Freefall. Jill Sorenson
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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