In A Killer's Sights. Sandra Robbins
eyes widened in shock at the sight below. A man dressed in camouflage, with a body draped over his shoulder, stood at the edge of the water and stared up at her. Although the black ski mask he wore covered his face, his eyes glared at her through the slits of his disguise.
Neither of them moved for a few seconds as they gazed at each other. Then, with a shove, he dumped the body into the rushing water. Gwen watched in horror as it bobbed a few times before the current carried it away downstream.
Instinct kicked in, and she raised the camera and snapped a picture, just as the man lifted his arm—with a gun in his hand. A moment later, the sound of a gunshot echoed in the valley. Pieces of shattered rock exploded around her as the bullet struck inches from where she stood, making her flinch back automatically and squeeze her eyes shut. She took a deep breath and peered through the viewfinder once more, but the man was no longer there.
Panic welled up in her. It was time to get to safety. Her car sat at the trailhead parking lot a mile away, and she needed to head there now. Careful not to slip on the mossy rocks, Gwen scrambled toward the trail as fast as she could. Once there she took off running, but she could hear the sound of someone sprinting behind her.
Knowing her life depended on it, she pushed her body to move faster, to outrun the killer, who sounded as if he was gaining on her with every step. The deserted trail stretched ahead, and she groaned, unsure she could make it all the way to the parking lot before she collapsed—or got caught by her pursuer.
What should she do? Continue on, or take her chances in the forest on either side of the path? Of the two, the forest seemed the better choice. Although the vegetation would slow her progress some, she might be able to find a hiding place in the dense woods. Before she could decide, another gunshot sounded, and bark on a tree to the right of the trail exploded in small fragments.
Her nostrils flared in fear as she realized he’d gained even more ground and it would be only a matter of time before he caught up to her. Already she was weakening, and her chest was heaving as she gasped for air. The better choice was to take her chances off the trail. Veering right, she plunged into the thick forest and wove among the tree trunks.
The heavy footsteps slowed a bit, but didn’t stop. Now they were crashing over the fallen limbs and leaves that littered the ground. And worst of all, he was still right behind her.
There had to be somewhere she could hide. But where? The trees in this part of the forest were too small to conceal a figure behind them, and she wasn’t close enough to the hillside to find a cave. Just when she was about to give up hope, she spotted a large rotting tree off to her left, a big hollow in its trunk. She didn’t know if she could fit into it or not, but needed to try. Her pursuer would catch up to her any minute.
With a burst of speed, Gwen raced to the tree. Her research had told her that black bears in the Smokies liked to hibernate in hollowed-out trees, and if this was a bear’s den, she hoped no one was home today. Swallowing the bile that poured into her mouth, she dropped down on her hands and knees and scurried into the gaping hole.
She wiggled in and pressed her body against the back side of the trunk. With any luck the man from the stream wouldn’t see her. The sound of approaching footsteps crashing through the forest caused her to stiffen and hold her breath. He came closer and then ran on by without stopping.
She waited a few minutes, catching her breath, before she crawled out and looked around. He was nowhere in sight, and she couldn’t hear him running. Taking a deep gulp of air, she turned and ran.
What felt like endless moments later, she was back on the trail and racing toward the parking lot. If she could just get to her car, she could get away. Then she’d go to the sheriff’s department and take her camera. She wasn’t sure if the picture of a man’s face hidden by a ski mask would be helpful or not, but there might be another way to identify him. And a way to find out who his victim was.
When the parking lot came into sight, she breathed a sigh of relief and urged her tired body to jog the last few feet to where her car was parked. She was almost there when she heard a shout behind her.
“Stop! Or I’ll shoot!”
Gwen glanced over her shoulder, and her legs almost collapsed at what she saw. The man, still wearing the ski mask, ran from the woods, his gun aimed at her. Her car sat no more than twenty feet away. He was at least twice that distance. Should she stop or try for the vehicle?
Before she even knew what she had decided, she willed her legs into a new burst of speed and barreled toward her car. A shot rang out and struck beside her foot on the paved parking lot. She gasped, but didn’t stop.
She was almost to the car when another shot rang out and bounced off the fender. The sound of the ricochet sent terror flowing through her, and she stumbled. Her arms flailed the air as she fell forward, landing facedown on the asphalt. The strap holding her camera around her neck broke, and the device skidded across the parking lot, out of reach.
Gwen scrambled to get up, but by then the killer stood a few feet away with the weapon pointed at her. His eyes blazed with anger through the slits of the mask, and his chilling laugh sent shivers up her spine. Without taking the gun off her, he slowly reached down and picked up her camera.
“Well, well,” he snarled. “Thought you could get away from me? It looks like today’s not your day.”
Gwen pushed herself into a sitting position and scooted backward until she felt the door of her car behind her. “Please,” she begged. “I don’t know who you are, and I won’t say anything. Just please don’t hurt me.”
He chuckled again and shook his head. “You should have thought of that before you became so nosy.”
She raised her hands in front of her as if they could shield her from a bullet. “There’s no need to do this.”
“Sorry,” he said and raised the gun.
Gwen closed her eyes to say a quick prayer for those she loved and would leave behind, but snapped them open again at the sound of a voice shouting from nearby. “What’s going on here?”
Her assailant whirled and stared at the road to the parking lot. Gwen’s heart slammed against her chest as she spied horses with riders in single file—a trail ride. The leader spurred his mount forward, and she cringed against the car, waiting to see what would happen next.
The man in the mask appeared to waver, uncertain. He retreated a step, pointed the gun at the rider and then back at her. He gave a strangled cry and then fired. Gwen sat there, stunned, as she felt something wet trickle down her face. Puzzled, she reached up, touched the side of her head and felt blood. With a groan, she toppled forward. The rough pavement scraped her cheek, and she heard the hoofbeats of a horse speeding past. Then darkness settled over her, and she slipped into unconsciousness.
* * *
Dean Harwell hadn’t counted on stumbling on a crime in progress when he’d led his dude-ranch guests on their first trail ride in the Smokies. But despite his surprise, he didn’t hesitate to act.
Years of service as a police officer served him well as he spurred his horse toward the gunman in an effort to save the woman’s life. His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach when the man aimed and fired at her. Out of the corner of his eye Dean saw her slump facedown on the pavement before the man turned and ran into the woods.
His foreman, Emmett Truitt, rode up beside him. “Did we just witness a murder, Dean?”
“Looks like it,” he replied. “The shooter’s gone into the forest. I can’t risk injury to my horse by taking him in there. Call 911 for the woman, and I’ll go after him.”
He dismounted, threw the reins to Emmett and plunged into the forest after the fleeing gunman. After about a half mile he stopped and listened. No sounds came from around him. Even the birds had chosen to go quiet. He hadn’t caught sight of the man even once since following him into the woods, and he couldn’t hear anyone running.
It was time to admit he’d lost