to a case, Julia’s a straight shooter. She’ll tell you what she thinks. If she says she didn’t know the victim’s name, she didn’t know.”

“I’m not questioning her integrity. Have you heard about her father?”

“She doesn’t talk about family, but I know he was a cop. I was at the awards dinner when she went to pick up his award.”

“I was there as well. She didn’t stay long.”

“Can’t be easy. Not everyone was happy that Jim Vargas received recognition.”

“Burton’s latest will have readers enthralled from the start . . . strong, credible and vulnerable characters . . . with a solid plot, heightened tension, steady pacing and a cleverly written villain, Burton’s expertise at crafting suspense shines bright in this novel.”
RT Book Reviews

The Medical Examiner Arrives at the Site of a Killing

Julia Vargas approached Dr. Kincaid and Tessa. They listened to the agent give her report on the body before moving toward the crime scene tape. When they ducked under it, he followed.

Dr. Kincaid extended her hand to Martin Thompson and smiled as she introduced Tessa. “Dr. McGowan is a forensic pathologist. You’ll be seeing more of her.”

Martin shook her hand and only tossed a quick questioning glance at Sharp. “Welcome.”

If Tessa read Martin’s questioning gaze, she gave no sign of it. “Thanks.”

The older man’s normally banal expression actually softened, and he held her hand an extra beat. “Glad to have you on the team.”

“Good to be on it,” Tessa said.

Sharp caught a couple of young officers looking at Tessa. Their gazes weren’t curious, but lewd. They didn’t realize Tessa was his wife. A primitive impulse demanded he punch each guy in the face.

“Who found the body, Agent Vargas?” Tessa asked.

“An early-morning jogger. He said he didn’t touch her. Thought she might have been a mannequin at first. He called the cops right away, and we had a first responder here within five minutes to secure the scene.”

“May I touch the body, Martin?” Dr. Kincaid asked.

“Yes. I’ve collected every bit of evidence I can find, so the body is ready to remove,” Martin said.

Dr. Kincaid knelt and with a gloved hand touched the victim’s face, circling her finger around the red circle, a cartoon version of a blushing cheek.

“It’s a tattoo,” she said, hints of surprise in her tone. “And judging by its color and skin texture, it’s recent. I’d say she only finished healing days ago.”

“Have either of you ever seen anyone with this kind of tattooing?” Julia asked.

“I’ve seen facial tattoos within the gangs,” Dr. Kincaid said.

“Some of the cultures in Asia tattoo the females’ faces, but that’s dying out,” Tessa said.

“I’ve seen women who’ve had permanent makeup applied to their faces. Eyeliner, blush, even lip color,” Dr. Kincaid said. “Even had a woman on my table who had her boyfriend’s name inked on her forehead. But a doll face is a new one.”

“It’s fine workmanship,” Tessa said. Her expression telegraphed a mixture of fascination and sadness.

Tessa pushed up the sleeve of the oversize doll dress. “The white stippling tattoo work that’s on her face also extends from her fingertips to her wrists. Her eyes are expertly lined in a dark ink, and very precise freckles dot her cheeks.” She touched the victim’s mouth. “The red heart-shape tattoo here redefines the shape of her lips.”

“She’d have to be out cold, otherwise the work couldn’t have been done to her face,” Vargas said.

“The injection site isn’t infected, and there’s no bruising, suggesting whoever inserted a needle in her arm knew what they were doing,” Tessa said.

Sharp folded his arms, trying to envision the woman before this work was done, but he couldn’t see past the ink.

Tessa pulled the sleeve back over the victim’s arm. “Look at the detail around her eyes,” she said. “It’s hard enough to do with pen and ink, let alone with a tattoo needle.”

“Only a monster would do this to an unwilling woman,” Vargas said.

“I didn’t say the person who did this was sane,” Tessa said. “I was simply commenting on the skill.”

He watched as Tessa absently rested her hand on the victim’s arm as if assuring her it would be okay, and she was now in good hands. He suspected if he weren’t standing there, Tessa would have spoken to the victim, issuing words of reassurance.

He cleared his throat. “Dr. Kincaid, do you have any idea how she died?”

Dr. Kincaid checked the victim’s neck for signs of strangulation and tipped her body forward to look at her back. “Dr. McGowan, what’s your opinion?”

Frowning, Tessa studied the body. “There are no signs of trauma on the body. We’ll have to check her blood levels for signs of asphyxiation and drug overdose.”

“Why the frown, Dr. McGowan?” Vargas asked.

“Her shoulder blades and the back of her hands are discolored.”

“What does that suggest, Dr. McGowan?” Dr. Kincaid asked.

“After her heart stopped pumping, the blood settled in the lowest part of her body, which was her back.” She rolled down the knee socks and inspected the back of the victim’s calves. They were also bruised. “If she’d died here, her shoulder blades would not be discolored.”

“Correct,” Dr. Kincaid said.

“On her back,” Vargas said, shifting as if uncomfortable with the idea. “I don’t want to think what that suggests.”

“We’ll determine if there was sexual activity,” Dr. Kincaid said. “Though I might not be able to determine if it were pre- or postmortem.”

“Jesus,” Vargas muttered.

Dr. Kincaid ran her hands over the dead woman’s arm. “The skin is smooth, and there are no signs of hair on her arms or legs. She’s been waxed recently.”

“Do you think it’s murder?” Tessa asked.

“She didn’t die here,” Dr. Kincaid said. “But that doesn’t mean she was murdered. She could have overdosed.”

“The second party panicked,” Vargas said. “She could have been into some kind of weird shit, and it went sideways. Whoever she was partying with dumped her here.”

“She wasn’t dumped,” Sharp said. “She was carefully posed.”

“A final sign of respect?” Vargas asked.

Sharp shook his head. “Or a final statement from the killer. Right now, I don’t know. We’ll let the evidence lead us.”

“How long would it take to tattoo her face and arms?” Vargas asked.

“I can’t speak to how long the tattoo work took,” Dr. Kincaid said. “There are no signs that infection ever set in. That means the wounds would have to be washed, there would have been extensive bandaging of her face and arms, and the dressings would have to have been changed daily to avoid infection.”

“We’re looking for someone who could have gone missing a month ago?” Sharp asked.

“I’d say so,” Dr. Kincaid said.

“Thanks.”

Tessa studied the back hem of the victim’s doll dress. “This appears to be a bloodstain,” she said.

Martin nodded. “I saw that. Don’t know if it’s her blood, but it’s marked for DNA testing.”

Needing a moment, Sharp turned from the scene and walked back to his car. He dug his cigarettes out of his pocket as reached for the door handle. But as he shook loose a cigarette from the pack, he felt Tessa’s gaze on him. He let the packet fall back in his pocket. “What is it, Tessa?”

For a moment she didn’t speak, and then in a voice that was both tender and harsh, “You’re thinking about Kara.”

He flinched at the sound of his sister’s name. Their last big fight was over Kara. He’d been so angry when she’d tried to talk to him about letting his sister go. He’d blown up at her, dumping all his anger for his lost sister on her. Tessa had absorbed his pain to a point, and then she’d gotten angry. Two days later she was on a plane to Southeast Asia.

“So you’re psychic now?” he asked.

“I don’t need to read your mind.” An edge honed the words, telling him she would not tolerate his temper. “I know you. She’s never far away when you’re investigating a case.”

Copyright ©Mary Burton 2016

“​Perfect for fans of romantic suspense . . . well- developed characters . . . a real treat . . . now I have to go read The Shark.”​
Fresh Fiction

“Ms. Burton writes suspenseful novels and this is one of her best so far. She makes you wonder how she can imagine a monster so well . . . once you start reading her novels, you don’t stop . . . her stories are smoothly done, the horror is real, and the danger gives you chills . . . exciting and an excellent read.”
Long and Short Reviews

“I love Mary Burton’s books . . . [they] keep you on the edge of your seat.”
As the Page Turns

“A great suspense thriller . . . interconnecting stories that come out of nowhere and add to the tension and suspense . . . excellent . . . will keep you guessing . . . the murders are gruesome and may give you the chills.”
Babbling About Books

“Twisty, suspenseful, creepy, and intriguing . . . Burton spins out the story, slowly revealing facets of the characters and the mystery . . . the killer was devious and patient and frightening . . . the final reveal took me by surprise . . . will keep you awake at night.”
Bea’s Book Nook

“Well- developed characters. Tessa and Dakota’s struggle with their marriage and working relationship felt real . . . [I] recommend it.”
All About Romance

“Another great read from Mary Burton, lots of twists and turns and action all throughout as the characters chase down the killer. “
Carries Book Reviews

“I probably should have seen the killer’s identity coming but I did not . . .  can’t wait to read the third book.”
Cheryl’s Book Nook

“I easily became invested in the story . . . I loved the inclusion of the autopsies and the work that is second nature to me . . . Good pacing and intriguing characters . . . Mary Burton kept me on toes as the plot thickened . . .perfect for readers of this genre and even fans of detective shows like Law & Order.”
A Belle’s Tales

“Gripping, riveting and captivating . . . a perfect balance of intriguing suspense . . .  enthralling romance between a husband and wife fighting for a new chance . . . the identity of the culprit stays well hidden, the motives even better . . . masterfully crafted  . . . a perfectly balanced romantic suspense story.”
Books & Spoons

“Creepy, menacing, and highly suspenseful! . . . The characters are multi-layered, convincing, and determined . . . fast-paced, engaging, mysterious . . . full of good twists, deviousness, and a little romance . . .  definitely worth a read.”
What’s Better Than Books

“I loved this book . . . Burton kept me guessing . . .  her twist and turns were exceptional in this book.”
Sarah’s Cozy Book Nook

“Eerily bone-chilling story!  With her latest book in The Forgotten Files series, Mary Burton takes us on a riveting delve into a psychopath’s mind as investigators try to put the puzzle pieces together in time to stop him from killing again!”
Thoughts of a Blonde

“Chilling . . . I highly recommend this book . . . a well written romantic suspense that will send shivers down your spine.”
Shaiha’s Ramblings

“Intriguing, captivating and suspenseful . . . I couldn’t put this book down and I can’t wait to read the next in the series . . .will keep reader reading and wanting more.”
Book Him Dano

“Eerily bone-chilling story!  With her latest book in The Forgotten Files series, Mary Burton takes us on a riveting delve into a psychopath’s mind as investigators try to put the puzzle pieces together in time to stop him from killing again!”
Thoughts from a Blonde