Free Murder in the Smokies by Paula Graves Page B

softened, a hint of moonlight drifting through the curtains as it struggled to penetrate the wispy remainder of storm clouds darkening the sky. From where he lay on the sofa bed, Sutton could make out the outline of spiky evergreen treetops, black against the fainter blue of the sky.
    Suddenly, a flash of darkness blotted out the pale light. Just as suddenly, it was gone and the light was back.
    Sutton sat up in a single, fluid motion, one hand reaching for the Glock 17 lying on the nicked wooden table by the sofa. He padded quietly to the window that looked out on the front yard. The porch was empty, as was the patch of grass beyond. Scudding clouds swallowed the moon again, pitching the night into inky darkness. But Sutton felt, more than saw, movement outside. A furtive, slinking shadow glided just beyond the edges of his vision until it faded into the blackness of the tree line at the edge of the yard.
    He heard the front door open with a soft creak. Taking just enough time to pull on his jeans and shove his feet into a pair of running shoes, he hurried out to the front room in time to see the door close with a soft snick.
    Had someone come in? Or gone out?
    Carefully, he eased open the door. The groan of the hinges made him wince. So much for stealth.
    “Stop there.” Ivy’s voice was a low growl in the impenetrable darkness.
    “It’s me,” he whispered quickly.
    “I saw someone pass by the window.” She kept her voice low, but the whisper couldn’t hide the tension in her tone.
    “I did, too.” He realized he was still holding the Glock outstretched. He dropped it to his side.
    “I might have seen someone moving out by the trees, but I can’t be sure.” Ivy moved, a dark shape looming toward him in the dark. He felt the heat of her body as it neared his, a potent reminder that the night had grown cold and damp, making him wish he’d taken a moment more to grab a shirt.
    Suddenly, her small, dark shape pitched forward with a gasp, slamming into him. He put up his free hand to catch her, and the soft heat of her body burned into his bare skin like a brand.
    “So sorry!’ she breathed against his chest, steadying herself by grasping both his arms. “I stepped on something that made me trip—”
    Damn, she felt good. Soft in all the right places, and sweet-smelling, like ripe apples warmed by the sun. A few strands of her hair still clung to his face, caught in his beard stubble, the sensation unexpectedly arousing.
    He let go of her reluctantly when she stepped away and bent to pick up something at her feet.
    “Hmm,” she said, her tone puzzled. He heard a soft click and the beam of a flashlight sliced through the gloom, almost blinding him for a second.
    It took a moment for his eyesight to adjust enough to see what she held between her thumb and forefinger. It was a small marble, the stone orb a unique swirl of bright lime-green and darker teal. Sutton’s breath caught for a hitch as he realized he’d seen the marble before.
    A long, long time ago.
    “This is what I tripped on.” Ivy turned the marble over and over, studying the twists of color as if she could find an answer there. “Looks like a kid’s marble.”
    “It is,” Sutton said, his mind reeling through the implications of this particular marble showing up here on this particular night. His gaze slid back out to the dark tree line where he thought he’d seen movement earlier. The darkness was still and silent now. If someone had been out there before, he was long gone now.
    But there was no if about it, was there? Someone had been here. Someone had left that marble.
    And he knew who.
    He realized Ivy was looking at him. He met her curious gaze in the ambient glow of the flashlight. “It’s mine,” he added. That much wasn’t a lie. The marble had belonged to him once, many years ago.
    Ivy’s brow creased a little more deeply. “You carry a marble around? What, like a good luck charm or something?”
    He took the marble from