Evan Tate drummed his fingers nervously on the steering wheel as he pulled into the sheriff’s office parking lot. The sun cast long shadows across the cracked asphalt, and a chill hung in the air that had nothing to do with the crisp Wyoming autumn.
He glanced at Rory in the passenger seat, marveling as always at her composure. Even after a sleepless night poring over case files, she looked sharp and focused, her blue eyes scanning the lot as if searching for clues in the most mundane details.
Sometimes, Evan wondered if Rory ever truly relaxed. In the years he’d known her—from their high school days when she was the untouchable rodeo queen to now, as his partner and the department’s rising star—he’d never seen her let her guard down completely.
“You ready for this?” Rory asked, breaking into his thoughts.
Evan nodded, trying to project more confidence than he felt. “Yeah, let’s do it.”
As they walked into the station, Evan couldn’t help but feel a twinge of anxiety. Briefing the sheriff on a case like this was a big deal, and he was acutely aware of his relative inexperience. But Rory moved with purpose, her stride sure and steady, and Evan found himself drawing strength from her certainty.
Sheriff Don Harlan was waiting for them in his office, his craggy face set in grim lines. “Wood, Tate,” he said with a nod. “Close the door and take a seat.”
Evan settled into one of the chairs across from Harlan’s desk, hyperaware of Rory’s presence beside him. She sat with her back straight, hands folded in her lap, the very picture of professional composure.
“Alright,” Harlan said, leaning forward. “Walk me through what you’ve got so far on the Montero case.”
Rory took the lead, as Evan knew she would. He listened as she laid out the facts of the case—Talia’s body found in the barn, the strange symbol burned into the floor. Her voice was steady, betraying none of the emotion Evan had glimpsed in rare, unguarded moments.
“And what about the husband?” Harlan asked when she finished. “Marcus Montero. Where does he fit into all this?”
Evan cleared his throat, seizing the opportunity to contribute. “We’ve interviewed Mr. Montero and several neighbors. So far, everyone paints a picture of a happy couple. No signs of marital trouble or financial stress.”
Harlan nodded, his expression thoughtful. “That tracks with what I know of them. I’ve known the Monteros since they moved here—good people, despite some of the grumblings from the old-timers about their modern ideas.”
“With all due respect, sir,” Rory interjected, a note of steel in her voice that made Evan sit up straighter, “we can’t rule out the husband just because he seems like a nice guy. Statistically speaking—”
“I know the statistics, Wood,” Harlan said, cutting her off, but there was no heat in his words. If anything, he looked almost proud of her tenacity. “And I’m not saying to rule him out. But I am saying to keep an open mind. This case…something about it feels different. We can’t make assumptions or run too quickly with the most obvious explanations just because they fit our preconceptions.”
Evan watched as Rory’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He knew that look—she was biting back an argument, forcing herself to consider all angles. It was one of the things he admired most about her, that relentless pursuit of the truth, no matter where it led.
“There is one more thing, sir,” Evan said, drawing the attention of both of them. He hesitated for a moment, then forged ahead. “One of the neighbors, Bob Henderson, reported seeing an unfamiliar vehicle near the Montero property a couple nights before the murder. Dark SUV, he said. Took off when he approached.”
Harlan’s eyebrows rose. “That’s interesting. Could be nothing, but—”
He was cut off by the shrill ring of Rory’s cell phone. She glanced at the screen, then back at Harlan. “It’s the coroner, sir. Mind if I take this?”
At Harlan’s nod, Rory stepped out of the office. Evan found himself alone with the sheriff, fighting the urge to fidget under the older man’s appraising gaze.
“You’re doing good work, Tate,” Harlan said suddenly. “I know it’s not easy being partnered with someone like Wood. She casts a long shadow.”
Evan felt a flush creep up his neck. Was he that transparent? “Rory’s…she’s a great partner,” he managed. “I’m learning a lot from her.”
Harlan’s lips quirked in what might have been a smile. “I’m sure you are. Just remember, you’ve got good instincts, too. Don’t be afraid to trust them.”
Before Evan could respond, Rory burst back into the office, her eyes alight with that fierce intensity that always made his heart skip a beat.
“We need to get to the coroner’s office,” she announced. “They’ve found something.”
***
The drive to the county morgue was tense, filled with a nervous energy that had Evan’s stomach in knots. He snuck glances at Rory as he drove, trying to read her expression, but her face was a mask of concentration.
“What did the coroner say?” he finally asked, unable to bear the silence any longer.
Rory shook her head slightly. “Not much over the phone. Just that there were some ‘unusual findings’ during the autopsy. Said we’d want to see for ourselves.”
Evan’s mind raced with possibilities, each more gruesome than the last. By the time they pulled up to the nondescript building housing the morgue, his palms were sweating.
Dr. Lydia Chen, the county coroner, met them at the door. Her usually cheerful face was somber as she led them to the autopsy room.
“I appreciate you coming so quickly,” she said, her voice muffled slightly by her mask. “I’ve never seen anything quite like this before.”
Evan steeled himself as they approached the examination table where Talia Montero’s body lay. He’d seen his share of corpses since joining the force, but it never got any easier.
Dr. Chen pulled back the sheet, revealing Talia’s pale form. The bruising around her neck stood out starkly against her skin, a grim testament to her final moments.
“Cause of death is definitely strangulation,” Dr. Chen began, “but it’s the manner that’s unusual. Take a look at these marks.”
She pointed to the bruises, and Evan leaned in for a closer look. The pattern was strange—not the uniform line he’d expect from a rope or cord, but a series of interlocking shapes.
“What am I looking at?” he asked, glancing at Rory. Her brow was furrowed in concentration as she studied the marks.
“The rope used to strangle Mrs. Montero wasn’t ordinary,” Dr. Chen explained. “It appears to have been braided or woven in a very specific pattern. And there’s more.”
She moved to a nearby table and picked up a small evidence bag. Inside was a fragment of fiber, dark and coarse.
“I found this embedded in the skin of her neck,” Dr. Chen said. “I’ve sent samples to the lab for analysis, but I wanted you to see it firsthand.”
Rory took the bag, holding it up to the light. “It almost looks like…hair,” she murmured.
A chill ran down Evan’s spine. “Human hair?”
“Could be,” Dr. Chen said. “It’s definitely organic in nature.”
Evan watched as Rory’s eyes narrowed, that look she got when pieces of a puzzle were starting to come together in her mind. He wished, not for the first time, that he could see inside her head, understand the connections she was making.
“Dr. Chen,” Rory said slowly, “you said the rope was braided in a specific pattern. Could you sketch it for me?”
The coroner nodded, grabbing a nearby notepad. After a few moments, she held up the notepad. The sketch showed a complex interlocking pattern, loops and whorls that seemed to twist in on themselves.
Evan heard Rory’s sharp intake of breath and turned to see her face had gone pale.
“Rory?” he said, concern coloring his voice. “What is it?”
But Rory wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on the sketch.
“It’s the same,” she whispered. “It’s the same as the symbol in the barn.”