Murder in the Smokies - By Paula Graves Page 0,14

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.

* * *

THE 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