Target on the Mountain
Autor:in
Elizabeth Goddard
Gelesen
19,7K
Kapitel
43
ONE
Victoria “Tori” Peterson glanced over her right shoulder as she rowed in her kayak, enjoying the view of the Wind River as it traversed through the shadow of Mount Shasta in beautiful northern California. Sweat rose on her back and beaded at her temples. Her muscles burned with each row of the double-bladed oar, but she welcomed the pain as the kayak glided on the river.
The exercise invigorated her. Got her heart pumping and the oxygen flowing.
It reminded her that she was alive.
Still, the uncanny sensation that someone was following her clung to her.
Another glance told her that no one was behind her. No one was on the river as far as she could see in the middle of a Monday afternoon. The weekend was over and summer was ending—students were back in school.
She was utterly alone out here. Just how she wanted it.
This stretch of river was calm and slow and perfect for relaxing, contemplating and easing her troubled mind after the tragedy that had brought her all the way from Columbia, South Carolina. And for which she’d taken bereavement leave from her job as a special agent with the FBI.
She shrugged off the heaviness and focused on the sound of the oar cutting through the gentle flow as the current carried her forward. She needed this moment of solitude to get her through the next few weeks. Before the river became agitated and the current too strong—before Graveyard Falls—she would urge the kayak upstream against the current and back to where she had parked her car.
Sarah’s car, actually. The thought of her sister brought on a surge of tears.
Focusing on the environment instead, Tori held them back and guided her bright blue kayak forward. The river twisted through the designated wilderness area and opened up into forests at the base of the mighty mountain—an inactive volcano. Mount Shasta could be seen from nearby Rainey, where she’d grown up.
The serene setting belied the violence that had taken place along the river only a few days before. Maybe it was the weight of that memory that punctuated the brisk mountain air and the combined scent of pine, hemlock, fish and fresh water with the feeling that someone had followed her.
Or maybe someone was really there.
She’d only taken leave last week in order to attend the funeral and hadn’t so quickly forgotten to listen to her instincts. Still, she pushed the fears aside for the moment. Let the memories surface as she floated on the river that would eventually travel through Rainey on its way to empty into the Shasta River.
Growing up, she and Sarah had kayaked here all the time and camped in the area close to Mount Shasta—the mountain that had hovered over them their entire lives. Those memories made her laugh with joy even as she cried with grief. Those peaceful memories would forever be spoiled for Tori now.
But life went on around her. Nature blossomed and gloried in beauty as though nothing tragic had happened. The sun shone down on her. An eagle floated on the wind above her, its high-pitched whistle underscoring the wild environment around her.
And that eerie yet glorious sound nudged her with the very question that had nagged her since her return. What had driven her to join the FBI, move across the country and leave behind the most beautiful place on earth? Leave behind her family, her sister and even a guy she could have married? Whatever those reasons, she couldn’t quite remember them now. Instead, she would give anything to have stayed and gotten more time with her sister, Sarah.
She squeezed the oar and released her fury, taking it out on the river with each cut into the water.
The report of a rifle resounded, echoing through the woods and bouncing off the water.
Tori flinched and her gaze flicked to the woods behind her. She took in her surroundings again. Was someone simply out for target practice? She couldn’t think of any hunting season open just yet, but she wasn’t up-to-date on hunting season laws.
A thump shuddered through her kayak as another shot resounded. Her kayak had taken the hit. Someone was targeting her kayak.
Targeting her!
Her heart lurched as panic swelled. Pulse pounding, she pushed harder and faster with the oar.
She should have listened to her instincts. This was one of those moments when she hated to be right. Even if she hadn’t wanted to believe it, someone had been following her. Somehow. Someway. They had waited here to ambush her. They’d planned their attack well. She couldn’t possibly paddle fast enough or move out of the crosshairs if someone intended her harm.
Another bullet slammed into her kayak. Tori took hope in the miss. It seemed that whoever was shooting wasn’t a trained sniper. Given the recent murders, she doubted they were just trying to scare her or warn her away. No, they were trying to hit her—and she couldn’t count on them missing forever. Their next shot might hit the mark and injure her, or worse, kill her.
Her arms burned and lungs screamed as she sliced from the right to the left. Right, left, right, left, her body twisting with the movements, until it felt like she was one with the kayak.
God, please, please help me!
I can’t die now! I have to find Sarah’s killer!
Despite her efforts, she would never make it out of range if the shooter’s rifle could handle the distance.
And if the shooter was determined.
Somehow she had to make this harder for the shooter. But how?
Ideas. She needed ideas. If she left the kayak and swam to the opposite shore, then what? She’d be stuck over there at the shooter’s mercy. She’d have to dash a hundred yards before she could hide in the tree line.
She couldn’t count on being able to make it to safety that way. No. Tori needed to push farther on the river. Get much farther away and downriver and then she could possibly make her way to the trees before being gunned down. She’d be safe once she put enough distance between her and the shooter...except she had no idea how far the long-range weapon could shoot.
She had a feeling one of the shooter’s shots would hit its mark if she stayed in his sights.
Another idea came to her. Tori gasped as she continued to push, putting more distance between her and the shooter. Hope built inside her that she would soon be out of range.
Would her idea work or would it kill her in another way? Before another bullet could slam into the kayak or into her body, she made a decision. Sucking in a big breath, Tori flipped the kayak as if to make a wet exit, only she remained in the kayak, floating on the river upside down, hoping instead to confuse the shooter. Make him wonder if she was planning to swim to shore, or if she’d drowned.
If he couldn’t see her, she reduced his ability to kill her. Maybe.
He might still take a few shots, hoping to kill her under the water. But she knew from her training that water distorted bullet trajectories, especially if the shooter wasn’t experienced enough to compensate.
Holding her breath, she urged the kayak forward and out of range. Eyes open, she worked to avoid the outcropping of rocks thrusting toward her, but she wasn’t quick enough. Pain lanced through her as the jagged edge of a broken rock gouged her shoulder. Her need to cry out almost cost her the last of her breath.
Lungs burning and screaming for oxygen, she held on to the last of her air a little longer, refusing to draw river water into her lungs. Had the shooter stopped, convinced he’d successfully shot her? Could he confirm that through his scope while she was beneath the water?
Her lungs spasmed. She was running out of time. The current grew stronger, the water more agitated. The kayak was getting closer to the falls.
Two options remained. She could exit the kayak and swim for it—or she could remain in the kayak and try to make the riverbank. She’d be on the opposite side from where she believed the shooter had perched to take his shots, and she’d be farther downstream by several hundred yards, but if the shooter had a good long-range rifle, he could still pick her off.
Using her hips and oar, she rolled the kayak back so she was above the water and sucked in a long breath. Her pulse raced.
Graveyard Falls roared in her ears and fear constricted her chest.
Too close. She was much too close to the falls. Had sending her over the falls been the shooter’s intention all along?
Idiot. She’d been such an idiot!
She paddled backward, but the strong current had seized the kayak in its grip and wouldn’t let go. The current was much too powerful for her—especially since she hadn’t practiced this water sport in a long time. Tori groaned with the effort as she fought the current, the violent rapids and rush of water that would soon take her over. She fought to steer clear of the outcroppings of boulders that caused the water to boil even more. The river ensnared her, leaving her gasping and choking as she fought to survive.
Had another report sounded? She couldn’t tell. Her chest swelled with fear. Good thing she hadn’t exited the kayak—at least it could offer a measure of protection against the buildup of boulders and rocks near the falls. She desperately hammered the water in an effort to free the kayak but it was no use. The river pushed her forward toward the deadly waterfall. Despite her best efforts, she was going over the falls.
This wasn’t called Graveyard Falls for nothing. Her breaths came fast, unable to keep up with the oxygen demand of her rapidly beating heart. Would these be her last breaths?
Graveyard Falls propelled the kayak, along with Tori, over the rapids, tossing her like she was a rag doll in a toy boat.
“Oh, no, no, no, no, no!”
Tori clung to her kayak as the waterfall took her over.
In those moments, every regret, every mistake she’d made, clung to her heart.
Ryan...
Detective Ryan Bradley’s footfalls echoed down the sterile white hallway of Rainey General Hospital. Ten minutes ago, while in the middle of questioning someone in an ongoing investigation, he’d been informed that Tori Peterson was here and had asked for him.
She’d been injured, pulled from the river after going over Graveyard Falls. That news shocked him, to say the least. He was still stunned. Beyond concerned. He’d finished his interrogation, but unfortunately, he doubted he’d remember much of what was said. That was what he had a recorder for. At this moment, nothing mattered to him but Tori.
As soon as he’d heard that Tori had gone over those falls and survived, he’d wanted to rush to her side as if the last four years—and the all-important FBI job that she’d chosen over him—hadn’t come between them. Ryan wanted to see for himself that she was all right. He wanted to hold her in his arms and feel her warm body against him and know deep in his soul that she was truly okay.
That was how he found himself rushing down the hallway toward her room—whoa there, boy—when what he really needed to do was slow his steps way down. That would give him time to decelerate his too-rapidly-beating heart and get a grip! Ryan had to find a way to redirect his mind away from his spiraling emotions that threatened to overtake him.
And most of all, he needed to focus on the facts. He didn’t even know why she wanted to speak with him. Had she asked for him as a detective, or was this much more personal? Ryan should hope for the former, but his heart wished for the latter.
Traitorous heart.
He knew Tori was in town because of her sister’s murder. Tori had attended the funeral last week, and she had obviously remained in town, perhaps to help her parents go through Sarah’s things, or maybe just to comfort her parents.
Those were probably the excuses she told her family. But honestly, he could guess the real reason why she remained. He ground his molars and fisted his hands as aggravation churned in his gut. He’d figured it was just a matter of time before she sought him out—after all, he was the major crimes detective investigating the multiple homicides that had occurred two weeks ago and that had unfortunately involved her sister. He still couldn’t believe it himself.
Tori’s sister. Sweet Sarah Peterson. Gone forever.
Still, it was strange that Tori had asked for him after being pulled from the river. He was grateful she’d survived the falls, but he wanted answers about what was going on.
Spotting a vending machine—his salvation—Ryan stopped to grab coffee. He should join Procrastinators Anonymous, or was it United? After inserting and reinserting the cash into the slot until it finally pleased the machine, he pressed the appropriate buttons.
Coffee. Give me coffee, black and strong, he mentally demanded as the vending machine took its sweet time, for which he should be grateful. He needed a few more minutes to compose himself and appear like the disinterested, detached and impartial detective he strove to be.
His efforts were failing because he was definitely anything but detached and impartial. He couldn’t believe how the mere thought of seeing Tori again affected him, especially knowing that she’d come so close to death. What was the matter with him? He let his thoughts sift through the last couple of weeks and focus on Tori and her family—their needs. Not his personal issues that had no bearing in the present.
Tori had lost her sister. She had to be a wreck. Ryan had been the one to give her parents the news, and it had been all he could do to keep his composure. Those were the moments when he hated this job.
A warm cup of coffee finally in hand, he downed the contents, then steeled himself. Enough procrastinating. He walked the rest of the way to room 225 and pressed his fingers against the partially open door. Voices drifted out. Tori’s mother sounded upset. He leaned against the wall, deciding he’d give them a few moments. He popped in a piece of gum and skimmed his emails on his cell, except his mind was far from his cell phone.
Tori Peterson.
Once upon a time in the past, he’d thought he and Tori were on the same path. The same life track. He’d let his heart hope for something long-term between them. Then, when a door opened offering her the job of her dreams, she’d chosen that over him. Good for her. Bad for him. At the time, he’d been furious and hurt, and they hadn’t parted on good terms.
Four years had changed his perspective. Now, he didn’t blame her or hold anything against her. Instead, he saw it as a cautionary lesson not to set his heart on anyone. Time could heal all wounds, the saying went, and with time and experience, he’d learned his limits.
Ryan couldn’t take that kind of heartache ever again.
The voices in the room died down and the room went quiet. Time for him to make his presence known. He knocked lightly on the door as he said, “Detective Bradley. Is it all right for me to come in?”
The door swung open to reveal Sheryl Peterson. She blinked up at him, relief in her face. “Come in, Ryan. I mean... Detective.”
She eyed him as if to ask if it was okay that she called him by his first name. He smiled and gave a slight nod as he entered the room. He had known the Petersons for years—there was no need for formality with them.
Sheryl caught his arm, preventing him from going farther. She leaned in and spoke in a low tone. “I’m so glad you’re here. She’s not ready to listen. The doctor wanted to keep her another day. But she’s planning to leave anyway. Can you talk some sense into her?”
Tori stepped out of the bathroom fully dressed. Next to the bed, she swayed a bit. Ryan rushed forward and caught her. He assisted her to the bed, where she should have stayed.
“I heard you lost a lot of blood during your fight with a waterfall,” he said, his voice coming out gentle and caring. Not exactly what he’d been going for. He’d wanted to make it clear to her—to both of them—that he’d finally left their relationship in the past.
She lifted her gaze as if just now realizing he was there, that he’d been the one to assist her to the hospital bed. “Ryan. What...what are you doing here?”
Really? He’d been told that she’d asked for him. Maybe someone had made a mistake.
“I need to run an errand.” Sheryl pursed her lips, still upset with her daughter. “I’ll be right back. Ryan, please keep her in this room until I get back, okay?”
He nodded, but he couldn’t promise anything. Sheryl disappeared and left Ryan and Tori alone in the room. It shouldn’t feel awkward but it did.
“What were you thinking, taking that waterfall?” he asked. “Kayaking alone and going over the falls?”
Was she so devastated from the news of her sister’s death that she had a death wish of her own? No. The Tori he’d known before would never take her own life—no matter what.
He fisted his hands, controlling the fury over her choices and fear for her safety that he had no right to feel. Swallowed the lump in his throat at the thought of what could have happened.
He was over her. Had been for a long time. But apparently the emotional equivalent of muscle memory hadn’t gone away. When she was putting herself in danger, it was his instinct to worry.
Dumb instincts.
And he was done playing games or wasting time. “Why did you ask to see me, Tori?”
But he had a feeling he knew exactly why. Tori was here to find the person behind four murders, behind Sarah’s murder, and as lead detective on this investigation, Ryan was about to get swept up in Tori’s fast-moving current.
