Page 5 of The Elementalist (Four Elements #1)

To me, the scene looked too neat and tidy.

No rocks dislodged, no deep grooves in the ground.

Then again, the place was conveniently rocky, too.

I noted blood smudges here and there in the photos.

Not paw prints and not footprints nor handprints.

Sheriff Waters suggested I quit acting like an idiot.

I told her I was being paid to act like an idiot.

Or to question everything. To me... I dunno, the blood smudges on the rocks looked like they had been rubbed.

As if someone had left a footprint or boot print, and rubbed the blood to disguise them.

Justine thought those smudges came from the victims struggling to get away from the cat.

The scene didn’t offer any clear indication of a crime being committed, and the sheriff’s office hadn’t dug too deeply.

That much was obvious. They accepted the big cat narrative, saw enough evidence to back said narrative up, and closed the case.

Except there had been a witness. Sorta. An audio witness.

Crystal Bradbury had been on the phone with her sister.

And no mountain lion had been heard. Not even a growl. Only her sister pleading for her life.

Who pleads with a big, silent cat?

I patted the reassuring weight under my armpit.

It was a damn comforting feeling, knowing I packed some serious heat.

I always carried my handgun with me when hiking in rough country.

Thinking about two people being killed out here in these woods by god-knows-what made me more aware of it under my light jacket.

I kept my zipper halfway down, and even practiced pulling the gun, quick-draw like.

Alas, a cowboy I wasn’t. Shoulder holsters didn’t lend themselves to speed.

Minutes passed, and soon an hour, then another.

I saw no sign of a big cat—or any more bodies on the winding trail.

Nothing moved in the dense forest around me, which probably should have been eerie as hell, but wasn’t.

In fact, the woods seemed to give off the strangest feeling of security.

It almost felt as though the plants and trees themselves telepathically said, we got your back, bro.

Okay, where did that come from?

Anyway, I spent the bulk of my time trying not to trip over exposed tree roots or jagged rocks.

The trail varied from well-maintained to hardly visible.

Luckily, I had my Rocky Mountain Trail App on my smartphone to keep me pointed in the right direction.

And I had the memories of a teenage boy who had thoroughly partied in these woods, once upon a time.

So many beers, and so many girls kissed.

Shortly before noon, I heard what I’d been waiting to hear: falling water.

The closer I got, the more thunderous the sound became.

Yes, I knew I had a job to do, and yes, I knew that more than likely, a killer stalked these woods—even if said killer turned out to be a big cat—but once I heard the rush of falling water, the familiar draw pulled me onward.

Indeed, I’d always been drawn to running water, beautiful, mysterious, and relaxing.

I had been known to sit next to rivers or streams, watching the water for hours.

Then again, I also didn’t have much of a life, either.

Once again, I was single. Sheriff Waters had decided she wanted something other than me for a man.

In fact, a twenty-eight-year-old private detective who barely got by—and who lived in a one-bedroom apartment above his rundown office—probably wasn’t what any girl truly pined for.

I adored the freelance job and freelance lifestyle.

Although it hurt like hell, I didn’t blame her for bailing on me.

Our dates at McDonald’s, followed by Netflix at her place on her bigger TV, were marginal at best. I knew she’d felt consistently underwhelmed.

Truth was, I had tried... hard. I liked that control-freak sheriff more than she realized. Loved? Who knows, maybe.

With a sigh, I stepped off the trail and headed over a leafy area that would lead to a breathtaking observation point.

The closer I moved to the ledge, the more the leaves ahead of me thinned, revealing the magnificent waterfall.

My heart thudded in my chest. I was, as always, transfixed by the sight of the rushing water falling through the air majestically.

I stepped closer to the edge, a straight drop down a hundred feet or so to a churning pool below.

Spray flew up into rainbows wherever the sunlight caught it, enchanting me all over again.

I took in a lot of air and closed my eyes, reveling in the sound of water, which seemed to emanate from the Earth itself. It smelled so damn good here. Clean, fresh, damp, perfect. I opened my eyes and watched the water falling and the drops of spray sparkling for many minutes.

So much power. So beautiful. So right.

Did everyone feel this way about water, or had I finally cracked?

I didn’t know, but as relaxing as I found this place, I still had a job to do.

I reluctantly tore my gaze away from what amateur and professional photographers alike hiked hours to snap, what lovers idealized as the perfect romantic setting, and, apparently, where one killer stalked its prey, beast or otherwise.

Of course a beast, I thought. You saw the claw marks, the bloodied footpads. The forensics reports.

Yup, and something was still off. And I think Sheriff Waters knew it. I picked up on the way she wouldn’t look me in the eye. She knew more than she let on, and didn’t want to talk about it.

Or maybe she still kinda liked me.

Doubtful... but a guy could hope.