Page 1 of Hunting the Crossbow Killer

CHAPTER ONE

Grace paused on the brick-paved sidewalk, subtly smoothing her hand down her light jacket to make sure her pistol was still secure in her shoulder holster and out of sight. Just steps away was a narrow cobblestoned street. The street was deserted at the moment, likely because most of the people were attending the fall festival on the other side of the lake that split the town in two.

The sun had risen over the Smoky Mountains hours ago, but its rays were only just now beginning to penetrate the thick woods surrounding the town and burn off the mist rising from the water, partially obscuring the clusters of boats bobbing up and down.

The locals had dubbed this isolated Tennessee mountain town Mystic Lake, both for the lake of the same name and for its mysterious origins. Over seventy years ago, a series of unprecedented superstorms had dumped so much water on the mountains that mudslides had diverted a nearby river permanently. The resulting flash flood submerged a tiny logging town whose name had long since been forgotten, tragicallydrowning most of the residents. Those who’d survived never got the chance to retrieve their dead or rebuild what they’d once had. With the river now feeding the new lake, the water never receded.

This new town had gradually emerged. But as time went by, an alarming number of mysterious deaths and disappearances began to occur in the area. Speculation was that the original people who were killed when the lake covered the logging town were now haunting the area, reaching up from the lake’s murky depths to punish those who dared to claim the land or drive boats over their watery graves. The lake was eerie, oppressive, dangerous. Or, at least, that was what Grace had read on the internet. Reality was proving to be something else entirely. Mystic Lake, both the water and the town, was beautiful, enchanting and compelling.

The festival appeared to be in full swing now with people milling around colorful tents set up in front of the town’s only bed-and-breakfast and a couple of homegrown restaurants. Some of those tents no doubt held musicians, because Grace could hear the faint notes of a haunting melody drifting across the water.

Children laughed and played on slides and swings in a park at the end of the street. But a petting zoo just past the park appeared to be the largest attraction for families. A menagerie of farm animals bleated, mooed or clucked as they mingled with the townspeople behind a temporary rope fence that had been set up. And just to the left of that was a sloping hill where the lake and town both ended and thick woods began.

Towering oak, ash and hemlock trees in varying shades of green covered the mountains. Giant swaths of maples created a gorgeous sweep of oranges and yellows across the lower elevations, their leaves just starting to turn. It was as if an artist had purposely planted them so their leaves would flicker likebrilliant flames as autumn descended. A few weeks from now, maybe even a month, this place would be bustling with tourists. Leaf peepers would brave the town’s ominous reputation and take the hour-long drive down the winding two-lane road that was the only way in or out so they could witness nature’s fiery display. But Grace was no tourist. And she wasn’t here to soak in the sights or even partake in the festival.

Turning around, she studied the long row of fanciful-looking shops and businesses that bordered the sidewalk on her side of the lake, searching for one in particular. Would it be covered in stone and ivy like some of these buildings? Or was it one of the wooden structures with whitewashed cedar shakes and colorful wood trim gleaming brightly in the sunlight? The only thing for certain was that it would have flowers in front. All of the buildings did. Pink and white spilled over the sides of window boxes or filled large terra-cotta pots, whimsical like the cover of a book of fairy tales. But that fairy tale exterior could very well be hiding something dark and twisted, an evil that no one suspected was living here among them.

No one, that is, except Grace.

She continued down the sidewalk, noting the names of each shop or business as she passed. When she found the one she was looking for, she pulled on the door, nearly running into it when it didn’t open as she’d expected. Frowning, she pushed, in case the door swung in instead of out. It didn’t budge. It was locked.

Cupping her hands against the dark tinted window, she peered inside. Sure enough, there wasn’t anyone sitting at the small cluster of desks. There was a glass-enclosed conference room on the back wall that was obviously empty. And the other areas she noted were empty, as well. But there were two doors on the left wall that were closed. Maybe someone was behind them. She knocked. When nothing happened, she knocked louder. Still nothing. She sighed and shook her head. They must have closedfor the festival. Unbelievable. What kind of police department locked up the building and didn’t leave at least one officer to handle emergencies? She’d have to go find them.

She whirled around and stepped onto the sidewalk.

“Ooof,” she muttered as a man slammed into her.

He grabbed her around her waist, saving her from what would have been a nasty fall on the brick sidewalk. As soon as she was steady on her feet, he dropped his hands and hastily moved back.

“Sorry, ma’am. You okay?”

The slight Irish brogue in his deep voice had her looking up at him, her face heating with embarrassment over her clumsiness. Good grief, he was tall, and buff from the looks of his broad shoulders and the way his denim jacket tapered at his narrow waist cupped by faded jeans. But it was his face that had her cheeks heating even more. There was no other word to describe it except beautiful, like an angel’s might be. His angular, sculpted cheeks were kissed by the sun, his skin a golden color that gave way to a barely-there beard and mustache. Wavy brown hair was just long enough to look in need of a cut and to save him from total perfection.

Then she met his gaze.

Grace had to suppress a shiver. His eyes were so dark they were almost black, with shadows seeming to swirl in their depths, giving him a sad, tortured look that hinted at mysterious secrets that took him from angel to fallen angel.

Her face heated even more as she realized she was staring. She cleared her throat and held out her hand to shake. “Sorry about that. I didn’t look before I stepped onto the sidewalk. I’m Grace—”

Ignoring her hand, he circled around her and strode away at a brisk pace.

She blinked, her embarrassment giving way to annoyance. “Nice to meet you, too,” she muttered as she straightened her jacket, automatically checking her weapon again and smoothing her hands down her slacks.

After giving one last frowning glance at the darkened building behind her, she headed in the same direction as the fallen angel, who was already heading around the end of the lake toward the other side. But something, or someone, must have caught his attention, because he abruptly changed direction and started up the hill toward the woods.

Near the tree line he stopped and sat in the shade of a maple tree, knees drawn up, his hands clasped across them. He was too far away for Grace to see his expression, but his posture seemed tense, like a bird of prey ready to swoop down or maybe fly away. The question was which would he do? And why were the few other townspeople on the same hill giving him wary looks and moving away?

Grace added him to the top of her list of people to speak to while she was here. Well, not the very top, but second for sure. The first person she had to speak to was no doubt somewhere in the crowd by the tents.

As she rounded the end of the lake and started across the bottom of the sloping hill, she spotted the man she was looking for, as evidenced by the flash of sun on the old-fashioned gold star on his uniform. She supposed he could be one of the regular police officers instead of the chief. But she doubted it. Confidence and authority seemed to surround him like an aura. The townspeople gave him the deference and respect that one would expect of someone in his position, politely smiling and greeting him as they passed.

Before approaching him, she couldn’t resist one quick glance up at the morose stranger she’d run into earlier. He was still in the same spot, but this time she was close enough to makeout his expression. His mouth was drawn into a tight line of displeasure. And as she followed the direction of his gaze, she realized it was focused on the same group of people she was approaching, the one that included the police chief.

She started to make her way through the small crowd to introduce herself to the chief when something whizzed through the air just past her toward the lake. Someone screamed. Grace blinked in shock when she saw a large white feather on the haft of an arrow sticking out of the side of one of the small boats docked near the shore.

Chaos erupted as some people fled and others swarmed the boat, checking on the two people inside. The police chief shouted orders. Two officers emerged from the crowd and began moving people back. The chief sprinted toward the hill, charging past her. She whirled around just in time to see the fallen angel disappearing into the woods with the chief in pursuit.

Grace wanted to rush after him to provide backup, but she was more worried about the safety of the people on the hill. There didn’t seem to be enough police officers for crowd control, so she sprinted up the hill herself, directing the few families and children there to move away from the woods and down toward the cover of the tents and playground area.

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