Murder in the Smokies - By Paula Graves Page 0,15

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