CHAPTER SIX
Harley’s chest tightened at the sight of the woman flung like a ragdoll on the side of the dirt road. The victim lay on her right side, the earth and weeds beneath her stained with blood. Her ribcage was partially collapsed, her hip fractured, her head resting at an odd angle that suggested several broken vertebrae. Though Harley had seen plenty of bodies in her eleven years with the Bureau, the sight of one – especially one mangled as badly as the body before her now – could still hit her like a gallon of cold water.
Harley glanced up as Callaway approached, leaving his conversation with a farmer in bib overalls and a scraggly gray beard who had called in the body. Behind him stood a produce truck packed to the gills with heads of lettuce, beets, spinach, and numerous other
