Left To Die Read Online Free PDF

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    “Sheriff,” Selena Alvarez said as he looked over his shoulder. “I thought you’d like to see what we came up with on the third victim.”
    “Just tell me you figured out who the bastard is.”
    Alvarez’s brown eyes darkened a shade. “Not yet,” she admitted. She was serious, even more than usual, her mouth drawn down at the edges, her black hair twisted into a knot at the base of her neck, a few thin lines appearing between black, arched eyebrows. Smart as a whip, Selena Alvarez worked at a hundred and twenty percent but kept her private life locked away, as if she had some secret.
    Not that it mattered.
    He followed her down a short hallway to what had become a special room for a task force that was coming together. Tacked to the scratched green walls were panels of pictures and information on each of the victims, along with details of their deaths. Photographs of the bodies, the wrecked vehicles and the victims’ driver’s licenses were part of the tableau as well. Theresa Charleton’s pictures and info were next to Nina Salvadore’s, and in the third space the name Wendy Ito was written next to a question mark.
    “We’ve IDed her?” he asked.
    “Not positively, but we think her initials are W and I, or I and W,” Alvarez said, “and in our statewide search looking for a missing Asian woman, we found Wendy Ito. Single hairdresser from Spokane, Washington, missing since the second week in November after she spent a weekend with friends in Whitefish. We’re checking with those friends now, and the parents.” She shook her head. “Still waiting for photo identification from the Washington state DMV.”
    She pointed to a large map of Pinewood County on one of the other walls. Pushpins had been shoved into the map indicating where the bodies and wrecked cars had been discovered. Three red pins pointed out where the bodies were found, all in different small valleys of the mountain range. Two yellow pins signaled where the crumpled vehicles had been located. A large circle had been drawn around the area and other marks showed the distance between the existing crime scenes.
    Grayson stared at the map. “You’ve talked to all of the people who own property or live here?” he asked, tapping the circle’s center.
    “We’re working on it. Pretty isolated country. Some summer homes, but not many. A few full-time residents.” She glanced up at him. “We’ve talked to most of them.” Before he could ask, she added, “No one knows anything.”
    The knot that was his stomach tightened. “Keep asking. Have we located the last victim’s car?”
    “Not yet.”
    He glanced at the map again. “And keep looking.”
    “We are,” she assured him and the set of her jaw convinced him she’d leave no stone unturned in her quest. He just wasn’t sure that was going to be good enough.
     
    At six thirty the sun wasn’t quite up in Seattle. Jillian Rivers poured herself a second cup of coffee and nearly sloshed it onto the sleeve of her robe as her cell phone beeped from somewhere in the bowels of her purse. She glanced at the digital clock in the microwave and wondered who in the world would call her so early.
    The same idiot who called three days ago at five a.m. and didn’t leave a message. Like it’s a big joke.
    She felt an immediate flush of anger before trying to convince herself she was overreacting. The call might be from someone on the East Coast forgetting how early it was three time zones away. Hadn’t her college roommate made the mistake not once, but twice before?
    Digging through her handbag, she found the phone just as it quit ringing, and called “hello” to no one. “Great.” Using the cell’s menu, she clicked onto a list of received calls. The last one appeared with no information.
    “Wonderful,” she said with more than a trace of sarcasm as the cat door clicked loudly.
    Marilyn, her long-haired calico, pressed her head against the plastic door, slithered through the