ONE

      Danger could lurk behind the beauty. She should know that better than anyone.

      Slathered in insect repellent, Alice Wilde and her client had already hiked for three days into the Oregon mountains filled with bald eagles, waterfalls and huge, winding trees—oaks, pines and junipers—while they did their best to avoid poison oak.

      This was called “roughing it” by any standard.

      Marie had hired Alice to lead her on a hike in the wilderness—it had been on her bucket list, she’d said. Marie had wanted this off-trail adventure far from the overcrowded Rogue River forty-mile trail and the buzzing drones in the canyon.

      Tens of thousands of designated wilderness acreage still remained to explore, not counting about a million acres of Siskiyou National Forest. They weren’t going to run out of places to explore anytime soon, which was something Alice loved about the area.

      What she didn’t love? The heat, the sweat and the bugs she’d experienced during this brutal hike. She should be in a raft guiding other enthusiasts who’d come to the region to meet the white-water rapid challenge. Except Alice had never wanted to get in that river again after what had happened eight months ago. Someone had trusted her to guide him down the Rogue River through the hazardous rapids.

      Rapids that had turned deadly. The man had died on her watch.

      As if her thoughts had conjured the image of flowing water, she crossed a small creek—one that eventually emptied into the Rogue River miles away. Alice followed the brook upstream. Marie continued behind her, enjoying the quiet forest as they hiked. Her feet aching, Alice would need to look for a place to set up camp for the night.

      She came across a PVC pipe and froze.

      Someone diverted water from this brook. Totally illegal. And a bad sign.

      Glancing back at Marie who viewed the unnatural sight with curiosity, Alice warned her in a soft whisper, “Stay here.”

      “But the—”

      Alice held a finger to her lips as she lowered her heavy pack to the ground. Pressed her palms down, signaling Marie to stay low. The woman crouched, frowning, with not a little anxiety in her eyes. Alice removed her weapon from its holster. As quietly as possible, she followed the black PVC pipe from the brook through the woods. When the pipe detoured away from the creek, she hunkered behind the thick trunk of a pine and peered through the bushy shrub growing at its base.

      About a hundred yards away, through the dense forest, she could just make out an area where trees had been cut down.

      Garbage—plastic bags and propane bottles—was strewn about.

      And she could see the plants.

      Rows and rows of plants.

      Her pulse roared in her ears.

      Marijuana.

      Oh no!

      She’d stumbled on an illegal growing operation. How big, she couldn’t know. Regardless, she had to escape before anyone spotted her.

      Maybe it hadn’t been wise to follow the pipe, but neither would it have been wise to continue hiking without investigating. She didn’t want to lead Marie into danger that could get one or both of them killed.

      Now she’d need to get the global position on her cell to mark the exact location to report to the authorities. Gripping her handgun and her cell, Alice crept backward then pivoted on her heels and ran straight into a man holding an automatic gun.

      Her heart clambered behind her rib cage.

      His face scrunched up. “Do I know you?”

      In his fifties, silver weaved through his black hair and Van Dyke beard. Menacing dark eyes flashed at her. She’d seen him before, but where or when, she couldn’t remember. Panic incapacitated every thought. No time to respond. No time to think. All she could do was act.

      She whipped her weapon up and aimed at his face. He didn’t seem worried in the least. She fingered the trigger and stepped sideways, giving herself a wide berth around him as she backed away from both him and the operation.

      “Put your weapon down,” she said.

      “I don’t think so.”

      If Alice shot him, or even fired off her weapon as a warning, she would bring the rest of the illegal operation down on her and Marie.

      His eyes narrowed. “I do know you.”

      She couldn’t say the same.

      Alice turned and dived into the foliage, her cell slipping from her sweaty fingers, and ran. Trees and bushes scratched her face, tore her clothes, and fear that any second she’d receive a bullet to her back accosted her. A smattering of shots ricocheted off the woods behind her. The shouts of many men bounced off the trees. She didn’t dare go back and retrieve her cell phone. It wasn’t worth her life.

      Without slowing, she caught Marie by the arm and yanked her forward. Through her gasps, she said, “We have to run and keep running, Marie. Forget the bears and rattlesnakes. There’s something more deadly in these woods.”

      * * *

      Griffin Slater downshifted to slow his motorcycle—a silver-and-blue Suzuki Hayabusa—or Busa as he called it, and the fastest motorcycle in the world. Slowing the vehicle didn’t come naturally to him, but this hazardous, curvy mountain road was unmanageable at the speed he was going.

      Dusk fell quickly in the woods and Griffin turned on his headlights. Two miles left before he arrived in Gideon, Oregon, in the Wild Rogue Wilderness. Weeks ago he’d contacted the sheriffs in various counties along the West Coast and informed them of his journalistic project regarding illegal marijuana grown on public land, so when his sheriff uncle called him to report a new lead, Griffin dropped everything to get there. As valuable as this could be for his story, he didn’t like to think this kind of activity had sprung up in the wilderness area in his uncle’s county.

      The area surrounding Alice Wilde.

      The fact that she’d been the one to stumble on the operation had plagued him. She could have been killed.

      He’d driven in tonight because he’d wanted to get to Gideon ahead of his uncle who was coming from Gold Beach in