Freefall (No) Page 8

  “I don’t need a fucking helicopter,” Jay interrupted. He took off his helmet and tossed it on the muddy bank. “I can walk.”

  “It’s at least twenty miles, either direction.”

  “I’ll live.”

  Caleb nodded, as if this sounded reasonable. “You can walk, but you can’t carry gear. Someone will have to come with you.”

  He scowled at the suggestion, but Faith perked up. “I can do it.”

  “No,” Ron said. “Your sister will have my ass.”

  “Your sister?” Jay asked.

  “She’s a park ranger,” Faith said, waving away Ron’s concern. “Don’t worry about her. It’s my fault he fell overboard, so the least I can do is help him. I’m also the weakest paddler. You need the others on the raft.”

  “She just wants to jump his bones,” Caleb said with a smirk.

  “Shut up,” Faith said. “I’m not going to jump his bones.”

  Jay shuddered. “Please. Stop talking about bones.”

  Ron couldn’t think of a solution that didn’t involve emergency transport. Jay refused his repeated offers for a helicopter on the grounds that his injury wasn’t serious. He also didn’t have health insurance. Finally Ron relented, gathering a backpack of food and supplies for Faith. Together, they helped Jay out of his safety vest and into a sling.

  “Good luck, bro,” Caleb said.

  “Thanks,” Jay said gruffly, seeming surprised by his magnanimity.

  “Follow the path downriver, to Moraine Lake,” Ron said.

  “Shouldn’t we go back to the Kaweah Campsite?” Jay asked.

  “It’s a steeper hike,” Ron said, his eyes sliding to Faith. “And...your sister said there’s a murder suspect on the loose in that area.”

  Faith was taken aback by the news. “You’re kidding.”

  “No. She was tracking him all day yesterday.”

  A chill traveled up her spine. Faith knew her sister’s job was dangerous, but she hadn’t been confronted with the cold, hard reality before. The idea of Hope tangling with a murderer disturbed her on many levels. Her sister was a self-sacrificing nutcase. She’d probably take a bullet for a squirrel.

  “Who did he kill?”

  “I don’t know. She said something about a plane crash and drug smugglers.”

  “You should stay with the group,” Jay said.

  She shook her head, adamant. “No way. There’s a psycho in the woods, and you can’t even move your arm. You won’t be able to unbutton your pants by yourself, let alone carry a backpack or set up a tent.”

  Ron and Jay exchanged an uncomfortable look.

  “She’s right,” Ron said. “The only other option is to hike as a group.”

  Jay wouldn’t consider it. “I don’t want to ruin the trip for everyone. It’s a dislocated shoulder, not a broken leg. I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay,” Ron said. “I’ll notify Dispatch of the situation when I check in. They’ll send a wilderness medic, but they probably won’t reach you until tomorrow morning.”

  Although Jay insisted that he didn’t need a medic, or Faith to accompany him, Ron wouldn’t listen.

  Faith waved goodbye to the group before they left. Then they were off, rafting down the sun-dappled river. She wasn’t sorry to see the back of the boat, but she knew that hiking twenty miles wouldn’t be a picnic. She’d never been strong or selfless, like Hope. Helping strangers wasn’t her style. On the other hand, she liked Jay. There were worse ways to pass the time than playing nurse to a handsome patient.

  As soon as the raft was out of sight, Jay tore the sling off his arm and wrenched it backward. She actually heard it pop. The effect was so disturbing that she retreated a step, almost losing her footing on the slippery rock.

  His forehead was dotted with sweat, his breathing labored. But the pain in his face faded quickly. He rotated his shoulder, testing the socket.

  “Wh-what did you do?” she asked.

  “I popped it back into place.”

  “Have you done that before?”

  “Yes, years ago. I didn’t think of it until just now.”

  “Does it feel better?”

  “Much.”

  Faith’s stomach twisted with unease. Something wasn’t right. This was Jay, the same man she’d kissed last night. The man who’d saved her from falling overboard a few minutes ago. But his entire demeanor had changed. He looked like a stranger. Maybe it was the ruthless, semirobotic way he’d put his arm back together.

  He scared her.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SAM COULDN’T WALK away from Hope.

  He should have made good on his threat to call Doug Dixon. Hell, he should have demanded that Doug fire her. Sam had donated over a hundred thousand dollars to Sierra National Park in the past two years. The park manager was in his back pocket.

  He hadn’t done it because of guilt. It was the same reason he’d climbed with her, and stayed with her last night. He’d been racked by guilt for years. It had prevented him from moving on after Melissa’s death. It mocked him on a daily basis. He’d survived epic disasters and taken insane risks. Why was he even alive? There were many more deserving people who could have been spared.

  When he heard Hope crying in the tent, the sound had brought him low. He hadn’t wanted to sleep next to her, to listen to her soft breathing or smell her hair. Before lying down, he’d moved his wristband away from his tattoo and clutched it in his palm. He’d squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember Melissa.

  The memories he had were faded. The ones he couldn’t access were locked away, out of reach, like a blind crux on a first ascent.

  This morning had been like every other. He woke up in a panic, looking for Melissa. Some days it took him minutes or even hours to find the tattoo and accept her death. Usually he processed the information in seconds.

  Today, for the first time, he wasn’t alone. In the predawn light, he’d mistaken Hope for Melissa. They were both slender and dark-haired. Instead of feeling anxious, he’d been comforted by her presence. He was aroused, aching for female touch. And intensely disturbed, once the fantasy was torn away.

  He would never fall asleep beside a brunette again.

  Gritting his teeth, he continued to cut through the water with smooth strokes, keeping up with Hope’s pace easily. She was a good kayaker, long-armed and graceful. More patient than Melissa had been.

  His mind rejected the comparison. Melissa had been an intense competitor, like him. Hope couldn’t match her raw athleticism, but she was a natural on the river. She paddled with the currents, her motions fluid.

  By noon, the air felt heavy with moisture. Sam glanced up at the cloudy sky, anticipating rain by nightfall.

  They pushed on to Devil’s Drop, a difficult stretch of rapids. Hope executed a duck roll with confidence, proving she could hold her own on a Class Five. But she also showed a desperate urgency, refusing to slow down when she needed rest. He shouted at her three times before she pulled over.

  Mouth pursed with annoyance, she banked her kayak and removed some items from the dry sack. After she took a quick drink of water and a bite of an energy bar, she radioed Dispatch, still chewing.

  “Where are you?”

  “Just past Devil’s Drop.”

  “I have bad news.”

  “What is it?”

  “Ron checked in at noon with an injury report.”

  Her eyes flew to Sam’s. “Who?”

  “A guy named Jay Norton. He’s not on the passenger list. Apparently he paid another rafter cash to join the group.”

  “That’s our suspect,” she said.

  “He fell overboard in the slickies and dislocated his shoulder. Ron offered to call in a helicopter, but he opted to hike to Moraine Lake instead. The rafting group left some supplies with him and continued downriver.”

  She took another bite of energy bar, considering.

  “Your sister stayed behind with Norton.”

  Her face paled. “Why?” />
  “Faith volunteered to hike out with him.”

  “She would never do that.”

  “According to Ron, the two of them were...friendly.”

  Hope gripped the radio until her knuckles turned white. “Connect me with Ron,” she said through clenched teeth.

  Sam heard the barely restrained fury in her voice. She was going to rip Ron a new one.

  “I’ll try, but he’s in the process of packing up the rafting equipment and hiking the remaining passengers back to Moraine Lake.”

  “I thought they were continuing downriver.”

  “That was the plan until a few minutes ago. The guys who accepted the cash from Norton decided to go after him on foot. They said they felt responsible for the trouble because they brought him along. Ron couldn’t stop them.” He paused for a moment. “Their names are Caleb Renfro and Ted Harvey.”

  Hope demanded descriptions of all three men.

  After the dispatcher supplied this information, he added, “It’s raining on Angel Wings, so Deputy Meeks turned his team around.”

  “They didn’t process the scene?”

  “No.”

  “Why can’t they camp?”

  “I think someone forgot to pack the tent. They’re on their way back to Kaweah. We have rangers there and at Moraine Lake, waiting to see what the weather does. Looks like a storm is coming your way.”

  She studied the dark clouds overhead.

  “Ron also reported seeing a low-flying helicopter in that area. Another craft without a flight plan.”

  “Shit,” Hope muttered. “They’re searching for the cargo.”

  “Dixon wants you to head back. Or else.”

  She let the arm holding the radio drop into her lap, defeated. It was too dangerous to kayak during heavy rain or lightning. They didn’t have any overnight gear. The rafting group they were chasing had split up.

  And there were more drug smugglers nearby.

  Hope brought the receiver back to her mouth, pressing the button. “I’ll check in later,” she said, and signed off.

  While he gaped at her, incredulous, she finished her lunch and rose to her feet, walking toward the bushes.

  “What are you doing?” he called after her.

  She didn’t answer.

  He powered down his own energy bar and stepped into the trees to relieve himself, worried that she might leave without him. Sure enough, she hitched up her pants and put her helmet back on, preparing to depart.

  Sam hurried to follow. “Is this worth losing your job over?”

  “I’m not going to lose my job.”

  “What about your life?”

  “My sister is the one in danger,” she said, lifting her chin. “This guy probably feels cornered. I think he’s trying to avoid the authorities and his crew. That makes the situation more unpredictable.”

  “I predict rain.”

  “It won’t start for an hour or two. If I can get to the slickies before the storm hits, I’ll be able to pick up their trail.”

  He stared after her, his blood pumping with adrenaline. The urge to reach out and detain her was difficult to resist. He wanted to wrestle her to the ground, to lock his hands around her slender wrists.

  The feeling unsettled him greatly. He’d always been attracted to strong women, and never felt the need to overpower them. Melissa had challenged him on a regular basis, but their arguments hadn’t turned physical. One of the models he’d dated had slapped him for an imagined insult. He hadn’t even been tempted to respond in kind.

  Hope brought out the beast in him. And...he enjoyed it, on some level. Maybe because dark, ugly emotions were better than none. Maybe because she represented the only bright spot in his stark existence, his only real pleasure since the accident. He didn’t know if he wanted to tackle her or bang her or both.

  “Thanks for coming this far,” she said, climbing aboard the kayak. She shoved her dry bag inside and attached the spray skirt. “I appreciate it.”

  “I’m not staying behind, Hope.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Sam gritted his teeth, thinking of all the friends and family members who’d tried to convince him not to free-solo. He hadn’t listened to any of them. He knew his climbing practices were unsafe and he didn’t care.

  Right now Hope was in the same place. She’d disregarded the danger as unimportant. Nothing he said would change her mind.

  It was intensely frustrating to be on this side of the coin.

  Cursing under his breath, he crammed himself into the cockpit and maneuvered his kayak away from the shore. For the first few miles, they encountered nothing hairier than a few lazy rapids. Then it started to drizzle, and visibility became an issue. Although her paddling skills were impressive, he imagined disaster around every corner.

  Cold sweat broke out on his forehead, sliding down his spine.

  An hour later, the skies broke open with a crack of thunder, dumping buckets of rain. During bad weather, fallen logs and other dangerous objects were more likely to come loose. They were already cold and wet. If the strainers didn’t get them, hypothermia would. Sam paddled harder, shouting at Hope to bank her kayak.

  She ignored him.

  Hail peppered the surface of the river like buckshot, pelting the top of his helmet. Hope showed no sign of letting up. Her paddle cut through the water with swift, powerful strokes. The slickies were only a hundred feet downriver.

  She was trying to lose him!

  Sam went into overdrive, paddling as hard as he’d ever done in Olympic competitions. His heart felt as if it might burst from anxiety. He pictured her getting caught in a deadly spin, held under by a powerful current.

  He pulled his kayak alongside hers and executed a tight turn, driving her into the riverbank. They crashed into the shore, hulls scraping over wet rocks. Hailstones the size of marbles perforated the surface of the water as lightning bisected the darkening sky.

  Hope scrambled out of her kayak and upended it, using the hard fiberglass as a shield. He did the same. After a few moments, the hail subsided, melting into slush. A hard, heavy rain continued to fall.

  She stared at the roiling river, her breath coming in short pants. He suspected that she was contemplating another reentry, but a strike of lightning—very close by—seemed to snap her out of the stubborn haze.

  “We have to find a better shelter,” he said.

  She nodded glumly. Any trail her sister and the suspect might have left was long gone.

  They left their kayaks on higher ground and pulled jackets from the dry sacks. “There’s a cave system near here,” she said, pointing west.

  They trudged for several miles to the mouth of a gaping cave. It was shrouded with hanging moss, and damp inside. He dropped his dry sack on the pebble-strewn ground, shoving down the hood of his jacket.

  The interior of the cavern was spacious, opening up to a network of smaller rooms and passageways. Sam knew better than to leave the relative safety of the entrance. This was bear country, and he didn’t want to walk into a den.

  “That was some fucking stunt,” he growled, facing Hope.

  She tossed her dry sack next to his, her jaw tense. Rain droplets clung to her skin. In the dim light, with mist creating a halo effect behind her, she appeared ethereal and luminous, like a wood nymph.

  “Were you trying to get yourself killed?”

  She squinted at him in annoyance. “Is that what you were trying to do on Valhalla?”

  “No,” he said, insulted. “It’s not the same.”

  “Why, because you’re a man?”

  He scowled, raking a hand through his wet hair. If he’d subscribed to that sexist bullshit, he’d never have dated Melissa. “I know my limits.”

  “And I don’t know mine?”

  “Only an idiot would run a Class Five during a hailstorm.”

  “Don’t confuse me with yourself, Sam.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She crossed her arm
s over her chest. “I don’t take risks for cheap thrills,” she said, her voice wavering. “I’m worried about my sister!”

  He could have kicked himself for opening this can of worms. Especially when her face crumpled and she turned her back on him. She made him feel things he didn’t want to feel. Like passion, and fear, and anger.

  And sympathy.

  He looked up at the ceiling of the cave, wishing it would fall down on him. “I’m not after cheap thrills, either,” he said softly.

  She wiped the tears from her cheeks, hazarding a glance over her shoulder. “Then why do you do it?”

  His condition wasn’t easy to put into words, and he’d never been a great communicator. But he felt compelled to explain this to her. He wanted to ease the sting of his rejection. “Since the accident, I don’t experience fear like I used to. I can still feel it. I meant what I said about corpses. And you...you terrify me.”

  “Me?” she asked, whirling around again.

  “I’m not afraid for myself,” he explained. “I’m numb, as far as personal safety and self-preservation go. But I feel fear for others. Too much fear. When you were climbing the wall, I was paralyzed.”

  A crease formed between her brows.

  “I can’t stand seeing you in danger, Hope. This is why I don’t partner-climb anymore. I’m convinced that everyone around me is going to die.”

  “Is that what happened in the freeway collapse? You saw a lot of people die?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “No. I have no memory of the earthquake, or several months prior.”

  “Several months?”

  Sam nodded, avoiding her gaze. He hadn’t lost any ordinary stretch of weeks, either. He’d wiped out an entire period of mourning. His last moments with Melissa had been obliterated.

  How could he move on? In his fractured mind, she was still alive.

  Hope glanced down at the band on his wrist, but she didn’t ask about his tattoo. Maybe she didn’t want to trigger another humiliating breakdown, or remind him of the awkward mistake he’d made this morning.

  The two women didn’t look alike, not really. Not even from the back. Hope’s hair was softer, curlier, more lustrous. She had a curvier figure. Melissa had been tall and slim-hipped, her hair pencil-straight.