Acquired Motives (Dr. Sylvia Strange Book 2) by Sarah Lovett Read Free Book Online

pressed his hand to the windshield.
          Sylvia was seated behind the steering wheel. Her eyes flicked upward and focused on his. She unlocked the door. He opened it, bent down. He saw his revolver clutched in her right hand. Blood was smeared on her oversize T-shirt.
          He said, "Slide over."
          He did not try to touch her at first. He signaled Manny Ruiz and friend to take off. In the rearview, Sylvia watched the blue Buick roll out of the school grounds. A moment later she said, "He got in when I was in the shower. I don't think he took anything." Her voice was flat.
          Matt said, "You're bleeding."
          Sylvia shook her head. "I'm all right." Gingerly, she released the revolver and let her fingers trace her rib cage. She flinched in pain. "I bet I have a cracked rib." Matt kept his hands off. He would move at her pace.
          Sylvia sighed. "He kicked me with his boot." Finally, she turned to look directly at Matt. Her eyes stayed on his for seconds; tears welled up. She blinked them back and let her head rest against his chest.
          Her voice was muffled when she said, "Tomorrow, this is going to hurt like hell."
          Matt found a five-milligram Valium in a bathroom drawer. Sylvia swallowed the sedative. He helped her clean the abrasion on her ribs. It was a little more than four inches across, deep in places where boot cleats had penetrated. The skin around the wound had already begun to darken; it was purplish and swollen. Because she refused to go to the emergency room, he smeared the area liberally with antibiotic ointment. Hopefully that would ward off infection.
          He found a way to rig the back door so no one could get in—or out. It would do until tomorrow.
          With the television providing white noise, they both stretched on the couch, their bodies arranged for maximum contact. It took another twenty minutes before Sylvia's breathing became deep and steady.
          Matt hadn't told her that he expected one of his supervisors to show up within the next thirty minutes—the attack had occurred at the residence of a state police investigator.
          While he waited, he almost fell asleep. But his muscles began to cramp, and he had sharp pains in his shoulders and neck. He knew aspirin and a cold beer would help. He eased Sylvia's body from his, stood cautiously, and walked into the kitchen.
          He put a hand out to open the refrigerator, then stopped. Amid grocery lists, postcards, and a stick-on calendar, a photograph was trapped beneath a magnet. He was about to lift it from the door when he felt breath on his neck. He turned and found himself staring into Sylvia's dilated pupils and deep brown eyes. Without a word, she reached around him and took the photograph. The magnet fell to the floor with a soft sound.
          It was a Polaroid of a man. There was no way to know if he was dead or alive. His nude body was trussed, his face was visible. He had been castrated.
          Anthony Randall.
          Horrified, Sylvia dropped the photo. When Matt reached to retrieve it from the floor, he saw the message scrawled on the back: "Take a good look at the only True Justice. One for the Killers' Doctor."
    "H E WAS TORCHED ." Hansi Gausser, head of serology at the Department of Public Safety crime lab, cleared his throat and used his sleeve to wipe grit from his eyes. The outdoor crime scene west of San Antonio Creek was a bear to process: rough terrain, ceaseless wind, and the devastation of the Dark Canyon fire. Gausser sighed; just his luck to be on call the week after July Fourth. Holidays brought out humanity's nasty streak. He smiled vacantly at Sylvia and Matt, then brought himself back to the business at hand: Anthony Randall's corpse.
          Gausser's fingers hovered over burn patterns on the dead man's body. "The forest fire missed him altogether. But he was doused with accelerant. Fortunately, there's