Elusive Identities Read online

  Elusive Identities

  The Cowboy Justice Association: Serials and Stalkers

  Olivia Jaymes

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  About the Author

  1

  Chris Marks eased into one of the leather chairs that surrounded the conference room table, setting his coffee in front of him along with the paper and pen he'd brought to take notes. It was his first day at a new job. He was nervous; he would readily admit to that, although it might not be the manliest of confessions. He wasn't sweating through his brand-new shirt nervous, but his heart was beating faster than normal and the bagel he'd eaten on the way to the office wasn't sitting well in his stomach.

  He wanted to do well. He wanted to impress. After all, he had a hell of a lot to live up to. His father, Sheriff Tanner Marks of Springwood, Montana was practically a legend. Even at the height of his father's alcohol issues, he'd been one of the best lawmen around. Now that Tanner Marks was sober - and had been for many years - he might just be the best. Period.

  Running a close second and third to his dad were the two men sitting at the head of the table - Logan Wright and Reed Mitchell. They were former small town sheriffs themselves but now worked for Jason Anderson's law enforcement consulting firm. So many small towns didn't have the manpower or experience to deal with crimes such as stalking and serial killers. That's where this group came in. A town could hire them to help with a case and get it solved without having to hire permanent staff that wanted things like medical insurance and vacation days.

  Jason's firm had recently moved into a new office just outside of Seattle and the smell of fresh paint and sawdust still permeated the air. The table and chairs were obviously brand-new and the carpet didn't have any coffee or mud stains. It probably wouldn't stay that way for long, however.

  In addition to himself, Reed, and Logan there were two other men sitting at the table. Chris knew a little bit about each of them from his conversations with Reed. One was named Luke Brewster and the other Ryan Beck but he didn't know which was which. Both men looked about his age and they didn't look nervous at all.

  The door to the conference room swung open and another man strode in, slapping his coffee cup on the table and sitting across from Chris.

  Christ on a unicycle. Knox Owens.

  Knox had taken the sheriff's job when Jared Monroe had moved on to work with Logan and Jason. Chris had been a deputy for Knox for about a year and they'd butted heads constantly until the day Chris walked out. He didn't get time to glower at his former boss, however, because Logan began to speak.

  "Looks like everyone is here so we're going to get started. As you were informed in the interview process this is a tryout, so to speak. There are four of you and two positions to be filled. We're planning to take the two best performers, so this is a sort of competition. But...we're looking for people that can work together and mesh into a team. There are no lone wolves here and we're not looking to hire any."

  Work with Knox? Fuck no.

  His expression must have told the story because Reed was staring directly at Chris, his brows raised in question. Shit.

  Logan was still speaking and Chris had missed some of it. "Each one of you is going to receive a cold case to work on but you'll also be helping the other team members with theirs. While we hope that some of these cases can be closed that's not going to be the final criteria. We want to see the steps you take, what your ideas are, and how you work together and have each other's backs. Any questions?"

  Everyone was quiet.

  "Great. Chris, you're meeting with me in my office. Knox, you're with Reed. Brew, you're with Jason, and Ryan, you're with Jared. Good luck."

  Chris was going to need all the luck he could get. This was a huge opportunity and he didn't want to screw it up.

  He wouldn't let Knox Owens get to him. He'd just act like the guy didn't exist.

  The cold case that had been chosen for Chris was a murder from thirty years ago. The victim - a female - had never been identified. Her hands had been removed and by the time they'd found the body it had been badly decomposed.

  Chris flipped through the grisly photos from the crime scene. "They were never able to identify her? Not even a possible list of missing persons?"

  Logan shook his head, sitting back in his leather chair. "It was 1989 and they didn't have the tools that we have now. Without fingerprints all they could do was ask the public for help so they set up a hotline. They got some leads but nothing panned out. The state, local, and federal databases weren't linked together the way they are now, either. I'm hoping that if we can't find her killer that we can at least find her identity and bring some peace to a family out there."

  "There's not much to go on here." Chris perused the autopsy report. "Age eighteen to forty. Cause of death is believed to be blunt force trauma to the skull. Body found in a scrub of trees by the highway about thirty miles south of Seattle."

  "Turn to the last page," Logan suggested. "A new development."

  A rendering of a young woman with long dark hair. Petite features. Full lips. Big eyes. Pretty.

  "It's a forensic reconstruction," Logan explained. "Technology has come a long way since 1989 and I hope we can use some of it to finally give this woman a name."

  "This is what they think she looked like?"

  In his classes, Chris had seen how the facial reconstruction was put together. It took an expert to do work like this.

  "Yes, right down to what she was wearing that day. Her clothes were found at the dump site."

  If her identity could be found, Chris would do whatever he could to make that happen. Logan was right, somewhere out there a family was in limbo and grieving. They needed closure.

  He couldn't wait to get going.

  "Where do you want me to start?"

  Logan chuckled and grinned. "That's not for me to say, Chris. That's your call."

  "That's very...trusting."

  "We're hoping that you have what it takes to be a part of this elite team. Of course, worst case scenario, you don't make it and you end up working the regular cases. But frankly, Chris, If I thought you couldn't do this, you wouldn't be here. "

  Because of what I've accomplished or because of my dad?

  Chris didn't ask the question out loud. He wasn't too damn sure he wanted the answer.

  "I have a few ideas about the case," he said instead. He was filled with excitement and adrenaline. This was his chance to make a difference and show what he was capable of. "I'll get right on it."

  Logan stood so Chris did as well. "I had a feeling you'd say that."

  Chris was already itching to start doing research on missing persons that matched this new description. The firm had a state of the art computer system and he couldn't wait to conquer it.

  "You won't regret giving me this chance."

  "I know that." Logan placed his han
d on the doorknob and then paused. "I saw something pass between you and Owens. I know you worked together for a little while... Is this going to be a problem? Because I need you two to be able to work together. He's your wingman for want of a better term and you're his. He's getting his case particulars right now and I want you to help each other."

  Working with Knox was the last thing Chris wanted to do. He didn't trust the other man to have his back. That was the honest truth. But even more true was that he wanted this job and if he had to team up with the devil himself Chris would make it work.

  "It will be fine," he assured Logan. "We have history but I can keep it professional."

  Logan slapped him on the back and grinned. "Excellent. Let me know if you need anything. Good luck and welcome to the team."

  Chris wasn't going to let them - or himself - down.

  Chris stared at the rendering of the victim's face again, taking in every detail. He was amazed yet again how far they'd come in forensic technology to be able to do this. He wanted to put a name to this face and give her family some peace. But a thirty-year-old murder case wasn't going to be easy.

  Hazy memories. Deceased witnesses. Time changed all and nothing would be the same. It was going to be the challenge of his career and one that he relished taking on.

  "What are you looking at?" Annie plopped down on the couch next to her father and peered over his shoulder. "Who is that?"

  Carefully slipping the crime scene photos behind the boring police reports so his young daughter wouldn't see them, Chris tapped the computer drawing. "It's a case I'm working on. I told you about my new job."

  The job that would keep him close to Annie. No. Wait. Annalise. She didn't want to be called Annie anymore. She was now a sophisticated nine years old. Nine going on twenty-nine. Heaven help him. She was also far too intelligent for her own good. Sometimes it was like talking to another adult. He was going to have his hands full in a few years.

  Who was he kidding? He had his hands full now.

  "Do you miss home?"

  "Do you?" he countered. "You seem to like your new school."

  Stacey had moved herself and Annie here two years ago after the divorce so she could marry her high school sweetheart Ben. They'd been reunited and were madly in love.

  Ben seemed like a pretty decent guy. Hardworking and he clearly adored Stacey and Annie. The move had meant that Chris didn't see his daughter nearly enough, although he could have shown up at Ben and Stacey's front door unplanned and unannounced and they would have welcomed him inside and let him take Annie for the weekend. He and Stacey had worked hard to make their divorce friendly and amicable if only for the sake of their child.

  "I like it but I miss Grandpa and Maddie. Grandma, too."

  Ah yes, Chris's strained relationship with his own mother. She'd settled down and married a nice widower a few years ago but he'd never regained that closeness with her. It was almost as if she preferred it when he was drunk.

  "They miss you, pumpkin. We'll go visit them in the summer."

  "That's a long way away," Annie complained, her mouth a perfect "O" as she was overtaken by a gigantic yawn. "Can we call them?"

  "Yes, but not tonight. You need to get some sleep. You have dance class in the morning."

  That was one of the more annoying things Stacey had done. She'd loaded up Annie with a bunch of extracurricular activities so the kid barely had any free time.

  Annie twisted Chris's wrist so she could look at his watch. "Just fifteen more minutes?"

  What was it about kids and bedtime? Chris would love to go to bed early and maybe even be forced to nap. That sounded like nirvana.

  "You can have two. To brush your teeth."

  Rolling her eyes, Annie hopped off the couch but paused, her brows pinching together. "What happened to her?"

  "Who?"

  She pointed to the picture of the victim. "Her. What happened to her?"

  Annie didn't need the grisly details. She'd have nightmares for the rest of her life. As it was, Chris was concerned about the effect his job might have on his daughter.

  So he tiptoed around the particulars. Annie was aware that bad things happened in this world. He was always harping about safety.

  "We haven't been able to find out who she is for thirty years. I'm going to give it a try."

  He should have known she'd catch his omission.

  "She was killed?"

  "Yes," he replied reluctantly, and only because Annie really already knew the answer. "I'd love to give her family some peace."

  Her expression eased into a smile. "You'll do it."

  His chest didn't seem large enough for his heart. What had he done to deserve such confidence? He couldn't think of one thing.

  "Your belief in me is strong. What makes you think I can do it?"

  "Because you won't give up until you do."

  Annie was absolutely right.

  2

  Ella shrugged into her trench coat and slung her purse over her shoulder. It had been a damn long day and she was looking forward to relaxing on her couch with some takeout and the remote control.

  "Night, Ella," Don the evening producer called. "Too bad about today. It came out okay though, so don't worry about it."

  Mumbling under her breath about the unfairness of the universe, Ella mustered a smile for Don. It wasn't his fault that her day had gone to hell in a hand basket. She'd been assigned to cover a bridal show at the local mall. Just one in a long line of boring as shit assignments. It should have been a no brainer - film a little, interview a gushing bride, talk to a few vendors.

  At least that's what her boss Galen Winters had expected.

  Ella had wanted the story to go in a different direction. She wanted to talk about the commercialization of the wedding industry and to a few brides who were going into debt over their special day. When she'd come back with the footage, Galen had hit the ceiling, telling her that she'd been assigned to do a local human interest piece, not an expose. Then he'd personally edited the shit out of the interviews until it was what he'd wanted. All her excellent reporting had been deleted. She was pretty sure that her boss hated her guts.

  "Thank you. It could have been a lot better," she grumbled, palming the keys to her car. "I think Galen hates me."

  Galen had been hired about a year ago from another station in Miami and since then she hadn’t had a decent assignment.

  Don shook his head. "Galen's an old school reporter and a stickler for what he wants, and he's usually right. He's one of the best station managers in this market. We were lucky to get him. I heard he used to live here and wanted to move back."

  The producer was exaggerating. They worked at a small twenty-four-hour cable news station that served a good chunk of Washington State. They were what people watched when they wanted to know the traffic or the weather, and as Galen had pointed out, they didn't care about the commercialization of the wedding industry. They just wanted to know how long their commute was going to take.

  "I'm sure he is," Ella sighed. "I was just hoping for an assignment that had more meat to it. Something interesting that sparks conversation. Not big white wedding dresses and doves."

  "Everyone has to pay their dues in this business," Don reminded her with a gentle smile. "You'll get your shot.”

  By that time I'll be too old to care.

  'Thank you, Don. I don't suppose you'd show the original story at eleven?" she asked with hope in her tone. It was worth a shot.

  She'd done the story for the daytime audience but that was for a different producer. Don had the authority to run anything he wanted to at night when Galen gave him almost free rein.

  Grimacing, Don rubbed his stubbly chin. "About that, I may have to cut fifteen seconds from it. I'm running a little long."

  And he couldn't cut headlines, weather, or sports. Fluff was the first to get cut.

  "I understand. It's okay. Goodnight, Don."

  "Night. Drive careful. There's a lot of crazies out ther
e."

  Don said that to everyone but then he'd been in this business for over thirty years so he would know.

  "I will."

  It didn't take long for Ella to drive home. Up until about three months ago, she'd had two roommates but then her parents had told her about a terrific opportunity house sitting for a professor friend of theirs on sabbatical in China for a year. Now she lived in a large loft apartment in a safe part of the city. It was fantastic not to have to share a bathroom vanity with two other females.

  She pushed the front door open and flipped on a few lights, dumping her purse and keys on the kitchen island before slipping off her jacket and hanging it over a barstool. As usual in Seattle, it had been misting rain outside but the weatherman at her station was predicting sun tomorrow. Too bad he was usually wrong.

  Mercutio, a half-tabby half-something else, jumped up on the counter purring loudly for his welcome home pet. He belonged to the owner of the home but he had luckily taken a liking to Ella. The first few days had been a little rocky as he'd hid under the bed until his appetite had finally forced him out.

  "You should have been a dog," Ella laughed, stroking the cat's silky fur. "Or is this just about dinner?"

  At the dinner word, Merc purred even more loudly and Ella quickly filled his dish with dry food and a spoonful of canned. The feline was rather persnickety about its food and he liked it with the wet on the side, not mixed in.

  "Now that I've fed you, what am I going to have?"

  Having never been much of a cook, Ella had a wide variety of takeout menus by the phone. She perused the offerings while Merc daintily ate his dinner, and finally settled on Chinese. She loved the honey chicken. With forty minutes before it would arrive, she had plenty of time for a long, hot shower.