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CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

He shoved Grace in the back, making her stumble and almost fall on the leaf-strewn forest floor.

“Hurry up,” he told her.

She glared at him over her shoulder.

He laughed.

“What do you want from me? If you’re really the Crossbow Killer, you would have killed me in the parking lot. Abducting people isn’t what he does.”

“He, as in I, don’t miss what I aim at either, like that idiot you cops arrested. I’m smart enough to attach the feathers to my bows after I take down my target instead of letting the arrow fly wherever it wants because of a feather dragging it down, like that kid you’ve been giving credit for my hard work. Oh, and I don’t burn down cabins, either. Although now that I think of it, that could be fun, setting the woods on fire and watching an entire mountain burn.” He shoved her again. “Keep moving. And show some respect or I’ll end this right here.”

“Where are we going? I can make better time if you tell me our destination.”

He suddenly jerked her to a stop. “Oh, man. This is definitely new territory for me, taking a living victim. Your phone’s on, isn’t it? You’ve got an open mic, an open call and you’re trying to get me to give up our location. Hand it over.”

“I don’t have it. I left it in my car.”

He backhanded her, whirling her around. She fell against a tree, biting her lip to keep from giving him the satisfaction of crying out. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth.

“Phone,” he demanded. “Now.”

She was about to lie again and say she didn’t have it, anything to stall for time, to give someone a chance to trace her line. But suddenly the arrow was pointing directly at her head. He couldn’t miss from three feet away, especially since he’d admitted he attached his feathers after shooting the arrows. He really did know what he was doing, which meant he was even more skilled and deadly than she thought. She pulled out her cell phone and handed it to him.

He dropped it to the ground and stomped on it until it crunched into little pieces. His lips curled in a sneer as he kept the arrow pointed at her. “Now move. Straight ahead. Hurry.”

As much as possible, she tried to slow them down without being too obvious. She carefully stepped over fallen logs, skirted farther around bushes than necessary. And the entire time she scanned the woods around them, searching for something, anything or anyone to give her a chance to escape.

Had her former boss received the call she’d speed dialed in her pocket? Was he even still in the area where he could help her? She hoped he was, and that help was on the way. But she had to assume the worst, that she was on her own. She’d been trained in hand-to-hand combat, trained to try to outthink an opponent who was bigger than her or had her outgunned. There had to be a way out of this. All she had to do was find it.

The distant sound of gurgling water caught her attention. A waterfall? Or something man-made like an outdoor shower? How could she use it to her advantage?

He shoved her again, almost making her fall. “Quit stalling. I don’t have time for this. I need to make my statement and get out of here before they figure out where I am.”

She stopped and looked over her shoulder. “What kind of statement are you—”

This time he hit her with the bow, the arrow’s razor-sharp edge slicing across her hand. She gasped at the fiery pain and grabbed the wound, pressing it hard to try to stop the bleeding.

“Move,” he gritted out, holding up the bow again, the now bloody arrow less than a foot from her face.

She whirled around and hurried forward. His words kept running through her mind. He wanted to make a statement. And he’d complained about someone else taking credit for his work. Niall. He must have heard the media reports and come to Mystic Lake. He clearly didn’t want someone else being labeled the Crossbow Killer. That distinction was entirely his. And he was here to prove it. To make a statement. How does a killer make a statement?

He kills.

Which meant he was definitely planning to kill her, but he apparently had a specific place in mind to do it. He was in a hurry to reach his destination and do what he’d planned. Knowing she’d had her phone on didn’t change their direction. It only had him pressing her to hurry.

They were close, then. Had to be. Close to wherever his statement was going to take place. Which meant it was go time. She had to make a run for it. But she was bleeding, and wearing soft leather shoes that didn’t grip the ground, not the kind of hard-soled hiking boots he had on. He was bigger, taller, with longer strides. And he was armed. How was she going to make a run for it with any real hope of getting away and not being shot?

Think, Grace. Think.

The sound of the water was getting closer, louder.

“Hurry.”

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 front of 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 the climate, 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 have sworn 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.

“Aidan!” the woman called again from the mist.

“Grace!”

It was Aidan’s voice, somewhere up ahead.

“Aidan! Here! I’m here!” Grace ran forward, stumbled and fell, then leaped back up and ran again. “Aidan!”

“Grace! I’m coming!” His footsteps pounded on the earth up ahead.

Swearing sounded behind her along with the pounding of footsteps in pursuit. The killer was closing in. A bubble of hysteria rose in Grace’s throat.

“Aidan, he’s behind me! He’s got a crossbow!” A sob caught in her chest, both from the terror of the man closing in from behind and the terror that the one she was running to was in the path of his arrow.

“Look out, Aidan!” she cried out.

“Grace, drop! Now!”

She dived to the forest floor.

The zing of arrows slicing through the air whipped overhead. A loud, gurgling scream sounded through the forest, sending a cloud of birds to flight above the trees. She lay there, afraid to move. Afraid she’d be shot if she did. And even more terrified to find out who had made that horrible gurgling sound.

Suddenly, Aidan was on his knees in front of her, scooping her onto his lap, his brow lined with worry as he ran his hands over her, apparently searching for injuries. “Grace, my God. Are you okay? Your hand—”

“The shooter, he’s back there, in the mist.” She looked behind her. “Where? Where is he?”

Aidan gently turned her head to look at him. “You don’t need to see that. He won’t hurt you, or anyone else, ever again.”

“I don’t… How did you see him? The mist is so—”

“What mist?” He ran his fingers through her hair, over her scalp. “Did you hit your head?”

“Did I…no… I mean, yes, he knocked me out but then—”

“We need to get you to the hospital.” He stood with her cradled against his chest, his bow and arrows hanging from straps across his shoulders as he headed back in the direction he’d come from.

Grace clung to him and peered over his shoulder. “I don’t understand. It was such a thick mist, a fog. If it hadn’t rolled in I couldn’t have gotten away. Where did it go?”

“We’ll wrap that hand as soon as I get you to my truck. I’ve got a first-aid kit inside.”

“Aidan, we have to go back. That woman…we have to find her. She showed me the path to take. She saved my life.”

He stopped and looked down at her. “Grace, there’s no one else out here.”

“But there is!” she insisted. “She called your name. Didn’t you hear her?”

He shook his head, looking even more concerned. “I only heard you. Come on. Let’s get you to a doctor.” He took off again, insisting on carrying her in spite of her insistence that she could walk.

The sound of more voices, familiar ones, came from up ahead. The Mystic Lake police.

“Over here,” Aidan called out. “I’ve got her. She’s hurt.”

“I’m fine,” she assured him. “It’s just a scratch.”

“And a huge knot on your head. I swear I’m going to have to wrap you in bubble wrap after this.” He hurried toward the sounds of the others crashing through the woods toward them.

Grace gave up trying to explain to him that she really was okay. She looked over his shoulder. The mist was back again, in the distance. And as she watched, the outline of a woman formed, with a beautiful smiling face. A face that Grace recognized from the picture that Aidan had saved from the cabin fire.

Elly O’Brien.