Jessica R. Patch - Killer Exposure

She glanced back as lightning illuminated the surroundings. He was ten feet away, closing in. Zigzagging, she smacked straight into a tree and bounced off, falling to the ground and landing with a heavy thud.

“Whoa.” The tree spoke. “Hey!” This time the voice roared, and she raised her head to see the man-tree go after the killer. Pushing hair from her eyes, Greer heaved breaths and struggled to get up. He dove onto the guy, and the attacker rolled him over. But he was quick and easy on his feet. He jumped up and put himself in a defensive position to block. Martial arts? The guy swung, but her rescuer blocked him once, twice, then landed a frontal kick, propelling him backward. There was some definite power in those legs.

“Who do you think you are?” he hollered, disgust and something familiar in his tone.

Greer’s head pounded, and her entire body blazed and ached.

The killer rushed him, and as fast as the lightning was striking, the towering oak used a series of hand motions to nail him on the ground. “Stay down!”

No. Greer stood, tottered. Couldn’t be. Had to be the blows to the head... But that voice. That confident, almost arrogant attitude. “Locklin?”

He whipped his head in her direction. “ Greer...? Greer!”

The attacker made his move, and before Greer could warn Locke, he swept Locke’s feet out from under him, throwing him off balance, then bolted and fled through the woods.

Locke raced toward her as she teetered, legs like noodles. Nauseated. Headache. Trembling. He righted her as the sky lit up.

His crow-colored hair was a bit longer, shaggier, framing his face and touching his collar. Cheeks, chin and neck were scruffier. But it was storm-chasing season. A camera hung around his neck. “How bad are you hurt?” His hands roamed her face, head, back, arms.

She shrugged him away. His touch, while medically motivated, felt too intimate. Too familiar. Too perfect and safe. “I’m fine.”

“You’re shaking...and bleeding.” He brushed her hair from her face.

“Stop touching me.” She jerked back.

“Okay, I’m backing off.” He held his hands up as a boom of thunder breached the wooded barrier.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to bite your head off. I’m just...rattled. But fine.” That wasn’t completely true. Greer was far from fine. Things were happening so fast. She’d been attacked. Locke Gallagher was here. The past was rushing in, as were thoughts of what she needed to do now as a law enforcer. She was flustered, panicked and afraid.

“I get it, Greer. We gotta go, though. Now.”

She nodded, snagged her cell phone from her denim-jacket pocket and turned on her flashlight. “I need my gun and camera. Help me find them?” She hurried and called in the crime, giving the last known location of the killer and which camper the victim would be in.

Locke stood like a statue, rain slicking his hair to his face.

“Please,” she begged. “I have to get back to the crime scene. Get photos.”

Locke shoved rain-drenched hair from his face. “What is going on?” His words were laced with frustration.

“Did you not hear me call it in? I witnessed him murdering an employee. With this weather, time isn’t on my side.” She searched the area for her gun and camera, rain soaking her to the bone.

Locke finally helped her. “Here.” He found the gun by the tree.

“Thank you.” She needed to answer his questions. Have some kind of conversation. He’d have a million questions, but rain would wash away possible evidence, and a killer was on the loose. She had to focus on her job first, then she’d muster some courage to talk to Locke. “What are you even doing here, in town? In these woods?” she asked as she found her camera, then jogged through the woods and into the field to the campers.

He kept her pace.

Locke couldn’t be here. Not in Goldenville. Not now. Not ever.

“I’m chasing a cluster of storms in the surrounding areas. Be about a week or so.”

That was too long. This was a small town. He’d no doubt bump into Greer at the store, a café, the park. And he’d see Lin.

And he’d know he had daughter. A daughter he’d never laid eyes on. Never met.

Because Greer had kept it a secret.

To spare their child from the future heartache of knowing she was never wanted by her father.

* * *

Locke ran with Greer across the field to the carnival employee campground. Rows upon rows of RVs and campers created a temporary home base for the traveling crew. Locke was no stranger to this kind of living. Especially during spring and summer storm seasons. Greer was supposed to be on the team, too. But she’d come home to help her mother and dropped him faster than a twister descending out of the sky, ignoring all his calls and texts. He’d taken the obvious hint that things were over, which shattered his heart in a million pieces. He’d been too cowardly to show up on her doorstep and face the rejection in person. It had been easier to lick his wounds alone and fake it until he made it.

He’d been debating giving her a courtesy voicemail, as she wouldn’t answer his calls, to let her know that he’d be in her hometown for a week or so with the group of scientists he worked with. Could he slip into town for the week and her not know it? He was leaning toward “yes,” when Greer had literally smacked into him in the woods. No hiding now.

Locke had been capturing this small storm on his own time. The earlier weather hadn’t been conducive to tornadoes so he’d been using it in his free time to collect photos for his online web gallery. He’d created a large platform and made a name for himself as a storm photographer. Even National Geographic had purchased a few images and done a piece on him and his role working with this team to discover more about why some storms produce tornadoes and others don’t. They were working to help stretch tornado warning times for people.

He hadn’t expected to find Greer. Certainly not battling a crazed dude in the woods. He thought he’d heard screams earlier and was making his way toward them when Greer had slammed into him. Then he’d seen the attacker and realized the woman was in serious danger. He hadn’t known it was Greer until she’d called him by his full first name. Locklin. He’d been so stunned and distracted that the man got away. How had she witnessed the crime? Why was she hanging out around employee living grounds and why was she calling in crimes like it was her...? “Do you work for the police now?”

They dashed through a row of campers, and Greer slowed down. “Sheriff’s department. Deputy and crime-scene photographer when they need one. Thus, me needing to get photos.”

Locke had met her in one of their criminal justice classes, but they’d gotten to know each other working for the college paper. “Isn’t that a conflict of interest since you’re a witness to this crime?”

“Are you serious right now? It’s about to storm. I’m the only one around. Who else is going to do it?”

She had a point. And it wasn’t like Locke was in law enforcement now. He’d dropped out. School wasn’t for him, and he never wanted to follow the Gallagher-Flynn lineage into the military and law enforcement. Locke just chased storms and had disappointed everyone, as usual, including Dad. God rest his soul.

Greer shined a light and entered the gloomy scene. Locke followed but stayed outside the door. He wasn’t dumb enough to contaminate a crime scene. The deceased was lying in a pool of blood. This right here—this was why Locke never wanted to go into the criminal justice field. His stomach wasn’t fragile, but he detested violence. The marring of humans. The evil. His heart couldn’t handle this day in and day out.