Smoky Mountain Investigation. Annslee Urban

after a moment. “Anyone know who he is?” He glanced back at Kylie.

      She shook her head. “Not that I can tell.”

      Approaching sirens blazed to life behind her. The few onlookers, stragglers from earlier flights, were quickly herded out of the way as paramedics and sheriff’s deputies rushed in.

      There was a cacophony of noise. Questions flying, voices escalating around her. The medics gave a quick assessment of the limp male figure lying in a pool of blood, then pulled a sheet from the gurney and covered him. No other measures were needed.

      Kylie backed farther away from the scene and leaned against a nearby column. Coolness from the metal trim penetrated her thin jacket, adding to her chill. Fortunately, she’d gathered sufficient facts for a story, along with an elusive phone call. Nothing conclusive, but enough to satisfy her boss, chief news editor Max Dawson. And after a cliffhanger article for the morning paper, she planned to hand the story over to another colleague. Being at the wrong place at the right time—even worse, being the perpetrator’s contact person—didn’t make her the best fit for the story. Hopefully, Max would agree.

      “Kylie, tell me again what you know.” Detective Dave Michelson walked toward her, scratching his forehead with the end of his pen.

      “I really don’t know much.” Kylie straightened a bit, willing her knees not to buckle. “I came to the airport to drop off my sister and was heading back to my car when I received the phone call.”

      “And the man on the phone told you he had a gift for you at baggage claim?”

      “Eventually. Yes.”

      “Any idea who the caller might be?” Dave started scribbling on a pad.

      “No. He spoke with a thick, muffled drawl. And the number came up restricted.”

      “Was there anyone else around when the body arrived?”

      “Security was right behind me. Tipped off by a caller...or killer.” Just saying the word sent a shiver dancing across her skin.

      Dave grunted, shifted his husky frame and kept writing.

      “The first security guard at the scene checked for a wallet or ID,” Kylie added, tightening her arms across her chest. “None were found.”

      Dave bobbed his head. “No signs of life?”

      Her heart fractured. “None. He was bleeding from the neck.”

      Eyebrows gathered over Dave’s prominent nose. He didn’t comment, only jotted more notes on his pad.

      “Fortunately, security officers secured everything before a crowd formed. Not really a picture that bystanders needed to see.” She knew that from experience.

      A grunt again. Dave hadn’t changed since high school. Serial grunts, nods, maybe a raised eyebrow. He only said what he needed to.

      “Thanks.” He pocketed his pen and pad.

      This time she nodded. There was nothing else to say.

      “Incoming bags are on carousel C,” one of the security guards shouted, gesturing to the opposite side of the baggage-claim area for the passengers stepping off the escalator. “Just keep moving.”

      There were surprised looks and mumbles from the travelers, but everyone complied, except for one man. He was dressed in fatigues and boots, a duffel draped over his shoulder and a canned drink in his hand. His dark, piercing gaze roved over the scene. And as he stood there, his expression turned dismal.

      Kylie’s teeth dug into her bottom lip. She knew that expression. And she would never forget those eyes.

      Nick Bentley.

      * * *

      Nick stared at the scene and nearly lost the burger he’d just devoured. The thread of welcome he’d felt when he arrived evaporated. A déjà vu moment replaced it.

      EMS workers strapped the body wrapped in a bloodstained sheet onto the gurney and headed out the door. Three police officers followed and several others remained at the crime scene, talking among themselves and shaking their heads. As they had the night Conrad Miller was murdered.

      Ten years ago, Nick’s senior class had taken a trip to nearby Camp Golden Rock. Their last night there, somewhere between eight and nine o’clock, Conrad’s body had been dumped onto the front porch of their cabin. He had been found lying in a small pool of blood, with his throat slashed from ear to ear. Nick swallowed as nausea threatened again. Conrad had taken security patrol that night. It was his job to make sure everyone was out of their cabin and at the bonfire. A mandatory buddy system was in place, but Conrad’s buddy had been late.

      Nick still couldn’t forgive himself.

      “Nick.”

      A wave of panicked voices echoed around him, but the softness of one feminine tone cut through the mayhem, making him almost drop his duffel and the drink that he was carrying. Nick hadn’t been home an hour and already his mind was playing tricks on him. He slowly turned his head and to his surprise, he met Kylie Harper’s warm green gaze. Shoulder-length auburn curls framed her sweet face. Pert nose, slender brows, high cheekbones, luscious full lips. An unmistakable twinge of awareness shot through him, quicker than any bullets he’d dodged in the Middle East.

      He blinked, not believing how even after ten years she still struck him as the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. His déjà vu moment got stronger.

      “Kylie.” Even saying her name stung. Another part of his life he’d tried to forget.

      “I can’t believe it’s you.” She stared up at him and brushed stray locks back with her fingers.

      No ring. He couldn’t help but notice.

      “Yeah. It’s been a while.” He swung his duffel to the ground, propping his drink can on top. “And a dead body wasn’t exactly the welcome I hoped for.”

      “Ironic, isn’t it?” Shaking her head, she looked up at him, her eyes widening and brimming with tears. “The poor man. No one even knows who he is. Even worse—”

      She looked away a moment, took a deep breath.

      “Worse?” Nick stuffed his hands into his jacket packets.

      Another moment, then her gaze settled back on him, fear in her eyes. “I think Conrad’s killer may be back.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

      The knife in Nick’s heart slipped a little deeper. “What do you mean, back? You don’t think—”

      Kylie’s nod cut off his words. Déjà vu had just escalated to nightmare.

       TWO

      At Milkweed Café in downtown Asheville, Kylie gazed at Nick from across the table. He was tall and lean, with a Go Army black T-shirt stretched across his wide shoulders and chest. He looked so mature. Strong features, chiseled just right, and his eyes a deep brown as rich as the cola he was drinking.

      As handsome as she dared to remember.

      This Delta Force captain left no one in doubt of his capabilities.

      A warm comfort swept over her. She still felt safe in his presence.

      Nick took a drink and set the glass on the table. “Do you really think this murder is related to Conrad’s?” His deltoid muscles bulged slightly as he eased back into his seat.

      Biting the inside of her lip, Kylie shrugged. “That’s the question I keep asking myself. The man on the phone said that he was there the night Conrad died. Although it seems odd—silence for ten years and then...this.”

      “Could be a copycat.” Nick crossed his arms against his sturdy chest. “If so, this butcher has done his research and probably knows as much about the