HE’S HER ONLY HOPE…

Park ranger Hope Banning’s plans for a little R & R are put on hold when a plane crashes at the top of a remote mountain. Hope will have to climb the summit and assess the situation. And the only climbing partner available is Sam Rutherford—the enigmatic man she spent a night with six months ago.

FOR STAYING ALIVE…

Ever since Sam lost his girlfriend in a falling accident, he insists on climbing solo. But Hope and any potential survivors need his help. As Sam and Hope set out on an emergency search-and-rescue mission, he realizes the sparks still sizzle between them. And when they learn a killer is among the survivors, they must place their trust in each other for a chance at happiness.

Praise for

“Sorenson fuels this fast-paced romantic thriller with nonstop adrenaline.… This twisty rollercoaster ride keeps the pages turning.”

—Publishers Weekly on Aftershock (Starred Review)

“Sorenson makes her characters realistic, flawed, and appealing. Deftly handled violent action and red herrings rush this thriller to a believable ending.”

—Publishers Weekly on The Edge of Night

“Taut with emotion, suspense and danger. Sorenson expertly weaves the two stories into a heart-wrenching conclusion.”

—RT Book Reviews on The Edge of Night

“One of the best books of the year…nonstop, heart-pounding excitement.”

—RT Book Reviews on Stranded with Her Ex, Top Pick! 4.5 stars

“It was definitely hot. Sooo hot. Jill Sorenson is my new favorite romantic-suspense author!”

—USA TODAY bestselling author Victoria Dahl on Crash into Me

Freefall

Jill Sorenson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Ruthie

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER ONE

HOPE SMILED AT her sister in the passenger seat as she started the Jeep’s engine. “This is going to be so much fun.”

Faith groaned, glancing out the window. The sparkly insignia on her D&G sunglasses glinted in the morning light. She wasn’t an early riser or a nature lover, so she didn’t share Hope’s enthusiasm.

“You can’t bring those sunglasses on the raft,” Hope said.

Faith removed them with an exaggerated sigh. Her eyes were brown, like Hope’s. When they were younger, strangers used to ask if they were twins. They’d shared the same heart-shaped face and chocolate-colored curls. Although Hope kept her hair natural, Faith’s was straight and blond, courtesy of the upscale salon where she worked.

Faith checked her appearance in the mirror. “I look hideous in your clothes.”

“You look adorable.”

Hope had let Faith borrow the shorts, tank top and hiking boots. None of her sister’s chic L.A. outfits were appropriate for a whitewater adventure. Faith had spruced up the ensemble with pigtail braids, and she wore her own skimpy bikini underneath. She’d balked at the idea of donning one of Hope’s demure swimsuits.

Faith flipped up the visor and stashed her sunglasses in the glove compartment. “Remind me why I agreed to this.”

“Because you planned our vacation last year.”

“And it was fabulous. There’s nothing wrong with relaxing on the beach.”

Hope drove down the bumpy dirt road toward the Kaweah River, humming along with the song on the radio. She spent a week with her sister every summer, and she always looked forward to it. Whether they were lounging in the sun or hiking through the Sierras, Hope enjoyed Faith’s company.

“This weather is perfect for rafting,” Hope said. The heat wave that had struck several days ago showed no signs of letting up.

“If there aren’t any cute guys in our group, I’m jumping overboard.”

Hope smirked at the threat. Faith had broken up with her boyfriend several months ago, and she’d seemed melancholy ever since. Her sister tended to treat men like passing fashions, easily discarded. But she’d been different with Tom, more committed. More upset when things didn’t work out.

“I’ve met our guide, and he’s gorgeous,” she said. He was also gay, but that didn’t matter. Faith would flirt with him anyway. “Three of the rafters are college guys, probably jocks. You have to be strong to handle a Class Five run.”

Faith’s eyes narrowed. “Class Five?”

“Don’t worry. The rest of us are experienced paddlers.”

“Hope! You know I hate exercise.”

“You hate sweat.”

“Exactly.”

“Not much chance of that, with water splashing you all day.”

Faith made a noise of protest. “This reminds me of the time you made me hike up that huge mountain. I almost died.”

“You did not,” Hope said. “Physical activity is better for you than dieting. You’ll get a tan and look great in your bikini.”

“I don’t like jocks.”

“You liked Tom.”

“College guys are immature.”

“Not always. They could be...grad students.”

Faith wrinkled her nose.

“You’re not usually this choosy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

“Are you calling me a slut?”

“No! You’re just...free-spirited.” If anything, Hope was jealous of Faith’s casual attitude about sex. Her flashy self-confidence attracted men in droves. “I admire that.”

“You should go out more.”

“I know,” she said, sighing. Hope was only eighteen months older than Faith, and they’d always been close, but their personalities were nothing alike. Faith didn’t have a shy bone in her body. Hope was quiet and reserved. Although she wanted to meet someone special, she worked around the clock and rarely socialized.

This winter, Faith had begged her to join an online dating service. Instead, she’d gone to the local watering hole and bolstered her courage with white wine. She’d engaged in her first one-night stand—what a disaster.

“I’m still recovering from my last attempt.”

“That guy was a jerk,” Faith said.

“Yes.”

“Where does he live?”

“In Long Pine,” Hope said, naming the closest town. “Why?”

“Let’s toilet-paper his house.”

With a low laugh, Hope pulled into the Kaweah Campsite on the east side of the park. “That wouldn’t be environmentally responsible.”

“You’re such a buzz kill.”

“We could use biodegradable toilet paper,” she said.

“How about flowers?”

Hope laughed again, turning off the engine. Their parents owned an organic plant nursery, and one of their mother’s favorite sayings was “give your enemy a flower.” The sisters had rebelled against her peacenik philosophies in different ways. Faith, by valuing material things. Hope, by becoming a gun-toting park ranger. She wished she could carry a bouquet of daisies to fight crime, but some situations required brute force.

Hope couldn’t wait for the three-day rafting trip to start. She hadn’t enjoyed a full weekend off in months. Even as they waited in the shade for the whitewater guide, her work radio trilled with an emergency message.

“All rangers please respond for SAR.”

Hope had been a ranger at Sierra National Park for five years. Her job was part law enforcement, part nature guide, and she loved it. Although she was supposed to be on vacation for the next week, she couldn’t ignore a call for a search-and-rescue operation. In an area with huge cliffs, swift-moving rivers and sprawling forests, accidents happened. Rock climbers fell. Hikers got lost in the woods. Children became drowning victims.

“Don’t you dare answer that,” Faith warned.

“I have to,” she said. As a district ranger, she was required to stay in radio contact and respond to emergencies. She picked up the receiver to speak with the dispatch office. “This is Ranger Banning.”

“Hope, we have word of a single-engine plane down at Angel Wings.”

Her stomach clenched with unease. “Any survivors?”

“There’s been no radio communication from the craft. A climber saw the crash a few hours ago and came into the station to report it.”

“Which station?”

“Mineral King.”

Hope swore under her breath. Mineral King was her station, and she was more familiar with Angel Wings than the other rangers. She also had experience with high-angle rescue, which this operation might require. “I’ll be right there.”

“You can’t be serious,” Faith said.

She wavered, torn between loyalties. Both her sister and her job were extremely important to her.

“Why can’t someone else go?”

“I don’t know if anyone else is available. The guy covering my station isn’t qualified to organize a search-and-rescue.”

The busy season didn’t officially start until July, and it was the first week of June. They only had twelve year-round staff members with law enforcement badges. During an emergency situation, all rangers in the area were ordered to check in. Hope had to step up to this responsibility or take the heat for it.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“I told you not to answer the call,” Faith wailed. “Five minutes later and we’d have been on the water.”

Hope hurried out of the Jeep Liberty and grabbed Faith’s backpack before approaching the passenger side. “Best-case scenario, another ranger will handle it and I’ll be back by launch time. I can also rent a kayak to catch up with the group.”

“Are you high? I’m not going without you.”

“Come on, Faith. They might have to cancel the whole trip if we both don’t show. They need a certain number of people in the raft.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “So?”

“It’s bad for park business.”

“Park business,” Faith muttered, climbing out of the vehicle. “That’s all you care about.”

Hope’s heart twisted in her chest. She knew she worked too much. During last summer’s vacation, she’d returned to the park two days early to fill in for an injured employee. Faith and Hope had argued about her dedication to her job before. “No, it’s not.”

“Next year we’re going to Las Vegas for an indoor vacation. We’ll buy cocktails instead of trail mix.” Faith’s mouth thinned as she pointed a slender finger at her. “And I’ll make you wear my clothes.”

“Done.”

“If I drown, I’ll never forgive you.”

“You won’t drown,” Hope said, hugging her tight. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

She let go of her sister with regret and climbed behind the wheel once again, waving as she drove away. Faith looked disappointed, even forlorn, and Hope felt awful. If she missed the entire trip, their vacation would be ruined.

Hands tightening around the steering wheel, she turned down the winding forest service road toward Mineral King.

Although she tried to stay upbeat, it wasn’t easy. She worked a lot of solitary hours as a park ranger. During her time off, she enjoyed quiet individual pursuits like hiking and photographing wildlife. She’d been anticipating her sister’s visit for months. Faith was right—she needed to interact with people more.

The Mineral King Station was in a remote section of the park, popular with backpackers and rock climbers. Families with small children often just drove through, and day hikers flocked to more accessible places like Giant Forest and Crescent Meadow. Because of its distance from the main tourist attractions, Mineral King had the hushed, pristine quality of true wilderness. Bear sightings were common.

She parked outside the station house, next to a forest service vehicle. Owen Jackson, a park attendant, had been appointed to take her place this morning. He sat behind the front desk, across from Sam Rutherford.

Sam was a local rock climbing celebrity, a recluse and the last person on earth Hope wanted to see.

Her mood plummeted further. Sam must have reported the plane crash. She’d been hoping for an unreliable witness, maybe a hippie backpacker who’d taken some psychedelic drugs and confused a shooting star for a horrific accident.

Sam glanced over his shoulder at her, his dark gaze skimming her body. Recognition and unease registered in his eyes, but he didn’t flinch or tense his muscles. Instead, he returned his focus to Owen, as if waiting for an introduction.

How dare he pretend not to know her?

The two men appeared comfortable with each other, which didn’t surprise her. Sam had recommended Owen for an entry-level position last summer. He donated fat checks to the park every year, so his suggestions were greeted with polite consideration. Hope had interviewed Owen herself and found little fault with him, other than a felony record. He’d worked on a prison forestry crew, so he had wildfire experience.

“Ranger Banning,” Owen said, rising to his feet. He was a lean, cagey young man with close-cropped blond hair and haunting blue eyes. There was a thin red mark on his neck, and a larger, thicker welt on his hand. When she’d inquired about the scars, he told her that he’d had some tattoos removed.

Since his start date, Owen had been a model employee. He had a quick mind and a strong back. Unlike some of the young male park attendants, he didn’t hit on tourists or drink too much. Hope had come to like him.

She wondered, and not for the first time, what connected a former inmate to a former Olympian. According to a rumor spread by women who’d struck out with one or the other, they were lovers.

Hope had personal evidence to the contrary.

“This is Sam Rutherford,” he said.

“We’ve met.”

“He reported the incident.”

Sam stood to greet her with insulting belatedness. “Nice to see you again...Ranger Banning.”

She realized that he was fishing for her first name. Indignation filled her, suffusing her cheeks with heat. “It’s Hope.”

“Hope. Right.”

Judging by his expression, he remembered what she looked like naked, if nothing else. She took a deep breath, counting on her tanned complexion to mask her embarrassment. “When was the crash?”

“Around 3:00 a.m.”

“What were you doing at 3:00 a.m.?”

He hesitated for a second. “Climbing.”

Night climbing was unusual, but not unheard of, in summer months. Visitors took advantage of the cooler temperatures and available moonlight. Illegal activities like BASE jumping were often done under the cloak of darkness, as well.

“What did you see?”

“Just lights. I think it was a single-engine plane, flying too low. It hit the top of Angel Wings and burst into flames.”

“Where were you?”

“On Valhalla. Near the summit.”

Valhalla was a steep rock face directly across from Angel Wings. She checked her watch, noting that it was eight-twenty. “You got from there to here in five hours?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I ran.”

Upon closer study, his shirt was damp with perspiration. The lightweight fabric clung to his broad shoulders and flat stomach. Maybe he’d been slow to stand because he was tired, not out of disrespect, but he didn’t appear fatigued. Despite the sweat, he was an endurance athlete and it showed. From the soles of his well-worn shoes to the top of his dark-haired head, he radiated strength and vitality.

She remembered how he looked naked, too: good. Very good.

“Have a seat,” she said, clearing her throat. She turned to Owen. “You’ve relayed this information to Dispatch?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She excused herself and stepped outside. Her mind raced with worst-case scenarios as she picked up her radio. The dispatcher answered her a few seconds later. “What can you tell me about the craft?”

“There’s been no emergency transmission or distress calls from the area. No flight plan was recorded.”

In uncontrolled airspace, a pilot could use visual flight rules, but it wasn’t recommended. The weather over the Sierras could be dangerous in the daytime. Flying close to the mountains at night without instruments looked suspicious.

This search-and-rescue might turn into a drug-smuggling bust. “Where’s Dixon?” she asked, naming the park manager.

“I haven’t been able to reach him.”

“What about Mark?”

“He’s at Moro Rock with the SAR team. Two hikers fell. One is unconscious and the other has a broken leg.”

Hope swore under her breath, rubbing a hand down her face. This was her worst nightmare. Of the twelve park rangers with law enforcement badges, only Hope and Mark Griffon were accomplished climbers. Mark wasn’t available. The SAR team wasn’t available. Her supervisor wasn’t available.

Heart racing, she weighed her options. The clock was already ticking. If she didn’t reach the crash site before sundown, she couldn’t call for a helicopter. Night rescues were too dangerous to attempt at a place like Angel Wings, where extreme wind conditions were common. And when the temperature dropped, crash victims often died of exposure.

Hope had responded to a similar call a few years ago. Before she became a permanent employee at Sierra National Park, she’d worked winters in Joshua Tree, one of Southern California’s desert parks. A family of four had gone down in a twin-engine plane near Jumbo Rocks. Two of the wounded were children, and there was nothing anyone on the SAR team could do to save them. Hope had been training for her EMT certificate at the time. The scene was so horrific she almost quit the next day.

She didn’t want to face another tragedy like that, especially on her own, but she couldn’t afford to wait for a backup team. Her window of opportunity was too narrow. She had to get to the crash site and assess the situation as quickly as possible. If she left now, she’d arrive in time to request air transport.

The fastest route to the top of Angel Wings was straight up the rock face. Hiking from the Kaweah trailhead on the east side of the mountain was easier, but it would take twice as long. The only problem with a direct ascent was that she couldn’t do it alone. She’d never solo-climbed Angel Wings. It was an expert-only wall, rated 5.10+ in difficulty. She needed to find a suitable partner. There were several skilled climbers in the area who volunteered for high-angle search-and-rescue.

Sam Rutherford was one of them.

At least, he used to be. These days he avoided crowds, and most people, but he’d worked more rescues than Hope. A few years ago he’d been part of the elite SAR site team at Yosemite National Park. The man also knew Angel Wings like the back of his hand, and he’d witnessed the crash. He might be able to pinpoint its exact location.

“Just a minute,” she said, signing off.

Hope clipped the radio to her waistband and went back inside the station, her blood pumping with adrenaline. Instead of scrambling for another volunteer, she faced her nemesis. “Can you take me to the crash site?”

His brows shot up. “Is there anyone else?”

She’d forgotten that he had run ten miles to get here. “Yes, of course. You must be exhausted.”

“No, I’m fine,” he said, shaking his head. “I mean...is there anyone besides you?”

“Besides me?”

“That I can climb with.”

Hope gaped at him in disbelief. She didn’t know if he assumed she couldn’t keep up with him because she was a woman, or if he objected to her company because they’d slept together. Both reasons offended her.

“I’ll go,” Owen offered.

“You’re not a ranger,” she said.

“Neither am I,” Sam pointed out.

“One of us has to be for this kind of mission. I’m the only qualified law enforcement ranger in the area, and I need a rescue climber to go with me. You’re a convenient choice, but I can find a replacement.”

He knew as well as she did that they had to start hiking now to reach the site before dark. “No. I’ll do it.”

Although his reluctance rankled, she told herself he was wise to be cautious. “I should warn you that this aircraft might have been flying at night to escape detection. There’s no recorded flight plan or distress call.”

This information didn’t seem to faze him. He skimmed her casual clothes. “Do you carry a firearm?”

She had a handgun in her vehicle. “I’ll get it.”

“I’m ready when you are.”

Owen seemed fascinated by their exchange. He leaned against the counter, studying Sam as if he’d grown two heads.

Hope didn’t have time to second-guess her decision. Dragging a hand through her hair, she walked out to her Jeep. Her service weapon was in the lockbox. Normally she wore it on a utility belt, but she didn’t have one with her. She shoved the gun into her day pack, along with extra clothes and some snacks.

Sam and Owen accompanied her to the SAR cache, where they housed rescue supplies.

“I need Dispatch to arrange for a helicopter and a backup rescue team on standby,” she said to Owen.

“Can they fly over the crash site to check it out?” Sam asked.

Hope shook her head. “I’m not supposed to call for a helicopter unless there are confirmed life-threatening injuries. Angel Wings is in a dangerous flight zone and the cost of an air rescue is astronomical.”

He made a noise of understanding. Ordering an expensive flyover when there might be no survivors wasn’t an efficient use of tax dollars. Budget cuts, otherwise known as “service adjustments,” had hit national parks, like everywhere else.

She didn’t want to bring the same items as Sam, so she glanced around for his gear. “Where’s your rack?”

“I don’t have it.”

Her eyes flew back to his, startled. “You were free-soloing at night?”

“There’s a full moon,” he said, as if that made it reasonable.

Hope sorted through the rescue supplies with a frown. Free-soloing was an extreme style of climbing without ropes or harnesses. The practice was outrageously risky in broad daylight. She’d never heard of anyone doing it at night. He was a maniac. And she had to depend on him to keep her safe?

Trying not to panic, she added the necessary equipment to a second pack. She didn’t know what was worse—climbing with a lunatic or spending time with a man who’d thrown her out of his bed.

CHAPTER TWO

SAM TOOK THE path toward the High Sierra Trail, feeling like a fool.

He hadn’t known Hope was a park ranger. The night they’d slept together, he’d assumed she was a slope bunny on vacation. In hindsight, he’d been careless. Seducing a woman he didn’t intend to see again only worked if they didn’t see each other again. He should have made sure she wasn’t local.

A quick glance behind him revealed that she wasn’t having any trouble matching his longer strides. It figured. She’d been an energetic bed partner, too. He remembered her strong, slender thighs, gripping him like a vise.

Giving himself a mental shake, he pushed aside the memory and picked up speed, setting a relentless pace. He’d never been able to outrun his problems, but physical exertion soothed him in a way nothing else could. The day was already warm, the sun peeking over the tall treetops. After twenty minutes, he was sweating.

Hope used her radio to call the whitewater rafting guide. “Go ahead without me,” she said, signing off.

“You’re missing a rafting trip?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Yes. We were planning to spend three days on the Kaweah.”

“We?”

“My sister and I.”

“Does she live around here?”

“No. She’s from L.A.”

He heard the telltale inflection in her tone. Los Angeles was a dirty word in the Sierras. How could he have mistaken her for a tourist? He’d really been thinking with his dick that night. “Where are you from?”

“Ojai.”

Now that he thought about it, he remembered her sharing that detail at the bar. Ojai, pronounced Oh-hi, was a sleepy town near the coast. They’d laughed together over its hippie nickname, Get-high.

No wonder he hadn’t realized she was local. Maybe she’d kept him in the dark on purpose. It wasn’t a secret that he didn’t date climbing groupies or park residents. He didn’t date at all, since Melissa.

Sam couldn’t fault Hope for the miscommunication. Even if she’d lied to him, which he doubted, it didn’t matter. They’d had anonymous sex. Honesty wasn’t required. He hadn’t exactly given her a full disclosure, either.

Concentrating on the climb, he adjusted his gait along a steep incline. His legs moved forward at a steady clip, step after step. Hope didn’t slow down or complain, so he continued to push hard. When he was in the zone, his thoughts drifted away, leaving nothing but the moment. They were making good time.

Two hours later, at midmorning, the sun was blazing, and his shirt was damp with sweat. She stumbled behind him, her breathing labored.

He stopped under the next shady tree to rest. “We should eat lunch,” he said. “You don’t want to get light-headed on the climb.”

She agreed, reaching into her pack for two protein bars and two apples. He accepted her offering without complaint. His dehydrated meals weren’t half as tasty. The crisp apple awakened his senses.

Although he tried not to stare, he couldn’t avoid glancing at her. She was even lovelier than he remembered.

The night they met, he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. The moment she walked into the bar, his pulse had kicked up and his throat had gone dry. After more than a year of his feeling next to nothing at the most challenging, dangerous summits, this flood of sensation left him breathless.

She’d been wearing a dark blue thermal with a cute snowflake pattern. It was about as sexy as a reindeer sweater, not revealing in the least, but he’d ignored the good-girl giveaway and focused on the body underneath. He’d been mesmerized by her bright smile, smooth skin and shiny dark hair.

Why hadn’t he left her alone? She’d looked disgustingly sweet, innocent and healthy. Easy pickings.

They’d both been drinking. She sipped white wine like a teetotaler while he knocked back shots. He’d waited until she was tipsy to make his move. At that point, he’d been drunk enough to go through with it, but not too drunk to perform.

He knew Hope wasn’t a no-strings type, and he hadn’t cared. He hadn’t cared about her name, or her profession, or her feelings.

And the way he’d acted afterward—Jesus. He couldn’t get rid of her fast enough.

Since then, he’d tried not to think about her. He’d convinced himself that she wasn’t special; any woman would feel fantastic after a long stint of abstinence. She wasn’t beautiful; he’d had beer goggles on.

He’d really been kidding himself.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her bite into the apple. Her white teeth pierced the fruit’s ruddy skin. She was flushed from the hike, dewy with perspiration, her tank top plastered to her chest. No, he didn’t need alcohol to find her attractive.

“How do you know Owen?” she asked.

“Owen?”

“Owen Jackson.”

He blinked a few times to dispel the sexual voodoo. “We met in San Diego during the earthquake.”

She arched a curious brow, crunching on another bite of apple. He hadn’t spoken to the media about the incident, but it was widely reported that he’d almost died in a freeway collapse. “You were in a coma.”

“Most of the time,” he agreed. “A group of us were trapped in the rubble. Owen used my climbing equipment to get out and find help.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“And now you’re friends?”

Sam wouldn’t go that far. Even his close friends didn’t talk to him anymore, and he avoided his family. He’d alienated everyone who loved him. “We’re friendly enough,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

“I was just wondering.”

“Has he given you any trouble?”

“No. He works hard.”

“He seems like a good kid,” he said, shrugging. “I owed him one, and I thought he deserved a second chance.”

She nodded, finishing her lunch.

It occurred to him that she might be interested in Owen as a man. The “kid” was in his early twenties, but prison had matured him beyond his years. Although he had some issues, he wasn’t half as screwed up as Sam.

“How old are you?” he asked, suspicious.

“Twenty-eight.”

He let out the breath he’d been holding. Most park rangers were college graduates, and she was hardly jailbait. “You look younger.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-two.”

“You look older.”

He acknowledged this truth with a wry smile. Even before grief and illness ravaged him, the sun had stripped any hint of youth from his skin. “I owe you an apology,” he said, surprising them both.

She almost choked on a mouthful of water. “For what?”

“I...wasn’t myself that night.”

“Who were you?”

“I don’t know.”

Hope didn’t seem impressed by this nonexplanation.

“The way I reacted was rude,” he said, feeling lousy. “I’m sorry. I could have handled it better.”

She still looked skeptical, and he couldn’t blame her. There was no polite way to tell the woman you just had sex with to get out of your house. He shouldn’t have brought it up; his behavior was inexcusable.

“Let’s just forget about it,” she said, forcing a smile.

Sam wasn’t relieved that she’d let him off the hook. On the contrary, her words plucked a painful chord inside him. He’d never forget anything on purpose. Every memory he’d been able to retain was precious to him.

She rose to her feet and brushed off the seat of her pants.

“Do you want me to carry your pack?”

“No, I’m okay.”

As they continued toward Angel Wings, the silence became increasingly uncomfortable. His apology, though sincere, hadn’t cleared the air. If anything, it made the situation worse. Tension swirled between them, thicker than ever.

The last two miles of the path were the most challenging. He didn’t want to exhaust her before the climb, so he let her walk in front of him. This way she could set her own pace, rather than struggle to keep up.

Her other physical attributes were just as fine as her face. She had an athletic build, taut and toned, but not skinny. She was curvy in all the right places. Her cropped jogging pants clung to her slender thighs and cute ass. She had long, graceful arms. If she climbed with as much gusto as she did everything else, they’d have no problems reaching the summit.

Sam wasn’t looking forward to the ascent. He didn’t partner anymore. Not with men at his skill level, not with women at any level. The idea gave him hives. He didn’t want to hold Hope’s life in his hands.

Angel Wings rose in the distance, a massive wall of pale gray granite. This angel had dirty wings, feathering high into the sky. Mighty Valhalla stood directly across from her. Both monoliths had smooth faces, ribbed with cracks and handholds, etched by ancient glaciers. It was the stuff of climbers’ dreams.

Hope stopped and flashed a smile, more genuine than the one she’d offered earlier. “Which route did you take up Valhalla?”

He fell into step beside her, following her gaze to the wall. There were five or six charted routes with fixed pitons. Climbers could follow a trail that had already been blazed, or strike out on their own. “North Arete.”

The smile fell off her face. “You free-soloed North Arete?”

“Yes.”

“That’s impossible.”

He didn’t argue. It was the most difficult route on Valhalla, and a challenging free solo, but hardly impossible.

“It hasn’t been done. Not even in the daytime.”

“I did it.”

She squinted into the distance. “How?”

He rotated the elastic band on his wrist, uncomfortable. A climbing feat didn’t exist without a witness, so there was nothing to brag about. Glory and record-breaking no longer appealed to him. “Never mind.”

But clearly, she did mind. “You free-soloed a 5.12 route in the middle of the night? Are you crazy?”

“Maybe.” Probably. Yes.

“Next you’ll tell me you BASE-jumped off the top.”

He smiled at her horrified expression. “That’s illegal.”

“So is backcountry hiking without a permit,” she said, her dark eyes flashing.

“I don’t free-BASE,” he said. Some young daredevils were combining free-solo climbing with BASE jumping. Sam wasn’t tempted. He liked the freedom of climbing without gear; the sensation of falling just made him nauseated.

“I’d arrest you in a heartbeat if you did.”

Oddly, this conversation thrilled him more than the risky climb. He pushed the limits because he felt dead inside. Although he still had some capacity for fear, he’d lost his sense of self-preservation.

What he’d retained, in overabundant amounts, was concern for others. He couldn’t belay a partner without anticipating a fall. His intense anxiety interfered with his love for the sport. He didn’t want to be responsible for another climber. Often, he didn’t trust the gear. Solo-climbing had become his only solace.

Partnering with Hope would be excruciating.

“Why did you report the accident, instead of checking it out?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You could have climbed up to investigate the crash.”

“Before contacting park authorities? That’s against rescue protocol.”

“You’re a rule-breaker. We’ve already established that.”

He scowled, guilty as charged. “I was afraid of what I’d find.”

“Survivors?”

“Corpses.”

She tilted her head to one side, deliberating. “I suppose you saw a lot of those in San Diego.”

He didn’t want to talk about it. “Have you ever done a 5.11?”

“Yes,” she said, moving her attention from him to the wall. “I’ve climbed this one.”

“Which section?”

“South Ridge.”

“With a partner?”

She nodded.

“Okay. I know that route, too.”

They checked and rechecked the gear. He gave her a pop quiz on ropes and knots, pleased to find her proficient. Most of the prep was second nature to him. He could tie an eight in his sleep.

At noon, they were ready. It was the hottest part of the day, near ninety degrees on the rock face, but a pleasant breeze drifted through the canyon. Sam did the lead climbing and Hope followed, steady as it goes. Although she was a natural athlete and a fair climber, he couldn’t relax while she was in motion. Every time she reached for a new handhold, he held his breath. Disaster seemed imminent. Images of her plummeting to her death swarmed his vision. He saw frayed ropes, broken harnesses...cracked skulls.

Melissa’s ashes.

Sam knew better than anyone else that climbing was mental. The sport required intense concentration, a quiet mind and a positive outlook. Fear would literally kill you on the rock face. If he didn’t rein it in, he might endanger Hope.

Luckily, he was experienced enough to know the difference between foreboding and phobia. Climbers were a superstitious lot. They followed their instincts, weighing risks in a fraction of a second. Only a fool ignored his internal warning system. But Sam’s reaction was based on psychological trauma, not the situation at hand.

Hope could do this.

Besides, abandoning the effort would have grave consequences. She’d have to find another partner, maybe even wait until morning. While any possible survivors battled the elements on top of the mountain after the temperature plummeted.

Sam tried to tamp down his fear, but it wasn’t easy. He didn’t get scared that often, and he wasn’t accustomed to dealing with it. He’d become soft, in a way. Apathetic. Caring about life or death required effort.

Oblivious of his struggle, Hope continued to climb. She was confident, but cautious, spending too much time thinking about every move. Time dragged out into an eternity. He had to bite his tongue to keep from criticizing the flaws in her technique. She wasn’t an expert and it showed.

A few years ago, Sam had been an easygoing partner who enjoyed initiating newcomers to the sport. Now he was quickly frustrated, his body humming with impatience. The type of climber he used to loathe.

To her credit, Hope stayed positive and kept a smile on her face. He began to suspect that she was doing it just to annoy him. When she made a minor misstep and almost lost her grip, he swore up at the sky.

His negative attitude made an impact on her near the top. She came to a wide gap about ten feet away from her last placement. A fall from this distance could be dangerous, whether the gear held or not. Even during short drops, climbers could get tangled in ropes, crack their heads against the rock and break bones.

If the gear failed, death was certain.

Her footing looked off as she stretched out her arm. He muttered another curse, and she must have heard it, because she spooked. Instead of committing to the reach, she second-guessed herself and faltered. Her questing fingertips found no purchase, and her foothold crumbled.

With a sharp cry, she tumbled backward, her arms and legs flailing. Her harness caught and held, jerking her body roughly.

Sam braced himself against the rock and listened for the sound of gear popping, his blood thundering in his ears. To his intense relief, the protection bore her weight as she dangled in midair, a thousand feet from the ground. He held the safety rope, her last lifeline, clenched in his trembling hands.

She grasped the rope that attached them, staring up at him with frantic eyes. He let out a slow breath, his heart hammering against his ribs. They’d get through this a lot easier if she didn’t look down.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She moistened her lips. “I’m okay.”

“Reach out to the wall.”

Her gear was keeping her safe, not his gaze, but she seemed reluctant to look away.

“I’ve got you.”

After a short hesitation, she straightened, focusing on the rock face. She let go of the rope with one hand and touched the wall with the other. The tip of her shoe found an overhang, and her fingertips gripped a small fissure. She flattened her belly against the sun-drenched surface and paused there, as if soaking up its spirit.

After a moment of communing with the climbing gods, she made her way up. The final push went by in a blur. Before he knew it, they were at the summit. With Sam’s help, she scrambled over the edge.

He studied their surroundings, breathing hard. The top of Angel Wings was jagged, with dips and crags, like the surface of a tooth. He couldn’t see the remains of a plane, but there were hints of its trajectory. Burned-up bits of fuselage marred the landscape.

Sam pulled up their haul bag while she rested, her shoulders trembling from fatigue. The elation he usually felt after a climb was tempered by worry. They had a new obstacle to meet: searching for survivors.

“That was close,” he said.

“I’m sorry.”

“My fault.”

“You’re a difficult partner.”

“Does that surprise you?”

“Yes.”

He searched her face, wondering why she’d overestimated him. Then he realized that she was judging him by his performance in bed, which had been a hell of a lot more generous. Until he threw her out.

A flush crept up his neck at the backhanded compliment. He drank water from his pack, flattered and confused. The fact that he’d given her pleasure didn’t excuse his behavior, but she seemed determined not to demonize him. Maybe she saw the good in everyone. Or maybe she just expected poor treatment from men.

The thought depressed him. He didn’t like the idea of being one of a long string of jerks. He wanted better for her—and himself.

Hope took her gun out of her pack.

“What are you doing?” he asked, startled.

She shoved the weapon into her waistband, against the small of her back. “I have to check out the crash site. Stay here.”

“No way.”

“You can’t come.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re a civilian, and this is a potential crime scene. It’s risky to fly at night without GPS or a flight plan. The plane might have been carrying illegal cargo.”

“Not every risk-taker is a criminal.”

“True,” she said. “Some are just idiots.”

He winced, knowing which category she placed him in.

“The crash victims could be smugglers, protecting their stash.”

“Don’t you need backup?”

“I won’t try to arrest a group of thugs by myself. I’ll just survey the scene and collect information.”

“I’m coming with you.”

She deliberated for a moment, her mouth pursed. “You have to take my lead, be quiet and stay back when I tell you to.”

“Okay,” he said, swallowing hard. He might be an adrenaline junkie, crazy as fuck, but the situation scared him. He didn’t like guns and he wasn’t keen on getting shot. There was a difference between free-solo climbing, in which he trusted his abilities, and assisting an armed park ranger he hardly knew.

He also worried that they’d find a dead body. His aversion to corpses was stronger than his fear of guns or drug smugglers.

But he had to accompany her. Had to. Because his biggest fear was that Hope would be hurt or killed on his watch. The last woman he’d climbed with was dead. He couldn’t handle another blow like that.

Sam was already broken, hanging on to sanity by a thread. At the slightest provocation, he’d fall apart.

As Hope walked across the uneven, pebble-strewn surface of the crag, he followed close behind, his heart racing. It was ten degrees cooler at this altitude. Wind rippled through his microfiber shirt, evaporating the sweat from his body. Although he’d just slaked his thirst, his throat was dry.

When the wreckage came into view, she paused. It appeared that the plane had clipped the southwest corner of the mountain and broken up across the surface. The majority of the fuselage was still intact, perched very close to the edge of the opposite cliff. A figure was slumped over in the pilot’s seat.

Sam’s stomach clenched with unease.

Although the pilot appeared to be dead, she approached with caution. “We’re with search-and-rescue for Sierra National Park,” she called out, shading the sun from her eyes. “Do you need help?”

No response.

She glanced at Sam, her face tense. Motioning for Sam to stay there, she crept forward. He ignored the gesture and stuck by her.

The plane’s front windshield was broken. Inside the cockpit, the pilot was motionless, his head resting on the dash, gray hair fluttering in the breeze.

“Can you hear me?”

Nothing.

It didn’t appear that any bodies had been thrown from the plane. When she was at an arm’s length from the broken windshield, she leaned over to peer inside. The wreckage was so close to the cliff’s edge, he pictured it toppling over with one touch. He bit back a warning as she craned her neck for a better view. A black crow flew out of the cockpit with a shrill screech, wings flapping.

Sam almost had a heart attack.

Hope screamed at the top of her lungs and leaped backward, bumping into him. He stumbled sideways.

“I told you to stay over there,” she scolded.

Sam didn’t answer. He couldn’t take his gaze off the pilot. The lower half of the man’s face was obliterated, and he had a second wound in the center of his chest. Blood spatter coated the interior.

This wasn’t just a crash site. It was a murder scene.

CHAPTER THREE

JAVIER DEL NORTE reached the campsite at the edge of the river sometime after dawn.

He was thirsty, and hungry, and tired. His shirt had stains and his slacks were ruined. His feet were bleeding inside his Ferragamo loafers, he just knew it.

Luckily for him, Americans on vacation were a trustworthy lot. They left all sorts of clothing and supplies out in the open while camping. He didn’t understand why successful people with luxury vehicles would choose to sleep on dirt or torture themselves physically in their free time, but their masochism wasn’t his problem. California culture was ineffable. He’d accepted that and moved on long ago.

His main concern was getting out of this wilderness without detection. And hopefully without having to kill anyone else.

Shoving the items he’d scalped into a stolen backpack, he headed toward the public restrooms to change. Near the men’s entrance, he noticed a door for a utility closet. Unlocked, of course. Because tree huggers didn’t steal toilet paper. He reached inside, helping himself to bleach, hydrogen peroxide and Band-Aids.

In the men’s room, he studied his reflection. His once-white shirt was dotted with blood and bits of gore. Teeth fragments, perhaps. Removing it with a grimace, he tossed the garment into the sink and uncapped the hydrogen peroxide.

With heavy regret, for his jet-black hair was striking, he leaned forward and poured the bottle over his head. The liquid burned his nostrils and dripped down his chin, but he gave himself a good dousing, keeping his eyes shut tight. When he couldn’t stand the sting anymore, he rinsed his hair and studied the effect.

Awful.

The rusty bronze color didn’t look natural, or attractive, but it was different. With sunglasses on, he might be unrecognizable. Satisfied, he took off his pants, socks and shoes, piling them in the sink. He added bleach. While he was standing there in his boxer briefs, soaking his bloodstained clothes, another man came in to use the facilities. He was young and spot-faced, his eyes puffy. Mumbling hello, he disappeared into the first stall.

Retching sounds emanated from the confined space.

Javier shook his head in disgust. He fantasized about shooting the sick camper to put him out of his misery. There wasn’t a shower at this imbecilic place, so he washed with cold tap water and patted himself dry with rough paper towels. It was impossible to eliminate every spec of evidence, so he didn’t bother trying. After rinsing his wet clothes, he stuffed them in the trash can.

The pack he’d stolen contained several stray clothing items. He donned a gray V-neck T-shirt and low-slung plaid shorts, lamenting the owner’s bad taste. The shirt was too snug and the shorts too loose, but at least they were clean. He sat down on a wooden bench to bandage the blisters on his feet.

Two more young men walked into the restroom, glancing in his direction. He froze, hoping they weren’t the campers he’d just robbed.

Dismissing Javier, the first guy banged on the bathroom stall. “Dude, pull it together. We’re going to be late for the trip.”

The sick man vomited again.

His friends laughed at the noise, goofing around and punching each other.

“Just leave without me.”

“No way, dickhead! I can’t get a refund if you cancel.”

“I’ll pay you back,” he groaned.

“Stop being such a pussy. We’re all hungover.”

“It’s the altitude.”

“You’ll feel better on the raft.”

The man started dry-heaving, and his friends continued to ridicule him.

Javier almost felt sorry for the poor bastard. There was nothing more emasculating than puking your guts out in a public toilet. He’d done it himself, several years ago, after drowning his sorrows at Hector Gonzales’s bachelor party. The next day Hector had married the woman Javier loved.

Wincing at the memory, he put on a pair of sturdy athletic socks and black canvas tennis shoes that were only half a size too large. The backpack also boasted a hat. A beanie, he believed it was called. Tugging it over his wet hair, he walked outside, bypassing the foolish young men. An area map was posted on an information board next to the restrooms. Warnings about bears and safety instructions appeared in several languages.

He studied the map, which indicated that he was at the Kaweah Campsite in Sierra National Park. Only one road led in and out of the park. Both the entrance and the exit were more than thirty miles away.

That was a problem.

Hitchhiking was common in Venezuela, where he was born, and in many of the other countries he’d visited. Here in the U.S., it was rare enough to attract the attention of the authorities. He needed another mode of transportation. He could continue walking, pay for a ride or steal a car. But what if the park exits were being monitored? Law enforcement officials might know about the crash already. His boss would definitely be looking for him.

A man in Javier’s profession couldn’t leave behind a million dollars’ worth of drugs—and a dead pilot—without consequences.

On the right side of the map, there was an advertisement for Kaweah Whitewater Adventures. A blue line marked Kaweah Campsite as the launch point. The tour stretched past the borders of the park, ending at Moraine Lake.

The river was another exit.

While he considered his options, the hecklers walked out of the men’s room. They hadn’t convinced their friend to come along. Javier gave them another quick once-over, recognizing the type. After leaving Venezuela, he’d honed his English in Costa Rica, which was popular with surfers and potheads.

“You guys going on the whitewater trip?” Javier asked.

“Yep.”

“I’ve always wanted to try that,” he said, falling into step beside them. One of the guys had short, spiky blond hair. The other had long brown hair like Jesus. Both appeared strong, probably from athletic pursuits, rather than hard labor. “How do I sign up?”

“You have to reserve in advance.”

“Oh.”

The longhair exchanged a shrewd glance with his buddy. “We could bring you along if you have enough cash.”

“How much?”

“Four hundred. It’s a three-day trip.”

Javier had enough money, but he didn’t want to appear overeager. He also suspected them of trying to hustle him. Who would pay so much money to get abused by a river? “I’ve got two fifty,” he said, lowering his voice. “And an ounce of weed.”

That perked them up. “What kind?”

“Chronic.”

The guys smiled at each other. “Let’s see it.”

Javier glanced around to make sure they were alone before showing his stash. Neither the pot nor the cash belonged to him, so it was no loss. The deal suited his acquaintances just fine. They became very friendly all of a sudden.

“I’m Caleb,” the long-haired guy said. “This is Ted.”

Javier shook their hands. “Jay Norton.”

Caleb and Ted debated over smoking a bowl right then and there, but decided against it because they were already late. Javier breathed a sigh of relief. He needed to stay alert, not get stoned with a couple of pendejos.

The rafting group was supposed to meet in the camp parking lot at eight. They hurried down the dirt road as a dark green sport utility van with Kaweah Adventures printed on the side was about to pull away.

“Hey,” Caleb yelled, waving his arms. “Wait up!”

The three of them jogged to the vehicle. “You just made it,” the driver said. “Hop in.”

Javier took off his backpack and climbed inside. The backseat was occupied by two short-haired women in their forties. A cute blonde sat in the middle. There was space available beside her, or next to the driver.

“Hello,” he said, choosing the blonde. “I’m Jay.”

She fluttered her lashes. “Faith.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” he said, shaking her hand.

Although he wanted to keep staring at her, because she was beautiful, he introduced himself to the women in back and nodded hello to the driver. When infiltrating a group, it was important to adopt their customs. Outdoor lovers were gregarious. They liked to hug strangers and bond with nature. He couldn’t be standoffish.

Caleb and Ted struck up a lively conversation, using a lot of terms Javier didn’t understand. Class Five, portage, PFDs.

He turned to the girl beside him, studying her with interest. She was wearing long shorts, a tank top and hiking boots. Her platinum-streaked hair was braided into two sections. She had a demure, fresh-scrubbed look, but she wasn’t a teenager. Her brown eyes twinkled with a sexy sort of mischief.

While he sized her up, she did the same to him.

Coño de la madre. If all female campers were this young and hot, he’d been missing out. “Faith,” he said, liking her name. “Where are you from?”

“L.A.”

City of angels. “You’re together?” he asked, indicating the women in back.

“No, I’m alone. My sister was supposed to come along, but she got called into work.”

“Sorry to hear it.”

She arched a brow. “You don’t look sorry.”

He wiped the grin off his face. “Is this your first time rafting?”

“Yes.”

“Mine, too.”

“Really? I thought this route was for experts.”

“Is it?” He glanced behind him for confirmation. “Are you ladies experts?”

“We’ve been around a few rivers,” the redhead said. Her name was Paula.

“Don’t worry,” Caleb said. “Ted and I have done some sixes and lived to tell the tale.” He launched into a boastful account of their accomplishments. Javier wasn’t impressed, but he believed that the guys knew how to paddle. Whether they stayed sober enough to do so safely was another question.

Faith didn’t seem as enthusiastic about rafting as the others. Maybe she was nervous. Javier wanted to promise he’d look out for her, which was strange. If anything, his presence in the group put everyone at risk.

And the less he said the better. He’d impersonated an American before and it wasn’t as easy as it seemed. His English was almost perfect, and he could mimic a Californian accent. He knew U.S. history. But there were gaps in his education. TV shows he hadn’t watched, rock stars he didn’t know, movies he’d never heard of.

Cultural references would trip him up every time.

They drove down a bumpy dirt road to an area called the put-in. As he climbed out of the van with Faith, he drew in a deep breath, amazed by the size of the river. At the campsite, the Kaweah had been a bubbling brook. This monster was immense, full of jagged rocks, with angry froth churning down the center.

Faith made a noise of distress at the sight.

“Don’t worry,” he blurted.

“Why not?”

“I’ll take care of you.”

She lifted her gaze from the water. “How?”

“I’m an excellent swimmer.” He’d given surf lessons to tourists in Costa Rica. That had been a sweet gig. He should have stayed.

“You look strong,” she said, her eyes trailing down his body.

Well, yeah. Being physically intimidating was part of his job. Also, beating the hell out of people.

They spent the next hour going over safety rules and rafting techniques. Javier paid close attention, memorizing much of the information. Caleb and Ted invited him for a smoke break, which he declined. He didn’t want to leave Faith’s side. His presence seemed to comfort her. She listened to the guide carefully, partnering with Javier to practice paddling. He did his best to look like a guileless outdoorsman. Every few minutes, he glanced up at the sky, searching for Gonzales’s helicopter.

Soon they’d be coming for him.

He hadn’t expected there to be women on this trip, and he felt conflicted about staying. On the one hand, traveling coed was a good cover. He enjoyed female company and he’d gone too long without it. On the other hand, he was running for his life. He’d waited months for an opportunity to break free. He’d shot and killed the last man who tried to stop him. If he had to do the same to Caleb or Ted, he wouldn’t hesitate.

Hurting women didn’t sit well with him, though.

That was why he’d never go back with Gonzales. He was going to escape or die trying. God help anyone who got in his way.

“You smell like peroxide,” Faith said, interrupting his thoughts.

Another problem with women: they were intuitive and observant. He shouldn’t have been standing so close to her. By gazing at her appreciatively and acting flirtatious, he’d invited her to ask him personal questions.

Denying the obvious was no use, so he tugged the beanie off his head and braced himself. “How bad is it?”

“Pretty bad.”

Stupidly, he regretted the dye job. He wanted her to think him handsome.

“Did you lose a bet?”

“Yeah. Sort of.”

She reached up to touch his hair, rubbing a few strands between her fingertips. He could see down the front of her tank top, which was disconcerting. “I could fix it,” she said, dropping her hand. “I’m a hairdresser.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Color’s my specialty. I do mine.”

He evaluated her pretty brown eyes and honeyed skin tone. “You’re not a natural blonde?”

She laughed, swatting him on the shoulder. “That’s for me to know.”

The guide presented a pair of life jackets, dispelling the mood. Any clothes they wanted to stay dry had to be placed in waterproof sacks. Javier removed his T-shirt, watching Faith pull her tank top over her head.

Coño.

Before she put on her life jacket, he got an eyeful of her breasts, covered by little scraps of fabric. They looked real. He wasn’t the type of man who cared either way, but he’d seen so many strippers lately that her subtle curves seemed exotic in comparison.

Tearing his gaze away, he shoved his T-shirt into his backpack and placed it in the plastic. His shorts weren’t for swimming, but they’d have to suffice. She stared at his bare chest, her lips curving into a smile.

Bring on the cold water. He needed it.

* * *

WHEN SAM PUT his arm around her, Hope buried her face in his shirt, shuddering.

He was a jerk, but his strength felt reassuring. She’d almost peed her pants a second ago. His heartbeat thumped against her cheek, alive, alive, alive.

“Any chance this was self-inflicted?”

She forced herself to move away from him and take a better look inside the cockpit. There was a handgun on the seat next to the pilot, and shells from two different weapons. It looked like a close-range gunfight. “No.”

Sam turned his back on the wreckage with a grimace, keeping his distance while she photographed the scene. Or maybe he was keeping watch. She noticed his eyes scanning the mountains and trees nearby.

There were few clues inside the fuselage. She didn’t see any illegal cargo or formal identification. From what she could surmise, the 9 mm next to the pilot wasn’t responsible for his death. He’d returned fire with his killer. She took pictures of the weapon and a pair of bullet holes on the opposite side of the fuselage.

She was about to report to headquarters when static buzzed over the plane’s radio. Her heart seized at the sound of a man’s voice. “Del Norte, come in. Ya, contesta.”

Hope rushed forward to pick up the receiver. Swallowing hard, she pressed the button to speak. “This is Ranger Banning of Sierra National Park. I need some information about this aircraft and pilot, over.”

The man ended the communication.

She replaced the receiver, her mouth dry. Careful not to touch anything else, she exited the fuselage.

“What was that?” Sam asked.

“Someone called on the plane’s radio. When I answered, they hung up.”

“You answered?”

“Yes.”

He thrust a hand through his short hair. “Fuck!”

“What?”

“I don’t like this. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

She wasn’t a big fan of the situation, either. There had never been a murder at Angel Wings. It could be days before a thorough investigation was organized. The logistics of processing a crime scene on a remote mountaintop were dizzying.

They also had a killer to find. He must have left the area on foot.

She walked away from the plane, examining their surroundings. A hiking trail led down the backside of the mountain and ended at the Kaweah River Campsite. Where she’d dropped off Faith this morning.

“I have to go after him.”

He gaped at her in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m dead serious,” she said.

“You’re not a homicide detective.”

“No, but I have to protect the park’s visitors, and it’s my job to investigate any crimes committed here.”

“Alone?”

She frowned at his incredulous tone. Tracking a single assailant by herself wasn’t against procedure. Park rangers often worked solo, especially in the backcountry. But it was unorthodox, and perhaps unwise, to hunt down a murderer without help. “He’s got to be headed for the Kaweah. Faith is there.”

“Who’s Faith?”

“My sister.”

Hope would do anything for Faith. She loved her with the fierce protectiveness of an older sibling and the deep loyalty of a best friend. Faith had always meant the world to her, but their connection had become even stronger after a heartbreaking incident in her past. Hope had lost someone precious to her, and she’d vowed never to let it happen again.

Sam swore under his breath. There was no way he could talk Hope out of pursuing the suspect. “You can’t make it to the river before dark. Let’s rappel down, go back to Mineral King and call for help.”

She shook her head, stubborn. “I have three more hours of daylight. I won’t waste it by traveling backward.”

“You can drive to the Kaweah camp faster!”

That was true, but Faith wasn’t at the campsite. She was rafting down a river that intersected the killer’s path. “I might not be able to pick up his trail from there. I know I can track it from here.”

“You should wait for backup.”

She didn’t have time to argue, so she radioed Dispatch and relayed the details. “Send a couple of rangers to look for any suspicious activity at Kaweah. We need to contact the sheriff’s department, monitor the exits and put all park employees on alert.”

The dispatcher repeated her instructions and signed off. Although the ground was too dry and rocky for footprints, Hope noticed signs of a disturbance. “Drag marks,” she said to Sam, following them down the trail. They led to a pair of boulders about a hundred feet away. There was a crack between them large enough to hide another body.

While Sam watched her, his face taut as a bowstring, she removed her gun from the waistband of her pants.

In her five years as a ranger, she’d drawn her weapon only a handful of times. She’d aimed it once, last summer. A drunken idiot was shooting at marmots near the Giant Forest Campsite. When she’d shouted a warning for him to put down the gun, he’d swung around to face her, pointing his .38 at her chest. She’d damn near fired on reflex.

Incidents like that were rare, however. Most of the park’s visitors were law-abiding, nature-loving people. Guns were allowed inside park boundaries, but discharging a firearm was strictly prohibited.

That didn’t mean her job wasn’t dangerous. Hope was more likely to be assaulted in the line of duty than an FBI agent. Rangers stationed at the parks along the Mexican border were targeted by drug cartels, but the Sierras had their share of narcotics-related crime, as well. Secret marijuana fields, guarded by armed men, had become increasingly common. These brazen growers used federal land for their crops.

“This is Ranger Banning of Sierra National Park,” she called out, holding her weapon at her side. “Anyone there?”

Wind skimmed across the mountain. The sun was still bright, but the temperature had dropped and the air felt cooler. Hope shivered in her damp tank top. Gesturing for Sam to stay back, she crept forward, pointing her gun at the rocks. A jumble of dark shapes came into view. Her eyes struggled to identify a human form and failed.

Duffel bags. She was looking at a pile of duffel bags.

Hope lowered her weapon, releasing a slow breath. She made sure the safety was on and replaced it in her waistband. When she stepped close enough to reach between the boulders, Sam was right there beside her.

The duffel bag she removed was large and heavy. She unzipped it, revealing what appeared to be high-grade marijuana. It was in loose brick form, lightly compressed and wrapped in plastic to disguise the skunky odor.

Sam let out a low whistle.

Hope looked in another bag and found the exact same contents. Ten bags, each weighing about forty pounds, equaled...a whole lot of drugs. It was probably local. Sierra’s finest had a street value of about five thousand dollars per pound. She estimated the pot’s worth at over a million dollars.

“Someone will be looking for this,” he said.

“Yes.”

“All the more reason to go back to Mineral King.”

Hope agreed that the illegal cargo escalated the danger. Protecting park visitors—Faith included—was imperative. If she didn’t go after the suspect and someone got hurt, she’d be devastated.

Saying nothing, she photographed the evidence and replaced it. When she was finished, she updated Dispatch and requested a radio communication with Ron Laramie, the rafting guide. He wouldn’t be answering calls while on the river, but he was supposed to check in after the group stopped to camp.

She prayed for good news.

“I’m going to Kaweah,” she said to Sam, shrugging out of her pack. “You can head back to Mineral King. Just give me the overnight gear before you leave.”

He frowned at the trail that led down the mountain. How different he seemed from the man she’d met at Long Pine Lodge. That night, he’d been relaxed and charming. She’d known he was Sam Rutherford, reclusive Olympic champion, but he hadn’t acted arrogant or self-important. They’d laughed together and spoken of inconsequential things. She’d been fascinated by him. And wildly attracted.

But Jekyll had turned into Hyde after he’d gotten what he wanted. She still remembered waiting outside in the snow for a cab. Big, fat snowflakes melting in her hair. Hot tears sliding down her face.

And when she’d offered to forget about it, he’d flinched as if the suggestion pained him. What was his problem?

Other than making the foolish decision to go home with a man she didn’t know well, she’d done nothing wrong. She wasn’t in the habit of sleeping with strangers. It was a week before the holidays; she’d been tipsy and lonely.

Today, he was more Hyde than Jekyll. She understood that he considered their one-night stand a mistake, and that he didn’t want to be reminded of his boorish behavior. He felt so uneasy around her that it threw off his climbing rhythm. He’d appeared anxious on an ascent he could have done blindfolded.

Or at night. Without ropes.

To be fair, his current duress was probably related to the crime scene, not her. He couldn’t wait to get out of here.

“No,” he said flatly.

“No?”

“I’m not giving you the gear. Let’s go.”

“I’m going that way.” She pointed at the footpath.

“You’ll freeze tonight.”

“I have a jacket and a safety blanket in my pack.”

He made a skeptical sound. Even in the summer, temperatures at the higher altitudes often dropped below thirty degrees, and the weather could change at a moment’s notice. If a storm blew in, she’d be screwed.

“As long as I keep walking, I’ll be fine.”

“You can’t track in the dark.”

Her temper flared. Tamping it down, she forced a smile. “Then I’ll build a shelter and make a fire. I don’t need the extra gear.”

A muscle in his jaw flexed.

“I’m leaving either way, so you might as well give it to me.”

“No.”

She realized that he wasn’t going to budge. Annoyed with his attempt to deter her, she put on her backpack and started walking. He was lucky she didn’t commandeer the tent and sleeping bag at gunpoint. Bastard.

“Goddamn it,” he said, following her down the mountain.

She whirled to face him. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I’m coming with you.”

CHAPTER FOUR

FAITH WAS HAVING more fun than she’d anticipated.

The rapids were scary, and she didn’t like the way the boat bobbed up and down on the surface of the water, threatening to dump its inhabitants, but a foot brace prevented her from falling overboard. Although the required helmet was dorky, and a boxy life jacket covered her cute new bikini top, both would protect her in a spill.

She didn’t really have to exert herself, either. The guide, who called himself “Captain Ron,” did the bulk of the paddling, shouting directions for assistance every so often. With Ron behind her, Caleb in front and Jay at her side, she felt insulated from danger. They probably didn’t need her help, but she paddled just to be a good sport.

The best part of the trip, by far, was Jay. Her heart skipped a beat every time he gave her a reassuring smile. He was distractingly hot, even with quirky clothes and dye-scorched hair. Before they disembarked, he’d donned a pair of hideous square-framed sunglasses that reminded her of Napoleon Dynamite. It was almost as if he was trying to hide his handsomeness under a nerd disguise.

He couldn’t hide the body, though. His torso was lean and strong, his arms well defined and his stomach rippled with muscle. When he dipped his paddle into the water, biceps flexing, her throat went dry and her thoughts scattered.

The day flew by. After lunch, they hit a long, easy stretch that didn’t demand much maneuvering. Caleb waxed stoner-poetic on everything from the sun sparkling on the water to the immense height of the surrounding trees. Although Faith wasn’t a nature lover, she thought peaceful quiet would better suit the atmosphere. When he launched into another implausible rafting tale, Ron rolled his eyes in Faith’s direction. Jay caught sight of the expression and laughed, glancing away.

“What’s so funny?” Caleb asked him.

“Nothing,” Jay said.

“He thinks you’re full of shit,” Ted supplied.

Caleb looked over his shoulder at Faith. Maybe his boasting was meant to impress her, but she couldn’t suppress a giggle at his expense. He returned his attention to Jay, squinting with antagonism. “Oh yeah?”

Although Jay didn’t look intimidated, Captain Ron came to the rescue. “I tried to run a six-plus on the American River once.”

“What happened?” Paula asked.

“I got dumped.”

Everyone laughed except Caleb, and the conversation moved on to less contentious topics. Jay didn’t say a word but managed to monopolize her complete attention. Whenever she snuck a peek at him, he was watching her.

The last run of the day was a monster. It churned fast and furious between jagged chunks of granite, eager to chew them up and spit them out.

“This is Devil’s Drop,” Ron shouted. “Get ready to paddle!”

Faith froze with terror as they approached. She’d never seen water like this before. Falling out of the boat here would be like getting thrown from a car on the freeway. She imagined herself sailing through the air, her bones snapping on sharp rocks.

“I’m going to die,” she blurted.

The rest of the group chuckled and Caleb let out a war whoop. She was on a trip with a bunch of crazy people!

“You’ll be fine,” Ron said, his brow furrowed in concentration.

For once, Jay focused on paddling instead of her. But he spared her a quick nod to remind her of his promise. They’d been instructed not to enter the water to rescue another swimmer. It was dangerous, and not usually an effective lifesaving technique in these conditions. Despite the warning, he’d vowed to come in after her if she tumbled overboard.

She felt comforted by the thought. Taking a deep breath, she clutched her paddle and hung on for dear life. The rapids hit in a dizzying rush, tossing the front of the boat up in the air and slamming it down again. Icy water surged over the edge, soaking her to the skin. She gritted her teeth against the cold shock.

Although she paddled when called upon, her main concern was staying inside the boat. She noticed that most of the other passengers looked happy, rather than terrified. Only Jay appeared grim and determined.

Like her, he was enduring this, not enjoying it.

Then they were free from the rapids’ grip, and his tension disappeared so quickly she wondered if she’d imagined it. Everyone in the group was smiling and exuberant, Faith included. She couldn’t believe they hadn’t capsized.

What a wild ride.

After the slippery section passed, the sun sank lower in the horizon and a chill settled over the air. By the time they reached the takeout, where they would camp for the night, Faith was shivering.

“Everyone lends a hand in pitching the tents,” Ron said as they exited the boat.

“I pitch an excellent tent,” Caleb said with a grin, elbowing Faith. “You can sleep with me and Ted.”

“Dream on,” she said, laughing.

Ron tied off the raft and started tossing out supplies. “Girls’ tent goes over there,” he said, pointing toward the trees. “Guys over here.” He removed one more tent bag, which looked smaller than the others.

“Whose is that?” Jay asked.

“Mine,” Captain Ron said, walking away. “It’s a single.”

Caleb smirked at Jay. “Disappointed?”

Not bothering to respond, he picked up the tent and headed the opposite direction. Bunking with him wasn’t an option, so she joined the other women. Faith stood clear while Paula and Meg put up the tent. Inside, she changed into warmer clothes. The fleece jacket and water-resistant pants were her sister’s usual style, function over fashion, but she didn’t mind. It was almost dark. No one cared how she looked.

Ron spoke to Hope on the radio while they were making camp. Faith couldn’t hear the entire conversation, but she gathered that Ranger Banning wouldn’t be joining them. Typical Hope. Always on duty.

Faith needed to have a serious talk with her sister. Hope worked more and dated less every year. She wasn’t equipped for one-night stands, like Faith. The last jerk she’d slept with had reduced her to tears. Hope rarely let her guard down with men, so she was slow to recover from disappointments.

Faith knew why Hope shied away from relationships. Ten years ago, her sister had made a mistake she couldn’t forgive herself for. Other than that one slipup, she was the perfect daughter, the responsible student, the valiant rescuer. “Great White Hope,” Faith called her when she was feeling peevish. Hope was saving the world with her park ranger job. Their flower-power parents were so proud.

Faith was the black sheep of the Banning family. She liked big cities, throngs of people, expensive things. Where Hope had substance, Faith was all flash. She had no interest in saving anything, least of all money. She was an unrepentant pleasure seeker, coasting through life on a useless art history degree.

She’d never be as good as Hope. The best she could do was look good.

Despite their differences, Faith didn’t resent her sister. She adored her. It broke Faith’s heart to hear the loneliness in Hope’s voice. She wanted to help her sister come out of her shell. Hope needed to stop hiding in the woods and start living.

After the radio call, Ron started a fire. Faith sat down on a log and stretched out her hands, trying to thaw by the flames. Jay took the space next to her. He’d donned his beanie, along with a long-sleeved T-shirt and vintage Levi’s jeans.

“Cold?” he asked.

She nodded.

He put his arm around her. Not asking permission, but moving slowly enough that she could say no if she wanted to.

She didn’t.

His body felt warm and hard where it pressed against hers. He was like a side of beef, with no give. His hand cupped the curve of her waist as if it had been molded for that purpose. She was comforted and thrilled in equal measures.

He kept his gaze on the fire, probably because looking into her eyes at this distance would be weird. But he was still attuned to her. When she exhaled a ragged breath, he smiled and squeezed her waist. She snuggled closer, enjoying the contact.

Faith hadn’t been held by a man in over six months. Since her breakup with Tom, casual hookups had lost their appeal. She wasn’t as adventurous or carefree as she used to be, and that worried her. If she stayed abstinent much longer, she’d become a born-again virgin like Hope. Maybe it was time to knock the dust off her vagina.

Jay was a perfect candidate for a fling. He didn’t match her mental picture of an avid outdoorsman, however. His jaw was shadowed by stubble, and his clothes were on the thrifty side, but he didn’t appear dirty or unkempt. He had good skin, straight teeth and nice hands. This was no hippie backpacker or scruffy wildlife hunter.

His hair had felt thick and luxuriant, and it was expertly cut. He looked more like a lawyer than a lumberjack.

“What do you do?” she asked, fluttering her lashes.

“I’m in shipping.”

“Shipping?”

He nodded. “I work for a company in Las Vegas.”

Las Vegas. Close enough for a friendly visit, but too far for anything serious. That suited Faith just fine.

The others gathered around the fire a moment later. Jay eased his arm away as smoothly as he’d introduced it, giving her an apologetic glance. Maybe he didn’t want to invite comments about how cozy they were getting.

Ron boiled water for freeze-dried meals and served them in the bag with plastic forks. The beef stew tasted awful to Faith, but Jay ate it like a starving man. She offered him her portion and shared a handful of trail mix with Paula, who was a vegetarian. Hot cocoa was the highlight of the evening.

There were no roasted marshmallows or campfire sing-alongs. Faith felt certain that someone would request a round of “Kumbayah,” but no. Ron and the other women went to bed early. Caleb brandished a flask and a smile. He unscrewed the cap and held it out to Faith, who accepted with enthusiasm. After tossing back a shot, she coughed and grimaced. The men laughed at her girlish reaction.

Jay also took a drink, swallowing easily. They passed around the flask until it was empty. By the time Ted rolled a joint, Faith was already buzzed.

“This is good shit,” Caleb said, holding in the smoke.

“Tastes local,” Ted agreed.

Faith declined a toke. The liquor was strong enough, and she hardly knew these guys. Getting wasted out of her mind wasn’t a smart idea. Jay didn’t hit the joint, either, which seemed to surprise them.

“You don’t want any?”

He shook his head.

Caleb and Ted continued to share the pot. Soon they were in la-la land by themselves, debating on the other side of the campfire about how ancient civilizations had been influenced by space aliens.

Faith giggled at Caleb’s wild gestures and turned her attention back to Jay. He was studying her again. Although her face felt naked without makeup, she reminded herself that firelight was flattering.

“Warmer now?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, with some regret. The combination of alcohol and masculine attention made her cheeks hot. If she wanted another excuse to cuddle with him, she’d have to move away from the fire.

First things first.

She met his eyes. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No,” he said, seeming amused. “What about you?”

“No girlfriend,” she said coyly, twirling the end of her braid. “I tried that once in college but it didn’t work out.”

His mouth went slack at the implication.

“No boyfriend, either.”

He shook his head, as if to clear it. “Why not?”

“I haven’t felt like dating anyone since my last breakup.”

“What happened?”

“I guess we didn’t have anything in common. He was a total jock, and...”

“You don’t like sports?”

She hesitated, not wanting to admit it. She knew that men appreciated women who rooted for the home team, drank beer and ate hot dogs. But Faith hated hot dogs. Besides, her sister was the sporty type, and being so hadn’t improved her love life.

Maybe Faith should have made a better effort with Tom. She’d rarely attended his events or watched games with him. He hadn’t taken an interest in her social activities, either. They’d never been able to compromise.

“I like some sports,” she said.

“Which ones?”

She thought hard. “Dirty dancing.”

He laughed at her answer.

“Are you a sports fan?” she asked, hopeful.

“Yes.”

Her spirits sank. “What’s your favorite?”

“Boxing.”

Tom hadn’t been into boxing. He’d followed most of the popular sports, so he’d been glued to the television every night. “That’s it?”

“Pretty much.”

“No football or baseball?”

“I like soccer, but I don’t understand football, and baseball is boring to watch. Not physical enough.”

She wasn’t sure what he meant, but she shivered in response to the word physical. He had a unique way of speaking, a brevity that appealed to her. Everything about him was spare and lean, from his taut body to his clipped sentences.

Leaning toward him, she whispered in his ear, “I have to pee.”

He rose to his feet, eager to assist. She took his proffered hand and stood up, swaying a little. Caleb and Ted were too busy arguing about the space-time continuum to notice their departure.

Although Faith was afraid of bears, she could have squatted behind a bush without help. Jay stood guard at a nearby tree while she tinkled in the moonlight. She prayed that the leaves near her backside weren’t poison oak.

When she was finished, she fastened her pants and returned to his side. She tripped on the last step by design, stumbling into his arms.

Oh my.

His biceps were very firm beneath her palms, and his chest felt like a warm, hard cocoon. She clung to him, not caring if her pratfall was convincing.

“Are you all right?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

He placed a hand at the small of her back, holding her steady. The action also brought her lower body flush against his. They were much closer than polite distance allowed, and he was making no move to extract himself.

She twined her arms around his neck, encouraged.

Not only did he take the hint; he took control, turning her toward the tree and slanting his mouth over hers. She parted her lips on a gasp as her shoulders met the rough bark. Groaning, he dipped his tongue inside.

He tasted smooth and hot, like campfire whiskey. She hadn’t kissed a man since Tom and it was nice to cleanse her palate.

Jay did a thorough job, exploring her mouth with silky strokes. He wasn’t pushy or overeager. This was a man who could wait for the main event. His lips were deliciously firm. In her experience, sloppy kissers were sloppy lovers, and anyone who rushed first base didn’t deserve to get waved on to second.

She moaned and sucked on his tongue, appreciative.

He must have enjoyed that, because he made a sound in the back of his throat and slid his hands lower, cupping her bottom. Faith approved of the maneuver, and of the desire she felt swelling between them. She pressed her breasts against his chest. Her skin tingled with awareness and heat blossomed between her legs.

As if reading her mind, he lifted her higher, fitting his erection into the notch of her thighs.

Unh.

That was good.

Still kissing her, he rubbed his hard denim button fly against her cleft, stimulating a riot of sensations.

She dug her fingernails into his shoulders and swooned, dizzy from arousal. He was going to make her come with her clothes on! She shouldn’t have gone so long without sex. This was embarrassing.

It wasn’t his fault that she was teetering on the edge of orgasm, and if they had a private place to retreat to, her extreme horniness wouldn’t be a problem. But there was no way she’d let him screw her against a tree twenty feet from the campsite. Faith was adventurous, but she wasn’t that adventurous.

She tore her mouth from his, panting.

He didn’t remove his hands from her ass, but he stopped grinding against her, which helped her think. She braced her palms on his chest and gave him a light push. He released her at once, stepping back.

Her brain wasn’t functioning on all cylinders yet. He was damned near irresistible, standing there in the moonlight, an erection straining the front of his jeans, his dark eyes locked on her mouth.

“That was hot,” she said.

“Yes.”

“I have to go to bed now.”

“Okay.”

He walked her to the girls’ tent, not seeming displeased or frustrated in the least. She liked that. Some guys thought every make-out led to sex, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. After a traumatic experience with an aggressive date, Faith had vowed never to let a man overpower her again.

When they arrived at the entrance, she stood up on tiptoe and brushed her lips over his. She wanted to smooth her palm down his body to test his size, but she restrained herself. Teasing him would be cruel.

“See you tomorrow,” she said, sinking to her knees to unzip the tent.

He murmured something under his breath that sounded oddly like a foreign language. Then he said good-night and disappeared into the dark.

* * *

HOPE AND SAM hiked until sunset.

Her legs were shaky from overexertion, and she felt light-headed, but she soldiered on, determined to keep moving. Although she was accustomed to strenuous exercise, twelve hours of it tested her physical limits.

When she stumbled and almost fell down a ravine, Sam suggested a break. She sat down on a flat rock, her thigh muscles quivering. While he disappeared into the trees to relieve himself, she radioed Dispatch, getting a detailed update. Then she checked in with Ron Laramie. To her relief, the rafting group was fine.

Sam didn’t say anything when he got back. His body language was closed, his mouth set in a hard line.

She took a sip of water to ease her parched throat before sharing the latest news. “The attendant at Kaweah hasn’t seen any suspicious characters, but one of the campers reported a stolen backpack, and a sheriff’s deputy found a strange set of clothes in the men’s room trash can.”

“Strange how?”

“Business attire, soaked in bleach. They cordoned off the bathroom in hopes that evidence can be collected.” Tomorrow, investigators would retrieve the illegal cargo, process the crash site and launch a park-wide manhunt.

“You think he’s still in the area?”

She shrugged. They hadn’t seen any sign of him. He might have reentered the wilderness to hide, but there was no way he could have caught up with Faith’s rafting group on foot. She breathed a little easier, knowing that.

“What about his friends?”

“They’ll be looking for the cargo. They might not know where it is, or even where the plane crashed.”

“They’ll know if he tells them.”

Hope wasn’t sure he would. There’d obviously been a conflict between the suspect and the pilot. It was possible that he wasn’t on good terms with the rest of his crew. Someone had been trying to contact him on the plane’s radio. He must have fled the scene in haste, without relaying any information.

“Let’s make camp under that tree, away from the trail,” he said, pointing to a more secure location.

“If we push, we could reach Kaweah by midnight.”

“You’re exhausted.”

She couldn’t deny it. “I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be unconscious in another mile.”

“Okay, He-Man,” she shot back. “Clearly you never get tired, so you can go on ahead without me if my company offends you so much. I’ll catch up tomorrow.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she regretted them. The stress and muscle strain had really done a number on her. All of the hurt she’d bottled up inside had risen to the surface.

She was usually more upbeat.

“I’m tired,” he said, walking away from the trail and removing the tent from his backpack. He didn’t bother to deny that he found her company offensive. She followed him, finding another rock to sit on. With a heavy sigh, she stared into the distance, determined to enjoy the play of light in the clouds as the sun dipped below the horizon.

The next thing she knew, it was full dark, and he was shoving a tin cup into her hands. She must have dozed off.

“Drink,” he said.

It was chicken noodle soup from a freeze-dried packet. He molded his hands over hers as she took a tentative sip. The liquid was hot and tasty, reviving her senses. She drank half the cup before he moved away, trusting her to finish it herself.

“Thank you,” she said.

He grunted a dismissal and made another cup of soup. While she was sleeping, he’d set up the tent under a tree and built a small fire.

“How long was I out?”

“Ten minutes.”

She drained her cup, suddenly ravenous.

“You should drink some water, too.”

Hope did as she was told, because dehydration was no joke, and she was showing signs of serious fatigue. When she’d stopped moving, her body had shut down. Her core temperature had also dropped considerably. She was cold.

They shared several packets of soup, a powdered drink that tasted like hot Tang and a bag of roasted almonds.

Once her hunger was satisfied, she became very sleepy again. She yawned behind her hand, catching his watchful gaze from across the campfire. He looked ready to point to the tent and order her to go to bed, like a dog.

“Are you going to stay out here all night?” she asked.

He poked a stick at the fire, contemplative. “No.”

“I only brought one sleeping bag.”

“You can have it.”

“I’ll use my blanket.”

He didn’t argue, so she took that as an agreement. She removed her shoes and crawled inside the tent, bringing the space blanket with her. It was a shallow, narrow space, designed to hold in heat. Once he joined her, they’d be like two sardines in a can. She zipped up the door and scooted to one side, leaving room for him. Then she wrapped her body in the crinkly, aluminum-sided blanket, rested her head on the crook of her arm and closed her eyes.

Sleep was elusive because her mind wouldn’t rest. She couldn’t stop second-guessing her interactions with Sam. She’d replayed their night together a thousand times, wondering what had gone wrong. He didn’t seem like the type of man to discard a woman after one use. Well, three uses, but who was counting?

He seemed even less like that type now. He was irritable and short-tempered, not deliberately cruel. A man without a heart wouldn’t follow her down the mountain or feel responsible for her safety. She knew why her presence made him uncomfortable: guilt. She reminded him of his worst behavior.

She rolled onto her side, frustrated. He hadn’t planned to throw her out. She’d bet her Patagonia backpack on it. The action was too bizarre, too abrupt.

Another ugly suspicion reared its head. Obviously, he liked her looks, or he wouldn’t have taken her home with him. Her personality wasn’t a major consideration—they hadn’t done much talking. And she’d never been more responsive or uninhibited, so he couldn’t fault her sexual performance.

What did that leave? Her body.

Hope had a nice enough figure. She was strong, but naturally slender, with curvy hips and small breasts. Although she hadn’t stripped in front of a man in years, she’d felt no attacks of shyness that night. He certainly hadn’t voiced any complaints. She’d been tipsy, and he’d been downright drunk. His eyes had darkened with appreciation when he saw her naked. If she remembered correctly, he’d kissed her all over.

But maybe, during that final session of foreplay, when he’d gotten up close and personal with her private parts, he’d noticed the marks on her lower abdomen.

Her biggest flaw. Her darkest secret.

This was why she never slept with strangers. She didn’t want to explain the telltale signs of pregnancy. The story was too painful to share with a casual acquaintance. Sometimes it was too heavy for a steady boyfriend.

Sam hadn’t said anything, so she didn’t know if the sight had triggered him.

Hope smoothed a hand over her flat stomach and blinked back the tears of remorse, pressing her lips together tightly.

She didn’t want him to hear her cry.

CHAPTER FIVE

HOPE AWOKE WITH a start.

She’d been dreaming about falling. It was a repeat of yesterday’s close call on Angel Wings. Only this time, her harness hadn’t held. The nylon had snapped, sending her hurtling toward the ground, her arms and legs flailing.

The nightmare faded and she let out a slow breath, trying to orient herself. She was in a single-man tent. With Sam.

He hadn’t kept his distance; it was impossible in the cramped space. He also hadn’t kept his sleeping bag to himself. The thick, down-filled fabric covered them both, so he must have unzipped it to share with her. Underneath that layer, she had the safety blanket, which wasn’t big enough for two.

She felt cozy, insulated from the chilly morning air. And a little guilty, because he’d put her comfort above his own.

They’d been sleeping spoon-style, with her back to his front. Her head was pillowed on the crook of his right arm. His left was locked around her waist in a manner that could only be called possessive.

He stirred behind her, mumbling something in his sleep. His lips brushed against the nape of her neck.

She’d always melted when a man kissed her there. Sam had paid special attention to this erogenous zone during round two on that ill-fated night. He’d dragged his open mouth all the way down her tingling spine.

Hope forced the memory aside and tried to ignore the feathery sensation, to no avail. Her skin prickled with awareness and her nipples tightened in the cups of her sports top. She had to extricate herself from this predicament ASAP. When she touched his arm, attempting to remove it from her person, his muscles tensed. He tightened his grip on her waist and brought her closer, aligning her bottom with his lap.

Oh no. Was he awake?

She couldn’t tell for sure, but the quickening of breath, along with an obvious erection, indicated some level of awareness.

The best strategy at this point would be to say something and move away from him. But she stayed right where she was, her mouth closed and her body humming with arousal. He rewarded this choice by lifting a hand to her breast, brushing his thumb over her nipple. When she didn’t protest, he buried his face in her hair.

She gasped as he nuzzled the sensitive spot behind her ear. His heartbeat thumped against her back and his erection prodded her buttocks.

“Melissa,” he groaned, smoothing his hand down her belly. He traced the cleft of her sex with his fingertips.

And then the name registered.

She shoved his arm away and scrambled upright. “Melissa?”

He blinked at her in confusion. His eyes were bloodshot, dark with desire, and there were sleep lines on his lean cheek.

“You just called me Melissa,” she prompted.

“You’re...Hope.”

She couldn’t believe he had to reach for the information, as if they hadn’t spent the past twenty-four hours together. As if he didn’t know her. “Are you sure? Because you thought I was someone else a second ago.”

He stretched out on his back and looked up at the ceiling of the tent, raking a hand through his hair. The sweatband he always wore on his right wrist was pushed up over his palm, revealing a piece of tattooed script. They both noticed it at the same time. As he read the insignia, his eyes filled with anguish and his throat worked in agitation.

She grasped his forearm, holding it still.

R.I.P., Melissa.

“Who is she?”

He tried to speak, but the words were strangled. Shaking his head in apology, he covered his face with one hand and rolled onto his side, shutting her out.

Hope couldn’t bear to watch him cry. It seemed like a foreign level of emotion for a controlled risk taker who never even flinched. He clearly didn’t want her to witness this breakdown, or to offer him comfort in any way. So, instead of staying with him, she unzipped the tent and walked away.

It was a chilly, misty morning. Her muscles groaned in protest as she sat down to put on her boots, so she did some yoga stretches.

Hope didn’t feel good about leaving him alone. He’d taken care of her and kept her warm last night. On the other hand, he’d thrown her out of his bed after their first encounter, and added injury to insult by forgetting her name—again.

She owed him nothing.

When he emerged from the tent a few moments later, his eyes were red-rimmed, but clear, and his mouth was set in a tight line. He laced up his hiking boots in silence. “I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I didn’t mean to touch you.”

A hint of indignation seeped back in. “Did you mean to touch me that night you took me home from the lodge?”

He flashed a sardonic smile. “Yes.”

Apparently she wasn’t worth a repeat performance. He didn’t offer any further explanation, and she couldn’t bring herself to ask.

She’d done a Google search on him the morning after their one-night stand, struck by the awful suspicion that he was married or in a serious relationship. The internet search had brought up articles about his business endeavors, his climbing feats and his entrapment in San Diego. He’d been linked to various women, including an Italian supermodel, but she hadn’t found any information about wives or current girlfriends. Not even on Facebook.

She’d closed her laptop, resolving to forget about him. Faith was the only person she’d mentioned his name to. The female rangers she worked with were friendly, but asking them about Sam’s love life would only provide gossip fodder. Rumors that he was gay, or unable to perform since the coma he’d suffered during the San Diego earthquake, were baseless. She just wanted to put the humiliating experience behind her.

Sam broke down camp while Hope ate her last granola bar, her thoughts churning. Together, they set off toward Kaweah.

Her stiff muscles loosened up and her resentment faded. He’d lost a woman he loved. If he wasn’t over her, he shouldn’t have taken Hope to bed, but whatever. He’d been drunk. He’d made a mistake.

She knew how hard it was to let go. Better than anyone.

By the time they reached the base of the mountain, she’d brushed off her hurt feelings. She wasn’t the type to hold a grudge, and his apology seemed genuine. She suspected that he was struggling with severe depression. Anyone who free-soloed at night had one foot in the grave.

Hope had worked a number of suicide scenes. Sierra National Park was a popular place for cliff jumpers. It was wide open, with few witnesses and many high points to leap from. Often the bodies were unidentifiable, and it was difficult to distinguish between a purposeful death and a falling accident.

The thought of finding Sam’s body at the base of a cliff, his internal organs obliterated and bones crushed, chilled Hope to the core.

At midmorning, the sun was burning through a haze of clouds and the air felt heavy. They might be in for rain, another complication she didn’t need. Instead of moping about it, she put a spring in her step, following her mantra to stay positive.

Kaweah was bustling with activity. As they arrived, a team of investigators headed up the path to Angel Wings.

She stopped to speak with Deputy Phillip Meeks, the leader. He was a young man, former military, kind of a hotshot. A more experienced deputy wouldn’t be amiss, but at least Meeks was strong and fit. She showed him the pictures on her camera, pointing out the exact location of the drug stash.

“You’ll want to take East Slope, the trail on the left. It’s faster.”

“Ten-four,” he said, wearing the ghost of a smirk.

Meeks had been at the bar the night she’d gone home with Sam. He might have seen them leave together, but he hadn’t run his mouth about it, as far as she knew. Long Pine was a small community, and members of local law enforcement were a tight-knit group. If Meeks had talked, she’d have heard.

She said goodbye to the team and continued to the ranger station with Sam. Ranger Cordova, who usually worked at another region of the park, was in the back office. She offered them a seat and cold sodas.

“Thanks,” Hope said, cracking hers open. “Where’s Kruger?”

“He called in sick today.”

Bill Kruger was the head ranger at Kaweah. He’d gotten the job through a family connection with the park manager, and he shirked his duties on a regular basis. She was glad he wasn’t here to screw anything up.

Bernice Cordova had a great attitude and lots of energy, like most rookie rangers. She was a cute little thing with brown eyes and a pixie cut. Her girlfriend was a park attendant at Giant Forest. They were “out” as a couple, which drew some attention from the male staff. Although she didn’t play for his team, Cordova seemed mesmerized by Sam.

“This is Sam Rutherford,” Hope supplied.

“I know,” Cordova said. “I’m a big fan of yours. I started kayaking when I was ten, after I watched you on TV.”

Sam had earned two gold medals in whitewater slalom twelve years ago, but he was better known for his daredevil ascents. The Olympics had made him a local hero; extreme rock climbing had made him famous. Not to mention rich, through lucrative endorsement deals and sports-related business ventures.

He took a drink of his soda, seeming embarrassed by the praise.

“What have we got?” Hope asked.

Cordova pulled her gaze away from Sam. “Deputy Meeks dusted for fingerprints in the men’s room, but he didn’t find a good set. Too much traffic in there.”

“Where are the clothes?”

“Bagged and taken to the crime lab. Here’s the information from the labels.” She handed Hope a printout.

“Ferragamo loafers, size twelve,” she read, glancing at Sam. “Are those expensive?”

“Yes.”

“What about...Bugatchi Uomo?”

He leaned over to read the name on the paper. “Never heard of it.”

“The shirt is a large and the pants are thirty-two/thirty-two.” She studied the length of Sam’s legs. “What size are you?”

“Thirty-two/thirty-four.”

“You’re bigger than he is?”

“I’m taller.”

Ranger Cordova gave her another printout. “I also have a description of the stolen backpack and a list of the items inside.”

“Excellent,” Hope said, scanning it. “Do you know if any single men left the campsite yesterday morning?”

“Just one, according to Morgenstern. A young guy in a red truck. He bowed out of the rafting trip at the last minute, complaining of stomach problems.”

Hope frowned at this news. Alan Morgenstern was a VIP, or volunteer-in-park. He actually did most of Kruger’s work around the campsite for a small stipend. “Did Ron check in this morning?”

“Yes.”

“How many in his group?”

She consulted the computer. “Seven, including him.”

“That’s strange.”

“Why?”

“I was supposed to be on that trip, in a group of eight. If two rafters are missing, there should be six left.”

Cordova found the original list and confirmed the numbers. “You’re right.”

“Maybe that guy in the truck was our suspect,” she said, her heart racing. “Where’s Morgenstern?”

“In his trailer.”

Hope leaped to her feet. She wanted to talk to him in person.

“Should I come?” Cordova asked.

“No need,” she said, waving her hand in the air. Morgenstern hated rookies, especially females. He probably hated lesbians, too. To be fair, he also hated Bill Kruger, and pretty much every employee on staff. He was an equal opportunity asshole.

Cordova smiled at Sam, eager to chat with him one-on-one. He stood and followed Hope out of the office.

“You didn’t want to be alone with Cordova?” she teased.

He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Aren’t you interested in adoring women?”

“Not remotely.”

“I think you’re safe. She has a girlfriend.”

His brows rose. “Now I’m interested.”

She laughed, knowing he didn’t mean it. He had a dry sense of humor that she found very appealing. He’d joked around a lot that night at the bar. Paired with his rugged good looks and ridiculously hot body, he was hard to resist.

He also seemed surprised by her amusement. That was another attractive quality. He didn’t expect compliments or laughter, like most celebrated people. His gaze lowered to her lips and lingered there. If Sam was interested in anyone, it was Hope. He stared at her with a mixture of longing and confusion.

Clearing his throat, he glanced away. “Melissa was my fiancée,” he said, answering the question she’d posed earlier. “She died in a climbing accident in Greece.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, stricken. “I didn’t know.”

“It wasn’t a big news story. Only our families and close friends knew we were dating. She was a professional climber, and she wanted to be judged on her abilities, not mine.”

Hope felt terrible for him. It was speculated that head trauma during the San Diego earthquake had knocked the sense out of him. In reality, another tragedy had inspired his current, reckless free-soloing habits.

“When I woke up this morning—”

“You don’t have to explain,” she said, touching his arm.

His mouth twisted at the contact. “I’m not going to forget about it.”

After a moment, she realized he was referencing her offer from yesterday. He didn’t want to forget their night together, or his unwitting advances from this morning? She searched his dark eyes, curious. His triceps tensed beneath her fingertips. He had lean muscles, like most rock climbers, but she’d never felt such raw power.

“Okay,” she said, dropping her hand. She wouldn’t forget, either.

Morgenstern’s trailer was at the campground entrance. Once a ranger, he’d been forced into early retirement after a knee injury. His wife, also a NPS employee, had died of cancer. He’d given the best years of his life to the park in exchange for an aluminum shelter and permanent squatting rights.

She didn’t blame him for being bitter.

“Have you met Morgenstern?” she asked Sam.

“No.”

“He won’t be as fawning as Cordova.”

“Good.”

She rapped on the door.

Morgenstern opened it with a glare. His eyebrows were bushy, his hair coarse and wild. He reminded her of the mad scientist character from Back to the Future. “What?” he barked, his mouth half-full of bologna.

“Sorry to bother you,” she said. “I wanted to ask about the sick camper who left yesterday.”

“What about him?”

“Did he look suspicious?”

“No, he looked sick,” he said with disdain. “He was a zit-nosed kid, not a damned Mexican drug smuggler.”

She didn’t bother to tell Morgenstern that they didn’t know the ethnicity of the suspect. He was a cranky old coot, but he did his job, which was more than she could say of Bill Kruger. If he carried some extra resentment toward Hope, it was because she’d taken over his position at Mineral King. He was also from a different generation of rangers. A lot of throwbacks like him didn’t believe women should be wearing the Smokey the Bear Stetson.

At least Morgenstern was up-front about his prejudice. She’d take bald sexism over the subtle, insidious bullshit any day.

Morgenstern took another bite of his sandwich and set it down next to a cell phone. He eyeballed Sam, still chewing.

Hope considered the possibilities. If the guy in the red truck wasn’t her suspect, who was the seventh person in Ron’s group? “Oh my God,” she said, an icy hand trailing down her spine. “He’s on the rafting trip.”

“Who?”

“The killer!”

Morgenstern harrumphed in disbelief. “Ron wouldn’t add a random stranger on a whim. Reservations are made months in advance.”

“Did you see them depart?”

“Yes. Three men almost missed the van.”

“Can you describe them?”

He thought about it, squinting. “Two college-kid river rats, one tall, one short. They were with a medium-sized guy in a gray hat.”

Hope referred to the list of items in the stolen backpack. Gray beanie was number four. “That’s him.”

“He might have been Mexican.”

She thanked Morgenstern for his trouble and walked away from the trailer with Sam. Heart racing with distress, she picked up her radio to call Dispatch. “I need to talk to Ron. It’s an emergency.”

“I’ll try to reach him, but he isn’t due to check in again until evening.”

“Get Dixon.”

The dispatcher asked her to wait a moment. It felt like an eternity. Sam stood beside her, close and silent. “He’s on three,” she said when she returned.

Hope switched to channel three, which was used exclusively for communications with the park manager.

“Banning?”

Although she was on a first-name basis with Doug Dixon, he didn’t show familiarity during work hours. She told him about her suspicions in a rush. “I need a helicopter team to take me downriver.”

“Hold on,” he said. “We don’t know it’s him.”

“There were three men scheduled for the rafting trip. One went home.”

“Maybe the other two called a friend.”

Her gut said otherwise. “I have to go after them.”

“Negative.”

“My sister is in that group!”

“Which is exactly why you should take a step back. I’ll talk to Ron and assemble a whitewater team. Or a helicopter crew, if it comes to that. I don’t want you involved. You’ve made too many rash decisions.”

“What do you mean?”

“You left base without a team yesterday.”

“Only because SAR was busy and I couldn’t reach you.”

“Continuing to Kaweah was also ill-advised.”

She clenched the radio in her sweaty grip. He’d never reprimanded her before, and it didn’t feel good.

“Take a break, Hope. You’ve covered a lot of ground in twenty-four hours.”

“I’m fine.”

“Go home and get some rest. We’ll do everything we can to catch this guy.”

Hope stared at Sam, swallowing hard. She couldn’t believe Dixon had ordered her to stand down. This wasn’t just unfair, it was humiliating. Was he cutting her out of the action because she was too emotionally involved, or because he didn’t want her to get hurt? She was the only female law enforcement ranger in the park. Maybe her boss wasn’t much different from Morgenstern after all.

“Is that clear, Banning?”

“Yes, sir.”

She clipped the radio to her waist with shaking hands. Ron might not check in until dark. His group would be thirty miles downriver by then. The Kaweah ran along the east side of Angel Wings, through the most remote area of the park. It was pristine wilderness, totally undeveloped. There were no roads, only a few hiking trails. The only way to reach the rafters quickly was by helicopter.

Or kayak.

If she left now, and paddled hard, she could catch up with the group by nightfall. She’d planned to do that anyway. Dixon wouldn’t be pleased with her insubordination, but she doubted he’d fire her. She had some pretty good dirt on him.

Hope hurried toward the ranger station, where the rescue kayaks were housed.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked.

“Taking my vacation.”

CHAPTER SIX

RANGER CORDOVA UNLOCKED the storage shed at Hope’s request.

She removed the necessary supplies from her pack and shoved them into a dry sack, along with her service weapon. Then she slammed a helmet on her head and wrestled into a life jacket.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked.

“I’m borrowing a kayak. For recreational purposes.”

“Recreational purposes, my ass!”

As she reached for the kayak on the middle shelf, she gave him a sidelong glance, surprised by his vehemence. He was standing in the doorway, blocking her exit. His chest rose up and down with agitation. She wasn’t sure why she had such a strong effect on him. The night she’d slept with him, he’d responded to the barest touch, a whisper of breath. Whatever had drawn them together still hummed beneath the surface, ready to ignite.

“Dixon told you to go home.”

She unstrapped the hull, her pulse racing.

Sam turned to Ranger Cordova, who was watching with wide eyes. “Are you really going to let her do this?”

“She’s my superior, Mr. Rutherford.”

“Then call her superior!”

“Don’t you dare,” she said, pointing her finger at Cordova.

“I’ll call him,” Sam threatened.

“Go right ahead. Get on the phone with your crony and throw some more money at him. I’ll be ten miles downriver by then.”

“You’re really prepared to attempt Class Five whitewater on your own?”

“I’m an experienced kayaker.”

“Those rapids are brutal.”

She removed the kayak from the rack. “You free-solo a thousand feet above the ground, so spare me the safety lecture.”

“They have more than a day’s head start,” he said through clenched teeth. “If, by some miracle, you don’t get slammed in the slickies, you’d have to paddle like hell on the slow sections. Only an expert could catch up with them.”

“You’re familiar with this river?”

Cordova made a coughing noise. She knew something Hope didn’t.

“I used to be a guide here,” he said.

He’d grown up in nearby Tulare, so it made sense. He must have honed his Olympic skills on the three local rivers as a teenager. “Great,” she said, unzipping the kayak cover. Now she understood why he was so agitated. He felt obligated to come with her—again. “I don’t need your assistance this time, Sam.”

“You need a partner.”

“I’ll go,” Cordova said, her expression eager.

Hope didn’t want to get Cordova in trouble. She was a seasonal employee with high aspirations. “I’ll be fine,” she said, hitching the kayak over her shoulder. If he tried to stop her, she’d javelin him with the pointed end.

He stepped aside, muttering a string of curses as she exited the shed. She scrambled to the river’s edge, worried that he was going to follow through on his threat to contact Dixon. Placing the kayak on the bank, she sat down to remove her hiking shoes.

He joined her a moment later, carrying the second kayak.

“You can’t come,” she said. “This isn’t a search-and-rescue.”

“Are you willing to wait for someone else?”

She slipped her shoes into the dry sack, annoyed. There were a few rangers on staff who could run this river, Cordova included, but she couldn’t bring them on an unauthorized mission. Besides, she had to leave now. Her chances of catching up with the group by evening were already dwindling.

“You might be putting your sister in more danger by getting involved,” he said. “Have you thought about that?”

Hope cleared her throat, swallowing back tears. “She’s not due to arrive at Moraine Lake until late tomorrow. If something happens to her between now and then, I’ll never forgive myself.”

With a dark scowl, he glanced away. She could tell that he knew how she felt. They’d both lost loved ones. Hope had given hers up by choice, but that didn’t make her heart ache any less at night.

“What’s your plan?”

She took a deep breath. “Yesterday morning, I told Faith I’d try to catch up with the raft. So that’s what I’ll say I’m doing. I won’t challenge the suspect. He’s probably still armed. I’ll just keep an eye on him until we reach Moraine.”

He deliberated for a moment. “What will you do with your kayak?”

“I’ll leave it at the campsite.”

“Have you run this river before?”

“Yes. I did it twice last month.”

“Okay,” he said, sighing heavily. “You lead, I’ll follow.”

“If we don’t scout the tricky sections or take any breaks, we can probably make it to Mist Falls by sundown.”

“Is that where they’ll camp?”

“Most likely.”

“We’re stopping for lunch. That’s nonnegotiable.”

She agreed and they started off, cutting through the shallows that snaked through the campsite. Her leg muscles needed a rest, but her arms were still strong. By the end of the day, her whole body would be sore. For now, it felt good to be in motion, her blood pumping, the sun shining on her bare shoulders.

Dixon would castigate her again, and Sam didn’t approve, but she refused to turn back. Faith was her baby sister. Hope had always been the responsible one, the protective one. She enjoyed taking care of others and especially loved rescue work. These attributes had served her well as a park ranger. It felt rewarding to keep the peace.

She knew she had an unhealthy zest for maintaining order. The more unsettled her personal life, the more she attempted to control her environment. When a situation slipped out of her grasp, she felt helpless. Like a teenage girl in a hospital bed, stretching out her empty arms. Tears streaming down her face.

She’d do anything—anything—to avoid that feeling. Knowing that Faith was in danger caused an unbearable panic within her. Her only recourse was to take action. To keep moving forward and never give up.

Hope couldn’t rest, physically or mentally, until Faith was safe.

* * *

FAITH WAS TOTALLY over camping.

She’d had a great time snuggling by the fire and making out with Jay, but sleeping on the hard ground sucked. Screeching birds woke her at the crack of dawn. She sat up and glanced around, shivering from the cold.

She was alone in the tent. Rubbing her eyes, she reached into her pack for a compact. When she saw her reflection, she gasped in dismay.

There was a bug bite—on her cheek! Some creepy, crawly little bastard had disfigured her while she was sleeping.

She hadn’t brought any concealer, so she couldn’t hide the red bump. She snapped the compact shut with a groan. After putting on her boots, she emerged from the tent. The other women were already awake and looking chipper. She mumbled hello and ducked into the bushes, checking the ground for snakes. Peeing outdoors was hazardous.

After washing her face, brushing her teeth and fixing her hair, she felt human again. Hungry, actually.

She joined the others around the campfire. Ron was serving cinnamon oatmeal. Accepting a bowl, she took a seat by Jay, careful to give him the good side of her face. Mornings-after could be awkward. Some guys acted evasive or avoided eye contact. Others lingered too long or talked too much.

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