Suzanne. It can’t be…

The gold bridges glinted in her hand and she knew where she’d held them before.

The college stadium in Corvallis, Oregon, reverberated with hundreds of conversations and cheers. Oregon State fans adored their gymnastics team and the tickets to the meets always sold out.

In her red team leotard, Lacey scanned the throngs from the sidelines, a competitive high rushing through her veins, jazzing up her energy level. The stadium was smaller than her home stadium at Southeast Oregon University, but it shook with the same vitality she’d felt a hundred times in meets across the country. She reveled in the adrenaline, bouncing on the balls of her bare feet. Two more floor routines and then she was up.

“Hold these for me, will ya?”

Suzanne, Lacey’s best friend and teammate, grabbed her hand and thrust something into it before she could protest. Lacey flinched at the gold pieces, still warm and slightly wet from the girl’s mouth, and thrust them back at her.

“Gross! No way! Don’t you have a baggie or something to put ’em in?”

The gymnast held up her hands, taking a retreating step backward.

“I forgot it. And I’m paranoid I’m gonna swallow one in the middle of a routine. I don’t trust anyone else to hang on to them. My mom will kill me if I lose one.” She tilted her head, gently wrinkling her nose as her manipulative brown eyes begged Lacey. “I’m up. Don’t drop them.”

Without waiting for an answer, the girl whirled around and marched out onto the springed floor, saluting each of the judges with her usual confident flair. The fans who’d made the lengthy drive from Mount Junction in Southeast Oregon roared as the announcer sang Suzanne’s name over the speaker. Her sassy floor routine was a favorite and they screamed their enthusiasm.

“You owe me for this,” Lacey muttered, balancing the gold on an open palm as she concentrated on Suzanne’s routine.

Lacey exhaled deeply and gulped, her breath steaming in the icy air. Her hand had closed around the bridges again, the gold’s sharp points stinging her palm. Her body spasmed and she started to double over. Jack grabbed at her shoulders.

“What the—” He caught her weight as her knees buckled.

It was Suzanne.

It couldn’t possibly be anyone else. The age and petite size of the skeleton, the odd dentistry, and now the necklace.

The facts pointed to Suzanne.

And ten miles from this snowy spot, Lacey had helplessly watched Suzanne vanish into the dark night with a killer.

Suzanne had been abducted after a gymnastics invitational at Oregon State University in Corvallis, just south of Lakefield. Suzanne was the ninth victim of the Co-Ed Slayer, the serial killer who’d preyed on Oregon college girls over a decade ago.

With stinging eyes, Lacey stared at the small, lonely skeleton on the ground, and her heart pounded a mournful rhythm. Her body ached to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over her head. Her instincts had been right. This assignment was personal.

Suzanne’s body had never been found.

Until now.

State police. Even at fifty yards, Jack could tell that the two men in regular clothing with the group of Lakefield cops weren’t local. Terry had told him that the Lakefield police department was simply too small to handle this sort of investigation on its own. Terry pointed at Jack, and the two outsiders turned to stare his way.

Jack watched Terry and state detectives head toward him through the snow. One was older with the beginnings of salt-and-pepper hair. He was of average height with a rangy, lean build. The cop’s black cowboy hat and boots made Jack smile.

Doesn’t that hat make him one of the bad guys?

The other was younger, heavier, and carried himself like a serious weight lifter. The type whose arms don’t swing as he walks, because too much muscle’s in the way. No cowboy hat. Jack could see the starched white collar of a dress shirt and the red of a power tie under muscle man’s overcoat. Snappy dresser.

“Jack Harper?”

“That’s me.”

The older detective held out a hand and Jack met sharp eyes as they shook hands. The cop had known exactly who Jack was. He’d asked only as a courtesy.

“Mason Callahan, Oregon State Police Major Crimes. This is Detective Ray Lusco.” They both flashed badges and Callahan got right down to business, apparently a no-nonsense straight shooter. “You own the building, right?”

“My company…our company does. My dad and me. I haven’t set foot here in at least eight years. We use a property management company to handle it. Personally, I can’t tell you much about the place, but I can get the rental records.”

Callahan straightened slightly at Jack’s offer. Jack knew the cop had expected to argue or get a court order for the information Jack had just handed him. Then the detective’s green eyes lightened imperceptibly as he made a connection.

“You were on the force here in Lakefield. You were the cop who got shot.”

“Yep. That was quite awhile back.” Jack’s mouth was tight. Shit. Beside him, Terry straightened his back and Jack heard him clench his teeth.

Jack held solid eye contact with Callahan, uncomfortable with the cop’s knowledge. Not that it’d been private. Jack’s picture had been in the newspapers for a week back then. Lusco didn’t speak, but Jack saw an eyebrow shoot up as he made the connection. No muscle for brains there.

“What can you…”

The tall black-haired woman from the tent marched up and stepped in front of Callahan, blocking Jack. Imperious, she shoved a plastic bag at the detective’s chest. He made no move to take it.