Page 15 of Hunting the Crossbow Killer

He opened the door and leaned against the frame. “Make it quick. My patience is at an end.”

“It’s what you were saying at the station during our earlier interview, before Dawson cut it short. I was talking about the arrows from the incident at this morning’s festival. I said the fletching was both plastic and feathers. You corrected me, said that the arrows you saw… What? What were you going to add to that?”

He frowned, trying to remember, then nodded. “Right. I think I was making the point that the plastic on the arrows was the fletching, for the aerodynamics. That’s a crucial part of the arrowto make it fly straight and true. The feather isn’t fletching, not the one dangling from the arrow. That wouldn’t help stabilize the shot. It would wreak havoc on the aerodynamics. Anyone shooting a bow and arrow using a large feather off the end like that isn’t concerned with accuracy.”

Her eyes widened. “Meaning whoever he shoots just happens to be in the way of the arrow. He’s not really aiming.”

“Exactly.”

She swore. “We’ve been focusing too much on victimology, trying to dig into the backgrounds of our victims and figure out what links them together. The answer to that is—”

“Nothing,” he said. “Wrong time. Wrong place. The victims are random. Unless he attaches the feathers after he shoots someone. I suppose that’s possible, too. Then you’re back to looking at victimology.”

Some of her excitement drained out of her. “True. Well, it’s another angle to look into, regardless. Thank you, Aidan. You’ve been extremely helpful.” She held out her hand.

He sighed heavily. Her use of his first name was a technique to build a connection with him so he’d answer questions. He knew it. But dang if it wasn’t working to some extent. Feeling spiteful at this point if he again refused to shake her hand, he shook it. And immediately felt his anger draining away. Her soft, warm touch was like a soothing balm over the wounds in his soul that had been reopened during the interrogation. That simple human contact that he normally avoided sparked a stirring in his heart that he’d thought had died years ago. He quickly broke the contact out of desperation and self-preservation. He didn’t want the man he used to be to wake up, to feel everything so deeply and painfully again. He needed to lock away that part of himself just to survive.

She gave him a sad smile as if she understood what he was thinking. And that scared the hell out of him.

“Aidan, I know there’s more to what happened the night your wife died than you’ve ever admitted. Whatever it is that you’re holding back, remember that the law can’t punish you a second time for the same crime. You’ve served your time. Have you considered that telling the truth will unburden your conscience, lift a terrible weight off your shoulders and allow you to finally begin the healing process?”

He motioned toward the open door. “Goodbye, Special Agent Malone.”

She sighed and headed outside.

The sound of another car engine and wheels crunching on gravel had him stepping onto the porch to see what was going on. As Malone was walking toward her car, one of the police station’s Jeeps was heading toward her.

“How did I get so lucky today?” Aidan muttered.

The unmistakable sound of an arrow whistling through the air had him shouting a warning.

“Hit the deck!”

Malone dived to the ground a split secondafterthe arrow embedded itself in the back of her SUV, with a large white feather dangling from the end. If the arrow had been a little to the left, it would have driven deep into her back.

Aidan whirled around just in time to see someone disappearing into the woods on the far side of the cabin. He immediately took off after them.

“Freeze, or I’ll shoot!” Dawson’s voice rang out.

Aidan slid to a halt and slowly raised his hands.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Grace yelled as Dawson stopped to check on her. “Go! Get him!”

Dawson ran past her, past the front of the cabin and into the woods. Grace climbed painfully to her feet, flicking off the worst of the gravel that had dug into her legs through the tears they’d made in her pants. But she didn’t have time to feel sorry for herself. Ignoring the stinging in her skinned knees, she yanked her pistol out of her holster and jogged up the porch steps to check on Aidan.

“Are you okay? No arrows hit you, did they?” she asked.

He slowly turned and lowered his hands, a look of confusion on his face. “You’re not arresting me?”

She frowned. “Arrest you? Why would I do that?”

“I figured you both thought I was the…” He shook his head, seemingly stunned. “You saw the shooter?”

“Dawson did. He’s on his trail right now. And I need to back him up. Lock yourself in your cabin and—”

“Hell, no. I’m not hiding while some fool runs around on my property playing cowboys and Indians, not caring whether he hurts someone, or worse.” He took off across the porch.

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