Murder at Sunrise Lake

The wind seemed to pick up, blowing harder, pushing against him, tugging at his shirt and retreating only to rush back, teasing at the hairs on his neck. As he bent once more to fill the water bottle, the wind whispered to him, a low, familiar voice. One that was always gentle. Never raised. The ghost found you.

Then he was falling. Headfirst. Tumbling. Out of control. His body hitting something hard over and over. The pain was excruciating. Freezing water soaked him as he hit jagged rocks sticking out of the cliff on his way down, his back, his legs, his head, his shoulders. He knew bones broke, smashed, as he struck those rocks, and then he landed hard on the jagged mass of rocks sticking up in the river. The current pulled at him immediately. He had landed on his side, driving his ribs into his lung. He felt the burst of his lung collapsing and then it was nearly impossible to breathe. But after hitting on his side, his body had been flung to a second mass of rocks by the force of the water, and one pierced his back low, just as surely as a dagger would have.

Denver lay gasping for air on the top of the rocks, desperately trying to see without turning his head. That way lay even more pain. If he moved from the rock, the current would surely get him, but he couldn’t stay there, he would die. His back was broken in several places. He had a head injury. His left arm was broken. Both legs. His ribs were caved in and one lung was collapsed. That wasn’t the worst of it. He had somehow, when he landed, punctured his kidney. He was bleeding and it was severe.

He needed medical attention immediately. He was a doctor and he knew for certain he didn’t have long, not with his injuries. He had to stay right there, with the rock in his body, because if he lifted himself off it, he would bleed out very fast. The rushing water was trying to force him off the rock, and each push at his body was pure agony.

He looked up at the sky. The sun was bright and he had to squint. A shadow fell across him and his heart leapt. Someone was there. On the bank not more than a foot or so away. They could help. He forced his head to turn a scant inch in spite of the pain. He blinked to clear his blurry vision.

Sam was crouched there, looking at him dispassionately, as if Denver was nothing, less than an insect crawling on the ground. There was no expression on his face. All along, even though he’d told Stella Sam was a ghost, Denver hadn’t believed it.

“Ghost,” he croaked, or tried to. He could barely breathe, let alone talk.

“You got a few things wrong, Denver, when you were warning Stella away from me. The government doesn’t hunt down and kill us. We’re too valuable to them. They like us around so we can do jobs for them when they need them done. Did you really think I wouldn’t recognize a sociopath? Stupid move making a decision to go after my woman.”

He couldn’t possibly know. No one knew. “How?” He coughed up blood. That wasn’t a good sign, and every movement hurt.

Sam stood up. “It doesn’t matter.”

“She’ll know you did this,” he choked out.

“I don’t lie to her. In any case, the world is going to know you for what you are. You left behind a detailed account of your superiority—encrypted, of course—on your computer. The world and all your friends need to know how you planned in such detail to be a far better killer than your father and uncle, and you had set the stage so carefully, unlike them.”

Horrified, Denver tried to protest. He would never make such a mistake. Only bubbles of blood and spittle came out of his mouth and trickled down his chin. Shadows slid over him and he looked up at the sky and could only see the blurred images of circling birds, high overhead. Terror mixed with agony.

He coughed again and more blood spewed out. He blinked. Sam wasn’t there. His heart nearly exploded. He despised Sam, but the man couldn’t leave him there to die alone. Had he even been there? Had his mind played tricks on him? No one could have known what he’d planned. He’d been so careful. Taken years to perfect his plans. Found the perfect cover. Everything was going dark and the cough grew worse. He couldn’t get any air and he was choking. Where was Sam?

STELLA SAT ON the end of the pier staring out over the icy, sapphire-colored water, waiting for the sun to rise just as she had every morning for the past week. Seven days Sam had been gone, doing only heaven knew what as payment for favors owed to someone she didn’t want to think about. The promise of snow was in the early morning air. It wasn’t that far off now. She’d handled snow alone many times over the years and she could do it again. She just needed to know Sam was safe. Unfortunately, when he was in the field somewhere, he couldn’t text her and her messages didn’t go to the phone he carried with him—for her safety, not his. At least that was what he’d told her before he left.