Freefall (No) Page 6

  “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 hab
its.

  “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.