Worth Dying For (A Slaughter Creek Novel) by Rita Herron Read Free Book Online

around a curve, and then she spotted a small clapboard house on a hill. Beside it, several pigpens housed dozens of animals.
    Mud splattered a long cement building that Liz assumed was the slaughterhouse.
    An ax hung on the wall outside, stained in blood.
    If Regina’s son slaughtered animals for a living, he obviously had a strong stomach, and the sight of blood didn’t disturb him.
    Would he cut off a woman’s hands to get revenge against her for hurting his mother?

    Rafe scanned the property, his mind assimilating to the fact that Regina’s son, J. R. Truitt, raised and slaughtered animals for a living. He also lived off the grid, miles from anywhere, meaning he could easily have brought Ester out here and killed her, and no one would have heard her scream for help.
    Rafe parked, wiping perspiration from his forehead, the stench of the pig houses assaulting him as he climbed out. He blew out a breath to stifle the smell, then glanced at Liz, who coughed as she slid from the passenger side.
    “You can stay in the car if you want,” Rafe offered.
    Her gaze shot to his.
    Understanding dawned. She still didn’t have closure over Harlan, and she thought she could make up for that lost feeling by locking up this killer.
    Jesus. He understood the drive, the compulsion to solve a crime and bring justice.
    He’d hoped to give that to her with her mother’s killer.
    But he’d failed. He’d missed something on the case—Harlan’s real motive. Why he’d come after Liz’s mother in the first place.
    Why he’d stopped killing for years, then started again.
    “I’m not going to fall apart on this case, Rafe. You can trust me.”
    That wasn’t the problem. He didn’t trust himself around her. And he sure as hell didn’t want her anywhere near this latest psycho. “I do, but you also suffered a terrible trauma only a few months ago. Everyone needs time to recover.”
    Liz squeezed his hand. “Stop treating me with kid gloves. I survived. I’ve had therapy and time to heal.”
    “Have you?” he asked softly. “Healed, I mean?”
    Pain darkened her eyes. “Rafe . . . please . . .”
    Emotions crowded his throat. “I can’t help but worry about you.”
    “I appreciate your concern,” Liz said, struggling to keep her voice from quivering. “But I need to work, Rafe. I need to find this guy.”
    He was well aware of her devotion to her job, but he didn’t necessarily like it. His gaze shot to the scarf around her neck. Images of her bloody body and weakened state, her throat slashed.
    The front door of the house screeched open, jarring Rafe from his thoughts, and he swung around. A heavyset man with a shaved head, wearing overalls stood on the rickety porch, aiming a shotgun at them. Tattoos snaked up and down both arms, and his left hand was scarred badly, as if he’d been in an accident.
    Or perhaps one of his hogs had mauled him.
    He also seemed sweaty and out of breath, as if he’d been running, or he’d just gotten home.
    “What the hell you doing on my property?” he bellowed.
    “Mr. Truitt,” Liz said, throwing up a hand to calm him. “I’m Special Agent Liz Lucas, and this is Special Agent Rafe Hood, with the TBI. We just want to talk.”
    Truitt kept the gun trained on them. “You’re a fed?”
    “Actually, the TBI is state.” Rafe gestured to the gun. “Now, like I said, put down the gun.”
    “It’s about your mother,” Liz said.
    “My mother is dead,” he snarled.
    “That’s why we’re here.”
    Rafe’s hand itched to put Liz back into the car. To protect her. He stepped forward, half blocking her in case the man took a pot shot. “We talked to the staff at the nursing home where your mother stayed and heard that a nurse named Ester Banning mistreated your mother.”
    He shifted, lowering the shotgun to his side. “Yeah. But that was a long time ago.”
    “Not so long that you’ve forgotten what she did,” Liz said softly.
    “So?” he asked.
    “Ester Banning’s