Elizabeth Goddard - Deadly Evidence

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.