Lena Diaz - Smokies Special Agent

He held up his hands in a placating gesture. “How long have you known Kurt Vale?”

“Known him? I’ve never met him.”

“But he’s been stalking you. I think you used the word hunting .”

“Yes. Exactly. He was hunting me. That’s how it seemed. I could hear footsteps—”

“Echoing yours.”

“You’re being condescending.”

“My apologies.”

He wasn’t sincere and they both knew it. He was tripping her up, making what had happened seem...trivial. She tried again to explain. “I was scared, okay? I believed he was after me.”

“Why would he be after you if he didn’t know you?”

“Because...” She hesitated. Would he believe her if she told him? Things weren’t going so well. If she was on a jury listening in on this conversation right now, she’d lock herself up and throw away the key. Duncan certainly didn’t believe her. That was obvious. He wasn’t likely to believe her wild theories , either, as her boss in Denver called them. Instead of telling Duncan her latest theory, her reason for being here, she tried again to stick to the facts of what had happened. What she needed to do was make him understand her fear, that she’d felt threatened. She would never shoot someone otherwise. She wasn’t a cold-blooded murderer.

“You’re a man,” she said. “An intimidating one, sizewise, especially to a woman who is half your height, like me.”

He smiled. “Half might be stretching it.”

He was back to playing good cop, trying to charm and disarm her with those smiles of his. She cleared her throat. “My point is that even though I’m trained in self-defense, I know my physical limitations. I had a gun with me for protection—”

“You expected that you might end up in a confrontation and need your weapon?”

She’d not only expected it. She’d hoped for it. But telling him that would seal her fate.

“Hope for the best, prepare for the worst. I took my gun with me just in case. This morning, when I was walking the trail, I heard sounds—”

“Sounds?”

“Rocks pinging against other rocks, like someone’s feet had accidentally kicked them. A coat or jacket brushing against a tree.”

“The sounds any hiker might make while heading down a trail.”

“No, no, you don’t understand.”

“I want to.” He leaned forward, his dark blue eyes watching her with an intensity that was unnerving. “Make me understand, Remi. Tell me the truth.”

She could practically hear Jack Nicholson yelling, “You can’t handle the truth,” his famous line from A Few Good Men . Hysterical laughter bubbled up in her throat. She forced it down, drew several long, deep breaths.

“The sounds I heard weren’t loud or obvious. They were...stealthy. Like someone was trying to be quiet. It was difficult to pinpoint the direction. But someone was definitely following me. Not hiking, like I was. They were actually specifically following me. I’m absolutely one hundred percent certain.” This time she was the one to lean forward, her gaze clashing with his. “I tested my theory. Every once in a while I’d stop, with my foot in the air instead of taking my next step. I heard him, a thump in the distance, as if he was walking in sync with me, using my footsteps to hide the sound of his. But when I stopped suddenly, in midstride, he couldn’t. That’s when I knew for sure. Do you understand?”

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. The skeptical look on his face said it all.

They watched each other for a full minute before he leaned back again. “Let’s see if I have this right. You were scared.”

“Yes.”

“Someone was following you.”

“Yes.”

“You were convinced they were stalking you.”

“Yes.”

“That they intended you harm.”

“Definitely.”

“How long were they following you?”

“At least half an hour.”

“At what point did you call the police, knowing someone was following you, stalking you, someone you felt wanted to do you harm? When did you call?” He looked down at his keyboard, as if ready to record the time.

She stared at him, feeling the trap closing around her. She hadn’t even seen it coming.

He looked up, feigning surprise. “What time did you call the police during this half hour that you felt your life was in danger?”

Her left hand went reflexively to her cell phone, which McAlister had returned to her and which was now in her jeans pocket. “I didn’t call anyone.”

“You didn’t?”

“No. I didn’t.”

“Really? Why not?”

“Cell phone service?” she blurted out. “No signal?”

“Are those questions or statements?”

She pursed her lips.

“Are you stating, on the record and on camera, that you tried to call, but couldn’t get a signal?”

Her mouth went dry. She’d made a guess about lack of cell phone service and didn’t have a clue whether or not she could have gotten a call through. But she would bet that he did. He probably knew where every cell tower was in these mountains, where you could get a signal and where you couldn’t. Technically, she hadn’t outright lied yet. She hadn’t specifically said that she’d looked at her phone and saw no bars. But if she told him she’d tried to call, she’d be crossing that line. She’d be lying to a federal officer in the course of an investigation, a crime that alone could send her to prison and destroy her career, if it wasn’t destroyed already.

“No.” Her voice came out as a dry croak. She cleared her throat, then reached for the bottle of water and took a long swallow.

He waited until she’d finished and set the bottle down. “No, you didn’t have a signal, or no, you didn’t attempt to call for help?”

Good grief. He was like a fox after a rabbit.

“I’m a law-enforcement officer,” she said. “I had a gun for protection, if I needed it. Although I was afraid, and worried that someone was after me, I felt confident in my ability to protect myself.”

“Did you call the police?”

“No. I did not.”

He smiled. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? You told the truth. Cell coverage is spotty and unreliable throughout the park. That’s why we carry radios. But there’s a cell tower not far from here that provides excellent signal strength. You would have easily gotten a call out if you’d tried.”

She pressed her left hand to her stomach. It felt like a kaleidoscope of butterflies was fluttering around inside her. Or a swarm. Or whatever a gazillion butterflies was called.

His smile faded. “Of course that brings us back to the original question of why you didn’t try to call anyone. Using your own logic, if you were thinking like a law-enforcement officer, using your training, you would know to call for backup. Standard operating procedure when you’re in danger. Why didn’t you call?”

She didn’t answer.

“You truly believed that Mr. Vale was coming after you?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Then why, when you could have called for backup, did you choose to risk your life and face him all alone?”

Because I wanted to catch the bastard myself.

She pressed her lips together to keep from blurting out those very words.

Silence filled the room. He stretched his long legs out in front of him and let out a deep sigh.

“I was the first one at the office this morning,” he said. “I was the only one here when Zack Towers called to report that he’d shared one of the shelters on the Appalachian Trail last night with another hiker. When you left, you must have put your hand in your pocket to check your gun. He saw the outline of the pistol and called it in. No guns are allowed in any national park unless you’re one of the rangers or investigators working for the National Park Service. That rules you out.”