Smoky Mountain Investigation. Annslee Urban

took a breath to ease it, reminding herself that she was just following a story. Doing her job.

      This wasn’t personal.

      She clung to the reassuring thought.

      At Adams Gap, Kylie left the parkway and turned down a heavily rutted two-lane dirt road. The Plyler farm had been vacant for the past six years and she hadn’t traveled this path in twice that long. Not since the spring festival, her sophomore year of high school.

      An impromptu after-party.

      It was a clear, breezy night, she recalled, scented by the crackling fire, a bonfire licking the darkness and strains of music resonating from portable speakers. Blankets and homemade quilts peppered the grass field beside the barn and couples snuggled together to watch an amateur fireworks display put on by fellow classmates.

      For most of that year, she had admired Nick from afar. A crush nursed along by his contagious laughter and impish grin. She could still remember the tingle of excitement she’d felt when he’d asked her to be his date. And on that clear May night beneath a star-studded sky, they’d shared their first kiss—a moment that hadn’t gone unnoticed by many of their razzing friends, and a moment she’d never forget.

      Up ahead, an old battered stop sign marked the end of the route. Kylie’s car bumped over the uneven road. She made the final turn around a sharp bend. A tingle of relief swept through her when she saw several squad cars already there. Police officers and local deputies swarmed the area, tramping through overgrown weeds and grass. Body-recovering dogs accompanied them.

      Goose bumps blazed a trail up her arms.

      She swallowed hard, trying to shove back the lump of fear that nearly choked her and failing miserably.

      Lord, help me.

      * * *

      The moment Nick answered his cell phone and heard panic in Kylie’s voice, he jumped out of his office chair, grabbed his keys and bolted out the back exit of the store. There was danger in the air and she was in the middle of it.

      He gunned Steven’s motorcycle, his wheels kicking up dirt and gravel, leaving a dusty cloud in his wake. Leaning into the curve, he throttled his bike around the corner and fought against the force of anxiety pressing down on his chest.

      His visit to Asheville was supposed to be short, quiet and uneventful.

      Not happening.

      He slowed his speed as a weather-beaten barn came into view. Jake Plyler’s old farm.

      It was time to finally put the fears of the past behind him. Reconnect with family and friends. Help track down and maybe even catch a serial killer. Conrad’s killer. Sweet restitution.

      He tried to hold on to the good thoughts, even as he experienced the niggling urge to turn his bike around and hightail it back to the airport. Get out of Asheville and never return.

      A temptation he wouldn’t give in to. For Kylie’s sake.

      Nick pulled to the edge of the pasture and parked his bike. Several short pieces of rusty, twisted wire projected from a corner post, marking where the fence had once been. He shed his leather gloves and hung his helmet from one of the handlebars. For a long moment he stood there and assessed the scene. In every direction, officers scoured the grounds, flashlights beaming. A helicopter circled above, blazing a path of white light across the dusky sky, and newscasters reported live in front of video-slinging cameramen.

      Chaos was the first thought that came to Nick’s mind.

      Kylie was the second.

      He took off down the gravel drive toward the barn. She was his main concern. His only concern. He was grateful she’d called to keep him in the loop.

      “Nick.”

      He stopped short as a male voice called his name.

      The side door of the barn slammed against the craggy wood siding as Dave Michelson walked out. “You’re just in time.”

      “What do you know, Dave?” Nick turned and headed toward him.

      “Not much. In fact, we’re batting zero.” Dave put both hands on his hips and a pucker of frustration furrowed his forehead.

      “Nothing?” Nick took another look around. The grounds rambled on for acres. Overgrown fields melding with dense forests. Even with the throng of officers there, it could take days to comb the area. The killer’s previous call had contained succinct information. Something didn’t feel right. “Where’s Kylie?”

      “On the other side by the paddock.” He tipped his head, gesturing to the area ahead of them. “She’s speaking with some of the other media folks.”

      Nick made his way around the barn. Tension in the air stretched as taut as a trip wire. This old farm, now abandoned, spiraled him back to yesteryear and all the bittersweet memories. He’d grown up with Jake, fished in the nearby streams, climbed every tree within reach and even broken his arm jumping from the hayloft on a dare.

      He slanted a glance across the field of wild grasses. A sense of loss and nostalgia flooded him. He could still see Kylie, her eyes glinting beneath the faint moonlight, her dark curls rippling in the breeze.

      The first night they’d kissed.

      An old ache pulled in his chest, a longing coupled with melancholy and regret.

      So many memories.

      Two reporters brushed passed him and left Kylie leaning against the remains of an old split-rail fence. Distant police spotlights bathed her in a soft glow.

      “You okay?” Nick strode closer.

      Kylie’s slender shoulders shrugged. “All things considered, I guess. Of course, that will change if another butchered body shows up.”

      “Not a good thought, huh?”

      She shook her head. He found himself looking into the saddest green eyes he’d ever seen.

      “Maybe this time the predator was bluffing.” Nick preferred to dwell on the positive, though he wouldn’t bet on it.

      She nodded. “Hope so.”

      “What exactly did he say?”

      She took a moment. “Another gift was waiting for me here.”

      “Gift? Not body?”

      Her face pinched. “No, but his last call didn’t specify a body, either. Do you think that matters?”

      “Maybe not. But psychopathic minds like order.” Nick scratched his jaw, still looking around. “These lunatics plan thoroughly. They thrive on recognition and once they act, they don’t like to wait long to get noticed.”

      Kylie gestured toward the field behind her, teeming with officers and rescue workers. “More chaotic than organized at the moment.”

      Nick gave a shrug. “Exactly. Did the caller say anything else?”

      The wind had a bite now and distant thunder clapped.

      “Fireworks. Cows. The moon.” Kylie burrowed her hands in her coat pockets. “Random stuff. Although enough to lead me here.”

      “Random? Maybe. Maybe not.” Nick scratched his jaw. His mind was reeling.

      “What are you thinking?”

      “That there has to be something behind those clues.”

      “I’ve always hated riddles,” Kylie muttered. She tossed her hair over her shoulder.

      “I remember.” Nick gave a short chuckle.

      The wind kicked up, sighing through the trees; branches snapped and a rusty squeal protested with every gust.

      A thought pierced Nick’s mind. He took a step back and squinted to see. Bingo.

      “What