by Paula Graves
“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 th
em 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.
* * *
“YOUR 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.
“Maybe someone figured he had a damn good reason to take a shot at him.” Johnny’s sharp eyes met hers with the hint of a smile in their crinkled corners. He put an adhesive bandage over the cut on her cheek. “My cousin Arlen lost a big chunk of change on one of old Cleve’s land deals about a decade ago, and he hasn’t ever really recovered, financially or otherwise. I reckon Arlen might want to take a shot or two at old Cleve, if he could still afford a rifle.”
“So you think that was someone trying to send a message to my daddy through me?” Sutton’s slow, amused drawl drew Ivy’s gaze. He stood in the open doorway of the interrogation room where John had taken her to patch up her scratch. Someone had seen to his wound as well, applying a small, round bandage to the nick on his jaw.
“You tell me,” John replied. “Who do you think shot at you?”
“I’m not sure.” Sutton walked into the room at an unhurried pace. He studied John’s first-aid handiwork through narrowed eyes before lifting his gaze to meet Ivy’s. He smiled slightly, and once again, those smoldering hazel eyes made her gut twist into a hot, tight knot. “Any luck locating the shooter?”
“We found a few slugs stuck in trees up on the mountain, but looks like he policed his brass. We didn’t find any spent shells. Or any sign of the shooter himself.”
Sutton didn’t look surprised. “So, are we free to go?”
Johnny put his hand on Ivy’s shoulder. She dragged her gaze from Sutton’s and looked at her old friend. “You sure you’re okay to drive?” he asked.
She gave him a look that made him grin. “I’m fine to drive.”
“I reckon y’all are free to go, then.” He let go of her shoulder. “You might want to avoid meeting anonymous strangers at the top of Clingmans Dome in the future,” he added as he walked them out to where they’d parked their vehicles. He bent and gave Ivy a quick kiss on her forehead. “That goes for you, too, Hawk.” He walked them as far as the door leading to the parking lot and waved goodbye as they headed toward their vehicles.
“Boyfriend?” Sutton’s tone was soft and bone-dry.
“Old church camp buddy,” she answered, turning to look at him. The rain had stopped for the time being, though the heavy clouds overhead suggested the storm wasn’t yet over. But her clothes were still damp through, and the cold wind blowing across the parking lot made her shiver.
Sutton pushed a strand of hair away from her face. “You should get yourself home and get warm and dried out before yo
u catch cold.”
“I don’t think you should stay at the motel again tonight,” she said before she had finished forming the thought.
His eyebrows notched upward.
“The man with the rifle knows where you’re staying,” she explained. “What makes you think he’s not lying in wait for you at the motel?”
He gave her a thoughtful look. “I guess nothing. It’s a possibility.”
“Do you have somewhere else you can stay? Maybe with Cleve?”
He shook his head. “Not going to happen.”
She couldn’t believe what she was about to suggest. Hadn’t she just admitted to John that she didn’t really know a damned thing about what Sutton Calhoun had become after he left Bitterwood? All she knew was the jumble of stories that passed around town like wildfire, and half of those were pure fantasy, in her experience.
But she said the words anyway. “So come stay at my house.”
His eyes narrowed. “I thought your boss told you to stay clear of me.”
“He said not to let you near my investigation,” she admitted. “But you’ve already blown past that stop sign. And besides, I’m not letting him dictate what I do or who I see on my own time.” The words came out sounding more like a challenge than she’d intended.
The look he gave her set fire to her toes. The rush of heat spread upward until she felt as if her whole body were on fire.
“Okay,” he said.
Oh, hell.
Chapter Five
“I don’t rightly remember what he looked like.” The Stay and Save night clerk, a skinny young man in his early twenties who looked as if he might be a little stoned, answered Sutton’s question with a wrinkled brow, as if trying to remember what had happened less than twenty-four hours earlier was too much of a mental strain.
Hell, it probably was.
“And you’re sure it was a man who left the message?” Sutton glanced at Ivy, whose expression shifted at his question. Apparently she’d been making the same assumption he had, that the gunman in the woods was a man. But assumptions could be wrong.
