Murder in the Smokies (4 page)

“All the signs point to a serial murderer. Do you agree?”

She wiped the rain out of her eyes, not answering immediately.

“You don’t agree?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s like there’s something important I’m missing, but I don’t yet know what it is.” She looked a little sheepish. “I know that sounds stupid.”

He shook his head. “No. I get it.”

“I do think they’re connected, though.”

He nodded toward the dark mountain rising above them. “Let’s get back on the trail.”

* * *

G
UNS
WEREN
’
T
HIS
TOOL
of choice. They were too impersonal. Too easy to distance oneself from a target behind the scope of a gun. And almost any person with decent eye-hand coordination could do considerable damage with a gun. Where was the fun in that? But sometimes, a high-powered rifle with a nightscope could be just the tool a man needed.

The Clingmans Dome observation deck had started clearing out around sunset as darkness and gathering storm clouds swallowed the stunning 360-degree view of the Smoky Mountains and damp night air drove out the mild warmth of the September day. He’d set the meeting deliberately after sunset, not wanting collateral damage to muddy his plan. He hadn’t planned for rain, though he should have. No matter. He’d still have the advantage.

Of course, the real problem was killing Sutton Calhoun wasn’t actually
his
plan. Given his own preference, he’d have chosen to let the man live. He liked a challenge, and the company Calhoun worked for was supposedly legendary, from what he’d been told.

He suspected he would have enjoyed the battle of wits with Calhoun. From what he understood about the man’s past, he came from a shrewd, wily father whose native charm had parted many a man from his hard-earned money. Even if the son had taken a path more straight and narrow, he still had those instincts inside. Instincts that might make him an interesting opponent.

Seemed a shame to waste such an opportunity for sport, especially as he had an idea how he could use Calhoun’s skills for his own purposes.

The observation deck remained empty, though according to his watch, seven o’clock had passed several minutes ago. So Calhoun was already living up to his reputation. He hadn’t fallen for the obvious trick.

Which meant Calhoun was somewhere out there in the woods, sneaking up on the target rather than approaching it head-on. The thought that the investigator had ignored the note he’d left wasn’t even an option. No man in search of answers could have resisted the opportunity presented.

He put down the binoculars and picked up the night-vision scope he’d brought along for just such a turn of events. Slowly, methodically, he started to scan the stands of spruce, hemlock and fir trees that carpeted Clingmans Dome. Water splashed the scope’s lens, but not enough to eclipse the dead Fraser firs, victims of European aphids, that stood like stark white skeletons, drawing his attention momentarily away from his task. No life in them, their towering majesty reduced to brittle bones by an insect so tiny it could barely be seen at a glance.

Of course, no aphid had killed a tree alone. It took thousands to accomplish the task. That was the difference between insects and humans.

One human was capable of many wonderful, horrible things.

Movement beyond the tree husks caught his attention. Through the night-vision scope, the man moving up the mountain glowed green, an incandescent bug waiting to be squashed. But he wasn’t alone. A second figure brought up the rear. Though a jacket hid the contours of her body and a baseball cap hid her features, he was sure the second person was a female.

He had built-in radar for women.

So. Two for one, then.

* * *

T
HE
TREE
BESIDE
Ivy splintered, shooting shards of dead fir bark prickling against her cheek. “Ow!” she growled, lifting her hand to her face. She drew back her hand and saw the dark imprint of blood on her fingers, diluted by the rain beading on her cheeks.

“Get down!” Sutton grabbed her arm and dragged her to the ground, rolling both their bodies sideways until they were hunkered behind a small outcropping of time-worn stone. The ground was wet and loamy beneath her jeans, cold water soaking through the denim with uncomfortable speed.

“Was that—?”

“A rifle shot?” he finished for her, his voice as grim as the grave. “Yeah, it definitely was.”

Great. Just great. Sutton Calhoun had led her smack-dab in the middle of trouble again, just like old times.

“Well,” she said in a flat drawl, “I reckon we can officially call this an ambush.”

Chapter Four

Sutton could see nothing in the gloom up the mountain, but he knew the shooter must be up there somewhere, better prepared for the conditions than he was. As he hunkered behind a large rock outcropping, he looked himself and Ivy over with the quick, practiced eye of a man used to lying low. Both of them had dressed for stealth, whether consciously or by chance. His black jeans, T-shirt and jacket blended in with the darkness so well that he could barely see his own legs.

Ivy’s dark green uniform jacket nearly disappeared into the trees and underbrush around them, and her jeans were inky with rain, rendering them nearly as hard to see as his own black jeans.

“How the hell can he see us well enough to get that close with his shot?” Ivy growled, speaking aloud his own silent question.

“I think he may have a night-vision scope or something,” Sutton whispered. “The darker it gets, the better he’ll be able to see us.”

“Do you have any idea who it could be?”

“No. But not that many people know I have a room at the Stay and Save.” He risked a quick peek over the top of their rocky cover, earning another round from their hidden ambusher. The bullet shattered the sedimentary stone, forcing Sutton to duck to avoid the shrapnel.

“If he has enough ammo, he could shoot this rock to pieces,” Ivy growled, brushing shards of stone out of her face.

“And if we move, he’ll see us with that scope.” They needed backup. But when he pulled out his phone to dare a quick check, he got an “out of range” message. “No bars.”

Ivy checked her phone, as well. “Me, either.” She shoved her phone back into her pocket and looked toward the direction from which the bullets had been coming. “Are you sure he’s using a night-vision scope?”

“I don’t think there’s any other way he could shoot at us in the dark with such accuracy.”

“Then we might have half a chance,” she whispered, her voice taking on a hint of excitement. “Did you hear what I just heard?”

It took a second to figure out what she was talking about. Then the rumbling sound that hadn’t quite registered with him earlier came again, nearer than before.

“That was thunder.”

“The storm’s getting closer,” she murmured, hunkering down into a tighter ball.

“And with thunder comes lightning,” he whispered, realizing what she was getting at. A night-vision scope was a powerful tool in the dark. But unless the person wielding the rifle out there was using a top-grade military scope, a flash of lightning, if it struck close, might be bright enough to render him temporarily blind for a few precious seconds. Maybe this night was going to turn out lucky for them after all.

“What if it doesn’t work?” she asked.

“It’s the only option we have.” The storm was moving in quickly, the sky overhead lowering steadily. Already roiling black clouds obscured the top of Clingmans Dome, lightning sparking around the edges, too faint and far away for their purpose.

A bullet pinged against the rocky outcropping, shooting another blast of stone shards into the air around them. A sharp piece sliced across his jawline and he bit back a grunt of pain. That time, he’d heard the muted report of the rifle, dampened by whatever sound suppressor their assailant was using. Was he getting closer?

Electricity crackled in the air for a split second before the mountain lit up as bright as a high school football field on a Tennessee Friday night. Simultaneously, a deafening thunderclap crashed, echoing through the hills.

“Now!” Sutton grabbed Ivy’s hand and pulled her to her feet, starting a reckless zigzag down the treacherous, rain-slick trail, his feet tangling in fallen limbs and underbrush. Ivy stumbled as she hit a slippery spot, and he grabbed her to keep her from pitching down a sharp incline.

The rifle fire didn’t come right away, but when it came, it whistled so close to Sutton’s ear he swore he felt the blast of air on his cheek. Whatever advantage the lightning flash had offered was gone, and he dived for cover behind a nearby Fraser fir, hoping the young tree’s wide limbs and thick foliage would offer enough cover until the next lightning flash.

Thunder rumbled down the mountain, a promise of more lightning strikes to come. But would another big one happen soon enough to prevent the shooter from getting so close he couldn’t miss?

“I can’t tell if he’s a bad shot or a good one,” Ivy whispered, her breathing harsh and fast.

“Good, I think,” Sutton answered. “He’s having to compensate for the sound suppressor and the distance, but he’s getting damned close.”

“How far away?”

“No more than two hundred yards by now, I’d guess.” He checked his cell phone again. Still no bars. “You got a signal?”

She checked quickly. “Nope.”

He muttered a curse. “Any chance a park service employee will hear the gunfire?”

“Not sound-suppressed that way, and not over the thunder.” Her tone was bleak.

Lightning illuminated the mountain again, bright as daylight. This time, Ivy needed no urging. She was already on the run before the thunder crashed, leaving Sutton to keep up with her short, churning legs.

No rifle fire answered the thunder this time, only more lightning and more crashing booms. They kept running, the harsh sound of their respiration overtaking even the roar of the downpour. Despite the breakneck pace, to Sutton the flight down the mountain seemed to take hours. But when he glanced at his watch as his feet hit the pavement of the parking lot, he saw that little more than an hour and a half had passed since he and Ivy left the parking lot and headed into the woods.

Their vehicles were the only ones left in the parking lot, offering scant cover if the gunman followed them the rest of the way down the mountain. Ivy hurried to her Jeep, putting it between her and the gunman. Since it was closer than his truck, Sutton hunkered down beside her, bending close.

“I think he may have headed back up the mountain.”

“Just because he stopped shooting?” Her breathing was already returning to normal, a sign of just what good shape she was in. At some point during the day, she’d changed out of the Bitterwood P.D. polo shirt into a dark blue blouse, now visible under her open jacket, revealing a slim and muscular physique beneath her womanly curves. Her toned legs, outlined by the clinging wet denim, were damn near breathtaking.

No time for horn dogging, Calhoun.

As if the heavens themselves thought he needed a reminder, lightning split the air with a deafening boom, prickles of electricity raising the hair all over his body. Beside him, Ivy’s body gave a jerk, and for a second, he was afraid she’d been struck. But she scrambled to her feet and unlocked the Jeep door in one fluid movement, diving into the front seat. She reached across, fumbling with the lock on the passenger door until it disengaged. She shoved the door open. “Get in!”

He complied, closing out the rain and the sparking flashes of lightning surrounding them like an electrical cage. In the driver’s seat, Ivy was breathing hard and trembling, but she was also laughing.

He stared at her with alarm, wondering if the past few minutes of sheer terror had sent her off the deep end. His expression only made her laugh harder.

“My mama always told me you were nothin’ but trouble,” she drawled, still laughing. “I don’t think this is what she meant, though.”

Damn, he wanted to reach across the seat and kiss that grin off her soft pink lips, the urge so strong it felt like another jolt to his system. Why her? Why now? Was it just the heightened danger? Her sheer proximity?

He’d been in dangerous situations before. Worked side by side with beautiful women, but he’d never felt this upended before, and by little Ivy Hawkins, of all people. He’d been about as close to her as he’d been to anyone, all those years ago, but never once had he been tempted to kiss her.

But she’s all grown up now, Calhoun.
Sexy in that natural, thoughtless way of some Southern girls, who could make a man’s blood sing just by flashing a toothy grin. Or smelling like morning sunshine even when drenched and shivering.

He forced his straying mind back to their still-dangerous situation before his unexpected lust got them killed. “I reckon we should call in the local LEOs. Agreed?”

She nodded. “I know a Sevier County deputy.” She checked her phone, her grin telling him she’d finally gotten a signal—and making his insides tighten into a hot, hungry knot. She made a quick call to someone named John, giving their location. “He’s still out there, John. I don’t know if we’re safe yet.”

The Jeep wouldn’t offer much cover if their mystery shooter decided to send a few more rounds of lead their way. Too many windows. But Sutton’s truck wouldn’t be much better, and getting out of the vehicle while a lightning storm raged around them would be pretty stupid.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Ivy growled after she hung up the phone, wiping rainwater away from her face. A little scratch on her cheek was trickling blood, but not a lot. She probably wouldn’t even need a bandage, he noted with relief. They’d been lucky. It could have been so much worse. “Does this ambush even have anything to do with the murders? What the hell was the point of luring you out here and gunning you down?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Your perp hasn’t used a gun in any of the murders so far, right?”

“Right. Just knives and ligatures. Ligatures to control, knives to dispatch.” Her trembling had eased to almost nothing. Talking shop seemed to have put her back in control of her nerves. “There’ve been bruises, too. A couple of minor lumps on a couple of the women’s heads, like he might have had to knock them around to subdue them. But cause of death has been blood loss and internal injuries from the knife attacks.”

“He’d have had to subdue them so he could bind and gag them to get them out of their houses without neighbors noticing.”

“Probably. Although he’s been really careful about when he strikes. He usually works between ten and midnight, when most folks around here are already asleep. His victims are asleep and he attacks with no warning. And so far, he’s managed to get to them when they’re alone.”

“Did any of the victims have security alarms?”

“Around here?” The look she gave him made him feel like an idiot. “Half the people around here never even lock their doors.”

“That’s crazy these days,” he said with a shake of his head. “Even in a little bitty nowhere place like Bitterwood.”

“Old habits. People want to believe they’re safe, so they keep on behaving as if they are.” She reached forward to wipe away the condensation starting to fog up the windshield.

“No.” Sutton grabbed her wrist, stilling the motion. She turned to look at him, her dark eyes wide with surprise. Beneath his fingers her pulse beat like the wings of a trapped bird, swift and violent.

Desire licked at his belly like flames. He let go of her wrist, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. He swallowed and found his voice. “Better let ’em fog up. Makes it harder to see us inside, in case he’s out there looking for a target.”

She dropped her hand to her lap. It curled into a fist, her knuckles pressing hard against her thigh. She gazed forward at the opaque windshield, her chest rising and falling more swiftly than before.

The sudden whoop of a siren, close by, made them both give a start. The flash of blue and cherry lights painted the condensation on the passenger window with streaks of color. Sutton lowered the window to reveal a white-and-green Sevier County Sheriff’s Department cruiser pulling up beside them. A man in his early thirties with sharp blue eyes and a close-shaved head gazed back at them, his expression wary.

“John,” Ivy said, and the deputy’s expression immediately cleared. He shot her a smile so friendly, so full of male appreciation, that Sutton felt the absurd urge to knock it right off his face.

John’s smile died suddenly. “Good Lord, Hawkins, you’re bleedin’! Did you get hit?”

No mention of the bloody shrapnel wound on Sutton’s jaw, he noticed, not sure whether he was amused or pissed off by the omission.

“Just a scratch.” Ivy pressed her fingertips to the nick. “John, I don’t know if the shooter is still up there. He could be. I don’t know how far he could have gotten in such a short time or whether he had a getaway vehicle parked over on the North Carolina side. You might want to see if you can get a chopper in the air and maybe give the Swain County boys over in North Carolina a heads-up.”

“Chopper’s on its way already, and the sheriff was on the phone with the Swain County sheriff last I talked to anyone at the station. Come on. Let’s get the two of you somewhere safe and dry.”

Sutton looked at Ivy. “See you in Sevierville?”

She reached out to catch his hand as he started to open the door. Her gaze was fathomless. “I’m not sure I’d have gotten off that mountain alive without you. Thanks.”

As he let go of her hand and headed for his truck, he didn’t remind her she wouldn’t have been on the mountain in the first place if it weren’t for him. Whether he said it aloud or not, Ivy Hawkins would figure it out on her own, sooner or later. She’d realize her mama had been right about him all along.

Calhouns were nothing but trouble.

* * *

“Y
OUR
FELLOW
ANY
KIN
to old Cleve Calhoun?” John Mallory touched the antiseptic-soaked cotton ball against the cut on Ivy’s cheek, making her wince.

“Son,” she answered with a wary glance up at him. She should have known the old man’s reputation would have spread far past Bitterwood after so many years. “And he’s not my fellow.”

“Is he anything like his old man?”

She started to say no but stopped. What did she know about Sutton Calhoun these days, really? Hell, she hadn’t even called Cooper Security to check his credentials, had she? Cleve Calhoun had made his reputation on the back of some of the biggest, most reasonable-sounding lies ever told. Maybe Sutton had followed in his daddy’s footsteps, for all she knew. There was a lot she didn’t know about his life after he left Bitterwood—and her—behind.

“That’s to be determined,” she answered John’s question.