Federal Agent Under Fire. Julie Lindsey Anne
the low wooden fence that separated hikers from a sharp plummet into fog-laced evergreens, angling her body to keep the man in her sights. Everything about the moment set her intuition on edge, but she forced the shaky feeling away. She’d met plenty of fellow hikers over the years, and they’d all been kind. Kindred spirits. Glad to be outdoors. It was the hour that threw her. She’d started to think of herself as the only one in town who enjoyed a good sunrise.
The rocky eastern face of the park’s tallest mountain was the best place in Cade County to watch a sunrise, maybe the best in Kentucky. Marissa had yet to find a better one, though it was her job to try, and she did four mornings a week. Normally, she’d have finished her water and enjoyed her apple before walking back to her ride, parked nearly five miles down the trail, but today every cell in her body said that whatever had brought this man into her path wasn’t good, and she didn’t want any part of it.
“Mornin’.” His voice was low and gravelly. The hood of his jacket was up, working in collaboration with the shadows to shield his face.
Marissa lifted her chin in acknowledgement. She moved her tired body another step away, feigning interest in the view closest to the trail. He’d probably come there to think and was feeling as intruded upon as she was. Courtesy said she should be on her way. Greedily, she dawdled for one more breathtaking look.
The fiery glow of daylight scorched a path across the sky, climbing the opposite mountain with vigor and bathing thousands of deciduous trees, already dressed in rich autumn colors, with luminous shades from amber to apricot and everything in between. These were her favorite seconds of the day; when an ordinary forest became an inferno, and the world was backlit by Mother Nature’s glory.
The man broke free from the shadow and took a few casual steps in Marissa’s direction, setting her intuition into overdrive. The light scent of cigarette smoke plumed from his clothes, tainting the crisp morning air. This man wasn’t a hiker, wasn’t a runner, and he was definitely not getting a second of Marissa’s time.
She turned away with a frustrated sigh and headed down the mountain on tired, burning legs and a heart full of injustice. Anger churned in her gut with each forced step. She’d made the run in record time. She’d pushed her body for results and had gotten them. These few fleeting moments of sunrise were supposed to be her reward, but this man, whoever he was, was stealing those from her. She hated herself for letting him. For fearing him when she didn’t know him. For denying herself the hard-earned prize because she was a woman and he was a stranger. All feminism aside, wrong or right, she’d promised her parents long ago to make safety paramount while she was on her adventures. It was her duty to hold to that, even now, when he had her sunrise and she had a long walk back to where she’d started.
The return trip was always a slower, more methodical process. A pleasurable cooldown, normally preceded by rest on the lookout. She massaged the warm muscles in her neck and shoulders as she moved, swinging her arms across her body for an added stretch. Her legs were rubbery beneath her, but the brisk autumn breeze was invigorating as it rushed over the sheen of sweat on her skin. If she could sell everything and live in the wild for a year, at one with nature, part of the beautiful multicolored kingdom around her, she’d do it in a heartbeat. But only for a year. Eventually she’d miss her crazy family, except for her little sister. Kara would probably be swinging in the hammock beside hers.
Back at the trailhead, the lot was empty except for her old Jeep, and Marissa couldn’t bring herself to make the drive home without enjoying the moment of reflection she’d worked for. She checked the empty trail behind her, then hooked a left onto the short path toward Shadow Valley Lake. A hundred yards later, she slid onto the ground at the base of an ancient tree and pulled her knees to her chest. The lake was beautiful, peaceful and full of history.
Shadow Valley was one of Kentucky’s lake towns. Someday Marissa planned to see for herself what remained of the underwater historic town. Records showed that residents were relocated up the mountain in the nineteen thirties before their town was permanently flooded. Hard to believe remnants of another time had stood silently beneath the surface for decades, disguised as part of the national park. Those were images she’d love to capture.
She sipped her water and wondered if she’d been irrational to change her daily routine for the sake of one man. Maybe, but what was he doing there? Where was his car, if not in the lot with hers? And who hiked five miles to have a cigarette? The scent had been strong and fresh.
She shook away the irrelevant thoughts and focused instead on the beauty before her. It was important that she start her days at peace, in harmony with her work. Marissa’s adventure photos were fast becoming a lucrative business. The images she’d captured were used across the country in textbooks and at seminars on the preservation of wildlife. Her dreams were coming true and demand was rising. In the last year alone, she’d made more than enough to pay the bills and support her travels.
She ran a forearm over her brow before crunching into her morning apple. The sweet scent lifted a smile on her lips as she pressed her tired back against the supportive tree and breathed. Her eyelids dipped closed on the exhale. The moment was so perfectly Zen; she almost didn’t turn around when the sound of snapping twigs forced her eyes open. Almost.
Marissa pushed slowly to her feet, listening hard for the next noise. Whatever had cracked the twigs was heavier than a rabbit and less stealthy than anything calling this area home. She opened her stance and braced her tired form. The sudden silence was astounding. She dared a peek around the large oak. There was nothing but the breeze and a pair of chasing squirrels, turning century-old trees into a playground. She puffed a sigh of relief.
The breeze lifted again, stronger this time and bringing a fresh rustling of leaves with it. This distinct scent of cigarette smoke stiffened her spine. Logically, she knew she wasn’t in danger. She’d visited the national park three days a week and met dozens of people, all friendly. But her logic had already shut down. Marissa discarded her apple. She screwed the lid on her bottle and gripped it in both hands.
A jaunty whistle lifted slowly into the air and echoed off the trees. A strange, familiar tune she hadn’t heard in years, and one that seemed wildly out of place in the forest.
She stepped silently around the tree and again, there was nothing.
Except the whistle.
Marissa turned in a small circle, seeking the source. Her accelerated heartbeat joined every other instinct telling her to go. She bounced forward, away from the sound, back toward the trail. To the safety of her Jeep. The normalcy of her life.
“Don’t leave.” A man’s voice boomed in her ear, successfully ending the whistle and shattering the eerie silence left in its wake.
Something hard connected with the side of her head, sending her sideways into another large tree. Scents of earth and bark exploded in her senses as sharp pain tore through her face. Marissa cried out at the shock and agony. The sound was extinguished by a large pair of gloved hands, clamping firmly around her throat.
Softly then, the man began to sing.
Her eyes bulged. Searing pressure filled her lungs. She clawed uselessly at the massive hands until images of her sister and parents blurred in her mind. She was dying, and he was singing.
Suddenly her fight-or-flight instinct sharpened like a switchblade slicing through the fear. No longer able to flee, years of self-defense courses bubbled to the cloudy surface of her thoughts along with the voices of past instructors, her father, and every surviving woman whose story had served as a warning.
Marissa refused to be a victim.
She released his hands and balled her fingers into fists. She rammed her elbows into the soft torso behind her and drew strength from the gust of breath that swept out of him in response. She stomped one foot against her attacker’s instep and followed with a kick to the shin. He swore violently and tightened the pressure on her throat, repositioning his fingers for a more effective grip. Black dots danced in her peripheral vision, but she wasn’t done. The human kneecap breaks with only eight pounds of pressure. He was taller than her, but slower. She kicked again, raising her foot high behind her,