But he was not here to protect feelings or let anyone down gently. This case had landed in his lap because he had worked two different serial killer cases. The first had been in Houston. Killer had drugged his victims, raped, and then strangled them. That killer, a truck driver, was now serving life without parole. The next three linked murders he’d investigated were in El Paso. Three Hispanic women had been beaten to death, their bodies dumped on the side of the highway, before he had tracked the killer down. Guy was a local pastor. Shit, the preacher had looked as pure as the driven snow when Spencer had arrived in his church office and placed the cuffs on his wrists.

Yes, Poe had an impressive closure rate, but according to Captain Lee, she had never tracked a killer like this.

Neither he nor Detective Poe spoke as they moved to their vehicles. He removed his hat, tossed it on the passenger seat, and started the engine. He knew the way to the forensic lab but followed Poe. Several times he had to run a yellow light to keep up with her. Was she trying to lose him? When he caught up to her at a stoplight, she was talking. He would wager big dollars she was complaining to her boss. He sure as hell would have been.

She beat him to the forensic lab and parked at the far end of the lot. He slid into the spot near her and got out of his car, then settled his Stetson on his head. In the distance a police siren wailed down a street. Poe strode toward the front door, leaving him behind as she moved with confidence. Her legs were long, her posture erect, and her gaze on the front door.

He easily overtook her and reached for the door, paused, and waited, then opened it as she approached. “Who are we meeting with?”

“Andy Lucas,” she said as she stepped inside. “He’s the forensic technician who has worked both scenes.” As he followed, she walked toward the elevator doors and pressed the up button as if she had a grudge against it.

He’d been born and raised in Austin, but he had not lived here since he was eighteen, twenty-two years ago. Over the last two years he had familiarized himself with the new streets, the patrol officers’ names, even the best places to get decent barbecue, but there was always something new to learn.

Six months ago, he had purchased a house twenty miles north of the city, where land was still affordable, and there he could take off the badge and be himself in his downtime. His tenure with the Department of Public Safety as a patrol officer and then the promotion to the Rangers had kept him on the move for the last decade. Austin was his last duty station, and he looked forward to putting down roots.