by Julie Miller
She grabbed the pack and unclipped the top, turning it over to dump out the contents. He carried a bureau-issue Glock like her own. If he wasn’t wearing it when he’d gone over the cliff, he’d have a spare magazine she could use. After she pulled out a reflective hypothermia blanket, water bottles and energy bars, other survival gear tumbled out—along with an entire box of 9 mm bullets. “That’ll do.”
As she sat down to restock both magazines, clip one onto her belt and load the other into her gun, she wondered just what kind of confrontation Ben had been expecting with Watts—or if the wisecracking agent was one of those macho men who simply hated to travel light. Either way, his excess was to her advantage, and she was on her way up and over the rubble that masked the cave opening.
Tucking her gun into the back of her belt for instant access, Joanna slid along the cliff wall until she reached the unaltered rock beyond the blast area above the cave. Then she turned and began to climb, searching for the holes and bumps and recesses in the granite where she could find a grip or place a toe. Her muscles were feeling the strain of the arduous day, and her bruised wrist ached each time she pulled her weight with her right arm.
Soon after she crested the top and crept over to inspect the area above the caves, Joanna realized that their attacker had abandoned his position. She recognized the path that could lead her on up to Rising Sun Creek, which was where Watts had most likely run off to hide. Instead of maintaining the pursuit on her own, she followed her nose in the opposite direction, to the source of the sulfuric odor of gunpowder lingering in the air. In addition to dozens of metal casings scattered across the rocks, an empty bottle of generic-label whiskey marked the dip where he must have lain. He would have been almost completely protected from every direction but the sky, and had a clear view of the outer ledge below.
Odd. “I thought Jack Daniel’s was your brand.”
She supposed a fugitive with little money in his pocket couldn’t afford to be choosy. But then, she wouldn’t have suspected that Sherman Watts would position himself like a sniper and take potshots at federal agents, either. Blowing up a mountain to cover his tracks so he could hide out like the weasel he was, accepting whatever collateral damage occurred, she could believe. But intentionally firing a kill shot at Ben Parrish?
Quit profiling. Help Ethan.
Joanna pocketed three of the casings for comparison later, but left the bottle. She wasn’t up here to collect evidence. If Watts was gone, the scene was secure. Time to find Ethan and Ben. She climbed back down as quickly as slippery grips and sticky, rain-soaked clothes would allow.
“Ethan?” she shouted once more into the darkness, but the storm swallowed up the uneasy concern of her voice. “Where the hell are you, big guy?” she whispered.
“Is it clear?” Though it sounded as though it had come from miles away, Joanna swung her flashlight around, instantly drawn to the deep pitch of his voice. She saw a pair of big hands gripping the edge of the outcropping where Ben Parrish had fallen.
“We’re clear!”
If that was a sniffle of relief, she ignored it. She was too busy running. “Ethan!”
A long, muscular leg appeared, hooking itself over the granite lip, and he pulled himself up onto the ledge.
Joanna was on her knees, dragging him back from the edge of the precipice, looking for anything more than the tear in his shirtsleeve or the scrape on his elbow to indicate he’d been hurt. When he pushed up onto his hands, Joanna tugged on his gear vest to help him sit up. She wound her arms around his neck and hugged him tight, his chest heaving in and out against her stomach as he struggled to catch his breath. His hands settled at her hips. The strength of his grip indicated he was tired, but he was holding on. He felt strong and solid and safe.
She kissed his temple. Kissed the chiseled angle of his cheek. She pulled back just far enough to press a hard kiss to his mouth. His fingers found a renewed strength, turning to stretch down to the curve of her bottom, to squeeze, to claim, to lift her to his mouth for another kiss.
“Lord, woman. You’d think I’d been gone fifteen years instead of fifteen minutes.”
“Don’t be sarcastic. That’s not you, Ethan. I was scared you’d been shot.”
“Shh. I’m in one piece.”
She hugged him again, needing the reassurance that his body was whole and unharmed by feeling its warmth and vitality with her own. “I found the shooter’s position, but I don’t know. Something’s not right. I don’t want to think that…” The stillness that engulfed him finally registered. He was breathing deeply and evenly; his heart had steadied into a healthy rhythm. But the line of his mouth was grim as she pulled back. “What’s wrong?”
He rested one hand on her thigh. With the other, he pulled a wet strand of hair from her cheek and smoothed it all the way back to the band of her ponytail. “I know I promised to find him for you, but we have to let Watts go tonight.”
Don’t say it.
“I climbed all the way down to the rocks by the river. I can’t find Ben. Not even a body.”
Joanna touched his face, cupped his jaw the way she once had every time she greeted him or said goodbye. He seemed to need her reassurance, her forgiveness, even. She nodded her understanding. “I’ll help you look for him. You said the second shot hit him in the vest. The first hit was an arm wound. Neither is fatal. If he didn’t land on his head, he could have survived the fall.”
“He could have been swept away by the river.”
“And he could just be lost in the dark. We’ll find him.”
After a long silent moment, Ethan turned his lips into her palm and pressed a kiss there. “Look at you having hope.” He nodded, approving, maybe even finding a little hope of his own to cling to. “Okay.” The vacuum of energy surrounding him dissipated and he rolled to his feet, catching Joanna’s hand and pulling her up beside him. “I’ll scrounge up what gear I can. There’s no way down to the river from this side except over the bluff now.”
“Watts can wait.” She found herself agreeing, and meaning it. “I’ll call it in. We’ll get helicopters and lights out here as soon as the storm has passed. We’ll get all the help we need.”
Her search for Ben’s radio ended quickly.
They weren’t getting any help after all.
The radio had been shot to pieces.
Chapter Eight
“It’s definitely blood.”
Ethan held his fingers out to the spray coming off the river that raced just below his feet and let it wash the sticky red goo from his fingers. He might be trailing a wounded animal as easily as a wounded man—if all he had to go on were the fading drops he’d found on the lee side of this cone-shaped boulder. But he’d never known any animal up on Ute Mountain to leave its blood trail in the shape of a partial handprint wrapped around the trunk of a small tree.
With a pair of flashlights to light the bluff on his second trip down, Ethan had been able to see where the roots of a small pine had ripped from the shallow, waterlogged soil. Ben Parrish must have grabbed on to it as he fell. The weakened tree couldn’t catch him, but it must have held tight long enough to slow his descent and break his fall at the bottom.
Now, ten yards away, Ethan had found the second bloodstain. Ben must have stumbled straight into the river.
“With his injury, he might not have been able to make the climb back up.” Joanna had to shout to be heard over the thunder of the water. “Or maybe with the shooting still going on, he swam across and went to get help.”
Ethan threw out his arm like a crossing guard when Joanna slipped on the bank’s muddy slope. She caught herself, ignored his arm and squatted down to shine her light on the blood. She was perfectly fine without his help. But the need to protect her was more powerful than ever. The worry that he might not be strong enough or smart enough or aware enough to provide that protection when she needed him most was just as troublesome.
Because it was just the two of them now. Just the two of them al
one on the mountain like those long, balmy summer nights they’d shared when they were younger and more innocent. Like the night when he’d spread a blanket on a flowery knoll and they’d made love for the first time, under the stars.
Only this wasn’t summer. The weather sucked. And there was nothing innocent about fugitives and explosions and missing, wounded FBI agents.
Though she probably didn’t need his help getting up, either, Ethan still slipped his hand beneath her arm when she started to rise. He kept it there to turn her back up the slope.
But she planted her feet and tilted her chin. “Aren’t we going across to see if we can pick up his trail on the other side?”
“No.” He nudged. She balked.
“We’re both strong swimmers. And it’s not that wide.”
“It’s not the distance. It’s the speed of the current and the rocks hidden below that worry me. We’re not swimming in that death trap, period.” That little dimple of a frown appeared on her forehead, and he could see the urge to argue the point with him flashing in her eyes. Surprise, surprise. But this was a small battle in the grand scheme of discussions they’d shared since her arrival some thirty-six hours ago. Why fight it? “There’s a natural bridge about a mile down where we can cross.”
The frown disappeared. “And then we can come back this far on the opposite bank to see if there’s any sign that Ben climbed out on the other side.”
She headed on out before he even reached the top of the bank. In a wave of sheer orneriness, fueled by a growing fatigue that was wearing down his keep-it-patient-and-polite filters, Ethan raised the beam of his light to the sweet sway of her tush. Now, that was the one piece of scenery he’d missed since coming back to Colorado. Yeah, that was a view he could follow all night long.
And judging by the pace Joanna set on the narrow but relatively flat strip of land, he just might have to. But he wasn’t about to be outtracked by some wannabe city girl from Washington, D.C.
Night had fallen. Lightning flickered in the clouds overhead as the storm moved on and left a soft, steady rain in its wake. Ethan lengthened his stride and quickly caught up to Joanna. “You know, we could wait until dawn to continue the search. Or at least until the rain ends and we get some moonlight to guide us.”
“If I was the one who fell over that cliff, would you wait for moonlight?” She was the one he was trying to look out for. If he was this tired, she must be running on fumes. “Besides, the land here runs through your veins. I bet you could track someone blindfolded if you had to.”
He grunted a laugh. “I’m good. But I’m not that good.”
“Don’t be so modest, big guy. I think that’s why you feel so at home here on the reservation and around the Four Corners area. You feel the earth and its secrets and power in your blood.” Yet she never had, despite her curiosity to learn everything he had to teach. He’d always felt so settled, so strong here, whereas she’d been determined—destined, even—to move on. That’s why he’d nicknamed her “the wind.” Nüa-rü inhaled a deep breath before tilting a shy smile up to him. “That was one of the things that fascinated me about you when we first met. I remember when your brother, Kyle, bragged that you knew every rock and stalk of grass on Ute Mountain. I thought he was exaggerating, of course. I remember that first Saturday—Mother and Dad had chewed me out for not coming up with the money to bail them out of jail the night before. Where was I going to get four hundred dollars? They were lucky I could find enough money to put gas in the car so I could get to Towaoc and drive them home. And then they passed out on the couch. I don’t think I ever really understood what kind of sickness their alcoholism was until that morning. That was the day I finally accepted that neither one of them was ever going to be the parent in our family. I was so mad. I had to get out of there.”
Fifteen years and her matter-of-fact retelling of her sad, challenging childhood didn’t change how hard it was to hear the things she’d grown up with. The best thing he could do for her then was just to listen.
He was still listening.
“I called Kyle to see if he wanted to hang out or shoot some hoops, and he said he and his big brother had made plans to go hiking, but that I was welcome to join you guys.”
“I remember that day. You were, what, seventeen?”
Joanna nodded. “My first thought was ‘boring,’ but Kyle dared me to go. He said that if I didn’t find the day interesting, then he’d buy my lunch for a week. And since I’d just spent my lunch money on gas, it sounded like a decent deal.”
“Stinker. He should have bought you lunch, anyway.”
She laughed. “I think he took pity on me and did.”
“As I recall, you kept challenging me that day. You pointed to everything and said, ‘What’s this?’ ‘Where does that path lead?’ I believe you were trying to stump me.”
“I was,” she admitted. “Of course, if you’d given me the wrong answer, I wouldn’t have known it. I was so ignorant about nature back then. But even by the end of that first day…” Their pace finally slowed as she allowed herself to reminisce. “I knew you were someone unique, someone special. You had a bond to something so strong that it was almost supernatural to me. You understand the land in a way I never even understood my own family. I wanted to learn your secrets. I wanted to be like you. I wanted a connection like that.”
Other than the rhythmic swish-swish of their sodden jeans rubbing together with every step, they walked the last few yards to the land bridge in silence. When they reached the rock arch that had been carved out by eons of the Silverton River pouring through its base, Ethan stopped and turned.
He reached for Joanna, even if she didn’t need his help to make the step up. “We had a connection like that.”
She seemed unsure of what to do with the outstretched hand. She was thinking again. Good thoughts? Regrets? But then she slid her palm into his and held on as he pulled her up beside him. “I know. But I destroyed it.”
“Sherman Watts destroyed it.” Ethan’s grip flinched as the old guilt surged through him. “I should have kept you safe.”
“I never blamed you. Not once.”
“I know that. But you were mine to protect. My responsibility. And I failed you.”
“I was the failure, Ethan. I didn’t know how to fight for what I wanted.” She laughed, but it was a sad sound. “I was so messed up, I didn’t even know what I wanted.” She tried to pull her hand away and bow her head, but Ethan wanted to hear this. Hear all of it, finally. No matter how painful it might be, he had to know why she’d left. After tucking his flashlight into his belt, he stroked his fingers across the cool dampness of her cheek and urged her to continue. “All I knew was that I wasn’t happy. So, in my eighteen-year-old brain, that meant happiness must be somewhere else. I kind of came up with my own twelve-step plan. Go to college and get a career so I could earn some respect, make some money so I wouldn’t be broke every day of my life. Turn myself into somebody who was strong enough to stand up to Sherman and Elmer Watts and others like them. It was too late to do it for myself here on the rez, but I could do it for others. That’d be a bit of payback, and maybe no one else would have to go through what I did.”
“So you reinvented yourself as Joanna Rhodes, a smarter, tougher version of the girl I knew. Bound and determined to save her own day.”
A wry smile crooked the corner of her lush, pale lips. “I thought I was just surviving. But that does sound like I’m trying to be Superwoman, doesn’t it?”
“Sounds like a different story to me. Come on.” He urged her ahead of him onto the almost stairlike path of rock worn between the grasses and moss that covered the top of the bridge. With his hand enjoying the delightful assignment of resting on her backside to steady her along the steepest part of the path, he asked, “Did I ever tell you the legend of Sleeping Ute Mountain?”
“I know that if you look at the Ute Mountains from about twenty miles away, their profile looks like a giant Indian lying down on his b
ack. One slope creates his knees, the highest peak forms arms crossed over his chest. There are toes that stick up, a headdress that tapers down to the town of Towaoc.”
She’d paid attention in social studies class. With the rain making the mossy stones extra slick, he had her sit to shimmy safely down the opposite side. “You’re talking about the shape of the rocks. I’m talking about the ancient story behind them.”
He heard her laughing above the spray from the river hitting the rocks below them. “Tell me the story, oh wise one. I’m sure there’s a lesson to be learned here.”
“The discount version is that in the very old days, the Sleeping Ute Mountain was a Great Warrior God. He came to fight against the Evil Ones in the land. Their battle created the mountains and valleys in the Four Corners area.”
“And the blood from the battle created the creeks and rivers?”
“You always were a quick student.”
“Fourth in my class at Yale. First in my class with you.” She held his hand to pull herself to her feet, then eyed the distance between the rocks and the grassy field beyond and leaped across the muddy bank. “Just how does this legend pertain to me?
Ethan followed her over the mud and continued. “The Great Warrior God defeated the Evil Ones, but he was so wounded that he lay down to rest and fell into a deep sleep. Our ancestors believed that when he is needed, the Great Warrior God will rise again to help them in the fight against their enemies.”
“So, the men who murder FBI agents, and rape teenage girls—they’re the Evil Ones. And since you’re such a part of the land here, you’re the Warrior God fighting our modern battle.”
“No.” He gripped the straps of his pack in front of his chest and looked down at her. She was tall and bedraggled and muddy and gorgeous as she watched him with those dark, expectant eyes. “You are.”
Joanna’s gaze dropped to the center of his chest. “Nice story.” When she looked at him again, he could see she didn’t believe. “I don’t belong here. I’ve spent fifteen years making a point of not belonging.”
