Freefall. Jill Sorenson
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was too narrow. She had to get to the crash site and assess the situation as quickly as possible. If she left now, she’d arrive in time to request air transport.
The fastest route to the top of Angel Wings was straight up the rock face. Hiking from the Kaweah trailhead on the east side of the mountain was easier, but it would take twice as long. The only problem with a direct ascent was that she couldn’t do it alone. She’d never solo-climbed Angel Wings. It was an expert-only wall, rated 5.10+ in difficulty. She needed to find a suitable partner. There were several skilled climbers in the area who volunteered for high-angle search-and-rescue.
Sam Rutherford was one of them.
At least, he used to be. These days he avoided crowds, and most people, but he’d worked more rescues than Hope. A few years ago he’d been part of the elite SAR site team at Yosemite National Park. The man also knew Angel Wings like the back of his hand, and he’d witnessed the crash. He might be able to pinpoint its exact location.
“Just a minute,” she said, signing off.
Hope clipped the radio to her waistband and went back inside the station, her blood pumping with adrenaline. Instead of scrambling for another volunteer, she faced her nemesis. “Can you take me to the crash site?”
His brows shot up. “Is there anyone else?”
She’d forgotten that he had run ten miles to get here. “Yes, of course. You must be exhausted.”
“No, I’m fine,” he said, shaking his head. “I mean...is there anyone besides you?”
“Besides me?”
“That I can climb with.”
Hope gaped at him in disbelief. She didn’t know if he assumed she couldn’t keep up with him because she was a woman, or if he objected to her company because they’d slept together. Both reasons offended her.
“I’ll go,” Owen offered.
“You’re not a ranger,” she said.
“Neither am I,” Sam pointed out.
“One of us has to be for this kind of mission. I’m the only qualified law enforcement ranger in the area, and I need a rescue climber to go with me. You’re a convenient choice, but I can find a replacement.”
He knew as well as she did that they had to start hiking now to reach the site before dark. “No. I’ll do it.”
Although his reluctance rankled, she told herself he was wise to be cautious. “I should warn you that this aircraft might have been flying at night to escape detection. There’s no recorded flight plan or distress call.”
This information didn’t seem to faze him. He skimmed her casual clothes. “Do you carry a firearm?”
She had a handgun in her vehicle. “I’ll get it.”
“I’m ready when you are.”
Owen seemed fascinated by their exchange. He leaned against the counter, studying Sam as if he’d grown two heads.
Hope didn’t have time to second-guess her decision. Dragging a hand through her hair, she walked out to her Jeep. Her service weapon was in the lockbox. Normally she wore it on a utility belt, but she didn’t have one with her. She shoved the gun into her day pack, along with extra clothes and some snacks.
Sam and Owen accompanied her to the SAR cache, where they housed rescue supplies.
“I need Dispatch to arrange for a helicopter and a backup rescue team on standby,” she said to Owen.
“Can they fly over the crash site to check it out?” Sam asked.
Hope shook her head. “I’m not supposed to call for a helicopter unless there are confirmed life-threatening injuries. Angel Wings is in a dangerous flight zone and the cost of an air rescue is astronomical.”
He made a noise of understanding. Ordering an expensive flyover when there might be no survivors wasn’t an efficient use of tax dollars. Budget cuts, otherwise known as “service adjustments,” had hit national parks, like everywhere else.
She didn’t want to bring the same items as Sam, so she glanced around for his gear. “Where’s your rack?”
“I don’t have it.”
Her eyes flew back to his, startled. “You were free-soloing at night?”
“There’s a full moon,” he said, as if that made it reasonable.
Hope sorted through the rescue supplies with a frown. Free-soloing was an extreme style of climbing without ropes or harnesses. The practice was outrageously risky in broad daylight. She’d never heard of anyone doing it at night. He was a maniac. And she had to depend on him to keep her safe?
Trying not to panic, she added the necessary equipment to a second pack. She didn’t know what was worse—climbing with a lunatic or spending time with a man who’d thrown her out of his bed.
CHAPTER TWO
SAM TOOK THE path toward the High Sierra Trail, feeling like a fool.
He hadn’t known Hope was a park ranger. The night they’d slept together, he’d assumed she was a slope bunny on vacation. In hindsight, he’d been careless. Seducing a woman he didn’t intend to see again only worked if they didn’t see each other again. He should have made sure she wasn’t local.
A quick glance behind him revealed that she wasn’t having any trouble matching his longer strides. It figured. She’d been an energetic bed partner, too. He remembered her strong, slender thighs, gripping him like a vise.
Giving himself a mental shake, he pushed aside the memory and picked up speed, setting a relentless pace. He’d never been able to outrun his problems, but physical exertion soothed him in a way nothing else could. The day was already warm, the sun peeking over the tall treetops. After twenty minutes, he was sweating.
Hope used her radio to call the whitewater rafting guide. “Go ahead without me,” she said, signing off.
“You’re missing a rafting trip?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Yes. We were planning to spend three days on the Kaweah.”
“We?”
“My sister and I.”
“Does she live around here?”
“No. She’s from L.A.”
He heard the telltale inflection in her tone. Los Angeles was a dirty word in the Sierras. How could he have mistaken her for a tourist? He’d really been thinking with his dick that night. “Where are you from?”
“Ojai.”
Now that he thought about it, he remembered her sharing that detail at the bar. Ojai, pronounced Oh-hi, was a sleepy town near the coast. They’d laughed together over its hippie nickname, Get-high.
No wonder he hadn’t realized she was local. Maybe she’d kept him in the dark on purpose. It wasn’t a secret that he didn’t date climbing groupies or park residents. He didn’t date at all, since Melissa.
Sam couldn’t fault Hope for the miscommunication. Even if she’d lied to him, which he doubted, it didn’t matter. They’d had anonymous sex. Honesty wasn’t required. He hadn’t exactly given her a full disclosure, either.
Concentrating on the climb, he adjusted his gait along a steep incline. His legs moved forward at a steady clip, step after step. Hope didn’t slow down or complain, so he continued to push hard. When he was in the zone, his thoughts drifted away, leaving nothing but the moment. They were making good time.
Two hours later, at midmorning, the sun was blazing, and his shirt was damp with sweat. She stumbled behind him, her breathing labored.
He stopped under the next shady tree to rest.