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Smokies Special Agent
Lena Diaz


She’s on a mission to fix the past For ten years, Remi Jordan has been hunting her twin sister’s kidnapper. When baiting a killer backfires, the FBI agent’s career and freedom are suddenly on the line. Joining forces with Smoky Mountains investigator Duncan McKenzie could be her only hope.







She was on a mission to fix the past

And he was determined to help her...

For ten years, Remi Jordan has been hunting her twin sister’s kidnapper. When baiting a killer backfires, the FBI agent’s career and freedom are suddenly on the line. Joining forces with Smoky Mountains investigator Duncan McKenzie ups the ante, unleashing treacherous desire. Now, with another woman missing, Remi’s fighting a lot more than the ghosts of the past. Is she also ready to fight for her future?


LENA DIAZ was born in Kentucky and has also lived in California, Louisiana and Florida, where she now resides with her husband and two children. Before becoming a romantic suspense author, she was a computer programmer. A Romance Writers of America Golden Heart® Award finalist, she has also won the prestigious Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Mystery/Suspense. To get the latest news about Lena, please visit her website, www.lenadiaz.com (http://www.lenadiaz.com).


Also by Lena Diaz (#uc1159ce7-9924-5646-b7b1-7f0147169007)

Smoky Mountains Ranger

Mountain Witness

Secret Stalker

Stranded with the Detective

SWAT Standoff

Missing in the Glades

Arresting Developments

Deep Cover Detective

Hostage Negotiation

The Marshal’s Witness

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Smokies Special Agent

Lena Diaz






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-09388-0

SMOKIES SPECIAL AGENT

© 2019 Lena Diaz

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Thank you Allison Lyons and Nalini Akolekar.

As always, thank you Connie Mann and Jan Jackson

for your friendship and support in this crazy business.


Contents

Cover (#ud30b2115-2d84-51f3-a384-a92cb0f97592)

Back Cover Text (#ud73f22ce-99ea-54f1-b9c8-22f898f291f6)

About the Author (#ue8e1e873-a92e-5c9b-b1fa-a0107889844f)

Booklist (#u9838bed9-a4a1-5828-b9f1-ed65b63e35a0)

Title Page (#u7bfa77d5-c6e7-5a43-ad65-ccdcd178272f)

Copyright (#ufb289fea-3d03-5520-a627-ac591e3e91bf)

Dedication (#u7bc42f17-9efe-56ec-a26b-3074d14fe036)

Chapter One (#u8049b396-a7d6-5df4-a879-24f9f68a367e)

Chapter Two (#ued917404-d774-5740-b475-0c206ea788ae)

Chapter Three (#ud3927bbb-1719-5443-b4ba-1da21cf994c7)

Chapter Four (#uacf97ce9-7cd9-5a73-b0e2-8369eece65bf)

Chapter Five (#u392b820a-e914-5507-a47b-fe02bceae5aa)

Chapter Six (#u3ab404a5-8249-5c66-9448-6a877fd2fa1a)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One (#uc1159ce7-9924-5646-b7b1-7f0147169007)


Frozen ground crunched behind her. Remi Jordan whirled around. The trail was empty. She whipped back the other way. Nothing except shadows met her searching gaze. The woods had gone as silent as a tomb. Even the icy wind had quit blowing, as if the entire mountain was holding its breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

Waiting to see if she would be next?

Remi drew a slow, deep breath, the chilly air prickling her lungs. Sound could carry for miles up here, or not at all, and seemed to bounce all over the place. Figuring out the direction it came from was nearly impossible. Someone was definitely stalking her. But figuring out where they were, and how far away, was beginning to feel like an impossibility.

Stepping to the side of the path, she listened intently and pretended to study the two-by-six white blaze painted on the bark of a spruce tree. Similar patches of paint in varying colors served as guideposts all up and down the Appalachian Trail. She’d seen dozens of them since she’d begun her daily AT hikes on the Tennessee side of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

She shoved both her hands into her jacket pockets. If the person following her was close enough to see her, he probably thought she looked vulnerable, oblivious to danger. But she was far from helpless. Her right hand caressed the butt of a loaded SIG Sauer 9 mm hidden in her pocket.

The gun had been a gift from her father on her eighteenth birthday, the butt of the weapon engraved with her name. He’d been critically ill for months and knew he wouldn’t make it to her nineteenth. It was his fervent hope that the pistol would do what he no longer could—protect her, keep his remaining daughter safe.

Her throat tightened. If her father knew what she was doing, he’d feel hurt, betrayed. He’d berate her for taking unnecessary risks with her safety. But how could she sit and do nothing? Ten years ago she’d done nothing. Then her twin sister had disappeared and was never seen again. That one, horrible mistake haunted her every single day. Having another woman’s death on her bruised and battered conscience was more than she could bear.

As if a switch had been flipped, the wind picked up again. The crisp pine-scented air was heavy with the promise of snow as it whipped the long blond strands of her hair back from her face. Evergreen branches clacked together, their needles brushing against bark with an unsettling shuh-shuh sound. And somewhere overhead a bird twittered, as if everything was right with the world. As if nature itself denied the evil that had once taken place here, evil that was again poised to strike, to destroy another family, unless Remi could find a way to stop it.

Could she have imagined footfalls echoing her own? Could she be wrong in thinking that someone had been trying to match his steps to hers, to disguise his pursuit? She considered the idea, then discarded it. Her faults were many, but imagining things wasn’t one of them. There was no other reasonable explanation for the sounds she’d been hearing since starting out on this trail at sunup.

I’m close this time, Becca. So close. I can feel it.

She could almost see her stargazing, unicorn-loving twin sister rolling her eyes in reply. It was her signature trademark, especially when the two of them were together. When they were kids, it had made Remi furious. Now, she wished with all her heart that she could see her sister roll her eyes at her just one more time.

I miss you so much, Becca. So. Much.

Once again, she started down the well-worn path. It wasn’t long before another sound sent a fresh rush of goose bumps across her skin. This time, she didn’t stop. Instead, she scanned the woods from beneath her lashes, trying not to be too obvious as she searched the shadows surrounding her.

What had she heard? The whisper of fabric against a tree? A rattle of loose rocks across a part of the path sheltered by the tree canopy, where there wasn’t much snow to reveal anyone’s passage? Or was it simply a raccoon skittering through the underbrush searching for its next meal?

This feeling of unease outdoors was foreign to Remi. Normally, she was more at home outside than inside. She especially loved mountains—or at least, the mountains back home in Colorado. These lush, evergreen-choked Smokies were as different from her dramatic soaring Rockies as a black bear was from a polar bear. Both were beautiful and special in completely different ways. But this unfamiliar wilderness seemed to be closing in on her, thickening the air with a sense of menace and filling her with dread.

Was this how Allison Downs had felt when she’d hiked through the Shenandoah National Park and was never seen again?

Or Melanie Shepherd in the Dry Tortugas?

Or even her own sister, when their high school senior class trip had gone so horribly wrong?

“Stop being a spoilsport, Remi. That waterfall is supposed to be gorgeous by moonlight and I’m tired of being stuck here in this stupid tent. No one else’s parents make them go to bed at ten o’clock. It’s embarrassing.” Becca tried to push through the tent flap, but Remi blocked her way.

“It’s too dangerous,” Remi told her. “Daddy said it’s the wrong time of year to go up that trail. The water level is too high and the rocks are slippery with ice. Besides, since when do you care about nature, other than those stupid constellations you love to look at?” She studied her sister. “You’re meeting someone, aren’t you? Some boy.”

Becca rolled her eyes. “You’re just jealous because no one asked you to party.”

“I knew it. Who? Billy Hendricks?”

Another eye roll. “Oh, please. Billy’s like a lapdog, panting at my heels. What’s the challenge in that? I’ve hooked a much bigger fish than silly Billy.” She laughed and tried to move past Remi. But Remi grabbed the sleeve of her sister’s jacket and held on.

“Becca, stop. You’re going to ruin this whole trip. If Daddy finds out that you’re sneaking out, especially to meet a guy, he’ll take us back home early.”

Her sister’s mouth tightened. “If anyone is ruining this stupid trip, it’s Dad, not me. At least the other chaperones have the sense to leave their kids alone. No one else’s parents are in a tent right next to theirs. He’s smothering us.”

“He loves us. He wants to keep us safe.”

“From what? Last time I looked, cancer wasn’t lurking in the woods.”

Remi drew in a sharp breath. “That’s low, Becca. And completely unfair.”

Remorse flashed in Becca’s light brown eyes, which were a mirror of her own. For a moment, Remi thought her sister was going to give in, maybe even apologize for using their mother’s recent death from breast cancer as a barb in an argument. But Becca suddenly shoved her backward, forcing her to let go of the jacket.

Becca’s hands tightened into fists at her sides, a clear warning for Remi not to try to stop her again. “There are fifty kids out here in this stupid campground and ten chaperones. Ten! We can’t even skin a knee without stumbling over some anxious parent with a first aid kit. You’d think we were still in elementary school instead of planning which colleges to go to in the fall.”

“Becca—”

“This is your fault. Our entire trip has been a disaster, all because you told Dad the school needed another chaperone. You know how overprotective he is. You should have kept your mouth shut. And you’re going to keep it shut this time or I’ll make you regret it. You owe me this. Leave me alone. Let me have some fun.” She flung open the tent flap and disappeared into the night.

Remi swallowed hard at the memory of her sister’s long, wavy dark hair rippling out behind her. That was the last time she’d ever seen her.

A little farther down the trail, the trees and brush on her right thinned out and then disappeared altogether. A fifty-foot break revealed endless miles of dense, forest-covered peaks and the occasional bald where disease or insects had killed large swaths of trees and undergrowth. Charred earth and blackened trunks spoke of wildfires that had ravaged this area in recent years. And through it all, little white puffs of mist rose toward the sky like ancient smoke signals, adding to the blue-white haze that gave this section of the Appalachians their name.

She stopped, mesmerized. Not by the scenery. But by thoughts of her sister so long ago. A lifetime ago. Had Becca made it to this section of the AT the night she disappeared? Was this the spot her killer had chosen for his attack? Had she looked out over this beautiful vista underneath a bright full moon, completely unaware of the danger that crept up on her from behind?

If Remi was the killer, this was where she’d make her move. It was remote, isolated and empty. She hadn’t passed anyone since leaving the trail shelter this morning, miles from here. It was too cold to attract many hikers at this time of year. The crowds of northbound thru-hikers, or NOBOs, with dreams of completing the two-thousand-mile trek in one year from Georgia to Maine wouldn’t clog the trail until spring. The lack of NOBOs to contend with was one of the reasons the ill-fated senior class trip had been planned for midwinter instead of closer to graduation.

Remi could easily imagine Becca standing here, memorizing the way moonlight spilled its light across the peaks and valleys, so she could tell her tree-hugging twin all about it when she returned to the tent. Or looking up at the stars, so much easier to see on the mountain, away from what Becca called the “light pollution” in the city. More likely, she could have been standing here waiting for whatever boy she’d gone off to meet. The identity of her secret admirer had never been discovered. It could have been Billy Hendricks, even though she’d denied it. Or the golden boy of their senior class, Garrett Weber, except that he already had a girlfriend at the time. Whoever it was, none of the boys at camp would admit to meeting her in the woods. Why would they? They would have made themselves suspects in her disappearance.

Remi studied the gap, a chill skittering up her spine. This was definitely a perfect place for a trap, an ambush. The steep drop would have blocked her sister’s escape to the west. Thick trees and brush to the east would make it difficult to get very far before being caught. If someone was behind her, she’d have to shove past them to run up or down the trail.

What happened to you, Becca?

Scuffling noises sounded behind her.

She whirled around, yanking her gun out of her pocket and bringing it up in one swift motion.




Chapter Two (#uc1159ce7-9924-5646-b7b1-7f0147169007)


A hulking, dark-haired man dressed in green camouflage stared at her from twenty feet away, his face a mask of menace and hatred. He suddenly shoved his hand into his pocket.

“Freeze!” she yelled.

Ignoring her order, he tugged at something dark and metallic in his pocket that seemed to be caught in the fabric. A gun!

“No!” another man’s voice yelled from off to her left somewhere.

Camo-guy yanked the gun free.

Remi squeezed the trigger. Bam! Bam!

Camo-guy’s eyes widened in disbelief and he dropped like a rock. Remi jerked toward her left to face the next threat. A second man barreled into her, slamming them both to the ground, crushing her right shoulder. Agony knifed through her. She gritted her teeth and tried to push him away.

He rolled off her.

Fighting through the blinding pain, she flopped onto her back and tried to force her right arm to cooperate so she could point her gun at him. Except he wasn’t there. And she didn’t have her gun.

The sound of someone running had her turning her head to see her attacker drop to his knees beside the man she’d shot. He moaned and writhed on the ground, clutching his side.

She frantically looked around for her pistol. There, a few feet away. Her SIG was under a bush, where it must have landed when she was knocked down. Clutching her hurt arm against her chest, she scrambled forward on her knees. Awkwardly leaning in, she thrust her left hand beneath the branches, fingers scrabbling against the dirt.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” a deep voice snarled behind her. Her attacker was back.

She dived for the gun.

He grabbed her right ankle and yanked backward.

She cried out in frustration and kicked her legs. One of them slammed against his thigh. It was like hitting a solid rock. The impact had her clenching her teeth.

He swore. Maybe she’d managed to hurt him, too.

She kicked again, this time knocking his hand off her ankle.

She lunged forward, desperately reaching for her SIG Sauer.

Strong fingers clamped around both her calves like vice grips. He jerked her backward, so hard and fast that her jacket and shirt bunched up beneath her. Dirt and rocks scraped her belly, tracing a fiery burn across her skin.

Twisting around, she brought up her knee toward his groin as she swung a left hook at him.

He dived sideways, avoiding her knee, but not her fist. The blow caught him hard on his temple, making him grunt. But it didn’t slow him down. He threw himself on top of her, pinning her to the ground.

She bucked her hips, trying to throw him off while she struggled to coil her left hand into a fist for round two. Good grief, he was strong, a powerhouse of muscles that made her Pilates workouts seem like a pathetic waste of time. She could probably outrun him. Running was one of the few things where she excelled. But she had to get him off her first. She drew back her fist again.

He flipped her onto her stomach.

Hot lava boiled across the nerve endings in her battered shoulder. Bile rose in her throat. She could feel him fumbling for something, his hips moving alarmingly against her bottom as he turned to the side. Was he going to rape her?

“Let me go.” She struggled harder, pushing through the pain.

He reared up and jerked her arms back. Agony seared her shoulder. She cried out. Dark spots swam in her vision.

The feel of cold steel against her wrists had her stiffening. He was trying to handcuff her! She twisted and snaked against the ground, desperately trying to keep him from getting the cuffs into position. Her shoulder felt as if it was being shredded with a hot poker, but she couldn’t let up. If he got those cuffs fastened, she was as good as dead. Her vision clouded. She was close to passing out from the pain.

“Fight, Remi. You can do this!” Her sister’s voice echoed in her mind.

The ratcheting sound of the cuffs locking into place sounded behind her. He shoved his hands into her jacket pockets, took her cell phone. Then he ran his hands quickly up and down her body. She cursed at him and tried to arch away.

“Stay there. Don’t move.” The command from her captor sounded more like an angry growl than an order. His weight lifted off her and once again he was gone.

She collapsed against the ground, the fight draining out of her. There was nothing else she could do. She squeezed her eyes shut. I’m so sorry, Daddy. Please forgive me, Becca. A whimper clogged her throat. Becca. Her sometimes sweet, always impetuous, infuriating twin. Maybe it was fitting that they’d both die in the same place, together as always, cradle to grave.

Remi lay unmoving. What was her assailant doing now? Without him weighing her down and her struggling against him, the agony in her shoulder became bearable. The black fog dissipated and the fuzziness in her head evaporated.

A low murmur had her turning her head. The man who’d cuffed her was on his knees again beside his partner in crime, saying something to him. His neon orange backpack strained across his broad shoulders, the color contrasting sharply with his black pants and black shirt. The wounded man writhed on the ground, his teeth bared like a rabid animal caught in a trap.

“Idiot! Stop wasting time. Get up while he’s distracted. Run!”

Her sister’s voice was so loud inside Remi’s head that she half expected to see her forever-seventeen features twisted with fury.

I’m so sorry, Becca. It’s all my fault. Everything is my fault.

Pent-up grief swept through her like a tsunami, obliterating everything in its path. It drowned her in a sea of sorrow that was just as fresh now as when she was a teenager. Losing both her mother and her sister the same year had nearly destroyed her. The death of her father a little over a year later had destroyed her, or at least, the person she used to be. She’d had to remake herself into someone new just to survive. A harder, tougher Remi Jordan. Or so she’d thought. Yet here she lay, helpless, about to die. You’re right, Becca. I’m an idiot.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Remi. Get your lazy butt up and run! Now! You owe me!”

You owe me. Her sister was right. She had to at least try. Remi tried to jerk upright, then gasped at the white-hot pain that shot through her shoulder. She shuddered and braced her forehead against the cold ground, gulping in short breaths of arctic air.

“Get up!” Becca yelled again.

Remi drew a ragged breath and awkwardly wiggled her body. Without the use of her hands to push herself up, it took a ridiculous amount of time to make it to a sitting position. But at least with her hands cuffed behind her back, the pressure on her shoulder was making it go blessedly numb. Maybe she could do this, after all.

She braced herself to try to stand, and risked a quick glance at the two men. The one who’d cuffed her had his backpack on the ground beside him and had taken out a first aid kit. With one hand pressing gauze bandages against the injured man’s side, he sat back and reached his other hand toward his waist.

Remi stiffened, expecting him to pull out a gun, maybe even hers. Instead, he lifted the edge of his jacket to reveal a thick black belt.

A utility belt.

With various leather holders clipped to it, like the kind that held handcuffs.

And a two-way radio.

A horrible suspicion swept through her, freezing her in place.

He grabbed the radio and pressed one of the buttons on the side. As if he sensed her watching him, his gaze flew to hers. The radio crackled and he spoke into the transmitter.

“This is Special Agent Duncan McKenzie. I located the woman the witness at the shelter reported seeing with a gun. But not before she shot a hiker. I need a medical crew up here, ASAP.”

The blood drained from Remi’s face, leaving her cold and shaking. Her gaze flew to the man she’d shot. He was pale and still on the forest floor, his eyes closed. And beside him, hanging out of his pocket, was the gun he’d pulled on her.

Except it wasn’t a gun.

It was a cell phone.

Dear God. What had she done?




Chapter Three (#uc1159ce7-9924-5646-b7b1-7f0147169007)


Hunching in his jacket against the bitter wind, Duncan paused behind the unfamiliar SUV in the gravel lot by the office trailer. The vehicle’s plain exterior and dark color would typically help it blend in and avoid being noticed. Not here. Surrounded by white vehicles with green stripes down their sides and the brown National Park Service arrowhead shield on their doors, the SUV stuck out like a white-tailed deer in a herd of elk.

The license plate was federal government issue, but not the kind used by the NPS. All Duncan knew for sure was that whatever alphabet agency was here, they hadn’t simply dropped by on their way someplace else. Nestled deep inside the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, this satellite office was miles from the nearest town, Gatlinburg. The steep, winding access road was a challenge during the summer, nearly impossible during the winter without a four-wheel drive. Which meant their visitor was here on purpose. Something big must be going on, and Duncan aimed to find out what that was.

He jogged up the salted concrete steps at the end of the long trailer to the only door, a solid steel monstrosity designed to keep out the occasional curious black bear. The deep scratches in the prison-gray paint proved just how solid, and necessary, that precaution was. Even the huge metal storage shed at the end of the lot was reinforced with heavy steel bars. Working in the wilderness was dangerous in more ways than one. He pulled open the door and stepped inside.

Seventies-era dark wood paneling sucked up most of the light, in spite of wide windows set high up on the longest opposing walls. Four desks were tucked end to end beneath those windows, leaving a center aisle of worn rust-colored shag carpet. His boss, Yeong Lee, faced him from behind another, larger desk at the end of the aisle. Across from him, occupying the two metal folding chairs reserved for visitors, were a large black man in a charcoal-gray suit and a petite Caucasian woman with long blond hair cascading down her back.

As Duncan hung his jacket and gloves on hooks beside the door, he exchanged greetings with the only other people inside, Rangers Nick Grady and Oliver McAlister. Skinny freckle-faced Grady was a green-around-the-gills new recruit, while white-haired McAlister, with his gravelly smoker’s voice and stout frame, was a permanent fixture in the park. Dubbed Pup and Pops, the two were sitting together to the right of the door at McAlister’s desk. As usual, Pops was mentoring Grady about something on the computer screen.

Duncan paused beside McAlister. “Thanks for helping me out this morning. Did the prisoner give you any trouble?”

He shook his head. “No trouble at all and no thanks needed. If you hadn’t been here at 0-dark-thirty and taken the call for us, we’d have been the ones assigned to head up there, anyway. What’s the story on the hiker? Did he make it?”

“He got lucky. The bullet passed through the fleshy part of his side. Lost a lot of blood and they’ve got him on IV antibiotics to stave off infection. But he’s expected to make a full recovery.” He motioned toward the couple across from Lee. “Which agency decided to pay us a visit? Any idea why they’re here?”

McAlister exchanged a surprised look with Grady, his bushy eyebrows climbing like albino caterpillars to his hairline. “You don’t recognize the woman from this morning?”

Duncan frowned and studied her as best he could from across the room. The long blond hair did remind him of the shooter’s hair. But since McAlister had taken her into custody, that wasn’t possible. Was it? She lifted her left hand, motioning in the air as she spoke to Lee. She also gave Duncan his first clear view of a royal blue shirtsleeve and the cream-colored jacket folded over the arm of her chair. He sucked in a sharp breath, his hands fisting at his sides. It was her. The combination of blond hair, blue shirt and off-white jacket couldn’t be a coincidence.

If he’d been a second slower this morning, he’d either be sporting some seriously bruised ribs thanks to his Kevlar vest, or he’d have had his head blown off, depending on the aim of the woman sitting in that chair.

“Why isn’t she locked up?” Without waiting for McAlister’s reply, he strode up the aisle to Lee’s desk and turned to face the woman once again. Except, this time, she wasn’t pointing a gun at him.

The white sling cradling her right arm forestalled the angry words he’d been about to say. Instead, suspicion heavy in his tone, he demanded, “What happened to you?” She wouldn’t be the first suspect to fake an injury to delay being booked into jail.

Her dark brows rose. “You did.”

“Is that supposed to be funny? Because I find it incredibly offensive.”

She held her left hand in front of her in a placating gesture. “I’m just stating facts. When you slammed me to the ground, you dislocated my shoulder.” She shrugged, then winced and clasped her left hand over her right shoulder as if she was in pain.

He wasn’t buying her act. And he sure as certain wasn’t letting her version of events go unchallenged. “I think what you meant to say was that I tackled you to keep from being shot, after you’d just shot an unarmed man and then turned your pistol on me.”

A red flush crept up her neck. “I thought the hiker had a gun. And you attacked me. I was protecting myself.”

“The only one attacking anyone up there was you.” He tapped the lump on his temple where she’d punched him, which he knew already had a visible bruise.

Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t respond.

He waved toward the back right corner of the trailer. “Why isn’t she locked up in the holding cell? Or on her way to jail courtesy of Gatlinburg PD? She could have killed Kurt Vale.”

“Could have?” Her eyes widened. “Then...he’s alive?”

The hopeful tone of her voice sounded false to him. “The time for concern would have been before you pulled the trigger and shot an innocent man. But if you’re asking whether you managed to kill him, the answer is no. I just left him at the hospital after the doctor stitched him up.”

“I’m glad he’s okay.”

Ignoring her, he turned to his boss. “What’s going on here?”

Lee addressed the man silently observing them from the other side of the desk. “FBI Supervisory Special Agent Leon Johnson, meet Special Agent Duncan McKenzie, criminal investigator with the National Park Service.”

Johnson held his hand out without bothering to pry his generous frame out of the ridiculously small folding chair beneath him.

Duncan leaned across the desk and shook the agent’s hand, but his attention once again turned to the woman. Four hours ago she’d shot a hiker. Now she was parked beside an FBI agent. Why? Since he regularly studied the FBI’s ten most-wanted-fugitives list, he knew she wasn’t on it. But she must have done something pretty dang bad to warrant the FBI showing up, especially this soon after the shooting. So why wasn’t she handcuffed? Or in the cell while the agent spoke to his boss?

“I’m a little lost.” Duncan glanced back and forth between Lee and Johnson. “Since our shooting suspect is sitting beside an FBI agent, I assume there’s something else going on that involves her, besides what happened this morning. Can someone catch me up here?”

“What’s going on,” Johnson said, “is that your shooting suspect is one of our agents. She was off duty, supposed to be on vacation, not running around shooting people.”

Duncan stared at him in shock. The woman from this morning’s shooting was a Fed? A fellow law-enforcement officer? He hadn’t gotten to speak to her after the shooting. He didn’t even know her name. He’d been too busy trying to keep Kurt Vale from bleeding out. As soon as McAlister and Grady had arrived to take her into custody, he hadn’t given her another thought. Instead, he’d helped the medics get Vale down the mountain to the waiting ambulance.

“You’re FBI?” He couldn’t quite wrap his head around that.

She stood and held out her left hand, since her right one was in the sling. “Special Agent Remi Jordan.”

He eyed her hand like he would a poisonous snake.

She took the hint and sat back down.

Johnson laboriously rose to his feet and tugged his suit jacket into place. “Special Agent Jordan has waived her right to an attorney and has declined my offer to stay here with her. She has assured me that she’s prepared to fully cooperate with your investigation. Isn’t that right?”

She gave him a curt nod, but didn’t meet his gaze.

“I’ve already taken her badge,” Johnson said. “And your crime scene unit logged her gun as evidence. She’s now on administrative leave, pending the results of your investigation. If either of you gentlemen need anything further from my office, let me know.” He tapped a white business card sitting on the desk. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to Knoxville.” He grabbed his coat from a peg behind Lee’s desk and then shrugged into it as he headed toward the door.

Duncan watched the man leave, distaste burning like acid in his throat. For the first time since the shooting earlier today, he felt a tug of sympathy for the woman sitting on the other side of the desk. No matter what she’d told Johnson, the man was her boss. It was his duty to look out for her. He should have insisted that she get a lawyer, or brought one with him. Lee sure would have. He’d fight like a rabid bobcat to defend every member of his team. Justice would be served, of course. But he’d do everything he could to ensure that his officers’ rights were protected.

Lee pushed back his chair and stood. “Special Agent Jordan, with you getting that shoulder patched up and your boss asking us to wait until he got here to talk, we haven’t had much of a chance to discuss the details of the shooting. Special Agent McKenzie will take your statement. In the meantime, my stomach is eating a hole through my spine. I’ll head down the mountain and get us all some lunch. Any dietary restrictions or preferences I should know about?”

Her expression turned wary as she obviously debated whether or not to trust him. From the way her own boss had just acted, Duncan couldn’t blame her.

“That’s very nice of you,” she told Lee. “Thank you. And no, no restrictions. Whatever you get is fine and much appreciated.”

“All right. I’ll be back in an hour, give or take.” He grabbed his gloves and heavy jacket hanging on the wall behind his chair and motioned toward Pup and Pops. “Grady, you’re my pack mule this trip,” he called out. “You can chauffer me into town while I check my email on my phone.”

From the grin on the kid’s eager face, he must have thought he’d won the lottery. He jumped up so fast that he almost overturned his chair.

Pops shook his head, but a smile played around his lips as he turned to his computer monitor. Grady started peppering Lee with questions about procedures and reports before Lee could even close the door behind them. The pained expression on his face when he glanced back had Duncan wondering if his boss already regretted his decision to take his newest employee with him into town.

Duncan motioned toward the back wall. His anger had given way to grudging curiosity now that he knew his suspect was in law enforcement. With a federal agent involved, he could understand why Lee had chosen not to turn her over to the local police. Instead, the NPS would handle it as an interagency courtesy—at least for now. It was up to Duncan to get the answers to the questions that had been rolling around in his head from the moment he’d taken a hiker’s call early this morning.

“Special Agent Jordan, if you’ll take a seat in the other room, I need to grab my laptop to take notes.”

She stood and waved toward the reinforced-glass and steel door on the far right. “In there?”

He followed her gesture. “Ah, no. That’s the holding cell. In spite of what I may have said earlier about locking you up, in the eight years that I’ve worked here, we’ve never once used that room for its intended purpose. It’s stuffed with boxes of office supplies and old case files.” He motioned toward the door on the far left. “I meant the conference room. I’m sure you were shown where the restroom was earlier.” He motioned toward the middle door. “If you need—”

“No, thank you.” She moved stiffly past him and marched into the conference room like a prisoner heading to death row.




Chapter Four (#uc1159ce7-9924-5646-b7b1-7f0147169007)


When Special Agent Remi Jordan passed Duncan, he was struck by how petite she was. The top of her head barely reached his chin. In blue jeans and a simple blue blouse, without a jacket to provide bulk, she probably didn’t tip a hundred pounds on a scale. Her right arm being trussed up in a sling only emphasized her vulnerability. Seeing her this way, with this morning’s drama stripped away, and no gun, Duncan realized she appeared utterly defenseless. And he had the inexplicable urge to offer his protection, to reassure her that everything was going to be all right.

That would be foolish and wrong on so many levels, especially because it would probably be a lie.

As a trained officer, she should have used deadly force as a last resort. Instead, she’d used it as her first response. She’d shot an unarmed man while off duty, on vacation, according to her boss, with no provocation that Duncan had seen. She could be looking at charges of attempted murder, attempted manslaughter or, the very least, assault. If by some miracle she avoided charges and didn’t go to prison, she’d likely still lose her job with the FBI. And she’d almost certainly face financial ruin in the civil courts. With another law-enforcement officer as a witness, Vale could ride that gravy train all the way to the bank.

Duncan stood in the doorway, watching her consider the four padded wooden chairs, the square vinyl-topped table that was more appropriate for playing cards than for a conference or an interview. But like everything else in this trailer, the table and chairs met the main requirement—they were small enough to fit the tiny space.

She apparently decided not to bother with a chair. Instead, she moved to the lone window at the other end of the room. Facing away from him, she stared through the glass at the snow, which was falling again.

“Special Agent Jordan?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Remi, please. Calling me Special Agent every time you ask me a question is going to get really old, really fast, for both of us.”

“Remi. Unusual name. Is that short for something?”

“Remilyn, after my grandmother. But my mom’s the only person who ever called me that.”

“Called? Then she’s—”

“She passed away when I was seventeen. Breast cancer.”

The slight wobble in her voice told him that she’d loved her mother, and that her death—he was guessing eight or nine years ago—still hurt.

He counted his blessings that both his parents were still alive and doing well. He couldn’t imagine not being able to drop by their cabin, share a beer with his father or ask his mother’s advice.

“My condolences,” he said, and meant it.

She gave him a crisp nod. “Thank you.”

He waved toward the sling. “While I wouldn’t have changed the actions I took this morning, I do regret that you got hurt. What did the doctor say about your shoulder?”

She hesitated, the wary expression she’d given Lee firmly back in place. “The EMT rotated it into the socket. It’s fine.”

He waited, but when she didn’t elaborate, he asked, “You were taken to the hospital, right? You were seen by a doctor?”

“All a doctor would have done was tell me to schedule an appointment with a physical therapist. I had the EMT treat me in the back of the ambulance, and told him I didn’t want to go to the hospital.”

She didn’t want to go? She shouldn’t have been given a choice. She was under arrest, her well-being the responsibility of the National Park Service while in their custody. McAlister and Grady should have made her go to the hospital, with them as her armed escorts.

“What did the EMT give you for pain?” He didn’t want her to suffer. But equally important, he didn’t want a defense attorney down the road having her statement tossed out on the basis that she was heavily medicated, which affected her mental state and her ability to understand her rights.

“I haven’t had a chance to take anything,” she said. “My purse is locked in the trunk of my car at the trailhead. I don’t have any pills with me here.”

“I’ve got some ibuprofen in my desk if you want.”

She frowned as if puzzled by his offer. Had she expected him to chain her to a chair and allow her only bread and water?

“I’d appreciate that. The shoulder does ache a bit.”

“If you prefer to go to the hospital for an MRI—which I strongly recommend—and to get a prescription for the pain—”

“Over-the-counter pills will be fine.”

Visions of future defense attorneys were still dancing in his head. She really should go to the hospital. But it was her shoulder, after all. Not a head injury. And she’d been given medical treatment by the EMT. It was probably safe to take her statement.

“I’ll be right back.”

“Special Agent McKenzie?”

“If I’m calling you Remi then you have to call me Duncan.” He added a smile that he was far from feeling. But keeping things friendly would make the interview go much more smoothly. Orders from her boss to cooperate would go only so far if she had something to hide about why she was in the mountains with a gun. He’d start out playing good cop and see how things went.

She gestured toward the side of his head. “Duncan. I really am sorry about everything that happened. I hope that doesn’t hurt too much.”

It took him a second to realize she was talking about punching him. His grin was genuine this time. “You’ve got a wicked left hook.”

Her answering smile seemed reluctant, but also genuine. “I’m right-handed. You got lucky.”

He laughed. “So I did. No worries. We’ll talk everything out and then decide where to go from there. Okay?”

She blew out a shuddering breath, her face relaxing with relief. “Sounds good.”

When he reached his desk, he pulled his laptop from the bottom drawer just as his cell phone buzzed. He took it out of his pocket and checked the screen. It was Lee. A quick glance toward the open door of the conference room confirmed that Remi was still standing at the window, looking out. Duncan plopped his laptop on the desk and sat down to take the call.

“Hey, boss. Did you shove Grady into a snowbank yet to shut him up?” he teased.

“Have you started interviewing Special Agent Jordan yet?”

The terseness of Lee’s tone immediately had Duncan on alert. “About to. Why?”

“Johnson had his assistant send me an email. I forwarded it to you. It makes for some interesting reading. Skim it before you talk to her.”

“Why?”

“Humor me.” The line clicked.

Duncan sighed and flipped open the laptop. There were fifteen unread emails since just this morning. Most had to do with the case he was in the process of closing, a string of vehicle break-ins and vandalism he’d been working for the past four months. The small band of local teens behind the crimes was in jail. Now it was just a matter of paperwork and testimony once the trials were underway—assuming they even went to trial.

None of the kids had criminal records. And knowing his friend Clay Perry, the district attorney, Duncan figured he’d likely plead them out. Clay was a father of five and had a seemingly endless supply of patience and empathy for kids—whether they deserved it or not.

Their parents would pay hefty fines and the little hoodlums would soon be back on the streets. And Duncan would have to arrest them all over again a few months down the road when they started up again, or turned to other types of crimes. It was an endless cycle, one that he and Clay often debated over cold beers, sizzling steaks and friendly poker games.

Not seeing anything particularly urgent in the subject lines of the emails, he clicked on the one from his boss. The message was brief, simply telling Duncan to read the attachment.

It took half a minute for the memory-hogging document to load on his screen. When it did, he frowned. Why would Remi’s boss feel it was necessary to send this? And why would Lee want Duncan to read it prior to the interview? How could this possibly be relevant to the shooting?

He let out a long breath and dutifully clicked through several pages, quickly scanning the headings of each section. He began to wonder whether he’d missed the punch line to an inside joke. Then, five pages in, he quit scanning. He leaned closer to the monitor and read every single word. Then he went back to the beginning and read it all again.




Chapter Five (#uc1159ce7-9924-5646-b7b1-7f0147169007)


Remi’s fingers tightened against the windowsill as she watched the snow falling even harder outside the conference room window. She was trying to find her center, calm her nerves in anticipation of the upcoming inquisition. But so far it wasn’t working. She’d interviewed suspects dozens of times over the years. But she’d never once been on the other side of the table. And she wasn’t looking forward to the experience. Especially since she couldn’t even explain to herself what had happened this morning.

She was sick at the thought that she could have shot an unarmed man. But every time she replayed the confrontation in her mind, the memories ticked through like the frames of a movie, replaying exactly the same way that she remembered, never changing.

Scuffling sounded behind her.

She turned, gun in hand, finger on the frame, not the trigger.

A man in camouflage, a look of such menace on his face that she had zero doubt he was the one who’d been stalking her. Or was he just angry that she was pointing a gun at him?

She told him to freeze.

He pulled a gun out of his pocket. It had gotten caught on the fabric of his jacket. But he still pulled it out. She could picture it, clearly. He couldn’t have been more than twenty feet away. It was a Glock 19, 9 mm, a weapon she’d seen many times during her career.

She’d moved her finger to the trigger, because she had to. Shoot or be shot. Kill or be killed. She’d fired, in self-defense, only one shot, because there was another threat, off to her left.

Duncan. Knowing he was there had likely distracted her just enough to save Vale’s life. Normally, she was an excellent marksman.

He’d tackled her, knocking her pistol loose.

A few minutes later, the man she’d shot lay on the ground, a cell phone hanging out of his pocket. The phone was black. So was the gun. But the first was a rectangle, the last a pistol. Nothing alike. She could never mistake the two.

Could she?

Her knuckles grew white against the wooden sill. Could she have been so distracted by thoughts of her sister, by the same grief and anger that had plagued her for years, that she’d seen something that wasn’t there? Had she wanted so badly to believe that the man in front of her was the one responsible for the disappearances, that her mind had played tricks on her?

Five years. She’d been in law enforcement for five years. She was far from being an expert, still new in many ways. But she found it hard to believe that after all that time she could screw up this badly. The man, this Kurt Vale guy, had to have had a gun. But if he did, then where was the gun now?

“Hello? Remi? Anybody home?”

She blinked, bringing the room, and Duncan, into focus. She instinctively scrambled back several steps to put more distance between her and this rather tall, intimidating man in front of her.

His eyes widened and he, too, stepped back, giving her more space. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” His jaw tightened and his dark blue eyes looked down toward her side.

She followed his gaze and realized her left hand was balled into a fist and half-raised, as if she was going to slug him again. Her face flushed hot and she forced her fingers to uncurl. “Sorry. You...surprised me.”

“Like Kurt Vale surprised you up on the ridge? Right before you shot him?”

Her face grew hotter. “He had a gun.”

“The only gun I saw was in your hand.”

“That’s because you saw my gun first and assumed that I was the threat. You probably never looked at him after that. If you hadn’t attacked me, you’d have noticed that he was pulling out a weapon, too. A Glock 19, 9 mm.”

He spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “I’d like to believe you. I really would. But it’s hard to support your story when only one gun was found—yours. A crime scene unit processed the scene. The evidence they collected where Vale was lying included bloody gauze and a broken cell phone. That’s it.”

“Broken?”

“From the fall. The phone fell out of his pocket. Hit some rocks on the ground beside him, which shattered the screen.”

“Why did it fall out, unless he was pulling something else out of his pocket and knocked it loose?”

His brows arched. “Like his hands? To hold them up and show you he was unarmed?”

She pressed her lips together.

He sighed. “Let’s take it step by step.” He motioned toward the table, which had a laptop sitting on it. Across from that were a bottle of water and a container of over-the-counter pain pills. Both were open, their caps lying on the table. “I imagine that shoulder’s hurting quite a bit. Why don’t you get some pain meds on board, before we officially start?”

“He had a gun,” she insisted.

“I’m sure you thought that he did.”

There was no judgment in his tone, no condemnation. Instead, he sounded surprisingly empathetic. Which of course meant that he was good at his job, good at defusing her anger, making her feel less defensive. Not because he cared about her or felt solidarity with a fellow law-enforcement officer, but because he wanted her in an agreeable mood so she’d answer his questions. She wanted to be angry at him for using interview tricks and techniques on her. Instead, she couldn’t help but admire him for it. If she was in his position, she’d do the exact same thing.

She stepped around him and sat in the chair with its back to the door. She figured she’d hear the door if someone opened it. And more important, she didn’t want to turn her back on Duncan, who was still standing by the window where she’d left him, watching her as if he was trying to figure her out. Fine. She’d just watch him right back.

Taking her time with the pills, she studied him from beneath her lashes. He was a handsome man, no denying that. He wasn’t much older than her, maybe thirty or so. His tanned face was a study in angles and hard edges a camera would love, made even more interesting by the combination of nearly jet-black hair and midnight-blue eyes. But it was his height—about six foot three—and those broad shoulders and toned, muscular body that made her hyperaware of her own small stature. If he was just a man, and she was just a woman, she’d have probably been excited and intrigued by his size and strength. But as a federal agent with her freedom and her career on the line, he intimidated her, which made her resentful.

Two long strides later, he was sitting across from her, pulling his laptop toward him. His gaze settled on her with an intensity that was unnerving. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the hospital?”

“I’m fine,” she assured him. But from the skeptical look on his face, she didn’t think he believed her.

“Everything in here is recorded.” He waved toward the camera anchored near the ceiling on the wall to her left. “For your protection and mine.”

“I saw the camera as soon as I walked in. I assume someone is also watching us through the one-way glass in the top of the door behind me.”

“They could if they wanted. But I think Pops is more interested in finishing his reports so he can leave on time today.”

“Pops?”

“The only ranger in the office right now, the older guy, Oliver McAlister. We call him Pops because he’s been here longer than anyone else and treats us all like his kids.”

He smiled again, making her wonder if he was trying to put her at ease or whether he was one of those people who always seemed happy. Those kind of people got on her nerves and made her fingers itch for her gun. Not having its familiar weight on her hip made her feel naked and vulnerable, a feeling she didn’t like one bit.

“Please state your name and address for the video.”

“Remilyn Jordan.” She listed her street address. “Greenwood Village, Colorado.”

“Colorado? I thought you lived in Tennessee and worked out of the Knoxville field office.”

She shook her head. “I work in Denver. Johnson came over from the nearest field office, the one in Knoxville. But he’s not my regular boss. He’s my pseudoboss while I’m here under investigation.”

“Got it. Greenwood Village, Colorado. Can’t say I’ve ever heard of it.”

“Outside of Denver, about an hour from Boulder, give or take.”

“I bet it’s beautiful there. Great mountain views of the Rockies.”

“It’s beautiful,” she conceded.

“But you decided to come here on vacation, to another mountain range.”

“Is that a question?”

He smiled again. “Before we go any further, I need to remind you about your rights.”

“We can skip that part. Pops Mirandized me on the way down the mountain.”

“I figured he had. But I still have to tell you your rights on camera. Like I said, for your protection and mine.”

Not seeing the point in arguing, she suffered through his recitation of the Miranda warning.

“Do you understand each of these rights as I’ve explained them to you?” he asked.

She nodded.

“You have to say it,” he reminded her.

“Yes.” She sighed. “Yes, I understand my rights. Yes, I’m willing to speak to you without a lawyer. Can we just talk this out and get it over with?”

The plastic water bottle crackled between her hands. She hadn’t even realized that she’d picked it up. She set it down.

“I can’t imagine you driving all the way here from Colorado. Did you fly in? Then rent a car while you’re in town?”

“Actually, no. I drove. As you’re well aware, I brought a weapon with me. Driving was easier than going through the headaches that declaring my weapon would require on a plane.”

“Especially since you’re here off duty, on vacation.”

“Exactly.”

He opened his laptop, typed for a moment. “Where are you staying?”

“A motel a few streets back from the main drag in Gatlinburg.” She told him the name.

“You’ve been in town how long?”

“A couple of days.”

“And what have you been doing every day while you’ve been here?”

She hesitated. How much should she reveal? Cooperating was her best chance at trying to avoid any charges. But would her purpose in being here help her, or hurt her?

“Do you need me to repeat the question?” he asked.

“I’ve been hiking trails in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, mainly the Appalachian Trail.”

“Every day?”

“Every day.”

“Why?”

She blinked. “The same reason anyone hikes, I suppose. To see nature, the beautiful scenery. To get away from the pressures of my job. The Smokies aren’t at all like the mountains back home. I wanted to see something different.”

“It’s February. The temperatures are hovering in the twenties at night, forties and fifties during the day. And that’s in town. Up here at these elevations, it gets even colder. Not to mention the ice and snow. Want to try again? Why are you hiking in freezing temps in the middle of winter?”

“I’m not the only hiker up here at this time of year. I’ve seen several.”

“There are some, yes. Not many. What I’m interested in is why you’re here at one of the worst times of year to be outside in the park.”

She stared at him, her left hand beneath the table now, her fingers curling against her palm. “I like solitude. I like to be alone. And I don’t mind the cold.”

His silence told her he wasn’t buying her answer. He waited, probably hoping she’d feel compelled to fill the silence, divulge something she didn’t want to share. But she knew interview techniques. She wasn’t saying anything unless she was answering a specific question.

“Why did you shoot Kurt Vale?”

She sucked in a breath, thrown off-kilter by the abrupt change in the conversation. But rather than rush to defend herself, which could have led to her spilling all sorts of things, she took a moment to regain her composure. When she was sure she was in control, she said, “I was standing at a gap in the trees, admiring the scenery. I’d heard someone following me earlier, so when I heard a noise behind me, I naturally whirled around and drew my gun. To defend myself.”

“What did Vale do?”

“He drew his gun, a Glock.”

“He didn’t have a gun. I saw him standing twenty feet away from you. And I saw you, holding your SIG Sauer, pointing it at an unarmed man.”

“That’s not what happened. You saw him, then me. And as soon as you realized I had my gun out, you no longer looked at him. At that point, you deemed that I was the threat, and you charged at me. You didn’t look back at Vale and see that he’d pulled out a gun and was about to shoot me. I yelled at him to freeze. He didn’t. I had no choice but to fire my weapon.”

He leaned forward, crossing his forearms on top of the table. “Here’s the thing, Remi. The only way that story holds water is if we found a gun at the scene, this Glock you say he had. But the only gun we found was your SIG Sauer, the one that I saw you aim at Kurt Vale, the one I saw you fire.”

She shook her head. “You’re wrong. If your crime scene techs didn’t find Vale’s gun, they missed it. They should go back and look harder. It has to be there.”

“After I knocked you to the ground to keep you from shooting an unarmed man a second time, I rendered first aid to the victim. He was shot in the side and was losing a lot of blood. He was in no condition to run off somewhere and hide his alleged gun, then run back and lie down, all in the span of the few seconds it took me to knock you down and then go to him. The only items he had with him were his wallet, his car keys and his cell phone. I contend that the cell phone is what you saw in his hand, not a pistol.”

“You’re wrong.”

He held his hands up. “I want to believe you. I want to be wrong. Convince me.”

She tapped her fingers against her leg. “I agree that Vale didn’t have the opportunity to go hide his gun somewhere. After I shot him, and he fell to the ground, it must have come loose. The momentum of his fall could have knocked the gun into the woods. That’s exactly what happened when you knocked me down. My pistol flew into the bushes.”

“True. It did. But only a few yards away. And I ran at you, trying to reach you before you pulled the trigger. I’m a big guy. The force of me hitting you and falling to the ground with you is more force than if Vale simply dropped where he stood after being injured. Don’t you agree?”

Reluctantly, she nodded. “Agreed.”

“And yet your gun only flew about six feet away. Wouldn’t you expect Vale’s gun, if he had one, to have gone only a few feet, given that set of parameters? Therefore easily found by either me or the crime scene tech team later?”

She didn’t answer. What could she say?

“After taking your gun, I was with Vale the rest of the time. I was there with the medical team. I escorted them down the mountain to the waiting ambulance. At no time did I ever see a gun.”

He waited. Again she said nothing.

“This might be a good time to tell the truth,” he said.

She was starting to regret apologizing for punching him.

“I am telling the truth.”

He sat back in his chair. “So the gun just, what, walked away on its own?”

“Maybe Vale threw it.”

“Sure. Okay. When he was lying on the ground bleeding out?”

“At any time when he was on the ground when you were on top of me. He could have tossed it away.”

“The crime scene techs would have found it.”

“Not if they didn’t know to look for it. You never spoke to me after the shooting. You didn’t ask me why I shot Vale. You didn’t know he had a gun, so you wouldn’t have told the techs to look for one.”

“Valid point. Rangers McAlister and Grady took you into custody before I went down the mountain with the medical team. Did you mention at any time to either of them that you thought Vale had a gun?”

Once again, he found the hole in her argument. She clenched her jaw in frustration. Of course she’d told them that Vale had a gun. She didn’t want someone to think that she’d just arbitrarily shot an unarmed man.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he continued. “I’ll be sure to verify that with the rangers. But I imagine it will be in McAlister’s report. He’s the one who would have sent the crime scene guys up there, too. And I’m sure he would have told them to perform a thorough search for a second gun. Again, I’ll happily verify that when I read their reports. Just to be extra certain, I’ll ask them, too. But we both know what they’ll say. They looked for a gun. They didn’t find one. Again, this would be a really good time to come clean, to dig yourself out of the hole you’re getting into.”

She shook her head.

“Let’s start again with why you’re here.”

“I told you. I’m hiking.”

“In the winter.”

“In the winter,” she snapped.

His brows rose. “Okay. So you like the cold. You like treacherous, slippery trails with snow and ice. Not my thing. But I can see the appeal for some people. The mountains are definitely beautiful with their snowcaps.”

He was going somewhere with this. She decided not to help him by rising to the bait. She sat back and waited.

“So you’re out hiking, enjoying the frigid weather. You heard someone else on the trail, behind you, so you—a trained FBI agent—whirled around and shot him. Do I have that right?”

“I told him to freeze. He didn’t.”

“Right. Left that part out. You heard someone behind you, whirled around, yelled for him to freeze, then you pulled the trigger.”

“After he pulled a gun out of his pocket, yes.”

“Because you thought he was walking on the same trail as you? You assumed he was following you?”

“Yes. No.” She shook her head in frustration. “It’s more complicated than that.”

He rested his forearms on the table again. “I’m all ears.”

She really, really wanted to punch him. “He wasn’t simply following me. He was stalking me through the woods, for quite some time. At least half an hour.”

His brows rose. “Stalking you?”

“Hunting me. Matching me stride for stride. When I took a step, he’d take a step, echoing me so that it was difficult to be sure if someone else was out there, following me.”

“Following you.”

“Would you quit repeating everything I say?”

He held up his hands in a placating gesture. “How long have you known Kurt Vale?”

“Known him? I’ve never met him.”

“But he’s been stalking you. I think you used the word hunting.”

“Yes. Exactly. He was hunting me. That’s how it seemed. I could hear footsteps—”

“Echoing yours.”

“You’re being condescending.”

“My apologies.”

He wasn’t sincere and they both knew it. He was tripping her up, making what had happened seem...trivial. She tried again to explain. “I was scared, okay? I believed he was after me.”

“Why would he be after you if he didn’t know you?”

“Because...” She hesitated. Would he believe her if she told him? Things weren’t going so well. If she was on a jury listening in on this conversation right now, she’d lock herself up and throw away the key. Duncan certainly didn’t believe her. That was obvious. He wasn’t likely to believe her wild theories, either, as her boss in Denver called them. Instead of telling Duncan her latest theory, her reason for being here, she tried again to stick to the facts of what had happened. What she needed to do was make him understand her fear, that she’d felt threatened. She would never shoot someone otherwise. She wasn’t a cold-blooded murderer.

“You’re a man,” she said. “An intimidating one, sizewise, especially to a woman who is half your height, like me.”

He smiled. “Half might be stretching it.”

He was back to playing good cop, trying to charm and disarm her with those smiles of his. She cleared her throat. “My point is that even though I’m trained in self-defense, I know my physical limitations. I had a gun with me for protection—”

“You expected that you might end up in a confrontation and need your weapon?”

She’d not only expected it. She’d hoped for it. But telling him that would seal her fate.

“Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. I took my gun with me just in case. This morning, when I was walking the trail, I heard sounds—”

“Sounds?”

“Rocks pinging against other rocks, like someone’s feet had accidentally kicked them. A coat or jacket brushing against a tree.”

“The sounds any hiker might make while heading down a trail.”

“No, no, you don’t understand.”

“I want to.” He leaned forward, his dark blue eyes watching her with an intensity that was unnerving. “Make me understand, Remi. Tell me the truth.”

She could practically hear Jack Nicholson yelling, “You can’t handle the truth,” his famous line from A Few Good Men. Hysterical laughter bubbled up in her throat. She forced it down, drew several long, deep breaths.

“The sounds I heard weren’t loud or obvious. They were...stealthy. Like someone was trying to be quiet. It was difficult to pinpoint the direction. But someone was definitely following me. Not hiking, like I was. They were actually specifically following me. I’m absolutely one hundred percent certain.” This time she was the one to lean forward, her gaze clashing with his. “I tested my theory. Every once in a while I’d stop, with my foot in the air instead of taking my next step. I heard him, a thump in the distance, as if he was walking in sync with me, using my footsteps to hide the sound of his. But when I stopped suddenly, in midstride, he couldn’t. That’s when I knew for sure. Do you understand?”

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. The skeptical look on his face said it all.

They watched each other for a full minute before he leaned back again. “Let’s see if I have this right. You were scared.”

“Yes.”

“Someone was following you.”

“Yes.”

“You were convinced they were stalking you.”

“Yes.”

“That they intended you harm.”

“Definitely.”

“How long were they following you?”

“At least half an hour.”

“At what point did you call the police, knowing someone was following you, stalking you, someone you felt wanted to do you harm? When did you call?” He looked down at his keyboard, as if ready to record the time.

She stared at him, feeling the trap closing around her. She hadn’t even seen it coming.

He looked up, feigning surprise. “What time did you call the police during this half hour that you felt your life was in danger?”

Her left hand went reflexively to her cell phone, which McAlister had returned to her and which was now in her jeans pocket. “I didn’t call anyone.”

“You didn’t?”

“No. I didn’t.”

“Really? Why not?”

“Cell phone service?” she blurted out. “No signal?”

“Are those questions or statements?”

She pursed her lips.

“Are you stating, on the record and on camera, that you tried to call, but couldn’t get a signal?”

Her mouth went dry. She’d made a guess about lack of cell phone service and didn’t have a clue whether or not she could have gotten a call through. But she would bet that he did. He probably knew where every cell tower was in these mountains, where you could get a signal and where you couldn’t. Technically, she hadn’t outright lied yet. She hadn’t specifically said that she’d looked at her phone and saw no bars. But if she told him she’d tried to call, she’d be crossing that line. She’d be lying to a federal officer in the course of an investigation, a crime that alone could send her to prison and destroy her career, if it wasn’t destroyed already.

“No.” Her voice came out as a dry croak. She cleared her throat, then reached for the bottle of water and took a long swallow.

He waited until she’d finished and set the bottle down. “No, you didn’t have a signal, or no, you didn’t attempt to call for help?”

Good grief. He was like a fox after a rabbit.

“I’m a law-enforcement officer,” she said. “I had a gun for protection, if I needed it. Although I was afraid, and worried that someone was after me, I felt confident in my ability to protect myself.”

“Did you call the police?”

“No. I did not.”

He smiled. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? You told the truth. Cell coverage is spotty and unreliable throughout the park. That’s why we carry radios. But there’s a cell tower not far from here that provides excellent signal strength. You would have easily gotten a call out if you’d tried.”

She pressed her left hand to her stomach. It felt like a kaleidoscope of butterflies was fluttering around inside her. Or a swarm. Or whatever a gazillion butterflies was called.

His smile faded. “Of course that brings us back to the original question of why you didn’t try to call anyone. Using your own logic, if you were thinking like a law-enforcement officer, using your training, you would know to call for backup. Standard operating procedure when you’re in danger. Why didn’t you call?”

She didn’t answer.

“You truly believed that Mr. Vale was coming after you?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Then why, when you could have called for backup, did you choose to risk your life and face him all alone?”

Because I wanted to catch the bastard myself.

She pressed her lips together to keep from blurting out those very words.

Silence filled the room. He stretched his long legs out in front of him and let out a deep sigh.

“I was the first one at the office this morning,” he said. “I was the only one here when Zack Towers called to report that he’d shared one of the shelters on the Appalachian Trail last night with another hiker. When you left, you must have put your hand in your pocket to check your gun. He saw the outline of the pistol and called it in. No guns are allowed in any national park unless you’re one of the rangers or investigators working for the National Park Service. That rules you out.”

Her shoulder was beginning to throb from sitting in one position so long. She rubbed it to ease the ache. “There was a hiker with me in the shelter last night. I don’t remember him being named Zack, though. I thought his name was Sunny.”

Duncan nodded. “Sunny’s his trail name. He’s one of our regulars around here, shows up every year around this time, one of the few who likes to hike the AT during the winter. He’s a section hiker.”

“Section hiker?”

“Since you’re out here hiking the Appalachian Trail, I assumed you would have studied up on the lingo.” He let his words hang in the air between them.

Wearying of his game, she said, “I’m only doing day hikes. Normally, I stay in the motel each night and come back in the morning. I don’t know all the terminology because, obviously, I’m not one of those people who can miraculously afford to dedicate nearly a year of their lives to become a two-thousand-miler. That is what they call people who hike from Georgia to Maine in one season, right? NOBOs are the northbound hikers. SOBOs are the southbound ones?”

He nodded. “Sounds like you studied a little bit about the AT before coming here. I wonder why you’d do that? Maybe because you wanted to make sure there wouldn’t be a lot of hiker traffic around to see whatever it is that you’re actually doing here?”

“Or maybe I learned way more than I ever wanted to know about this cursed place when I was here on a stupid senior trip back in high school,” she snapped.

His look of surprise had her closing her own eyes and cursing to herself. She was getting too stirred up, too frustrated. And as a result, she’d just told him something way too close to her true purpose in being here.

The sound of him typing had her opening her eyes.

He typed a moment longer, then looked at her over the top of the screen. “What’s your natural hair color?”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Your eyebrows are dark. You’re a brunette, right?”

“And this matters why?”

He turned the laptop around so she could see the screen. There, in living color, smiling and looking carefree, was her sister in the picture her father had given to the police when Becca went missing. It was the picture from the flyer they’d circulated by the hundreds in Gatlinburg after she disappeared. It was the same picture he’d put on the website he’d created to try to generate leads that would help him find his daughter. But they never did.

Becca.

Her throat tight, she whispered, “Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?”

Something flashed in his eyes. Sorrow? Regret? Empathy? Whatever it was, it didn’t bother him enough to close the laptop, or minimize the picture of her sister. Instead, his gaze searched hers.

“What I want is what I’ve wanted all along—the truth. I want you to admit that you came here because your boss, and the Behavioral Analysis Unit, refused to believe your theories about serial killers. I think that you dyed your hair blond to make yourself fit the criteria for whatever serial killer you’re currently theorizing about. And I think you very nearly killed Kurt Vale because you mistakenly thought that he was that killer.” He tapped the screen, drawing her attention to her sister’s picture again. “So, tell me, Remi. What’s the current theory? What killer are you after? If I hadn’t stopped you, would you have murdered Vale because you believe he killed your sister?”

She swore a string of obscenities at him and shoved herself up from her chair. She threw a few more insults out into the universe for good measure, then stalked out of the room.




Chapter Six (#uc1159ce7-9924-5646-b7b1-7f0147169007)


Duncan plopped his legs on top of his desk and grabbed a red apple out of his snack drawer. “Shouldn’t Lee and Grady be back with lunch by now?” he complained around a mouthful of the sweet, juicy apple. “I’m starving.”

McAlister stood beside Duncan’s desk, looking out the front window. “What do you think she’s doing?” He motioned toward Remi as she stalked back and forth in the gravel parking lot, golden hair bouncing around her shoulders, cell phone glued to her ear.

Duncan shrugged. “As red as her face is, she’s probably yelling at Supervisory Special Agent Johnson for emailing a copy of her personnel file to us. Or she’s freezing. Or both. When she calms down she’ll realize she left her jacket in here.”

“Maybe I should take it to her.” In four steps, McAlister had the puffy white coat in his hand, ready to play the chivalrous knight to their fuming guest.

“Don’t,” Duncan said. “She has more incentive to come back inside on her own if she’s shivering.”

McAlister dropped the jacket on top of Duncan’s outstretched legs and braced his hand on the wall beside the window. “You don’t seem worried that she’ll take off.”

“Where’s she gonna go?” He frowned at a large bruise on the apple and turned it, looking for a better spot. “She doesn’t have her car up here. She’s injured. No backpack of supplies. No jacket. I’ll bet you dinner that she won’t last five more minutes outside.” He took another bite.

“I think you just bought me dinner.”

Duncan glanced up. Remi wasn’t on the phone anymore. She was running, fast, across the gravel, heading away from the trailer. She was already halfway to the road. “Ah, hell.”

McAlister started laughing.

Duncan tossed the rest of the apple in the trash and grabbed Remi’s coat.

“I’m thinking a big medium-rare steak will do the trick,” McAlister called after him as he ran for the door. “One of those delicious fill-it mig-non numbers at The Peddler Steakhouse. Or maybe a New York strip.”

“Rain check,” Duncan yelled, grabbing his jacket and gloves before barreling outside. He cleared the concrete steps in one leap and landed with a bone-jarring crunch on the gravel.

Remi was nowhere to be seen.

The door opened behind him and McAlister leaned out. “Looks like she’s headed to town. She turned left at the road.”

“Thanks, Pops!” Duncan sprinted after her, yanking on his gloves and jacket as he went.

Five minutes later he was back at his Jeep, cursing as he hopped inside and tossed Remi’s coat on the seat beside him. How a woman a hair over five feet tall could outrun his long stride was beyond him. He would have caught up to her eventually, but closing the gap between them had been taking far too long.

He peeled out of the parking lot, adding a few new gravel dents to the metal storage shed that housed their ATVs and snowplow attachments.

It didn’t take long to catch up to her in the Jeep. She was running on the shoulder of the road at a ground-eating pace. As he slowed alongside her, he rolled down the passenger window.

“Need a lift, pretty lady?” he drawled.

The tightening of her mouth was the only sign that she’d heard him. She stared straight ahead, her hair whipping behind her. Something about her stride seemed off. It dawned on him that it was because of her hurt shoulder. She was using her left hand to hold the sling, probably so it wouldn’t bounce against her chest as she ran. Judging by the lines of pain bracketing the side of her mouth, it wasn’t working very well.




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