Page 52 of Hunting the Crossbow Killer

She sped up. She was definitely hearing a waterfall. She’d studied the area on topographical maps before coming here, wanting to be sure she understood the main landmarks as well as the more dangerous areas to avoid. When she’d woken up in his Jeep, Mystic Lake had been on their right, barely visible through the trees. That meant they’d headed north. Then he’d turned left, west, up a dirt road, past a ramshackle cabin that had seen better days. A picture formed in her mind with the little Xs that marked areas for hikers on the local tourism map she’d gotten while in Chattanooga before going to Mystic Lake.

The old logging trail. That was where they’d gone. Which meant they were heading toward the marina. And toward Mystic Falls. Yes, that was what she heard. A waterfall. If only she could reach it before he did and find the path marked on the map, she might be able to take the upper loop above the falls. And maybe somehow she could fool him into thinking she’d taken the easier, downhill loop. It wasn’t much of an escape plan, but it might give her a chance to put some distance between them.

It was better than nothing.

She sped up some more, searching the ground for what she’d need to try to fool him.

“Hey,” he called out, “wait up.”

She moved faster, then ducked down and grabbed a handful of small rocks from the trail and quickly tucked them into her jacket pocket.

A whistle of air sounded as something shot past her so fast and close she didn’t have time to duck. She stumbled to a halt as she stared at the haft of an arrow buried in the tree a few feet in frontof her. It had only missed her by a fraction of an inch. Her lungs seized in her chest and she started to shake.

He grabbed her shoulder and whirled her around, slamming her against a tree. His mouth curled back like a rabid animal, revealing his teeth. But it was his eyes that sent a burst of terror straight through her. They were so dark they were almost black. And there wasn’t an ounce of humanity in them. All she saw was rage and bloodlust, a thirst to kill that was being kept in check by the barest thread.

“Do that again, try to run, and the next one goes in your brain.” He shook her. “Got it?”

“Got…got it. No running.”

“Move. It’s almost over.” He shoved her forward.

She drew a shaky breath, then another as she forced her feet to keep moving. He was going to kill her. No doubt about it. But if that was going to happen, it would be on her terms. No way would she meekly march to her death and let him choose just when he was going to shoot her. The upper loop above the falls was the only way, her only chance to at least try to put some distance between them. Maybe she’d get lucky and he’d fall over the waterfall to the rocky floor below.

Or maybe she’d end up with an arrow in her back.

She pictured the falls in her mind, the trails she’d studied on the map. The sound and smell of the water signaled they were almost there. Her possibly only chance at survival was coming, and she had to take it, no matter how terrified she was. Fighting him wasn’t an option. She’d lose in that scenario. Flight was her only choice. She’d have to run as if her life depended on it.

Because it did.

A mist began to rise in the woods up ahead. No doubt it must be that time of day that had helped to give Mystic Lake its name, as well as the Smoky Mountains. It was a phenomenon of theclimate, like little puffs of smoke moving in and making it harder to see.

“Just a little farther,” he yelled behind her. “When we get to the falls, turn right, head down toward the lake.”

“Okay,” she called back, carefully pulling the rocks out of her pocket without making any sudden moves that would give her away.

Suddenly, the mist deepened, obscuring her view. She hesitated.

“Turn right,” he called out.

She hurled the rocks off to the right, hoping he’d hear them and think that was her stumbling down the path. Then she took off to her left, as quietly as possible, up the trail toward the top of the falls. She was about to turn onto the loop that she’d seen on the map when he shouted from farther down the path. He must have already realized she’d gone the other way.

Pushing herself forward, she struggled against the incline. She could hear footsteps somewhere behind her as he struggled up the same incline, swearing at her and promising death.

“This way,” a voice called out, a woman’s voice. “Grace, over here.”

A hand reached out of the mist and yanked her into the trees just before an arrow shot past her, so close she could feel its heat.

“Run,” the woman told her, pointing to a break in the trees. “That way. Aidan’s coming for you.”

Grace didn’t stop to ask who she was or why she was there. She grabbed for her hand as she ran past to pull the woman with her. But instead of grabbing flesh and blood her hand went through mist.

The sound of the killer’s footsteps zipping past her up the loop galvanized her into action. She ran in the direction the woman had told her, back the way they’d come but on a slightly different path. Mist swirled around her as she ran and she would havesworn that somehow the rough terrain smoothed out, almost as if she were running so fast she was taking flight.

She was hallucinating. She had to be. And where was that woman who’d helped her? Grace slowed. She had to go back. She couldn’t leave someone behind with a killer out here.

“Aidan, over here!”

Grace stumbled to a halt, startled to hear the woman calling out to Aidan in a voice that sounded like her own.

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