Smokies Special Agent. Lena Diaz
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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.
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