by Pamela Clare
Either way, it was just a single phone call.
He brushed Mack, gave him a few treats, and had just refilled his bowl with fresh water when his pager went off. He scrolled through the emergency alert.
INJURED CLIMBER, CASTLE ROCK.
He yanked his sweaty T-shirt over his head and grabbed a clean, yellow Team T-shirt from his dryer, pulling it on as he made his way to his garage. He climbed into his Chevy Tahoe and turned on his radio, switching it to FTAC1—Fire and Tactical Channel 1—listening in while he drove.
It didn’t sound good.
The climber, a college kid, had taken a whipper on a route near the top of the wall and slammed into the side of the rock, hitting his head. He now dangled from his climbing harness more than a hundred feet in the air, upside down and unresponsive. The kid who had him on belay had shouted to hikers, who had called it in. He was still on belay and still high on the rock himself with no idea how to get his injured buddy down. Julia Marcs, a sheriff’s deputy, was on the scene and acting as incident commander, while Megs managed Team ops from The Cave.
It took Austin less than fifteen minutes to reach the site, the massive citadel of stone that was Castle Rock coming into view on his right. Dave Hatfield, one of Austin’s fellow rangers and a tenured Team member, was on duty today and had already closed off the access road to all but rescue vehicles. He lifted two orange cones and waved Austin through.
Austin drove along the dirt road until he came to Marcs’ vehicle and parked behind her. Belcourt and Ahearn pulled in behind him in Rescue One, yellow overheads flashing. He grabbed his backpack and rack of climbing gear out of the back of his Tahoe, where he kept them always ready to go, then met Belcourt at the side of the truck. “Looks like you, Ahearn, and I are Hasty Team.”
Belcourt tied his hair back in a ponytail. “Moretti isn’t far behind us.”
They’d done this dozens of times on similar rescues, and each of them knew what the others would do. Austin was one of the Team’s lead climbers. He and Belcourt would climb past the kid who was still on belay with the fallen climber. If the victim was still alive, Austin would render first aid. If not, he’d tell dispatch to call the coroner. Either way, Belcourt would start working out the anchor problem for what was going to be a vertical evac, while Ahearn organized the rest of the team for the actual evacuation.
Austin and Belcourt geared up—climbing harnesses, helmets, radios, rope and other technical gear—then did a safety check and a radio check before heading over to the base of the climb.
High overhead, the fallen climber hung motionless.
Austin squinted through his sunglasses. “At least he’s wearing a helmet.”
Belcourt glanced up. “Let’s hope that was enough to keep him alive.”
Austin took a moment to pick out his route, then slipped into his climbing shoes and tied into the rope.
Austin moved up to the rock face, his gaze seeking out hand and footholds.
“On belay,” Belcourt said.
“Climbing.” Austin slipped his fingers into a good-sized crack.
“Climb on,” came Belcourt’s reply.
The route was tougher than it had looked from the ground. It took a good fifteen minutes for the two of them to reach the climber. He dangled before them, absolutely still. With Belcourt on belay, Austin moved along a narrow ledge to reach the kid, a sinking feeling in his chest. He pressed two fingers to the young man’s carotid, relief rushing through him.
Thank God.
He reached for his hand mic and, using his Team call number, got out the good news. “Sixteen-twenty-five. I’ve reached the victim. He’s got a pulse.”
At the sound of Austin’s voice, the kid’s eyes fluttered open. “Am … I … dead?”
Austin grinned. “I’m only a paramedic, not a doctor, but I’m gonna guess no.”
Chapter 4
Lexi got up early the next morning, showered, and dressed in jeans and a cream-colored sleeveless blouse, then went upstairs to help Sandrine, their French pastry chef, prepare the continental breakfast they served their guests. This was one part of running the inn that Lexi loved. Her mother had done this every morning, Lexi and Britta following after her, wanting to help as little kids always do. It was one of the few memories she had of her mother.
While Sandrine baked the morning’s croissants, Lexi sliced fruit, made coffee¸ and set the tables in the dining room, the delicious scents of croissants, coffee, and pineapple making Lexi hungry. None of their guests had yet emerged, giving Sandrine a chance to vent her frustrations with Lexi’s father—and to share her growing fear that the family would switch from croissants to bagels to save money.
Lexi bit back a smile, poured Sandrine a cup of coffee, handed it to her. “That’s not going to happen. Your croissants are one of the reasons people come here. They’re famous. My father knows that.”
“Does he?” Sandrine met Lexi’s gaze, took a sip of coffee. “You should have heard how he spoke to me last week.”
Apparently, Lexi would have to add Sandrine to the long list of things she and her father needed to discuss.
She stayed upstairs to oversee the breakfast, making sure their guests had everything they needed, then went downstairs, two croissants and a bowl of fruit in hand, to get breakfast on the table for herself and her father. She found him sitting at the table, shirtless and wearing only his boxers. “Get dressed, Dad.”
“Listen to you. You visit out of the blue and start giving orders.”
“This isn’t a visit, Dad. It’s an intervention.”
He glared at her, but got to his feet and shuffled back down the hallway, his shoulders bent under some unseen weight.
She made coffee, put two eggs on to boil, then set the table, running through what she would tell him and how. She’d just gotten the eggs out of their shells and on the table when he reappeared.
He was dressed, his hair combed, his face clean-shaven. The improvement was dramatic. When he wasn’t unwashed and acting like a lunatic, her father was still a handsome man. “Better?”
“Much.” She poured coffee into their mugs then took her seat, steeling herself against what she knew was coming. “I went over the books last night.”
“Who said you could do that?” He didn’t meet her gaze, his attention focused on buttering a croissant.
“I was happy to see you’re in the black. Things are going well. You’ve got enough money to hire a full-time housekeeper, someone to handle—”
“I’m not hiring anyone.”
“Yes, you are. I put an ad in the Gazette this morning.” She let that sink in, her body tensing in anticipation of his reaction.
He froze, his expression turning angry. “What the hell? You can’t do that.”
“If you refuse to participate in the interviews, I’ll have to choose the person myself, but I am hiring someone. You can offset the cost with a small increase in your rates. You haven’t raised them in eight years.”
“Jesus H. Christ!” He slammed his butter knife down on the table. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
She willed her voice to stay calm, refusing to let him intimidate her. “There are guests eating breakfast upstairs. Keep your voice down.”
This time he whisper-shouted. “Don’t tell me how to act in my own house, and don’t tell me how to run this business. We are not hiring.”
“Kendra won’t come back unless you hire someone.”
He balked. “She … she said that?”
“She meant it, too.” Lexi took a bite of her croissant, the buttery taste almost making her moan. “She also said she’s sick of being treated like an employee. She says you never thank her for all the things she does around here.”
“What the hell does she expect? She doesn’t thank me when I mow the lawn or rake up the leaves or fix a leaky faucet.”
Was he deliberately being obtuse?
“It’s your business, Dad. You own all of it. She’s worked here for the entire
time you’ve been married without a salary. Doesn’t that merit some gratitude?”
“She’s my wife!”
“That right there proves her point, Dad. Just because she’s your wife doesn’t mean she has to work for your business unpaid seven days a week for the rest of her life.”
He jabbed a finger at her. “You’re taking her side.”
“I’m not taking anyone’s side. You want her to come home, right? I just told you what you need to do to make that happen.” She took another sip of coffee. “I’ll hire a full-time housekeeper. You need to stop drinking and acting pathetic and start showing her that you care about her. Give her a call. Talk with her.”
“I did call her—twice. She hung up on me.”
“You told her she needed to get back here to clean. Then you called to tell her the dryer was broken. Seriously, Dad? That’s not romantic. That’s you treating her like an employee, which is the problem. She won’t come home until that changes.”
He sprinkled salt on his egg, popped it into his mouth, and chewed, a sullen expression on his face.
Lexi took advantage of his silence. “She loves you.”
“If that’s true, why did she leave in the first place?” Beneath the anger in his voice, there was something Lexi hadn’t noticed before—hurt.
Or maybe it was just wounded pride.
“I guess she just reached the end of her rope. It’s time to pull yourself together and remind her why she fell in love with you.”
“Sex?”
Oh, my God! Ew!
“Stop, Dad. Just stop. Now, about Sandrine …”
Austin was still on a post-rescue high the following day when he went for his morning run. The kid they’d brought down had a severe concussion and a lot of healing ahead of him, but he was going to make it. His buddy was okay, too. He’d been so shaken by his friend’s fall that he’d lost his nerve and hadn’t been able to down climb. They’d rescued him, as well, then called in Esri, the Team’s victim’s advocate, to give him some counseling on site.
Damn, but it felt good to win.
Austin got home and finished his workout with weights and fingertip pull-ups. Then he made and devoured a scramble—six egg whites, sweet potatoes, onion, ham, tomatoes, mushrooms, broccoli, spinach—and set out for The Cave to help wash, check, and repack the gear they’d used yesterday. He was about a dozen feet into one of the 200-foot ropes they’d used, watching for flat spots, bulges, frayed or fuzzy areas, and signs of discoloration, when Megs appeared at his shoulder.
“Any progress?”
“I got the name of a few firms that do pro-bono work. One is out of business. One turned us down outright. I haven’t heard back from the other one yet. If we can’t find someone in Denver, I could try bigger firms in New York or LA.”
Megs glared at him but said nothing.
Ten minutes later, an executive assistant from the final firm called and told Austin that they didn’t do forensic work.
Well, shit.
Megs overheard this, of course. “Are you going to call Lexi, or am I going to have to do it? She doesn’t know me personally. I think you’d stand a better chance of winning her over than I would—unless you acted like an asshole and she hates your guts. I guess I hadn’t thought about that.”
“No, she doesn’t hate me.” Did she?
“You still haven’t called Lexi?” Hawke walked up behind them, still wearing his turnout pants from a barn fire he and his crew had put out early this morning, a grin on his sooty face. “I’ll call her. She doesn’t hate me.”
“I’ll do it.” The words came out so forcefully they surprised even Austin. He cleared his throat. “Just let me finish this.”
Megs crossed her arms over her chest. “Was that jealousy?”
“Might’ve been.” Hawke chuckled. “Well, Lexi and I did hit it off on Monday.”
“Knock off the shit. Why would I be jealous because you hit it off with a woman I broke up with twelve years ago?”
Hawke shrugged. “You tell me.”
Austin ignored that and started over, checking every inch of the newly washed-and-dried rope, coiling it, tagging it with the date and his Team call number, then carefully packing it away. When that was done, he slid his cell phone out of his pocket and walked out the open bay doors into the summer sunshine.
He didn’t have to look up the number to the inn. After twelve years, he still knew it by heart. How pathetic was that?
She answered on the second ring. “Forest Creek Inn.”
His heart gave a hard knock at the familiar sound of her voice, soft and feminine. “Hey, Lexi. It’s Austin Taylor.”
“Hey.” If she was surprised to hear from him, she hid it well. “What’s up?”
“Sorry to bother you, but I need a huge favor.”
“A favor?” She gave a little laugh. “You treat me like a stranger, and then you want a favor.”
“It’s not for me.” He needed to clear that up right now. “I’m asking on behalf of the Rocky Mountain Search and Rescue Team.”
A pause.
“Okay. I’m listening.”
“The guy who managed our books for the past few years has apparently stolen a lot of money from us. McNalley, the chief of police, said we need to find a forensic accountant to help us figure out how much was stolen. I’ve already called a few firms in Denver and gotten nowhere. We need to find someone willing to do this without pay—and fast.”
“You want me to help you find a forensic accountant who will work pro-bono.”
Austin winced at the poor choice of words that had led her to reach that conclusion. “Actually, we were hoping you could do it.”
“Me? I’m not a forensic accountant. I’ve had some forensic training, but …”
He could tell by the tone of her voice that she was about to turn him down flat, and a part of him was relieved. He knew it left the Team in a bad situation, but he didn’t want to spend the next few weeks running into her here at The Cave. “Hey, no worries. I know you’re on vacation and dealing with family problems, so don’t—”
“I’ll do it.”
It took a moment for her words to sink in. “You’ll do it?”
What? Shit.
“Forensic accounting isn’t my area of expertise, but I can do it. I’d love to help the Team in any way I can.” Her voice softened. “They tried to save my mom.”
“Oh, right.” Austin had forgotten about that. To be fair, it had happened long before his time. He and Lexi had both been four years old. “Everyone’s going to be happy to hear this.”
“I can stop by this afternoon to get started if that works.”
“I’ll let Megs know.”
“She’s still around?”
“She runs the show. You’ll be working with her.”
“Tell her I’ll stop by after lunch.”
“I will. And, Lexi, thank you.” He disconnected and turned to find Eric leaning against the brick wall behind him.
“That didn’t hurt, did it?”
Austin walked past him. “Eat shit, Hawke.”
“No thanks, buddy. I’ve already had breakfast.”
Austin wasn’t there when Lexi arrived. Had she expected he would be? He was probably at work, which was fine. She wasn’t here because of him. She was here because of her mother.
Megs, wearing a bright yellow Rocky Mountain Search & Rescue T-shirt, met her at the door. “Is this your first time at The Cave?”
“Yes, it is.” She couldn’t help but grin, the name evoking images of Batman and secret technology. “Can I get a tour?”
“Sure thing.”
She listened, fascinated, while Megs showed her around.
“These are our two rescue vehicles—Rescue One and Rescue Two. We’re super creative with names around here.” Megs opened up the side of one to reveal a row of radios and hand mics in chargers, then pointed at a heavy electrical cord that plugged into an outlet on the side of the vehicle. “We keep the truck
s plugged in when they’re here in the garage to charge our radios and other electrical equipment. Everything is kept in a constant state of readiness.”
She walked around to the rear and opened the tailgate to reveal a built-in shelving unit that slid out along a track. It held climbing gear, first aid supplies, helmets, and lots of things Lexi couldn’t identify. “Most of this gear we make ourselves, including this shelving unit. Several of our members are engineers with their own machine shops. They get off on the high-stakes engineering challenge that rescues give them.”
“Engineering challenge?” Lexi had always thought it was an issue of climbing skill and strength.
Megs grinned. “Bringing someone down the side of a cliff or the side of a mountain is kind of a big engineering problem in motion. You’ve got to know how much weight your anchor needs to hold and how best to rig cables and ropes. You can’t screw up, or people die. That kind of pressure is exciting for some people. You can see them working out the equation in their heads when they arrive on the scene.”
Lexi was grateful that no one’s life depended on her math skills. As a CPA, she was good at basic math. Still, she used a 10-key for her calculations.
Megs turned and pointed to the walls. “The stuff you see here is either loaded on an as-needed basis or was recently used and is out for cleaning and inspection.”
Litters and enormous bags that held ropes hung from one wall, together with skis and snowshoes, while a fortune in climbing gear hung from the other. Medical kits sat on shelves, their sides marked plainly with red crosses. In the far corner lay what looked like a naked crash-test dummy.
“That’s Fred. Apparently, he lost his britches somewhere. We test our techniques and gear on him. We’re taking him out on Saturday to try a new brake plate that one of those geeks I mentioned made for us.”
Lexi bent down, lifted Fred’s foot. “He’s heavy.”
