Freefall (No)

by Jill Sorenson

  Faith didn’t seem as enthusiastic about rafting as the others. Maybe she was nervous. Javier wanted to promise he’d look out for her, which was strange. If anything, his presence in the group put everyone at risk.

  And the less he said the better. He’d impersonated an American before and it wasn’t as easy as it seemed. His English was almost perfect, and he could mimic a Californian accent. He knew U.S. history. But there were gaps in his education. TV shows he hadn’t watched, rock stars he didn’t know, movies he’d never heard of.

  Cultural references would trip him up every time.

  They drove down a bumpy dirt road to an area called the put-in. As he climbed out of the van with Faith, he drew in a deep breath, amazed by the size of the river. At the campsite, the Kaweah had been a bubbling brook. This monster was immense, full of jagged rocks, with angry froth churning down the center.

  Faith made a noise of distress at the sight.

  “Don’t worry,” he blurted.

  “Why not?”

  “I’ll take care of you.”

  She lifted her gaze from the water. “How?”

  “I’m an excellent swimmer.” He’d given surf lessons to tourists in Costa Rica. That had been a sweet gig. He should have stayed.

  “You look strong,” she said, her eyes trailing down his body.

  Well, yeah. Being physically intimidating was part of his job. Also, beating the hell out of people.

  They spent the next hour going over safety rules and rafting techniques. Javier paid close attention, memorizing much of the information. Caleb and Ted invited him for a smoke break, which he declined. He didn’t want to leave Faith’s side. His presence seemed to comfort her. She listened to the guide carefully, partnering with Javier to practice paddling. He did his best to look like a guileless outdoorsman. Every few minutes, he glanced up at the sky, searching for Gonzales’s helicopter.

  Soon they’d be coming for him.

  He hadn’t expected there to be women on this trip, and he felt conflicted about staying. On the one hand, traveling coed was a good cover. He enjoyed female company and he’d gone too long without it. On the other hand, he was running for his life. He’d waited months for an opportunity to break free. He’d shot and killed the last man who tried to stop him. If he had to do the same to Caleb or Ted, he wouldn’t hesitate.

  Hurting women didn’t sit well with him, though.

  That was why he’d never go back with Gonzales. He was going to escape or die trying. God help anyone who got in his way.

  “You smell like peroxide,” Faith said, interrupting his thoughts.

  Another problem with women: they were intuitive and observant. He shouldn’t have been standing so close to her. By gazing at her appreciatively and acting flirtatious, he’d invited her to ask him personal questions.

  Denying the obvious was no use, so he tugged the beanie off his head and braced himself. “How bad is it?”

  “Pretty bad.”

  Stupidly, he regretted the dye job. He wanted her to think him handsome.

  “Did you lose a bet?”

  “Yeah. Sort of.”

  She reached up to touch his hair, rubbing a few strands between her fingertips. He could see down the front of her tank top, which was disconcerting. “I could fix it,” she said, dropping her hand. “I’m a hairdresser.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Color’s my specialty. I do mine.”

  He evaluated her pretty brown eyes and honeyed skin tone. “You’re not a natural blonde?”

  She laughed, swatting him on the shoulder. “That’s for me to know.”

  The guide presented a pair of life jackets, dispelling the mood. Any clothes they wanted to stay dry had to be placed in waterproof sacks. Javier removed his T-shirt, watching Faith pull her tank top over her head.

  Coño.

  Before she put on her life jacket, he got an eyeful of her breasts, covered by little scraps of fabric. They looked real. He wasn’t the type of man who cared either way, but he’d seen so many strippers lately that her subtle curves seemed exotic in comparison.

  Tearing his gaze away, he shoved his T-shirt into his backpack and placed it in the plastic. His shorts weren’t for swimming, but they’d have to suffice. She stared at his bare chest, her lips curving into a smile.

  Bring on the cold water. He needed it.

  * * *

  WHEN SAM PUT his arm around her, Hope buried her face in his shirt, shuddering.

  He was a jerk, but his strength felt reassuring. She’d almost peed her pants a second ago. His heartbeat thumped against her cheek, alive, alive, alive.

  “Any chance this was self-inflicted?”

  She forced herself to move away from him and take a better look inside the cockpit. There was a handgun on the seat next to the pilot, and shells from two different weapons. It looked like a close-range gunfight. “No.”

  Sam turned his back on the wreckage with a grimace, keeping his distance while she photographed the scene. Or maybe he was keeping watch. She noticed his eyes scanning the mountains and trees nearby.

  There were few clues inside the fuselage. She didn’t see any illegal cargo or formal identification. From what she could surmise, the 9 mm next to the pilot wasn’t responsible for his death. He’d returned fire with his killer. She took pictures of the weapon and a pair of bullet holes on the opposite side of the fuselage.

  She was about to report to headquarters when static buzzed over the plane’s radio. Her heart seized at the sound of a man’s voice. “Del Norte, come in. Ya, contesta.”

  Hope rushed forward to pick up the receiver. Swallowing hard, she pressed the button to speak. “This is Ranger Banning of Sierra National Park. I need some information about this aircraft and pilot, over.”

  The man ended the communication.

  She replaced the receiver, her mouth dry. Careful not to touch anything else, she exited the fuselage.

  “What was that?” Sam asked.

  “Someone called on the plane’s radio. When I answered, they hung up.”

  “You answered?”

  “Yes.”

  He thrust a hand through his short hair. “Fuck!”

  “What?”

  “I don’t like this. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  She wasn’t a big fan of the situation, either. There had never been a murder at Angel Wings. It could be days before a thorough investigation was organized. The logistics of processing a crime scene on a remote mountaintop were dizzying.

  They also had a killer to find. He must have left the area on foot.

  She walked away from the plane, examining their surroundings. A hiking trail led down the backside of the mountain and ended at the Kaweah River Campsite. Where she’d dropped off Faith this morning.

  “I have to go after him.”

  He gaped at her in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

  “I’m dead serious,” she said.

  “You’re not a homicide detective.”

  “No, but I have to protect the park’s visitors, and it’s my job to investigate any crimes committed here.”

  “Alone?”

  She frowned at his incredulous tone. Tracking a single assailant by herself wasn’t against procedure. Park rangers often worked solo, especially in the backcountry. But it was unorthodox, and perhaps unwise, to hunt down a murderer without help. “He’s got to be headed for the Kaweah. Faith is there.”

  “Who’s Faith?”

  “My sister.”

  Hope would do anything for Faith. She loved her with the fierce protectiveness of an older sibling and the deep loyalty of a best friend. Faith had always meant the world to her, but their connection had become even stronger after a heartbreaking incident in her past. Hope had lost someone precious to her, and she’d vowed never to let it happen again.

  Sam swore under his breath. There was no way he could talk Hope out of pursuing the suspect. “You can’t make it to the river before dark. Let’s ra
ppel down, go back to Mineral King and call for help.”

  She shook her head, stubborn. “I have three more hours of daylight. I won’t waste it by traveling backward.”

  “You can drive to the Kaweah camp faster!”

  That was true, but Faith wasn’t at the campsite. She was rafting down a river that intersected the killer’s path. “I might not be able to pick up his 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 sunglasses that reminded her of Napoleon Dynamite. It was almost as if he was trying to hide his handsomeness under a nerd disguise.

  He couldn’t hide the body, though. His torso was lean and strong, his arms well d
efined and his stomach rippled with muscle. When he dipped his paddle into the water, biceps flexing, her throat went dry and her thoughts scattered.

  The day flew by. After lunch, they hit a long, easy stretch that didn’t demand much maneuvering. Caleb waxed stoner-poetic on everything from the sun sparkling on the water to the immense height of the surrounding trees. Although Faith wasn’t a nature lover, she thought peaceful quiet would better suit the atmosphere. When he launched into another implausible rafting tale, Ron rolled his eyes in Faith’s direction. Jay caught sight of the expression and laughed, glancing away.

  “What’s so funny?” Caleb asked him.

  “Nothing,” Jay said.

  “He thinks you’re full of shit,” Ted supplied.

  Caleb looked over his shoulder at Faith. Maybe his boasting was meant to impress her, but she couldn’t suppress a giggle at his expense. He returned his attention to Jay, squinting with antagonism. “Oh yeah?”

  Although Jay didn’t look intimidated, Captain Ron came to the rescue. “I tried to run a six-plus on the American River once.”

  “What happened?” Paula asked.

  “I got dumped.”

  Everyone laughed except Caleb, and the conversation moved on to less contentious topics. Jay didn’t say a word but managed to monopolize her complete attention. Whenever she snuck a peek at him, he was watching her.

  The last run of the day was a monster. It churned fast and furious between jagged chunks of granite, eager to chew them up and spit them out.

  “This is Devil’s Drop,” Ron shouted. “Get ready to paddle!”

  Faith froze with terror as they approached. She’d never seen water like this before. Falling out of the boat here would be like getting thrown from a car on the freeway. She imagined herself sailing through the air, her bones snapping on sharp rocks.

  “I’m going to die,” she blurted.

  The rest of the group chuckled and Caleb let out a war whoop. She was on a trip with a bunch of crazy people!