1
OFFICER JULES ROGERS
I staredup at the open door of the glossy red semitruck. Gold trim swirled around the outer edge of the door and reminded me of the rig my father drove in the ’80s. I used to get so excited when he came home from a week on the road. In the distance, on the highway that led into New Gothenburg, a truck driver pulled his horn, and I imagined some kid in a car was cheering.
Jayce Paxton, my partner, let out a long breath. I’d noticed he did that anytime he thought we were about to see a dead body. He took off his navy blue uniform hat and ran a hand through his short blond hair while his muscled shoulders rose and fell. I understood death had a strong effect on him, and I reached over to pat his back in what I hoped was a comforting way. “I’ll go in first.”
“It’s okay, I’m fine,” he said, and I hummed, not quite believing him. His British accent made his words crisp and serious, and I’d always enjoyed listening to him speak.
“How did they find out he was dead? I assume our vic is a man. Not many women do the overnight jobs.”
Paxton glanced in my direction, blue eyes lit with curiosity. He studied the truck again and planted a hand on his hip. “The door was open, first off, which apparently none of these truckers ever let happen. Too worried about being robbed. The lot attendant came over to investigate after daybreak because most of the other trucks and RVs had moved along, and when he didn’t get an answer to his knocking on the side of the truck, he was worried maybe an older bloke had died of a heart attack, so he went in. It’s happened here before.” Paxton shook his head.
“Okay.” I had enough of waiting and stepped up into the vehicle. The smell wasn’t too bad yet—it was warm out already, since it was June, but not truly hot. The perfume on the air was moreSlaughterhouse No. 5and lessRoadkill for Men. “Why did we pull this?” I glanced out the pristine windshield at the view of the highway. The lack of bugs and dirt made me think the guy in back probably owned this rig. The cab was spotless, and all his trash had been wrangled into one small bag. Dad’s truck had been company owned and it had been his personal pigsty. “Shouldn’t the highway patrol have caught the call?”
“They’re all tied up with a nasty pileup.” Paxton used his hat to fan his face for a moment before settling it back on his head. “Several vehicles caught fire. It’s a bloody mess.”
“Not as bloody as this.”
He snorted and flashed me a grin. “Monahan thought it was a good idea for us to snatch this case because it would make for good news. Also, between you and me, she likes to piss on the shoes of the highway patrolmen.” Paxton chuckled. “Sorry this was the first thing you got coming on shift today. I was closest when dispatch told someone to get their arse out here.”
“Why were you working extra hours?” I glanced back at him as he climbed up onto the sideboard of the truck and braced his gloved hands on the doorway. “The nitrile goes with your eyes.” I batted my lashes at him.
“Piss off,” he said with a grin. “I was asked to cover a shift because I had a few personal days last week.” That checked out; we were constantly undermanned. The thick leather blackout curtain that separated the cab from the sleeper area was still mostly drawn, with only a thin crack along the right side allowing me to see the lights were still on back there. That made me think the dead man hadn’t been sleeping when he was killed. I swallowed hard at the trail of blood that streamed onto the metal floor from the back. It had run in a thin river to my left because the truck was parked on a small rise that slanted that direction.
My belly warmed. Death was exciting, but I tried to keep my interest under wraps. Other people found corpses and blood horrifying, and I didn’t need to give Paxton a good reason to scrutinize me. I did too many things I shouldn’t day-to-day to want his attention on me. “I’m just going to pull the curtain back and take a peek.”
“Yeah, mate. Go ahead.” He nodded, and I let out a long, shaky breath, then carefully tugged the curtain aside. The man on the bed might’ve been okay-looking once upon a time. He had a short dark beard that accented a hard jawline, and his bone structure indicated a once handsome face—high cheeks, an unspoiled, regal nose—but I couldn’t tell much more about him. He’d been... mauled. I hadn’t ever seen anything quite like this. I let out a low whistle, and my fingers tingled as excitement buzzed in my stomach and my groin tightened.
“What is it?” Paxton waved his hand in front of his face. “Smells a bit rank in here.”
“Someone tried to make dog food out of him.”
“Course they did. I get a murder and the arsehole killer had to go full-on Jack the Ripper.”
“Yep.” The throat was slashed up as bad as the face, and there was blood spray on the gray walls in artful arcs. The sleeper cabs weren’t huge, so any blood leaving the body didn’t have far to travel. The bedding and floor were drenched. A knife stuck out of the man’s chest, and I was willing to bet when we investigated further it would be lodged directly into his heart. The handle appeared to be wrapped in black fabric. I hummed and leaned closer, trying to keep my feet out of the blood so I didn’t contaminate evidence. The CSI crew would have fits if I put my shoe prints all over the place.
“What do you see?” Paxton asked, impatience sharpening his tone. I bet he wished he’d gone first now.
“Might have a professional on our hands, or at least, someone who isn’t stupid.” I moved to the side in the cab, and Paxton climbed aboard. We stood with our shoulders pressed together while he shook his head.
“What shite is this?” he asked, squinting his eyes. “Is that knife wrapped?”
“Yep. Someone doesn’t want us pulling prints.”
His jaw tensed as he glared out the windshield at the highway in the distance, then over to the Aviator Truck Stop. The building was large, with showers, laundry, a small sandwich shop, and a massive convenience store. If we decided the investigation warranted closing down the whole truck stop to search it, we would need more cops and crew.
“Shite.” He sighed. “We’re far away from the store. Wonder if the cameras caught who was out here? We’re a good way out from the city, least five miles. You think they had prostitutes out here?” He glanced at me with his brows furrowed.
“Where there’s lonely dick, there’s usually a hole. You think one of the lot lizards offed him?”
Paxton shrugged and glanced around the cab. “No telling, but if the pay-by-the-hour ladies and gents were out last night, maybe someone saw who was with this one.” He nodded at our dead guy and pointed at his unbuckled pants.
“He could’ve been jerking it and gotten robbed in his sleep.”
Paxton pointed at the floor, and I finally noticed blood-coated condom wrappers. “You use a condom to wax your knob?” He winked at me.
“You have a good point.” I snorted and had trouble looking away. Adrenaline buzzed through me. I loved this. It was fun to be the predator tracking prey... and this prey did such fabulously awful work. There was a knock on the side of the semi, and we startled.
