Blue Smoke and Murder

90

SEPTEMBER 17

6:42 P.M.

Jill was running hard through raking, dry, shoulder-high brush when she hit the edge of the ravine. She shifted her balance in midair, twisted, and landed with a jolting roll that made her hurt arm scream. The soft, sandy bottom of the dry creek absorbed some of the shock of her landing. The rest knocked out a lot of her breath and set her head spinning.

Like a cornered animal, she staggered to her feet, her breath almost as rapid as her heartbeat. She could hear the crackle of brush as Ski Mask ran closer. The ragged walls of the wash were more than five feet tall. Too high for a fast escape.

And a fast way out was the only thing that would keep her alive.

To her left a long, pale ribbon of rocks and sand slanted up to a dry waterfall. A glance told her that the dark rocks of the fall were too far off. Every step of the way she would show up against that light sand like the target she was.

She’d be shot to death before she reached the uncertain cover of the dry fall.

To her right the wash took a hard turn around a rocky outcrop. She was running for it before she consciously made a decision. She didn’t know if she would find cover at the bend in the wash, or another long stretch of pale sand. But the crooked stretch of wash was the only hope she had.

She sprinted toward the bend, her breath harsh, burning.

A rock poked out of the darkness, tripping her, sending her flying. She landed facedown and felt black light spin down out of the sky over her. She tried to get up, knowing that the shooter could still see her.

Her body didn’t respond.

Fighting to breathe, Jill waited to be shot.