Deadly Dreams Read online

  Deadly Dreams

  Kylie Hatfield Series: Book Four

  Mary Stone

  Bella Cross

  Copyright © 2019 by Mary Stone and Bella Cross

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Mary Stone

  To my husband.

  Thank you for taking care of our home and its many inhabitants while I follow this silly dream of mine.

  Bella Cross

  To my family. Thank you for your unending support, love, and patience while I navigate this exciting new world of publishing.

  Contents

  Description

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Kylie Hatfield Series

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Description

  Sometimes the rescuers need to be saved…

  Search and rescue responders are going missing one by one. A predator is on the hunt, an aggressive monster out for revenge, and he’s preying on those who risk their lives to save others.

  Meanwhile, Kylie Hatfield has a wedding to plan. She and her search-and-rescue boyfriend, Linc Coulter, are finally getting married. If only they could skip the entire ceremony part and go straight to the honeymoon, she would be thrilled.

  When her boss throws the case of a missing SAR from Georgia down on her desk, she jumps on it. It’ll be just the thing to keep her and Linc busy, so Kylie can put off having to fret about invitations, DJs, napkin colors…

  But little does Kylie know that, by taking this case, she’s putting Linc in the path of a dangerous killer. A killer who has a score to settle with Asheville’s top SAR guy—and who will not stop until Linc Coulter is dead.

  Deadly Dreams is the fourth book in the Kylie Hatfield Series and will take readers on a white-knuckled journey with memorable characters and a few good dogs.

  1

  Keep your head about you, Beez. Just a little longer.

  As Beatrice Crosby admonished herself, she put money on her little lost lamb being around the next bend.

  It was a gorgeous fall morning, with a sun-dappled canvas of bright autumn leaves overhead. Cool air braced her skin, and the sounds of birds chirping and insects buzzing their summer goodbye were like a symphony. Everything was in place for this to be a nice autumn stroll through Tallulah Gorge Park in Northeastern Georgia.

  Except for that damn missing person.

  Sighing, Beatrice berated herself. She didn’t mean that. Missing people were her lifeblood and had kept her and her husband, Ollie, “in the lifestyle they’d grown accustomed to” ever since he’d been placed on disability a few years ago.

  Still, Beatrice knew she wouldn’t be able to fully enjoy the day until she’d safely returned the subject—another lost and hopeless—back to headquarters, whether he wanted to be there or not.

  This particular little lost lamb was a sad case. Well, they were all sad cases. But from what she’d heard, this was especially heart-wrenching. A young man, just twenty-two, had gone off after penning a farewell note to his sweetheart, explaining how his life just wasn’t worth living anymore.

  After being out on the trail for an hour, she lifted a hand to her chest, as she had for most of her nearly sixty years, picking up her worn Saint Anthony medal and kissing it. As she did, she said a prayer, “Anthony, patron saint of lost things and missing people, please deliver this lost lamb to us and ensure no harm comes to him.”

  She’d recited those same words thousands of times, but it never got any easier. She especially hated the young ones, giving up hope while still in the prime of their lives. Beez looked up at the glorious autumn day, blinking against the rain that was just beginning to fall again. Even on a cloudy day, the scenery all around her was glorious. How could one possibly witness such splendor of nature and think that life wasn’t worth living?

  Poor lamb.

  In her three-plus decades of SAR work, she’d learned to have just as much of a nose for the way these things would go as the dogs she minded. They’d likely find him, sitting alone on a ledge, having determined not to make the jump after all. Then she’d have to employ her sense of diplomacy and a soft, encouraging voice to lure him back from the edge.

  At least, that was what she was hoping for. The alternative was so much worse.

  Her companion on this particular jaunt was Tiger, a brindle pit bull only a couple months into his SAR career. A tiny thing in stature, still a little skittish, the dog was coming along nicely. Beatrice’d trained hundreds of SAR dogs over the years, and three-year-old Tiger was shaping up to be one of her favorites.

  They walked along a steep, narrow path astride the gorge that, in this spot, featured a three-hundred-yard drop to the river below. Tiger was careful about where he stepped, hugging the side of the mountain, and she liked that about him. So many dogs were just too eager, especially at the very start, and they’d make dangerous moves even with the proper training.

  But Tiger was instinctively wary. There were quite a lot of fallen leaves on the ground, which could be slippery. The last thing Beez needed was to have him take the path too quickly and slip, sending both of them toppling over and hurtling to the jagged rocks on the gorge floor. Beez had found more than a few hikers at the bottom of the gorge, the victims of such a fall, too late to be rescued.

  It wasn’t pretty.

  Tiger stopped at a rocky outcropping that jutted out into the gorge, letting out a small whimper. He looked up at Beez to make sure he was doing it right. When she nodded her approval, he ducked his head around the stone blockade, measured, and stepped himself over the obstacle with relative ease.

  Not bad, little guy. That was one of the tougher maneuvers in old Tallulah.

  Beez often told the other rescuers she trained—and she’d trained dozens of them—that she could walk the gorge blindfolded. She’d grown up in this area, first fishing with her father down on the river and then spending most of her summers as a teenager camping out here, so she knew it like the back of her hand. But that didn’t mean the park was safe, even for her.

  There were constant rockslides, especially after rainstorms, and it often seemed as though the terrain was always changing. Plus, many of the rocky trails were perilously narrow, barely enough for one person to walk, and high on a cliff’s edge.

  This obstacle, though, posed no trouble for Beez. Though her advancing age meant she wasn’t in the greatest shape of her life, she did keep active. She practically vaulted over the rocky ledge to meet with Tiger on the other side.

  She could give those cocky SARs half her age a run for their money, she wagered.

  She ruffled his ears. “Good boy. Very
good boy. Just a little more. I bet we find our missing man over here.”

  The Heights Trail was the only trail rated extremely difficult in the park’s guide map, with the warning: Only experienced hikers and those with proper equipment should attempt. That was two years ago, before three people died on it in one awful summer.

  For the next printing of the guide map, online and off, the Heights Trail had been removed, as well as all signage pointing it out from the main road. The only thing that remained was a bright-yellow sign at the very entrance to the trail, only visible to those attempting it. It read:

  WARNING: DANGEROUS HIKE AHEAD

  The Heights Trail is not for those with physical limitations. Attempt this route only if you are physically fit, wearing proper footwear, and have experience in climbing near exposed cliffs and heights. Be prepared for high winds and allow three hours for a round-trip climb. Avoid this route during inclement weather or darkness. Stay on trail, and do not throw or dislodge rocks onto hikers below.

  Permits required; all laws and regulations strictly enforced.

  Persons have received serious injuries, and others have died on this mountainside! Do not be one of them!

  The sign was usually enough to keep any day-hikers away.

  But not always.

  There were always several yahoos attempting it, which meant Beez and the others would be called in for a rescue. Most were fine. And then there were people who, either overestimating their abilities or underestimating the dangers the sign warned of, ended up in trouble.

  And then there were those who just came here to end their lives.

  This poor lost lamb hadn’t said what trail he planned to go to in the suicide letter his girlfriend found. They never did; never made it easy. No, it was usually more like, Goodbye cruel world and I can’t be a burden to you any longer. No specifics on location.

  But the call had come in over the police radio at close to the same time that a hiker arrived at park headquarters, breathless and worried. She said she’d been on the Heights Trail and heard someone weeping, and when she’d looked over, she’d seen what looked like a glimpse of an orange parka through the trees.

  She’d tried to call out to the person to see if he or she needed help but hadn’t received any answer. It seemed as though the individual was on the very edge of a cliffside, and it had worried the hiker enough that she’d run all the way back to a ranger. Putting two and two together, the rangers had called in the nearest SARs available. Beez was one of them.

  She was always one of them. She was proud that she was damn good at what she did. Proud that she was high on the call list.

  Sweet of them, really, to leave the strenuous Heights Trail to her, the oldest one in the group.

  She didn’t mind, though. She was the most experienced, after all. The climb didn’t bother Tiger or her. She felt more at home on this mountain than she did anywhere else in the world. In fact, her husband had proposed to her at the pinnacle of the trail thirty years ago.

  She smiled at the thought of Ollie down on one knee, then helped Tiger up onto a waist-high step in the trail, just as the sun broke through the clouds. It was still raining a bit, so she stopped and looked for the rainbow she knew she would find.

  There it was. A perfect arch of vibrant color, appearing like a blessing from the heavens.

  Beez smiled again, allowing herself another minute to admire the meteorological phenomenon before taking hold of the metal spike lodged in the rocky ledge and hoisting herself up after the dog, huffing and puffing in a way she never had when she was younger.

  Got to lay off those Oreos, she thought as she climbed the last few steps to the very end of the trail, a place overlooking the falls, where the trail opened up. Edging forward and shielding her eyes from the dappled sun with her hand, she looked over the cliffside, trying to spy that bit of orange the hiker had seen.

  Nothing.

  She looked again, straining her eyes, which also weren’t what they used to be. She pulled out her binoculars and studied the area below more closely. Nothing.

  Beez felt sure this was the place the worried hiker had been speaking of and scanned the area again. She could hear the falls from here, along with the swish of the breeze through the trees. But no one calling for help. No sign of life anywhere.

  Well, so much for that. Lady must’ve been hallucinating.

  That was the problem. Anytime someone reported a missing person, the rescuers took directions from whoever reported it with a grain of salt. It was easy to get turned around or panic in the heat of the moment and forget what you’d seen or where you’d seen it. Often these things were like wild-goose chases.

  But knowing that, Beez had kept her eyes peeled for that glimpse of orange the whole way up. She hadn’t seen a thing. She also hadn’t heard a peep from the tracker below, who’d been assigned to scour the base of the cliffs with his cadaver dog.

  She’d have to hold off on praising God for his glory on this beautiful day just a little bit longer.

  She turned to head to her right, around a bend, where the little-known trail met with the more popular and heavily traveled North Rim Trail. This trail was deemed moderate in the guidebooks. It had its steep drop-offs, but it wasn’t nearly as perilous as the one she’d been on.

  She relaxed a little, then picked up her radio. “Come in, headquarters.”

  “Hey, Beez, what’s up?”

  “Just finished up on the Heights Trail. No sign of him or anyone else yet. I’m alone out here. Anyone else see anything?”

  “Negative.”

  “The woman give you any more details?”

  “Nothing other than what you were told in the briefing. You looking for an orange jacket?”

  “Yep. There’s nothing that can possibly be construed to be an orange jacket out here on Heights. Trust me.”

  “All right. Keep at it. Come back along the North Rim. You shouldn’t be going back the way you came. Too dangerous.”

  She opened her mouth to say that he was wrong. Nothing was too dangerous out here for her. She’d told headquarters that, time and time again. But the ranger beat her to it as the radio crackled and came back with, “For Tiger, I mean.”

  She smiled, hitched her walkie-talkie to her belt, wiped a honey-colored curl from her forehead, and adjusted her grip on Tiger’s leash. “Poor lost lamb,” she muttered, still listening for any signs of distress.

  Nothing.

  Great.

  She hated to think what that might mean. That this particular lost and hopeless had finally decided to take the life-ending plunge.

  From here, the tree-cover was too much to see the bottom of the gorge. However, if that was the case, someone at the bottom would’ve seen it by now. There were always fishermen down there, and hikers enjoying the falls. Plus, she’d sent Kevin and Molly down Sliding Rock to the gorge floor. If he hadn’t radioed in by now, it was a good sign.

  That meant there was still hope.

  Noticing Tiger was starting to hang his head and pant a little more than usual, she ruffled his ears. “You thirsty, boy?”

  He licked her hand. Aw, of course he was. That’d been some workout. The Heights Trail was not for babies.

  The dog was a peach. Ollie’d gotten him for her on her fifty-seventh birthday, from the pound. They’d become the best of friends. Beez had been around dogs all her life, but Tiger was like her second self. Her children were grown and out of the house now, scattered across the United States. She had grandchildren but only got to see them once in a blue moon. So, Tiger was her baby. She doted on him, pouring all the love and attention she had for her six grandchildren on that pup.

  Beez glanced up when she heard the noise of footsteps coming close. Heavily traveled was right—it seemed like everyone was off on the North Rim Trail today. She figured she’d probably meet up with a couple of the other rescuers from her SAR team, probably by the Pulpit, but she was high above it. Devil’s Pulpit, a large, very popular rocky outcroppi
ng at the bottom of the gorge was probably hopping with people, even on this rainy day. Lonnie had been sent to the South Rim, and Crystal the North.

  Beez was familiar with all the roads less traveled, the hidden gems. She knew there was a nice spot to rest only a quarter-mile down the trail, just above the Pulpit, that would be less populated and have more shade for her tired pup. She led Tiger to it, stepping aside on the trail every so often to let more hikers pass her by.

  The resting spot was just an area with a nice, scenic view overlooking the falls. There were a couple of picnic benches, but nothing more. She looped Tiger’s leash around the branch of a sapling and dropped her heavy pack, then pulled out his collapsible water dish.

  Filling it from a bottle of water, she sat down on one gnarled plank of the picnic table, lowering the water bowl for him to drink before pouring him some kibble into another collapsible dish. He slurped it up in great, thirsty licks, splashing more water out of the dish than swallowing it. She petted his brindled coat and smiled at him with all the love in her being.

  “That’s it,” she said soothingly, surveying the area. “Take it easy, boy. Not too fast.”

  As she was stretching, she heard it.

  She paused to listen, but the sound didn’t come again. It could have been a child, shrieking in glee.

  Or a person, screaming in agony.

  Beez stood, her knees popping at the movement, and pulled a few treats from her pack. Leaving them on the ground beside the bowl, she headed in the direction of the noise, holding on to the trees for balance.