Michael glanced at his watch and felt it slide in the sweat on his arm. It was ten a.m. and over ninety degrees. Welcome to Eastern Oregon.

At least it’s not humid.

For as many times as he’d heard that phrase, it should be the state’s motto.

The locals avoided him and Jamie. He caught a few glances thrown their way, some curious, some unfriendly. No doubt a lot of the town had heard the two of them were looking for Chris. And now Chris’s best buddy had been brutally murdered. “Best buddy” might be a stretch of the description. “The only person Chris talked to” was sounding more accurate.

The sheriff’s men were giving them the stink eye, too, as they waited to talk to Spencer. Like he and Jamie were the ones who’d brought murder to their perfect town. Michael inwardly sighed and wrapped a tighter arm around Jamie’s shoulders. She’d been looking over her shoulder since Michael had told her there’d been a murder. She’d asked few questions on the ride to town. Michael had few answers.

No sign of Chris and Brian.

No sign of the man who had done it.

Michael knew she was thinking the same thing as he.

Were we followed from Portland? Did we lead someone to Chris?

Sheriff Spencer stepped out of the bakery, took off his cowboy hat, and brushed his forehead with his sleeve. Close behind him was an officer in an Oregon State Police uniform. Michael wondered how many square hundreds of miles the OSP officer was responsible for. He’d heard they were spread pretty thin on this side of the state. Spencer caught Michael’s eye and jerked his head. Michael moved in his direction, bringing Jamie with him.

“Brody. Ms. Jacobs. This is Sergeant Tim Hove with OSP.” Spencer made introductions. Hove was cadaver thin with red hair and pale skin that must hate the intense sun of the east side of the state.

Hands were shaken all around.

“Who exactly is the victim?” Michael asked.

The two police officers exchanged glances. Spencer spoke. “Juan Rios was sixty-eight and owned the bakery. He lived behind it, same as his father had done for decades. Lived alone. No known family.” He took a deep breath, glanced at Jamie, and then returned his gaze to hold Michael’s. “Someone broke in. The door lock was busted, weak-assed lock. Juan was tied up in a chair. He’s got abrasions from head to toe, at least six broken fingers, and cigarette burns on his cheeks.”

Jamie made a small sound in the back of her throat and moved closer beneath Michael’s arm. He felt a small shiver speed through her shoulders. Rage reddened Michael’s vision.

If I have the chance, I will kill Mr. Tattoo.

“Looks like the cause of death will be strangulation.” He’s still got the cord around his neck. We’ll see what the medical examiner says.

“Juan may have had some overnight guests at some point. There’s evidence that someone, possibly two people, slept in his upstairs room recently.”

“Chris?” Jamie asked.

Sheriff Spencer shook his head. “I don’t know. No one we’ve talked to said anyone was known to sleep here except for Juan. There are some crayons on the table. So one guest may have been a child, which makes your brother a possibility. Chris never talked to anyone else in town.” He scowled. “I don’t like that it appears your brother has left town, Ms. Jacobs.”

Jamie stood taller. “You don’t think Chris killed that man, do you? That’s crazy. Why would he break in if you thought he was sleeping in the man’s home?” She pushed Michael’s arm off her shoulders, and she stepped closer to the sheriff. “Chris’s home has been ripped up inside, just like mine was, and it was probably by the same guy who did this. And you said cigarette burns? How do you think Chris got those scars on his neck and face? You’ve seen them, right?”

The sheriff’s face clouded, but he nodded.

“He was tortured as a kid by a sick pervert. And I think that pervert or someone close to him killed that old baker, trying to find Chris.”

“But how did the killer know to go to the bakery?” asked Michael. “Someone had to have said something. Has anyone new around town been asking questions about Chris? I mean, anyone besides us?”

“I don’t know yet,” Spencer replied. “I’ve got a lot of people to talk to and questions to ask.”

“We’ll give you whatever support we can,” Sergeant Hove offered.

“You need to talk with Detective Callahan in Major Crimes back in Portland,” Michael said, turning his attention to the OSP officer. “He’s looking for the man who ripped up Jamie’s place in conjunction with some older murders. I think Jamie’s hunch that this is the same guy is a good one. He is a cold-blooded killer. And has done the cigarette burns before.”

Sheriff Spencer’s face flooded red. “Wait a minute. Yesterday you never said anything about a murder. All you said was that you were looking for her brother. What the hell have you been holding back?”

Michael shook his head. “I had no idea this guy was on your side of the state. I assumed that he was still in the Portland area where he’d attacked Jamie—”

“Wait a minute.” Spencer reached out and gently moved Jamie’s chin to the side so he could better see her bruised cheek. “Start from the beginning.”

Michael did. He started twenty years back.

Both police officers were rubbing the backs of their necks and shifting their feet by the time he’d finished.