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End Game

By Roxanne Rustand

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"I won't stop until I find this guy, Anna." Seeing the raw pain in her friend's eyes, Megan Peters took a deep breath and forced back the memories threatening to swamp her. "I promise."
"How?" Anna lashed out, pulling her hands away from Megan's. "I didn’t see his face. I don't know who it was, and neither did the other woman who got away. And the two dead girls won't be talking."
The bitterness in Anna's voice stung Megan like a whiplash. "No. But the DNA--"
"Hasn't matched anyone in the system so far, and probably never will, right? This guy will never be caught."
"But it does connect the crimes, so when we get him, we'll be able to send him away for good. There'll be a time when someone picks up on a clue. Someone else who escapes."
They both fell silent, the underlying truth of Megan's words a chilling reminder of the two women who had been raped and murdered within the last six months. If hikers hadn't come by and scared off her attacker, Anna might have been number three.
"We're doing our best," Megan added quietly. "And we will get him."
It wasn't an idle promise, and Megan could only hope Anna believed it. The younger woman had been a county 911 dispatcher for five years before resigning last winter, and she'd seen Megan in action. She had to know why this case mattered to Megan so much.
Anna turned away to brace her hands on the windowsill of the tiny Marshall County sheriff's office. "But until he's caught, he'll just continue, and that could go on for the next decade." Her voice rose. "I know how few deputies work this county, remember? Not enough. He could hide up in some remote cabin in the mountains and never be found."
Megan waited a few moments for her to calm down. "He'll start making mistakes. If there's ever anything you can remember, call me, day or night. His shoes. Something in his voice. A gesture--"
Anna spun around to face her, her face pale, a hand at the jagged, healing wound at the base of her neck. The bandages and sutures were gone now, leaving gnarled pink flesh would become a fainter scar in time. But the real wounds--the emotional trauma and deep fear--might never fully heal.
"I came in because you asked me to, but please don't ask me to come back. It was dark. He didn’t speak. Living through it again is more than I can bear."
At the anguish twisting Anna's lovely features, Megan felt a corner of her heart tear. "I'm more sorry than I could ever say, about everything you've been through."
Anna's mouth lifted in a faint, sad smile. "I know you're trying. Look, I-I need to get back home. Lance has to leave for work at three, and I have take care of Jeremy."
Megan watched her old friend zip up her heavy jacket, slip out the front door and limp down the sidewalk to the Sable station wagon parked close by. At the driver's side Anna cast a swift, uneasy glance in both directions, then she slid behind the wheel.
The town was still in off-season until end of May, when the mountain passes cleared, and the area claimed less than four thousand year-around residents. But Megan had no doubt that Anna had hit the locks the second she got into her car.
A routine most local women followed day or night, now that a killer had slipped into their midst.
"Any luck with her?"
At the sound of heavy footsteps and the scent of Old Spice aftershave, she turned to face Hal Porter, the sheriff. She shook her head. "I was hoping she'd had time to sift through what happened."
"She's probably too terrified to speak up."
"I can understand that with the others who escaped after being assaulted. But Anna was a dispatcher, I thought she'd remember something." Megan slashed a hand in the air. "I can't believe the guy could attack without saying a word."
"I agree."
She lifted her eyes to meet Hal's weary gaze. "What kind of animal is he?"
"We'll find him. It's just gonna take time." Hal shook his head slowly as he turned back to his office, his decades of law enforcement clearly weighing more heavily on his shoulders with every passing month.
He didn't have to say it--she'd noticed the far-away look in his eyes, and knew he was contemplating retirement. His wife Greta had been fighting cancer for a long time, and had recently taken early retirement from the local high school. He probably longed to spend his days with her...for whatever time she had left.
But he'd never been a man who'd walk away from trouble. And no matter what, she knew he wanted to retire with this case closed, or he'd feel as if he'd failed.
Hal paused at his desk. "Go home, Megan. I mean it. You've been here well over your twelve hours already."
"It's still not enough." But when he folded his arms across his chest and gave her his trademark, implacable stare, she checked her service belt, pulled the patrol car keys from her pocket, and headed for the back door with a heavy sigh.
Going home now meant another day of failure.
Even after nine years as a county deputy known for being tough and in control, there was one kind of situation that still sent secret waves of nausea and anxiety through Megan's gut. And this time, yet another good friend had been a victim.
Men who preyed on women--whether domestic bullies or the animal now roaming Marshall County--had been a personal vendetta of hers since the day she'd gone into law enforcement, and that would continue until the day she took off her badge.
Megan was going to make sure this case was solved.
And soon.

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