Dark Harbor. Christy Barritt
A gun, he realized.
Zach ducked to the ground. His heart pounded in his ears. He listened for footsteps, for any sign the gunman was getting closer or trying to stage an ambush.
Nothing.
Then a crack filled the air.
Something whizzed over him and splinters rained on his shoulders.
A bullet had hit the tree above him, he realized. A few more inches, and he would have been toast.
Heavy footsteps darted away. Branches snapped. Underbrush rustled.
Zach sprang to his feet, darting toward the sound. The man busted through the woods. Zach caught a glimpse of a long-sleeved black shirt, black pants and a black hat. Whoever was out here wasn’t a hunter. But he was trying to remain concealed. That was the only reason someone dressed like that.
Zach thrust himself through the wilderness, trying to reach the man. Shooting at a police officer was a serious crime. Zach had to do everything he could to catch the man.
A clearing stretched ahead. This was his chance.
Zach pushed himself harder.
A whistle sounded in the distance. He glanced over and saw a train traveling toward them down the tracks. His breath caught.
No...
With a burst of energy, he sprinted toward the man, gaining speed by the moment.
Just as the man crested the tracks, the train barreled past.
Zach stepped back as the force of the engine brought with it a rush of wind. His hands went to his hips and he shook his head.
The shooter’s timing had been impeccable. Two more minutes’ difference would have yielded different results. Zach could have caught him, pulled that mask off and figured out who the man was, once and for all.
Zach stared down the length of the train—it was long. Really long. He knew by the time it went past, the man would be gone.
Shaking his head, Zach stomped back toward the sight of the shooting. He found the bullet lodged into the tree and studied it for a moment. He couldn’t tell much about it. He only knew it had come way too close to his head.
He pulled some tweezers and a bag from his pocket and collected the bullet. He used his phone to take some pictures.
He searched the ground for footprints, but they’d had a dry summer and the soil was rock hard. Just as he suspected, he found nothing.
He gave one last glance in the direction the bullet had come from and then turned back.
He had to make sure Madelyn Sawyer was okay. Because he had a feeling this all led back to her.
* * *
Madelyn felt beside herself. She’d been followed, stranded in the middle of nowhere and then she’d heard a gunshot. Had the chief been injured? Or had Zach Davis shot someone? Who had that man in the woods been?
The questions all collided in her mind.
She heard someone moving through the woods and froze.
Was it Zach? Or could it be the driver of the white truck? Her nerves were getting the best of her and making it hard to breathe.
In the quiet moments by herself, she’d remembered the truck. She’d remembered the risks she was taking by coming here. This could be her big break, she reminded herself. If she was able to get some dirt on Zach Davis, it could be the story of her life. The story that would make her boss proud. That would cement her role in the world of respected journalists who’d written stories that made a difference.
She backed away from the tree line, putting her car between her and whoever was coming her way. This was how it all ended in scary movies. A woman alone in the woods, thinking help was coming when it was really the killer.
She swallowed hard and glanced around for something to protect herself with. All she saw was gravel and sticks.
It was going to have to work.
She reached down and scooped up some pebbles. She could use them to distract someone, if it came down to it.
She crouched behind the car, waiting, anticipating.
Finally, a figure broke through the trees. Her eyes were riveted on the man.
Zach, she realized as his features came into focus. It was Zach. Her shoulders slumped with relief.
He lumbered onto the service road and squinted when he saw her behind the car.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
She stood, dropping the pebbles and straightening her outfit. She raised her chin as she looked at him. “I’m fine. I heard a gun...”
“Someone shot at me.”
Her pulse spiked. This was worse than she imagined. “Did you catch him?”
Zach shook his head. “No. He got away, thanks to a train passing through. But I have the bullet and I plan to run ballistics on it.”
“I’m glad...you’re okay.” Where had that come from? Zach Davis was possibly a bad cop, someone who deserved to be locked up. She shouldn’t be wishing the best for him.
“I can only assume it was a hunter trying to scare me away. I can’t think of any other explanation. Can you?” He challenged her with his gaze.
Her cheeks heated, and she shook her head. Great. He already suspects me. “I still have no idea why I was followed.”
His accusatory gaze remained on her another moment before he finally looked away. “I guess we should get you into town, so I can get back to the office and process this.”
She swallowed hard. “That sounds like a great idea.”
Zach grabbed her suitcase and placed it in the trunk before they both climbed into his police cruiser. The car was neat with a leathery scent. Madelyn tried to settle back into the vehicle and not give any signals that she knew who Zach Davis really was. But it was hard to hide her nervous energy. She wanted to tap her foot, to play with her hair, to do uncountable things that could clue Zach in that she was on edge.
“Sorry about your arrival in town.” Zach headed back down the service road, his arm slung across the seat as he peered out the back glass.
“These things happen, I suppose. Just not usually to me.”
He offered an apologetic smile and pulled out onto the side street. “So, you’re writing a tourism piece?”
Madelyn nodded, realizing he was just making polite conversation. She had to chill out if she didn’t want to raise suspicions. “That’s right. I’m with East Coast International. You ever heard of it?”
“Sounds vaguely familiar. I don’t read too many regional magazines, however.” He glanced at her as the miles began to blur past. “Have you written a lot of travel articles?”
“I’ve done my fair share.” It was almost all she’d done, truth be told. But she longed for more. To do articles that made a difference. She wanted to be a voice of change, someone who could help the helpless, who brought justice to those who deserved it.
They were lofty goals. But she held tight to them.
“Why Waterman’s Reach?” Zach asked.
She shrugged, trying to remain calm. “The town seemed like an undiscovered treasure. That’s what I like. Anyone can write about Myrtle Beach or Williamsburg or the popular tourist spots. I want to show the places off the beaten path.”
“Well, you’ve definitely got the undiscovered part down being in Waterman’s Reach.”
She glanced at him. It was hard for her to comprehend that the very man she’d done so much research on was here now. She was riding with him. Close