Murder in the Smokies - By Paula Graves Page 0,13

not. And since you’re already here and, as you were quick to tell me, heavily armed—”

“I’ll do it,” she blurted, before her weariness and her native caution had time to make her think better of the idea.

He nodded, as if he had expected nothing else. “You always did have my back, didn’t you?”

His words, so soft and intimate, made her shiver with a combination of pleasure and pain. Most of her memories of Sutton Calhoun seemed to be wrapped up in those two emotions.

“So, what’s the plan?” she asked.

He smiled, his teeth gleaming in the dark. “How long has it been since you did a little hiking in the woods?”

* * *

BY THE TIME THEY PARKED both vehicles in the visitor lot where Clingmans Dome Road ended and the paved hiking trail to the observation deck began, a steady light rain had begun falling. Bypassing the road, they crossed into the gloomy woods, Sutton taking the lead. He slowed his pace slightly to accommodate Ivy’s shorter legs, but to her credit, she kept pace without complaining, even though he could tell from the purple shadows lingering like bruises beneath her eyes that she was running on fumes.

At least she was dressed for the weather, in a weatherproof jacket and sturdy water-resistant boots. She’d lived in the mountains her whole life, too.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmured when they took a brief water break halfway to the observation deck. “You look dead on your feet.”

She swallowed a swig of water. “Thanks.”

“Did you get any sleep at all last night before you were called to the crime scene?”

“Some.”

“What, an hour?”

She handed the water bottle back to him. “What do you expect to find at the observation deck?”

“I don’t rightly know,” he admitted. “An ambush, maybe.”

“And yet you came alone?”

“Not my brightest idea,” he conceded.

“But you couldn’t let the mystery lie unsolved?” She sounded as if she understood. Hell, she probably did. She’d become a cop for some reason, after all, and it sure as hell couldn’t be for the good pay, easy hours or accommodating bosses.

“These murders are connected,” he said flatly.

“I know.” Her serious expression was oddly endearing. She was so small, so young, so earnest. Had he ever been that earnest in his life?

“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.”

* * *

GUNS 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