A band of men stood atop the cliff, riddling the car with bullets. 

Paddy's terrified eyes met Mason's as a gurgle slipped between his lips.

With his last bit of strength, Mason pulled Paddy into his arms, cradling him. "I'm sorry, pal. Forgive me." Tears streamed down his face, knowing Paddy had taken his last breath, and his was only seconds behind. As he whispered, "I love you, Paddy," his final breath escaped into the air.  

The team scrambled down the edge of the ravine to the car. With no concern for the dead men, they quickly searched for the jewels. 

"There's nothing here, Bruiser." The men washed their hands in the water, waiting for further instructions. 

"Forget them." Bruiser scowled at the scene below. "We've got work to do. I'll check with the boss for any updates on the other car." Bruiser climbed back into the car and placed his call to Peter.  

***********************************

A copy of yesterday’s newspaper, The Tennessean, lay on the front seat of the classic ‘57 Chevy belonging to Crissy Loggins, who was currently being touted as Nashville’s very own Sherlock Holmes. Beneath the paws of her co-pilot, Brandi, the headlines read — 

             ‘Gentleman’ rape suspect identified as family man’ 

Until stumbling onto an unsuspected break, Crissy worked as a struggling reporter, covering Nashville’s music scene. She enjoyed the atmosphere and getting to rub shoulders with the rich and famous, but if asked, she wanted to be an investigator, a top-notch crime reporter. Unfortunately, her boss didn’t see it the same way until last week. 

She’d been strolling down Nashville’s streets, stopping at a small burger café, and finding herself in the right place at the right time. Unaware that Crissy had slipped into the joining booth, two suburbia-type women nervously shared some juicy gossip.  

“That’s a pretty strong accusation, Betty. Are you sure Margaret had her facts right?” Suzanne appeared doubtful.

“Are you kidding me? I assure you that Miss ‘Head Accountant’ always has her facts straight.” Betty glanced around the room and lowered her voice before continuing, “Higgins works part time in her office. Besides, he lives with his wife and kids in the Horseshoe Bend area. It’s only a few houses away from Margaret. Don’t you think she’d recognize her neighbor?” 

“I suppose, but he’s got a family.” Suzanne shuddered as goosebumps covered her arms. She sipped the cola in front of her and shook her head. 

“Margaret says she recognized his car parked near the latest victim’s home, and he was almost sprinting down the sidewalk.” 

“How awful. Why would a family man do such a thing? It’s sick.” 

“That’s a question for the police, not me.” Betty picked up a French fry, nibbling the end. “I told her she should call the hotline if she was afraid to get involved, but she kept telling me she couldn’t.” 

“Why not? My God, Betty, if he’s a serial rapist, he needs to get caught.” 

“She says if it’s not true and the whole thing becomes a scandal for the firm, she’ll be fired. She won’t risk it.” 

“Are you going to report it?” Suzanne raised an inquiring eyebrow and stared across the table at her friend. 

“Not me! Besides, I promised Margaret I wouldn’t say anything.” Betty quickly added, “Oh gosh, I’m late. I gotta go.” The two women dropped some cash on the table and left the burger cafe. 

Crissy’s news antenna set off a loud alarm in her brain. As she processed what she’d overheard, she recalled past stories of a serial rapist in the area. The ‘Gentleman Rapist’ fit the bill. This information was too important to leave on the table, but who would believe her? 

As luck would have it, Crissy had danced with a nice man the night before, and he’d invited her to join his friends at their table. Much to her surprise, she learned they were the FBI, blowing off some steam after finishing a case. Then, at the end of the night, he’d scribbled his number on the back of someone else’s card and said he hoped to talk to her again.  

She’d rummaged through her purse, found the card, and relayed what she’d heard to the guy. The rest was history; case solved, making headlines in the Tennessean News and earning Crissy a well-deserved vacation and the title of ‘Super Sleuth’ among her co-workers. 

She’d packed her suitcase, gassed up the Chevy, and headed down Highway 68 with her faithful golden retriever at her side at the break of dawn. Her spirits were soaring, and she couldn’t wait to share her story with the family, especially about the raise and the promise to be considered for a promotion.

The sunrise was spectacular as it dusted the hilly mountain tops with its glorious rays. The radio was tuned to 98.1 The Bull, and Blake belted the words to God’s Country. Crissy, of course, was singing back up - 

'I saw the light in the sunrise 

Sitting back in a 40 on the muddy riverside 

Gettin’ baptized in holy water and ‘shine 

With the dogs runnin’ —'

She stretched her arm across the seat, ruffling Brandi’s soft coat as she continued to sing - 

'Saved by the sound of the been found 

Dixie whistled in the wind, that’ll get you Heaven bound. 

The Devil went down to Georgia, but he didn’t stick around. 

This is God’s country – yeah.'

Crissy sang as loud as she could, “This is God’s Country.” Brandi barked as if she wanted to join the singing too. Crissy laughed and sang the verse one more time. "This is God's Country."

Focused on singing along with Blake, Chrissy didn’t notice the approaching Lincoln Town Car until it whizzed past her in the opposite direction. The car almost broadsided her vehicle. A water bottle and a McDonald’s bag bounced across her windshield, startling her and causing her to lose control and veer off the road. The car jerked and shuddered.

“Idiots!” Crissy slowed the car and stopped on the shoulder, leaning her head against the steering wheel. Brandi sensed her owner’s distress and nuzzled her with her wet nose, barking and wagging her tail. 

Crissy turned, burying her face into Brandi’s coat. “I’m okay, girl. Just startled for a moment by those idiots. Probably still drunk on moonshine from a wild party.” She unfastened her seat belt and opened the car door. “Shall we stretch our legs as long as we’re stopped? I’ll get you some water too.” 

As Crissy opened the backdoor to get bottled water and a bowl for Brandi, she didn’t see the retriever race across the road and into the ravine, but she heard her excessive barking. 

“Brandi. Where are you? You better not be chasing a rabbit." The dog continued to bark as she raced up the hill and then back down. Noticing all the burnt rubber marks on the highway, Crissy dropped the items in her hand and ran toward the other side. “What did you find, girl? Is someone hurt?” 

Stopping in her tracks at the top of the ravine, Crissy’s eyes widened, and her mouth dropped in surprise. “Oh my God.” 

Blood still tinted the surrounding water red. Clothes and other tossed debris littered the hill. The muddy footprints circling the upside-down vehicle told her she wasn’t the first to discover the car. The bullet holes were the clincher. This wasn’t an accident. 

“Hello, is anyone down there?” Crissy prayed for a response but didn’t expect one. Those responsible for what she was staring at wouldn’t have left any evidence. “I’ve got to report this, girl. The thing is, I have no idea how far we are from a town. I don’t know who to call.” 

Crissy looked down the highway, hoping someone else might pass by and they could help. The road was empty in both directions. Brandi had returned to her side as she paced back and forth, kicking the gravel now and then with her shoe. 

“Brandi, we’ve got to do something. Someone needs to know about this.” She stared toward her car. "Come on, girl, let's sit in the car before my shaky legs crumble. I need to figure something out. Maybe call work?” 

Once settled in the car again, Crissy reached inside her purse for her phone. The proverbial business card was caught on the face of the cell. An enormous sigh of relief slipped through her lips. “Of course, the FBI. They should know who to contact, right?” 

Crissy’s moment of delight dissipated as the phone at the other end rang and rang. “Come on, answer your phone.” She nibbled at her lower lip as her stress level built. “No one is answering. Brandi, what are we going to do?” 

Crissy turned the business card over and read the other side. She read the name – Garth Woodman, FBI Agent. “Okay, Mr. Woodman, maybe you can help me?”  

Crissy dialed and waited. Relief washed over her as she heard a man’s groggy voice answer the phone. She'd forgotten it was dawn. She couldn’t contain her thoughts as she yelled to Brandi, “Here comes the cavalry, girl.” 

“Cavalry? Can’t help you, only got a few wild stallions working for me.” Having been abruptly yanked from a strange dream, Garth mistook the early morning call as a prank from one of his agents. It had been a very late night, and he was running on fumes. “Maybe you should try another number? I hear the Director appreciates these calls.”  

“No, please don’t hang up.” Frantic, Crissy screamed into the phone. “I’m on the side of the road, and there’s a bullet-riddled car at the bottom of the ravine. I need help.” 

Garth swung his legs off the bed as he heard her fearful cry for help. Fully alert, his instincts kicked into high gear. “Where are you?”