The Seventh Victim

The Seventh Victim

The Seventh Victim

If At First You Don’t Succeed

It’s been seven years since the Seattle Strangler terrorized the city. His victims were all young, pretty, their lifeless bodies found wrapped in a home-sewn white dress. But there was one who miraculously escaped death, just before the Strangler disappeared…

Kill

Lara Church has only hazy memories of her long-ago attack. What she does have is a home in Austin, a job, and a chance at a normal life at last. Then Texas Ranger James Beck arrives on her doorstep with shattering news: The Strangler is back. And this time, he’s in Austin…

And Kill Again. . .

He’s always craved her, even as he killed the others. For so long he’s been waiting to unleash the beast within. And this time, he’ll prove he holds her life in his hands—right before he ends it forever…

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The Seventh Victim Excerpt

Texas Ranger James Beck’s black truck kicked up dust and heat wafted on the horizon as he wound his way up the back road toward Lara Church’s home. Without Raines, it would have been a bitch to find Lara Church, who resided in a house still under her grandmother’s name. Raines got points for the tip.

Raines.

Raines shared a single-minded dedication with Beck. Firsthand experience had taught Beck that the trait was as valuable as it was volatile.

Beck slowed at the entrance of the driveway and noted the name on the mailbox. Bower. The Bower name tickled his memory, and for a moment he paused, staring at the scratched lettering on the rusted box.

The more he mined for the memory the more elusive it became so he tabled the search and drove down the winding gravel driveway. He shut off the engine, got out of the car, and surveyed the house.

Made of stone, the one-story house had to have been a hundred years old. Rustic with a bit weather-beaten charm, the house had a low, wide front porch furnished with a couple of bright blue rockers and a scattering of painted planters filled with flowers. Lara Church didn’t know much about Texas summers if she thought keeping those flowers alive was going to be an easy task. Last summer’s heat had cracked foundations and dried out wells. One missed day of watering, and the heat would burn up those pretty little flowers.

A rustic wind chime dangling from the porch jingled gently in a breeze. Twin sets of windows decorated with faded red curtains flanked the front door. A new stained-glass oval hung above the door.

Before he’d headed up here, he’d run a check on Lara. There’d been no priors in the system, but a quick Internet search led him to the 101 Gallery located on Congress Street in Austin. According to the gallery site, Lara Church was having her first photographic exhibit opening this Friday. It was entitled Mark of Death. It didn’t take a shrink to figure out what lurked behind her subject matter. The gallery site included several of Lara’s black-and-white images, but there’d been no picture of the artist herself.

In the distance he heard a dog bark. Judging by the animal’s deep timbre, it was big and running in Beck’s direction. Absently, he moved his hand to the gun on his hip. Nice places like this could turn nasty or even deadly in the blink of an eye.

The dog’s barking grew louder. Tightening his hand on the gun’s grip, he scanned the wooded area around the cabin until his gaze settled on a path that cut into the woods. In a flash, a large black and tan shepherd emerged from the woods, its hair standing on end. The animal glared at Beck, barking and growling. The animal was a beauty, but he’d shoot if it attacked.

Seconds later a woman emerged from the woods. She carried a shotgun in her hands and the instant she saw Beck she raised the barrel.

Beck didn’t hesitate. He drew his gun and pointed it directly at the women. “Texas Ranger. Drop the gun now!”

The woman stared at him, her gaze a blend of surprise and wariness.

“Put. The. Gun. Down.” Each word was sharpened to a fine point.

She lowered the tip of the barrel a fraction but didn’t release the gun. “How do I know you’re a Texas Ranger?”

The Texas Ranger uniform was easily recognizable to anyone who’d been in Texas more than five minutes. But that discussion came after she released the weapon. “Put the gun down, now.” He all but shouted the command over the dog’s barking. “Now!”

Carefully, she laid the barrel down and took a step back as if she was ready to bolt into the woods. The dog bared its teeth, but she made no move to calm the animal. She might have surrendered the gun, but the dog remained a threat.

He braced his feet. “If your dog lunges at me, I will shoot him.”

Her gaze flickered quickly between the dog and his gun. She understood he’d meant it. “Okay.” She looped her fingers through the dog’s collar and ordered him to heel close at her side.

“You and the dog step back.”

“Why?”

“Do it!” He glanced at the shotgun, knowing he’d not breathe a sigh of relief until he had it in hand.

“I am not turning around.” Her raspy voice stutter- stepped with panic. “I want to see your badge.”

He studied her. If this was Lara Church and she’d survived the Strangler, fear would be a logical response. “Step away from the gun.”

She drew in a breath and moved back with the dog. He picked up the shotgun and holstered his gun. Slowly, he pulled his badge from his breast pocket and held it up to her.

“Sergeant James Beck,” he said.

“Okay, Sergeant.”

He opened the break-action shotgun and found two shells in the double-barreled chamber. The safety was off. He removed the shells. “You always greet people with a shotgun?” He glanced from her to the growling dog.

“When I’m alone, yes. And it is registered, and I am on my land, so I’m well within my rights to carry a weapon.”

As he held her rifle, he glared at her and the barking shepherd. “You know how to shoot it?”

Blue eyes held his. “I sure do.”

As the adrenaline ebbed from his veins, his brain processed the details he’d only skimmed over moments ago when she’d been holding the gun. She was a slight woman, not much more than five feet tall. Long light brown hair gathered in a loose ponytail that left strands of hair free to frame a narrow face. Peaches-and-cream skin, a high slash of cheekbones, and blue eyes combined to create a face that would have made any man look twice.

“Why are you here?” Her raspy voice, seductive in quieter tones, was powerful when rising above the dog’s barking.

“Quiet that dog.”

She tugged gently on the shepherd’s collar, and he stopped barking. “What can I do for you, Sergeant Beck?”

“You are Ms. Lara Church?”

Her slim frame tensed, as she released the dog’s collar and scratched him between the ears. “That is correct. Can I have my gun back?”

He ignored the question. “I came to ask you a few questions.”

Her lips flattened as if she already sensed where this conversation was headed. “About?”

“We had a murder outside of Austin yesterday. A woman was strangled to death.”

She stopped stroking the dog between its ears. “What does that have to do with me?”

He snapped the shotgun barrel closed with a firm click. “I think you know why, ma’am.”

Her jaw tensed, but as if the words refused to be voiced.

“You were attacked in Seattle about seven years ago. Strangled nearly to death by a man police believe was the Seattle Strangler. And you are the lone survivor.”

Lips compressed into a fine line. “Seattle’s over two thousand miles from here. And seven years is a long time ago.”

He took a step toward her. The dog growled. Beck met the animal’s gaze and held it until the dog looked away. “This woman was wearing a white dress, and there was a penny in her hand.”

Absently, she curled the fingers of her right hand closed. Drawing in a careful breath, she released it slowly. “I still don’t know how I can help you.”

He wondered what shrink had taught her the self-calming trick. “Tell me what you know about the man that attacked you.”

The involuntary shake of her head told him she did not want to revisit the past even for a second. “If you found me here then you know people in the Seattle Police Department. Did they also tell you that I don’t remember my attack?”

“It’s been seven years, ma’am. Something’s got to have stirred up over that time.”

She cocked a brow. “Yeah, you’d think, wouldn’t you? But I’ve remembered nothing.” Reading his doubt, she added, “I know you don’t believe this, but I’d actually want to remember . . . even the dark and scary stuff. At least if I remembered this guy I’d know if he was standing in front of me. Maybe then I could take a walk in the woods without a shotgun.”

“You always carry it?”

“I walk with it. It’s close by when I eat, and it sits by my bed when I sleep.”

“You said yourself you are two thousand miles and seven years away from Seattle.”

“I think I don’t want to be a victim ever again. So I’ve learned to take care of myself.”

He handed the shotgun back to her. “Would you be willing to come into town and talk to our forensic psychologist? She’s sharp and might do you some good.”

She crossed her arms. “How did you find me?”

“I spoke to the Seattle Police.”

Her expression showed her distrust. “They don’t know where I am.”

“Mike Raines does.”

Her gaze narrowed. “Detective Raines. How?”

Beck rattled the shells in his hands. “He’s kept tabs on you.”

She tightened her fingers around the gun barrel. “If you talked to Raines then you know he had me speak to every doctor he could find.”

What Raines had done was of no interest to him now. “My doctor is top notch.”

A cynical smile curved the edge of full lips. “This doctor might be good, and she might think she’s different and smarter than the rest, but she’s not. I’ve seen more doctors than I can count, and I’ve talked to countless cops. I suffered a concussion during the attack and don’t have memories to share; otherwise I’d have shared them years ago.”

A dozen questions condensed to one. “What’s the last image you do remember before the attack?”

She slowly shook her head from side to side. “I don’t want to answer your questions. Now get off my property, Sergeant Beck.”

The abrasive clip in her voice thinned his patience. Deliberately, he kept his voice even and precise. “I came all this way to see you.”

“You’ve wasted a trip, Sergeant Beck.”

He managed a smile that didn’t feel the least bit friendly. “This visit was a courtesy because I did not want to put you out, ma’am. But I have come here for answers.”

Her hand tightened around the gun barrel. “You have come to the wrong place. I can’t give you what I don’t have.”

“I could detain you and drive you into Austin, where we could have a more formal chat.”

“Cops . . . so predictable,” she muttered as she rubbed her temple with her fingertips. “You’ve no cause to take me anywhere.”

“Ma’am, you are a material witness in an active murder case, and I have every right to take you in to Austin.”

“I don’t remember.” She sounded weary.

“Appears to me you haven’t even tried that hard.”

She tipped her head back as if struggling for patience and control. “If I had any detail I would tell you. I really would. But I don’t.”

“It’s in this morning’s paper.”

“I haven’t had the chance to read it.”

“Then I suppose you haven’t read about the woman in San Antonio?”

“The paper never said how she died.” And at his questioning look she added, “I do read the papers, Sergeant.”

The Austin paper and television stations had spent several days covering the unknown San Antonio body, trailing the story through the discovery and the identification. When the leads had run dry, the articles had stopped. “We don’t know how she died, but believe she was dressed in white.” He rested his hands on his belt, the heavy leather creaking. “She’d been exposed to the elements. Sun and animals took most of her away.”

Tension flattened her lips. “There was no mention of any of that in the paper.”

“That was deliberate on the part of the local police. They don’t want to show their cards until they have to.”

The pink he’d seen in her cheeks when she’d come out of the woods had faded. “The first woman’s name was Lou Ellen Fisk. Mean anything to you?”

“No.”

“What about Gretchen Hart? She’s the one that died yesterday morning.”

“No.”

Her clipped, almost defiant answers shortened his temper to breaking. She wanted to stay out of this game. Wanted him to walk away. Not happening. “You remember having that man’s hands around your neck? Remember what it’s like to have your wind slowly cut off?”

Her eyes widened. Fear and then anger shot back. “Is that supposed to shock a memory from me? Or make me go rushing to your doctor? Because if it is you’ll have to do better than that.”

“I got two dead women and I expect a little help from you.”

She sighed her frustration. “All I remember is waking up in a hospital room. My throat burned, and I could barely talk. I remember my face and neck were bruised and my eyes were so bloodshot it was hard to see my pupils when I looked in the mirror. The doctors said the Strangler just about crushed my windpipe. My voice is still hoarse today because of the attack.”

Imagining her face battered and bruised cooled the fire in his belly. “Any idea how you got away?”

“I was told someone passed by and saw what was happening. I must have blacked out by then, but I’m told the guy and his girlfriend called the cops and my attacker ran away.”

“Where were you attacked?”

“If you’ve spoken to Mike Raines then you have more details than me.” Impatience nipped at each word.

When he had a spare moment he’d read the Raines files cover to cover. “I want to hear what you have to say, ma’am.” His tone remained cool, even.

“There’d been a party, and I’d had too many drinks. I took a cab to my apartment, and I remember putting my key in the lock. And then my next memory starts in the hospital.”

“The other Seattle victims were killed by the highway.”

“It was in all the papers at the time. All women, including me, were thinking twice before heading out on Route 10. It never occurred to me that he’d be in my apartment building.”

He dug into his own memories of the crime. “The other victims had police records.”

She rubbed the side of her neck with her hand. “And I did not. Yes, I know. Some of the cops were certain I was lying and went to great lengths to dig into my past. In the end, they found out what I told them they’d find: one speeding ticket, which I got when I was sixteen. What I know is in Detective Raines’s files.”

“Except who attacked you. That detail is locked in your head, Ms. Church.”

She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. “The key is gone, sir. There is no way to reach the memories. Now I need to ask you to leave. I’ve got to be in town in less than an hour.”

“You have a show opening, don’t you?”

“That’s right.”

“Photographs?”

“Yes.”

He dropped the shells in his jacket pocket and pulled out a couple of Polaroids taken of the body at yesterday’s crime scene. “They look like this?”

She took the pictures and glanced at crime scene images of Gretchen Hart. Immediately her face paled and she swayed before she handed him back the images. “You’re full of nasty questions and tricks.”

He suffered no remorse. “Thought if you could see firsthand what I’m dealing with you might be more open to helping me.”

“Get off my land, Ranger. I have no more to say to you.”

He slowly tucked the pictures back in his breast pocket. “I’ll leave for now, Ms. Church, but you are gonna see me again. That I do promise you.”

Gripping the shotgun by the stock, she turned toward the house, her dog following.

As she reached for the front door, he said, “If the Seattle Strangler is active again, don’t you find it a bit odd that he’d take up his work only twenty or thirty miles from where his last victim lives? I don’t know about you, but I’ve never put much stock in coincidence.”

She turned partway toward him, unwittingly giving him a view of her slim neck. “You’re assuming it is the Seattle Strangler. I am not.”

Tension rippled through his body. “It’s a solid assumption.”

She hesitated as if a blast of frigid air cut up her spine and then vanished with her dog into her house.

Lara Church wasn’t the timid artsy type he’d expected. She had steel running down her spine. Getting her help wouldn’t be as easy as he’d hoped. But in the end he would get it.

The Seventh Victim Reviews

Bestseller Burton (Before She Dies) delivers action-packed tension as a cold case becomes new again… a compelling romantic thriller.” Publishers Weekly on The Seventh Victim.

An excellent thriller, as well as a blooming romance, the author does a wonderful job of drawing readers in with the rapid pace and plot that include exciting and interesting back stories on all the victims. This is really a very twisted saga that readers will find unbelievably hard to put down!” — Suspense Magazine on The Seventh Victim

Burton’s latest novel has a calculating villain at its center, plus a strong yet vulnerable heroine and a tough Texas Ranger who is determined to protect her and root out a killer. Burton’s crisp storytelling, solid pacing and well-developed plot will draw you in, and the strong suspense will keep you hooked and make this story hard to put down.” – RT Book Reviews, 4 stars

“Dark and disturbing, a well-written tale of obsession and murder.”— Kat Martin, New York Times bestselling author

Before She Dies

Before She Dies

Before She Dies

“Burton’s latest romantic suspense will have readers sleeping with the lights on.”

—Publishers Weekly

He Is Their Judge…

In death, they are purified. Holding his victims under water, he washes away their sins as they struggle for their last breath. Then he stakes their bodies to the ground, exposing them for what they really are. Witches, sent to tempt and to corrupt…

Jury…

No one knows about defense attorney Charlotte Wellington’s murdered sister, or about her childhood spent with the carnival that’s just arrived in town. For Charlotte, what’s past is past. But others don’t agree. And as a madman’s body count rises, she and Detective Daniel Rokov are drawn into a mission that’s become terrifyingly personal…

And Executioner

At last, she is within his reach. All his victims deserve their fate, but her guilt is greatest. And with every scream, he will make her see what it means to suffer and repent–before she dies…

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Before She Dies Excerpt

Chapter One

Tuesday, October 19, 5:15 a.m.

She had a power over him.

In this room, alone with her, words failed him. Here he followed her lead, moving with an economy of motion, undressing quickly and falling into bed before reason spoke. Their sex was always urgent. Hot. And it left his heart punching against his ribs.

This time, like every time before, she rose out of bed, his scent clinging to her, and dressed in silence. He knew what would follow. She’d manage a quick fix of her tousled auburn hair, they’d share obligatory, if not embarrassed, pleasantries, and she would leave never suggesting that there should be a next time.

However, this time when she rose, Daniel wasn’t content to just let her leave. He rolled on his side and watched her trembling fingers smooth the bunched cream silk slip down over her naked hips. She moved to the mirror and inspected once well-applied make-up now sinfully smudged and pale skin, crimson with sex’s afterglow.

He wanted her back in bed, curled at his side, but he hesitated to ask. She’d been clear from the beginning that she’d only signed up for good, hot sex. She didn’t want a lover or a boyfriend or anything that involved commitment.

That first time he’d agreed to her terms, counting his lucky stars and fully expecting little more than satisfaction and a pleasant memory. But from that initial release until now, he couldn’t get enough of her. The more she gave, the more he wanted.

And the line she’d drawn between professional and personal had entirely faded—for him.

Manicured fingers slid over the slip as she glanced at the clock on the nightstand, sighed and collected her scattered clothes from the floor.

He made no effort to hide his fascination with her. They’d shared his motel room five other times now but he’d yet to see her fully naked. She had a long sleek form, creamy skin, narrow tapered waist and a nicely rounded bottom. He wasn’t sure what she hid from him, but found the mystery more consuming each time they had sex.

Last time he’d seen the scar marring her side and thought he’d discovered her secret. He’d asked her about it she’d shrugged and said, “I was shot.”

Curious, he’d pulled the police file and read the details of the shooting. It had occurred three years ago. She’d been working late. A client’s hit man had entered her office and shot her because she’d been considered a loose end. Bleeding and alone, she’d escaped to a bathroom and locked the door. The shooter, unable to reach her, had barricaded her inside and left her for dead. It would be another eight hours before she would escape and call 911. The crime scene photos had stirred primal anger in him. Even now he could vividly recall photo images of her blood staining the bathroom’s carpeted floor; the door hinges she wedged free with the tip of her high heels; and her bloodied silk blouse left behind by EMTs.

“Do you think about the shooting?” he’d said as he’d kissed the scar.

She threaded her fingers through his hair. “No.”

“It’s got to bother you.”

Her fingers stilled. “I never dwell on the past.”

If she weren’t hiding the bullet hole scar, then why not take off the slip? Last night when he’d tried to tug it off her, she’d resisted. What else was there to hide?

She slipped on her blouse and efficiently buttoned it. Sliding on a pencil thin black skirt, she tucked in her shirttail and with the flick of the zipper was again all elegance and class. Maybe some old lesson from charm school kept her from stripping totally.

Thinking about that slip and what it hid gave him another hard-on. “Why don’t you stay?”

She found her panties and facing him tucked them in her purse. “We both have early calls.”

“You gave your final summation yesterday. The pressure is off until the jury comes back. Go in to the office late today. You’ve earned it.”

She arched a neat eyebrow. “I’ve never been late before.”

He propped his head on his head. “Be late.”

“Why?”

“Once is not enough when it comes to you.”

She readjusted her pearl necklace so the diamond clasp was again in the back. A smile played with the corners of her lips. “I wish I could stay for an encore. Really. But I’ve got appointments.”

“All work and no play makes Charlotte a dull girl, counselor.”

“All work keeps Charlotte liquid and her bills paid, detective.”

Naked, he rose off the bed and moved toward her until he was inches away. Towering, he fingered the pearls around her neck. She smelled of Chanel and him. “We should have dinner sometime.”

She grinned. “We just had dessert.”

“I’m talking about real food. Tables, chairs, forks, knives and spoons.”

She didn’t pull away. “I don’t think so.”

“You’ve got to eat sometime.”

“We drew a line. It has to remain fixed and secure.”

He curled the pearls around his index finger. “The defense attorney doesn’t want to be seen with a cop?”

“Maybe, the cop shouldn’t be seen with the older defense attorney.”

“Three years doesn’t count as older. And I don’t care who sees me with you.”

She untangled his finger from her pearls. “We are judged by the company we keep.”

The wistful, if not sad edge surprised him. She wasn’t talking about him. But who? Another mystery. Another reason to want her.

As she picked up her purse, he pressed his erection against her backside. “Stay just a few more minutes.”

She tipped her head against his chest. Tonight there’d been more urgency in her lovemaking, which he’d attributed to the murder trial’s conclusion. “I can’t.”

“That sounds half-hearted.” Sensing a shift, he pushed her hair aside and kissed her neck. Her sharp intake of breath pleased him.

“I have to go.” The trademark steel in her voice had vanished.

He turned her around and unfastened the buttons of her blouse until he could see the ivory lace of her slip. He kissed her shoulder, her chin, and the top of her breast.

“We have rules about avoiding tangles.”

“Fuck the rules. And the tangles.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. When she broke the connection she was breathless. “I really have to leave in twenty minutes or I will be late.” The whispered words gave no hints of the woman he’d seen on the courthouse steps late yesterday. Swamped by reporters, that woman had been cool, direct, and flawless ice.

The contrasts added to the mystery. “Have dinner with me.”

Her fingers wrapped around his erection. “No time for talking, detective.”

He swallowed, struggling to hold onto clear thought. “You are avoiding the question.”

Her hands moved in smooth, even strokes. “Nineteen and a half minutes.”

Until now she’d called the shots. But that would change. Soon.

Dinner and power plays relegated to another day’s battle, he kissed her as he scooped her up and laid her in the center of the bed. Straddling her, he reached for the package of condoms on the nightstand. Urgency blazed through him. He tore open the pack with an impatient jerk and slid on the rubber.

As she wriggled under him tugging up her skirt, he thought he’d explode. There was nothing else in the world that mattered more now.

When he nestled between her legs, his beeper vibrated on the nightstand. Fuck.

She glanced at him expectantly. “Do you need to get that?”

“They can wait,” he growled.

She gripped his shoulders as he pressed into her. “You sure?”

“Very.”

They both forgot about deadlines, clients and responsibilities.

Before She Dies Reviews

“Burton’s latest romantic suspense will have readers sleeping with the light on…well-paced thriller.” 
Publishers Weekly

“Mary Burton developed a fascinating heroine in Charlotte Wellington, I became completely invested in her story . . . charisma and powerful masculinity . . . make Daniel Rokov a seductive hero . . . Burton pens a gritty, provocative story . . . the dialogue is crisp and intense . . . a strong supporting cast of characters . . . an intricate plot that hosts a number of revelations . . . a chilling, thought-provoking page-turner that stayed with me long after I finished the closing chapter. I’m looking forward to reading more of Burton’s work.
Leah Franczak, Happy Ever After, USAToday.com

“Burton delivers another page-turner that will keep readers up well past midnight. Strong, relatable characters like Charlotte don’t come around very often, and now she has a story all her own. Her mystery will keep readers guessing until the end.”
RT Book Reviews

“Before She Dies is an electrifying thriller that clearly defines romantic suspense.”
Lori’s Reading Corner

“Mary Burton has written a multi-layered, fast paced and high energy story.”
Romancing the Book

“When I pick up a Mary Burton book, I know I am in for a real treat.  Her idea of romantic suspense is more suspense, engaging plot and creating strong women . . . [She] does thorough research and writes from a wealth of knowledge and experience.  A truly enjoyable ride!”
The  Novel Life 

Merciless

Merciless

Merciless

No pity

Each skeleton is flawless—gleaming white and perfectly preserved, a testament to his skill. Every scrap of flesh has been removed to reveal the glistening bone beneath. And the collection is growing . . .

No compassion

When bleached human bones are identified as belonging to a former patient of Dr. James Dixon, Detective Malcolm Kier suspects the worst. Dixon was recently acquitted of attempted murder, thanks to defense attorney Angie Carlson. But as the body count rises, Kier is convinced that Angie is now the target of a brutal, brilliant psychopath.

No one will hear you scream

Angie is no stranger to the dark side of human nature. But nothing has prepared her for the decades-long legacy of madness and murder about to be revealed—or a killer ready to claim her as his ultimate trophy . . .

Merciless Excerpt

When her watch beeped and signaled she’d swam thirty minutes she glided into the wall, breathless but totally relaxed. She pushed out of the water and crossed to the bank of chairs where she’d draped her towel. She’d barely dried her eyes and hair when she heard a deep voice call out her name.

Angie stiffened. She recognized the gruff baritone. Detective Malcolm Kier. The cop made no effort to hide his contempt for her and her work. Instantly, she wished she had on her business suit and high heels. She straightened her shoulders and faced him. “Detective Kier. What a lovely surprise.”

He possessed a powerful build. Not more than an inch taller than her, he radiated a raw energy and a don’t-fuck-with-me demeanor that intimidated most everyone. He rattled her as well, but she’d decided long ago that she’d eat dirt before she ever let him know it.

“Counselor. Good to see you stay in shape.” He wore denims with muddied hems, a faded flannel shirt, a jean jacket and scuffed work boots. A leather gun holster peaked out from under his jacket.

“I try. You just roll in from the mountains?”

“Just about.”

“You’re a regular Grizzly Adams.”

His grin did not reach his eyes. “That’s right.”

Water dripped from her suit. Drying herself off in front of Kier felt awkward. But the cooling air and her refusal to be intimidated motivated her to slowly begin drying her arms and legs as if she didn’t have a worry in the world. “So what brings you to the gym, detective? Looking into membership?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “No, I’m here on official business.”

She wrapped the towel around her waist, tucked it in place and scooted her feet into waiting flip-flops. How had he found her? And then she remembered that she’d once told Kier’s partner, her sister’s boyfriend, that she swam daily here. “Need an attorney?” she goaded. “I’d be happy to see you in my office. Feel free to call my secretary for an appointment.”

“I don’t need your services.”

“Then why are you here? Bored? Here to rattle my cage a little more?” Kier had been a constant shadow presence since the Dixon trial. It seemed he never missed an opportunity to annoy her.

“I don’t rattle your cage.” The smugness didn’t support the words. “I could care less about you.”

“That why I see you at King’s several nights a week?”

He shrugged. “I like the food. Plus you know I took an apartment across the street.”

“Right. So why is it you always make a point to hold me up in the courthouse when I’m late?”

“Just making conversation.”

“How about the four parking tickets I’ve gotten in the last year.”

“The city marks its No Parking zones clearly. You’re being paranoid.” He reached in his jacket pocket and pulled out a theater program. “I’d like you to look at this.”

Annoyance crept up her back bunching the muscles she’d worked so hard to relax. “This is not the best time for me to discuss the arts, detective.”

As if she hadn’t spoken he turned a program toward her. “Do you know this woman?”

She held his gaze not wanting to look and give him the satisfaction that he’d won this little standoff. “Like I said, call my secretary.”

His stare darkened like an angry storm on the horizon, but it didn’t waiver nor did the picture in his hand. “Look here, or look at the station. Makes no difference to me.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Nothing would give me more pleasure than to steal a few billable hours from you.”

Asshole. He’d do it. She blinked and lowered her gaze to the program. The young woman’s pale face and blond hair accentuated a high slash of cheekbones. Bright green eyes sparked and her lip curved upward as if she knew a secret.

Angie knew her. “Her name is listed in the program. You can read, can’t you?”

He held the picture out an extra beat then slowly tucked it back in his jacket pocket. “How long has Sierra Day been your client?”

Staring down angry cops and prosecutors was part of any defense attorney’s turf. “I don’t discuss my clients. You remember attorney client privilege, don’t you detective?”

“Why did she hire you?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Tell me about the divorce. Was it nasty?”

“Seeing as you have all the answers why are you here?”

“Word is she and her soon-to-be ex husband mixed it up a few times.”

“Talk to him.”

“I’m asking you.”

And then she cut through her own indignation and really thought about why he was here. Kier was a homicide detective and he wasn’t making a social call. What had happened? She thought about the last time she’d seen Sierra. The woman had breezed into her office unannounced and demanded that Angie settle her divorce immediately. Sierra needed cash and wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

“Do you know where she might be?” Kier said.

Sierra could be reckless. “Why the interest in Sierra Day? Is she in trouble?”

“She was reported missing by the West End Theatre manager ten days ago.”

“You don’t work Missing Persons.”

He shifted his stance. “Did her husband ever threaten Sierra?”

“Has something happened to Sierra?”

“Like I said, she is missing.”

“And like I said you don’t work Missing Persons. What aren’t you telling me, detective?”

He studied her. “Sierra’s stats match the characteristics of a body we found late last night.”
“Characteristics?”

“Female. Mid-twenties. Five foot six to five foot eight.”

“That fits Sierra and a lot of other women.”

Her skin chilled. “What else do you know about your victim?”

“Not much.”

“Meaning?”

He studied her, as if wondering how much to give for maximum return. “All we have are bones.”

Merciless Reviews

“Terrifying . . . this chilling thriller is an engrossing story.” —Library Journal on Merciless

Senseless

Senseless

Senseless

Every Serial Killer Knows

The vicious burns scarring the victims’ flesh reveal the agony of their last moments. Each woman was branded with a star, then stabbed through the heart. With every death, a vengeful killer finds a brief, blissful moment of calm. But soon it’s time for the bloodshed to start again…

The Perfect Time

Ten years ago, Eva Rayburn and her sorority sisters were celebrating the end of the school year. That party turned into a nightmare Eva can’t forget. Now she’s trying to start over in her Virginia hometown, but a new nightmare has begun. Every victim is linked to her. And Detective Deacon Garrison isn’t sure whether this mysterious woman needs investigating—or protecting…

To Make His Mark

Only Eva’s death will bring peace. Only her tortured screams will silence the rage that has been building for ten long years. Because what started that night at the sorority can never be stopped—not until the last victim has been marked for death…

Senseless Excerpt

Fire engines and dozens of cop cars surrounded the building, their bright red and blue lights flashing in the dark.

Eva’s head spun as the old memories of another fire rose up inside her and coiled around her chest. She could barely breathe and for a moment wanted nothing more than to bolt. Instead, she held her ground, shoving trembling hands through long black hair. She scanned the crowd for anyone that she recognized. Sally managed the shelter but she was nowhere to be found. And Rhonda, the evening manger wasn’t anywhere in sight.

Oh God. Oh, God.

Her mind tripped to the people who were to have spent the night in the shelter. Tony. Pam. Luna. She kept hoping she’d see them next to one of the EMS trucks huddled safely under a blanket. But she didn’t see anyone.

She hugged her arms around her chest, wanting to rush forward under the yellow crime tape and ask the cops about the building occupants, but she didn’t. Since she’d gotten out of prison six months ago, she avoided the cops. Cops translated into trouble and she’d sworn never again to trust a cop or return to prison.

But her friends. God, she had to find out something.

Tucking her head low, she moved toward the edge of the growing crowd of onlookers mesmerized by the bright red flames. The heat would be so hot now that it could sear lungs and melt flesh.

Eva glanced toward an elderly man with wire-rimmed glasses and a Steelers sweatshirt that hugged a rounded belly. “Hey, you know what happened?”

The man shook his head. “Can’t say. I was watching the Price is Right when I heard the sirens. I came out to look and saw the house on flames.” He nodded his head east. “I live a block and a half away but could see the light of the flames as clear as day.”

She nearly choked on the lump of tension in her throat. “You don’t know how it started?”

Nope.”

As the cop lights flashed, she resisted the urge to run. “Anyone know anything?”

“Couldn’t say.”

Emotion shortened her temper. “They bring anyone out? I mean from the shelter.”

“Not that I’ve seen. The firemen just got the flames contained enough to get close to the building. There might be people around the back side.”

“Thanks.”

Eva hugged her arms around her chest and moved through the crowd, listening and collecting any bits of information that would tell her what had happened.

“Said it started just after seven.”

“Heard an explosion. Those old gas heaters are trouble.”

“Odd folks came and went from that place. Always knew that place was nothing but trouble. But looks like they brought in the big guns cop-wise. They’re taking this seriously.”

Being near so many cops left her edgy and worried. Goons like Radford could be managed whereas cops equaled to real trouble. She shoved out a breath and buried her emotions down deep inside. Prison had taught her that showing true fear not only showed weakness but also provided leverage for your enemies.

She focused on the fire. Who could have done this? Sally understood trouble often followed her residents and she was careful to keep the peace. They had code words. Security systems. Eva admired Sally’s careful planning.

Her gaze skimmed the crowd of onlookers who looked shocked and terrified. Their sadness magnified her fears. As she turned to leave, her gaze settled on a lone figure standing just inside the yellow tape. His back was rigid, his arms folded over his chest. He wasn’t weeping, whispering or afraid to look at the destruction. In fact, he glared at the dying embers with defiance.

Taller than most around him, this man had broad shoulders and a battle-like stance suited to an ancient warrior more than a modern day man. When he turned slightly the fire department’s floodlights caught his profile. His chin was covered with dark stubble and jutted forward, as if anger chewed at his insides. Dark hair teased the edge of his collar and begged for a trim.

This one was a pit bull who gave off a big-time cop vibe. She’d bet money that nothing stood between him and a closed case.

A shiver crept up her back and coiled around her throat choking the breath from her lungs. Cops determined to close a case a decade ago had stolen ten years of her life. Just tell us you killed him, Eva. Just tell us…

As she retreated, the cop turned as if guided by radar. His gaze locked on her like a hunter would a deer. She froze, refusing to show fear all the while watching closely for any sign of trouble.

Eva swallowed. Her skin tingled and the muscles at the base of her spine bunched painfully. Not good. Not good at all. Smart ex-cons stayed off all cops’ radars, especially at a crime scene.

It had been a mistake to linger. She didn’t want to be noticed by anyone, especially a pit bull cop. Carefully, Eva kept her expressions neutral as she slowly shifted her gaze away from his. She pretended to smile at something the man next to her said and made a nonsensical comment. Then as if she were just another gal out for an evening stroll, she melted into the crowd.

Her muscles screamed: Run, Hide!

But she didn’t.

Experience had taught her that even the innocent looked guilty when they ran.

Senseless Reviews

“Stieg Larsson fans will find a lot to like in Burton’s taut, well-paced novel of romantic suspense.”
— Publishers Weekly

“In the first of two linked novels, rising romantic suspense star Burton gives us a fast-paced thriller with a touch of romance. With hard-edged, imperfect but memorable characters, a complex plot, and no-nonsense dialog, this excellent novel will appeal to fans of Lisa Gardner and Lisa Jackson.”
— Library Journal

“Powerful characterization and expertly calculated plotting will have readers at Burton’s mercy, turning the pages anxious to read what happens next.”
— 4 stars, Romantic Times

Dying Scream

Dying Scream

Dying Scream

“DYING SCREAM is an absorbing thriller,ripe with twists and turns.”
Bookreporter.com

 

No one will find you

An aspiring artist. A high-school senior. A stripper. Three women who seemed to have nothing in common except their sudden disappearance. But one man knew them all. Wealthy, privileged Craig Thornton even claimed to love them. And for that, they paid the ultimate price.

No one will save you

When Adrianna Barrington receives an anniversary card from her husband Craig, she assumes it’s a some crackpot’s idea of a joke. After all Craig is dead. But then come phone calls, flowers, messages…all reminding her how much Craig misses her. While Adrianna begins to doubt her sanity, grisly remains are found on the Thornton estate. Detective Gage Hudson is convinced the bodies are linked to Craig. But the biggest shocks are yet to come.

No one will hear you scream

A psychopath has taken up his chilling work again, each death a prelude to the moment when she is under his control at last. And the only way for Gage and Adrianna to stop him is to uncover the truth about a family’s dark past–and a twisted love that someone will kill for again and again.

Dying Scream Excerpt

Coming Soon

Dying Scream Reviews

A twisted tale . . . I couldn’t put it down!”
—Lisa Jackson on Dying Scream

Burton’s taut, fast-paced thriller will have you guessing until the last blood-soaked page.”
—4-1/2 Stars. RT Book Reviews

DYING SCREAM is an absorbing thriller,
ripe with twists and turns.”
—Bookreporter.com