Whitlock digests that, nodding. "Well, until psych evaluates him we won’t know what he has."

  She pulls the badly fitting sweater over her head. "Right."

  "Whoa, where are you going?" He blocks her.

  "I already gave you my statement."

  "Yeah, but—"

  "So I’m leaving. It’s my weekend off, remember?"

  Dumbfounded, he watches her leave the hospital room. She hopes the door smacks him in the face, but he elbows it out of the way as he follows her. "Jules, you were drugged. Be sensible."

  "I am. It’s been twelve hours, and my dad is probably beside himself."

  Whitlock blinks. "I called him already. Told him everything. You were sick, and he’s your emergency contact!"

  "Thanks for that. Really." Now she’ll be subjected to more lectures about why her job is too dangerous.

  Whitlock follows her all the way to the hospital exit like an annoying shadow. "Sawyer, I could use your help."

  "You have my statement, and I’ll be happy to answer any questions you have—by phone."

  "I’m not impressed by this, Sawyer!"

  "The doctor gave me orders to relax," she shouts. "That’s what I’m doing."

  The stench of the fertilizer seems to have seeped into her pores. She spreads a bag over her father’s flowerbeds, the grass staining her jeans as she kneels. Her back aches. The sun beats down on her neck. And on the porch, her father watches with a smile, satisfied by watching his daughter knee-deep in chicken shit. A tempting glass of freshly squeezed orange juice sits on a table, next to the chaise where her elderly father lounges and occasionally shouts out instructions. Fertilizing his beds was not her idea of a de-stressing weekend. All it’s done so far is give her back pain.

  Whitlock put her on a two-week administrative leave after the press went wild about the murders on the ACT. He assured her she would be fine, but a few more days with her father might make her beg Whitlock to let her come back early. After the first night, her dad sent her to work. He’s seventy years old and can’t risk his back, he said. She’s only forty and apparently chasing down serial killers is a normal part of her job description. She can handle a little gardening. He said it in such an obvious point of pride that Jules felt obligated to help.

  She straightens, slipping the gloves from her hands as her ulcers nag at her. Her father frowns as she trudges up the steps and swipes his glass of orange juice.

  "Julia, you’re not done with those flowerbeds."

  "I need a minute to catch my breath."

  "When I was your age, I was always active. You have to take care of yourself. You’re completely out of shape."

  "Thanks, Dad. I’m going inside for a second."

  "Okay."

  Sighing, she slides the glass door and enters the air-conditioned house. She looks down and pinches a roll of fat. Maybe he’s right.

  Her back smarts as she sits on the couch and turns on the TV, which is dominated by Jacob Parker’s face. A scrolling newsfeed on CNN reads, MURDER ON LA EXPRESS.

  Whitlock was kind enough to keep her updated on the case, even though her involvement would be limited as a witness. Psychiatric evaluations diagnosed Jacob Parker as a schizophrenic with paranoid delusions. Both victims were found with benzos in their systems.

  "He drugged them, waited till they slept, and then he’d strangle them," Whitlock said. "Employees reported that he went by Johnny and he’d often work extra hours, claiming that he was volunteering to help the cleanup crew. In reality, he was using the showers to butcher the bodies."

  "What? The model I was on didn’t have them."

  "Ah, according to the conductor I questioned not all trains have them. Anyway, investigators swathed the showers with Luminol. The walls and floor fluoresced like crazy."

  Jules swallowed hard. "Damn."

  "His mental health was seriously deteriorating. He became sloppy. He chose a train with no facilities to wash down the blood. And before all that, he made an IED and kidnapped a girl who could’ve placed him at the scene of the crime. What I can’t piece together is how he strangled those people with no witnesses."

  "Mark Nilsen must’ve stumbled into the women’s bathroom. He had a drink, felt sick to his stomach, and opened the wrong door. Parker followed and killed him there. When he left to retrieve his suitcase, I found the body."

  "Hey," Whitlock said, his tone lightening. "Maybe I should give you a raise."

  A commercial for a Disney resort somewhere in Hawaii blares on the TV, yanking Jules out the past. She imagines herself stretched out on a beach with soft, white sand, attempting a tan on her cottage-cheese belly and legs.

  Her phone chimes and Jules grabs it. It’s a text from Ashley. She’s a rowdy twenty-six-year-old who Jules met years ago on a domestic disturbance call.

  Bachelorette party next wknd. R U in?

  That’s right. Ashley’s getting married, and she invited Jules on a getaway to Napa. A weekend of fine wines and mud baths might be just what she needs.

  I’m in, she texts back.

  "Ju-lee-ah!" The grumpy voice outside bellows. "My tulip bulbs aren’t going to plant themselves."

  "Coming."

  Then again, there’s reality.

  Thanks so much for reading One Way Ticket! If you enjoyed it, please remember to leave a review!

  Want the next Julia Sawyer novel? Buy Wine and Die HERE:

  Click here to buy on Amazon!

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  Click here to buy on Nook!

  * * *

  Wine and Die is coming May 9th, 2017! Here’s the blurb:

  * * *

  Welcome to Napa Valley. Eat, drink, and die.

  * * *

  A string of murders strike California's Wine Country, and the police have no clues except for a hit list with no names. It’s a long list, and the killer is only halfway through. Some are poisoned. Some are bludgeoned to death. But each victim shared something more sinister--they kept a deadly secret.

  * * *

  It’s up to Detective Julia Sawyer to find out what it is, but discovering his secret might be deadlier than chasing a serial killer.

  * * *

  Can she save the people on the list before it’s too late? Will Jules get to the bottom of the truth, or will she drown in the conspiracy?

  Coming soon!

  If you'd like more information, click HERE to sign up for my mailing list and the first chapter of Julia Sawyer’s next book!

  I never spam my mailing list subscribers. You will only receive information about my books, sales, and fun giveaways!

  About the Author

  Rachel Hargrove is a 30-year-old Seattleite who's spent her life with a pen in one hand and a book in the other. When she turned 26, she decided to give up her career in tech and dive headfirst into writing full-time. One Way Ticket is her first foray into writing thrillers. She loves to write fun, fast-paced thrillers that are impossible to put down.

  For more information, follow her here:

  rachelhargrovewrites

  www.rachelhargrove.com

  admin@rachelhargrove.com

 

 

  Unknown, One Way Ticket

 

 

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