The Smoky Mountain Mist

The rain had washed away all but a few remnants of red. Seth picked up one of the stained leaves and took a closer look.

Blood. There was blood here on the ground. Was this where he’d been attacked?

No. Not him. There had been someone else. An image flitted through his pain-addled mind, moving so fast he almost didn’t catch it.

But he saw enough. He saw the body of a man, curled into a ball, as if he’d passed out trying to protect his body from the blows. And passed out he had, because Seth had a sudden, distinct memory of checking the man’s pulse and finding it barely there.

So where was the man now? Had whoever left this throbbing bump on the back of Seth’s head taken the body away from here and dumped it elsewhere?

If so, they’d apparently taken the discarded cell phone, as well, because it was no longer in the pocket of his jacket.

He trudged through the rainy woods, heading for the clearing ahead. His vision kept shifting on him, making him stagger a little, and it was a relief to reach the Char-ger after what seemed like the longest fifty-yard walk of his life. He sagged against the side of the car, pressing his cheek against the cold metal frame of the chassis for a moment. It seemed to ease the pain in his skull, so he stood there awhile longer.

Only the sound of a vehicle approaching spurred him to move. He pushed away from the car and started to unlock to door when he realized the Charger was listing drastically to one side. Looking down, he saw why—both of the driver’s-side tires were flat.

He groaned with dismay.

The vehicle turned off the road and into the parking lot. Seth forced his drooping gaze upward and was surprised to see Rachel Davenport staring back at him through the swishing windshield wipers of her car. She parked behind him and got out, her expression horrified.

“My God, what happened to you?”

He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the Char-ger’s front window and winced at the sight. His nose was bloody and starting to bruise. An oozing scrape marred the skin over his left eye, as well.

“Should’ve seen the other guy,” he said with a cocky grin, hoping to wipe that look of concern off her face. The last thing he could deal with in his weakened condition was a Rachel Davenport who felt sorry for him. He needed her angry and spitting fire so she’d go away and leave him to safely lick his wounds in private.