Freefall (No) Page 12

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  He shrugged, uncomfortable. While he was recovering from the coma, he’d done his share of therapy. He’d seen more doctors than he could count. None of them knew how to bring his memory back. So he’d returned to climbing. The rock face was the only place he’d ever really belonged. Pushing his physical limits had always felt right. And the sport owed him some solace after taking so much away from him. Maybe he was searching for answers he’d never find, punishing himself for things he hadn’t done.

  Free-soloing wasn’t helping any more than therapy had. But he liked it better.

  “I haven’t decided yet,” he said.

  “You’d rather stay here and avoid the problem?”

  “In this cave?”

  “In the Sierras.”

  “What are you avoiding?”

  She huffed out a breath. “Not everyone who lives here is running away from their problems. You recommended Owen for a job in the park. Why is it an appropriate place for him to work, but not me?”

  “He needed some space.”

  Sam had thought that mountains and fresh air would be good for Owen. He also knew the kid wouldn’t bother him. Unlike Garrett Wright, who called to check up on him every few weeks at the request of his wife, Lauren. The female paramedic had saved Sam’s life after the San Diego earthquake. She was relentlessly caring.

  Owen kept to himself. He was wary of men, so Sam didn’t have to worry about him wanting to be buddies.

  “I know about his criminal record,” she said.

  “Then you can guess what he’s running from.”

  “Do you want him to turn into a hermit?”

  “No, but I doubt he’ll stay here forever. Some people need time to heal and be alone. Others need to get out and live.”

  “And others need therapy but are too scared to feel, so they go on suicidal climbs and wallow in self-pity.”

  He scowled at her frank assessment. He didn’t think he was suicidal, and he hated feeling sorry for himself. Survivor’s guilt ate at him—he couldn’t deny it. The San Diego earthquake had taken thousands of lives. Melissa’s nephew had died in a fire, and her family had already suffered so much. It wasn’t fair.

  Why had Sam been spared, instead of an innocent child?

  Hope was right about one thing. He couldn’t stand the thought of having an emotional breakdown in front of a group of people. She’d seen him cry yesterday morning. It hadn’t felt healthy or cathartic in the least.

  He wanted recovery, not closure. Therapy was a last resort. Before now, he’d rejected the idea of saying goodbye to Melissa’s memory and leaving his questions unanswered. It sounded like a lot of hard work for little or no payoff. But maybe there were benefits he hadn’t considered. He’d like to sleep with Hope again. He missed sex—a lot—and anonymous partners didn’t appeal to him.

  He ached for another chance to touch her. If he got his head together, maybe they could...date.

  Unsettled by the thought, he focused on removing the straps from the dry pack and cutting the waterproof canvas into strips. They tied the strips to the shoelace cord, making knots at regular intervals. His long-sleeved shirt would serve as a harness. Along with the canvas straps, and his belt, they had twenty feet covered.

  The rain coming through the sky roof slowed to a drizzle. At about midnight, the moon broke through the clouds, illuminating the space below. The raccoon hole appeared large enough to fit through. He studied the cave wall, planning his descent. There were no reliable-looking handholds, and damp limestone made for a slippery grip. Luckily, a small ledge jutted out, a little more than halfway down. He estimated the drop from there at about fifteen feet.

  It was doable, but they had to move fast to take advantage of the meager light.

  Working quickly, he wrapped the shirtsleeves around his body, under his arms, and tied a knot over the center of his chest. Then he cinched his belt to the shirt. The cord was already threaded through the last belt hole, and attached to the straps. He looped the end over a stalagmite and tested his weight. The rope held.

  “I’m aiming for that ledge,” he said, pointing it out to her. “When I get there I’ll take off the harness and you can pull up the rope.”

  “Looks like a steep drop.”

  “It is. But I’ll catch you.”

  “Who’ll catch you?”

  “Dharmakaya,” he said with a smile, naming a rock spirit some climbers believed in. The sport had never been a religion for Sam, but he was a dedicated athlete. He hadn’t made a joke like that since the accident, and it felt good.

  It would feel even better to kiss her for good luck. Smothering the urge, he started down the cave wall. The limestone was smooth and damp, not an ideal climbing surface. He made short work of the distance and reached the ledge quickly. Once there, he removed the harness and dropped to his stomach, lowering himself over the side. He gripped the ledge, waiting until his body was fully extended before he let go.

  The landing wasn’t graceful, but he knew how to fall safely. He hit the ground and tumbled backward, rolling with the force of gravity rather than fighting against it. After taking a moment to gather his wits, he scrambled to his feet and flicked on the lighter to investigate the hole in the cave. It was wide enough for his shoulders, and led directly outside.

  “Okay?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said, returning to the wall. As long as the drug smugglers weren’t lurking nearby, they could stay in this chamber and try to start a fire.

  Watching Hope climb was much more nerve-racking than performing the task himself. He became convinced that the impromptu gear was faulty. His belt could come undone or the cord might snap at any moment. Any number of things could go wrong.

  She wasn’t as strong as Sam, or as fast. His heart pounded with anxiety as the minutes ticked by. Just when it appeared as though she would arrive at the ledge without incident, he realized his mistake.

  She wasn’t as tall as him, either.

  Her feet dangled six inches above the ledge. She pointed her toes but still couldn’t reach.

  “Can you get out of the harness?” he asked.

  “I think so.”

  While he waited, his throat dry, she freed her right arm and slid down to the ledge. Then she pulled the loop over her head.

  So far, so good.

  “Okay, now lower yourself over the side, just like I did.”

  As she clung to the ledge, the moon went behind the clouds once again and the cavern went dim. He could barely see her.

  “I’m afraid to let go,” she said.

  “Push away from the wall,” he ordered. “Come toward me.”

  “I don’t want to fall.”

  “I’ll catch you.”

  For a minute, he thought she wasn’t going to do it. Then he heard her cry out and felt her hurtling toward him. He absorbed the impact with his body and went down to the ground, cushioning her in his embrace. His bones rattled from the hard jolt. Catching her was twice as hard as falling himself.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, reluctant to release her.

  “Yes.” She palpated his rib cage, as if searching for fractures. “Did I...break you?”

  “I think you knocked me out. Who are you, again?”

  She inhaled a sharp breath.

  “Hope. It’s a joke.”

  “Not funny.”

  “No?” Maybe his sense of humor was rusty. He let her go and dusted himself off, wincing at the pain in his elbows. “We should try to start a fire.”

  After a short hesitation, she agreed. Even if the smugglers were nearby, the cavern was a good hideout, easy to defend. Sam crawled out of the raccoon hole and searched for wood. Everything was damp, but he tore some dead branches off a pine tree. He also found a cache of resin inside that would act as an accelerant.

  Pleased, he returned to Hope and used his utility knife to strip the damp outer bark from the branches. When he’d gathered enough dry kind
ling, he sparked it up, adding a chunk of resin. Within minutes, they had a cozy blaze.

  He’d like a hot meal to go with it, but they needed water to eat, and they were almost out. After sharing the last bottle with him, she curled up in her safety blanket, clearly exhausted. “Are you going to sleep?”

  Not a chance. “I’ll keep the first watch.”

  She closed her eyes, acquiescent.

  He meant that he would watch out for the bad guys, but he studied her while she slept. The sight of her, warmed by his fire, filled an empty place inside him. The space was vast—like this cavern. Mostly cold and dark.

  Still, it was a start.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  JAVIER JOLTED AWAKE, tightening his arms around Faith.

  He heard the sound of a gun cocking—his gun—and squinted at the flashlight in his face. Two figures loomed at the edge of the sleeping bag, crouched under the rock outcropping. This wasn’t good.

  “Wake up, motherfucker!”

  Relief poured through him. It was Caleb and Ted. He would survive this confrontation. They wouldn’t hurt Faith.

  She roused, turning her sleepy head toward the light. “What’s happening?”

  “Get your hands off her,” Caleb ordered.

  Javier put his right hand up where Caleb could see it, but kept his injured arm at his side. He’d been able to ignore the pain last night, for the most part. Right now it was best to exaggerate his weaknesses.

  Faith sat forward, clutching the sleeping bag to her chest. With her shoulders bare, her blond hair mussed and her lips swollen, she looked as if she’d had a wild night. He was acutely aware of their nudity.

  “Are you okay, honey?” Caleb asked.

  She stared at the barrel of the gun, swallowing. “I’m fine.”

  “Did he hurt you?”

  “No....”

  “Don’t worry, you’re safe now,” Caleb said.

  “Safe?”

  “Get up,” he ordered Javier, gesturing with his gun.

  The zipper was on Faith’s side. He couldn’t crawl out of the sleeping bag without exposing her, so he didn’t move.

  “I said get up!”

  Faith lowered the zipper with shaking hands, her face pale. When she was done, Ted grabbed the corner of the sleeping bag and yanked it open. His eyes widened with surprise at what he’d revealed.

  “Holy shit,” Caleb murmured, ogling her.

  Javier wanted to kill them both. It was an opportune time to strike, while they were visually occupied. But Caleb wasn’t stupid. After a quick exam of Faith’s perfect breasts, he returned his attention to Javier.

  He stayed still, fighting the urge to cover himself. His parts didn’t draw the same interest as Faith’s, but he felt damned vulnerable with his dick out.

  “Move,” Caleb said.

  Javier got up, leaving the sleeping bag to Faith.

  She scrambled to hide her naked body. “Why are you doing this? Just leave us alone!”

  “He’s the killer they’re looking for,” Caleb said. “He must have faked that shoulder injury yesterday, if he felt good enough to screw you.”

  “No,” she said, her lips trembling.

  Javier looked away.

  “Tie his wrists,” Caleb said to Ted.

  “Can I put my clothes on first?”

  “Please.”

  Javier pulled on his jeans in stiff, awkward motions. When he was decent, he gathered her clothes with his good arm and handed them to her.

  “Is it true?” she asked.

  “Of course it is,” Caleb said. “This is his gun.”

  Javier donned his shirt and sat down to put on his shoes, his mind reeling. He’d been carrying the 9 mm in his waistband, and had left it wrapped in his jeans. After exhausting himself with Faith, he’d fallen into a deep sleep.

  “You bastard,” she said, her voice flat.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Caleb stepped forward, landing a swift kick to his ribs. Javier smothered a cry of pain, doubling over. While he struggled for breath, his eyes watering, Ted wrenched his arms behind his back and bound his wrists with rope.

  Once Javier was subdued, Caleb became cockier than usual. He watched Faith wrestle into her clothes, licking his lips. She emerged from the sleeping bag in her snug track pants and a thin tank top. Both garments clung to her slender curves, making it clear she hadn’t bothered with underwear.

  She was the kind of woman men fought over. Like Alexia, she radiated sensuality. He’d known she’d be hot in bed, but he hadn’t imagined laughing out loud with her. He’d never had so much fun during sex.

  “How was she?” Caleb asked in a stage whisper.

  Javier ignored the question, staring straight ahead. It was a mistake to show feelings in front of an enemy. He knew that from experience.

  Caleb dragged him upright and sucker-punched him. Javier coughed and stumbled backward, cracking his skull on the side of the rock. Black spots danced in his vision. He barely managed to stay on his feet.

  “You want a turn?” Caleb asked her.

  When she advanced, Javier forced himself to meet her gaze.

  “What’s your real name?”

  “Javier,” he said.

  She flinched at his accent, which he laid on thick. He didn’t regret sleeping with her, or deceiving her about his ethnicity. But he wondered if she’d have refused him, had she known. “Did you fall overboard on purpose?”

  He didn’t see any reason to lie. “Yes.”

  She drew back her arm and let him have it, whaling him across the cheek. Caleb’s blows had a lot more power, but this one stung hard. He hated being hit by women. His mother had slapped him the last time he’d visited her.

  “Desgraciado,” she’d said, throwing his money back in his face.

  “I almost jumped in after you,” Faith said, her eyes glittering with tears.

  He glanced away, his throat tight. If she wanted another shot at him, she was welcome. Although he hadn’t meant to hurt her, she had every right to be angry. He’d endure as many blows as she could dish out.

  Instead of striking him again, she dropped her hand to her side and clenched it into a fist. Ted packed up camp while the first rays of dawn penetrated the dark, wet woods. Although the rain had abated, the air was still cool and damp.

  After breakfast, which wasn’t offered to Javier, they set out toward Moraine Lake. Caleb made Javier walk in front. The thick mud was difficult to slog through. His shoulder throbbed with every step and his ribs ached. Whenever he thought of Faith, something in the center of his chest hurt, too.

  In the far distance, a familiar-looking pair of mountains jutted up toward the sky. He recognized one as the plane crash site.

  “We should go to Mineral King,” Ted said, looking that direction. “The trail won’t be as muddy away from the river.”

  “We’re going to Moraine,” Caleb said.

  “Can we stop for a minute?” Faith asked.

  They agreed to a short break. Caleb and Ted walked into the trees to relieve themselves, confident that Javier wasn’t going anywhere. If he ran, they could catch him. Faith approached his side warily.

  “Who did you kill?” she whispered.

  “The pilot I work with.”

  “Why?”

  After the crash, Javier had decided to seize his chance to walk away. When the pilot attempted to notify Gonzales of their location, Javier pulled his gun, and they had exchanged fire. “You know that guy I told you about, the friend?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s my boss. Six months ago, his wife...my ex...disappeared. I think he killed her. I’ve wanted out ever since.”

  “And the pilot?”

  “He tried to stop me.”

  She searched his eyes warily. “You can explain it to the police.”

  “No. That would be a death sentence. My boss pays them off. I think he has someone inside this park, in fact.”

  “Who?”

  “Help me
escape,” he said, ignoring the question. “I won’t kill anyone else.”

  To his surprise, he wanted to keep that promise. Even after taking a beating from Caleb, he had no interest in revenge. He’d still defeat Gonzales if he got the chance, but he’d lost his taste for senseless violence. Spending time with Faith had brought out his softer side. He’d seen a glimpse of happiness.

  Caleb’s and Ted’s return interrupted their conversation. Faith moved past Javier and ducked into the bushes. He asked for a drink of water and was ignored. As soon as she came back, they started hiking again.

  He cooperated, biding his time. When they were in the middle of a thick copse, with no open spaces nearby, he stopped. “I have to take a piss.”

  “Piss your pants,” Caleb said, shoving him forward.

  He stumbled and went down hard, choosing his uninjured shoulder to break his fall. Seething with anger, he rolled over in the mud and sat up. Faith stood between Caleb and Ted, her expression troubled.

  “Please,” he said to Caleb. “I can’t hold it.”

  “You want me to hold it for you?”

  Javier gritted his teeth at the indignity. “If you tie my hands in front, I can manage.”

  With a shrug, Caleb agreed. Taking the gun out of his waistband, he gestured for Ted to do the honors.

  “Do you really know how to use that?” Faith asked, moistening her lips.

  “Sure.” Puffed up with importance, Caleb showed her the gun’s safety mechanism. She leaned in to take a closer look, her breasts pressing against his arm.

  She was good. Javier held still while Ted untied him, thanking his lucky stars for her effect on men. Her sexuality was a powerful weapon. When his wrists were free, he flexed his fingers, grimacing as the blood rushed back into the tips. Then he brought his hands forward and waited for Ted to retie him.

  As the other man reached down, Javier grasped the front of his shirt. He slammed his head into Ted’s nose, breaking the fragile cartilage, and yanked him forward. Ted did a somersault over Javier’s shoulder and went sprawling.

  In the same fluid motion, Javier leaped to his feet. He must have looked scary, because Faith shrank aside with a little shriek. He advanced before Caleb had a chance to release the safety. Hooking his arm around Caleb’s, Javier struck his throat with the heel of his hand. The gun flew out of his grip. Any more pressure would have crushed Caleb’s windpipe, but Javier wasn’t operating at full strength.