Although the investigation had determined that the explosion three days earlier had been nothing more than fireworks, it had done more than rattle fragile nerves. It had thrown her into a time warp, from a trash can at the Grand Canyon to a backpack in a crowded concert venue...
Morgan’s fingers traced the faint scars on her cheek and shuddered from the memories as a quick crack of thunder echoed against the canyon walls.
Morgan widened her stance and stared at the sky, anchoring herself in her surroundings as she forced herself to slowly inhale the warm canyon air. The narrow animal path before her, blue sky above her, darkening clouds to the northwest... Scrub brush and a few small tamarisk trees growing taller as they made the descent toward Lava Creek, the same route Eric and Hannah had traveled two weeks earlier.
She wasn’t a rookie cop pulling security. She wasn’t in San Diego. Nothing was exploding. She was below the rim with the man she used to love, the man whose sister was missing.
During an approaching thunderstorm.
But it couldn’t shake her. She wouldn’t let it. No matter what her past said, she would not be a coward.
Eric didn’t seem to notice she’d stopped. He trudged ahead, watching the narrow animal path. They’d started day three making the seven-hundred-foot descent to Awatubi, then ascending to Awatubi-Sixtymile Saddle. Morgan hadn’t made the trek in a while, and memory didn’t come close to the view of multicolored rock as far as they could see.
There was no telling where Eric’s head had been there. Probably remembering the last time he’d stood in the same spot, with his sister safely at his side. Morgan had nearly reached for his hand, but it was both too late and too soon. Instead, she’d offered him silent support until he’d moved forward without a word.
In fact, he hadn’t said much of anything beyond, “loose rock” or “narrow foothold” since they’d hit the trail what felt like weeks ago.
Now they were on a narrow, rocky path, descending the east fork of Carbon Creek, which ran nearly dry. They’d end the day at Lava Creek, where Hannah had disappeared. Starting tomorrow morning, they’d be completely off the trail.
In the middle of the wilderness, Morgan was able to breathe for the first time since the trash can detonated. She was safe out here. No crowds. No bombs. Just scrub trees and rock and sky.
And the wrath of nature.
She glanced at the sky, tried to guess the distance of the darkening clouds rolling in from the northwest, then calculated how long it would take to reach shelter. They were exposed in their current location.
“You thinking we need to find somewhere to shelter?” Eric’s voice sliced into her thoughts. “I’ve been keeping an eye on it. Lightning’s visible.”
“If I’ve got a satellite phone signal, I’ll call and see what we can get to quickly.” She tugged out her phone. Depending on sky view, it could be tricky, but this time there was a connection and she dialed for a weather update. “How long before the storm hits? Any shelter near me?”
Ranger Seth Hanson at the station could access the information on his computer faster and more accurately than she could on a map, which gave elevations but not clefts and hollows in the rock.
The phone crackled, a sure sign she was pushing the limits. “From your location, about two hundred yards to the south. You should find cover there in a small cave. You’re a good half hour from anything more substantial, and I don’t think you’re going to beat the storm to Lava. Watch you don’t run into a rattler nest.”
“Or rock squirrels.”
The phone crackled over a rough connection. “Or rock squirrels. I’d shelter quick. Based on radar, the storm’s going to rage for a while. Good thing you’re not headed for the river. It’s running high. Could be flash flooding, and there’s talk of closing it to rafters. And stay safe. Too much weird stuff going on around here lately.”
“Roger.” She relayed the cave’s location to Eric, then glanced at the sky, barely registering the ever-darkening clouds. Hannah was missing, and someone was coming at rangers. There were darker things at work in the world, things she didn’t like to think about. It was the reason she’d chosen the solitary life of the backcountry.
“Is Larson in earshot?”
Morgan glanced at Eric, who had walked farther down the trail. She pressed the radio phone tighter to her ear anyway. “No.”
“Think after this trek he’ll finally accept we’ve moved from rescue to recovery?”
Morgan watched Eric scan the sky. There was no way he’d abandon the search for Hannah. Not until he had definitive proof all hope was lost. “Would you?”
“No. Stay safe. Out.”
Tucking the phone away, Morgan made her way to Eric and relayed the latest. She followed him as he set his sights down the faint trail.
Despite what Hanson had said, Eric hadn’t lost hope, and neither had Morgan. After all, a lost hiker in Hawaii had survived two weeks in harsh terrain and was found because her family refused to abandon the search. Maybe...
Maybe was a huge word.
Thunder ricocheted and Morgan stiffened but pushed forward. Too many years, Morgan. You have to get over it. You can’t be a coward forever. Especially not in front of Eric.
Ahead of her, Eric ducked into a small opening in the rock, the cave Hanson had indicated. He stepped out with a rare ghost of a smile when Morgan approached. It did something to his eyes that almost made her retreat in shock. He was a handsome man on any given day, but with a lately unseen spark of life he was...more. A whole lot more.
He was the man she’d once fallen in love with.
Morgan closed her eyes, willing her past and her present to separate. She was a ranger helping a man search for his sister. The relief in his expression had to be because they were on the trail, moving forward, nearing the spot where they could begin the search for Hannah in earnest.
Eric’s gaze flicked to hers, then to the northwest, where the storm shouted its presence again, louder as it closed in. “You know anything about the pizza I ordered, Dunham? I found out a while back you can get anything delivered by those car services if you pay enough. Figured I’d see if anyone was game for a big tip.”
Wow. Humor, too. He was either ready to search or the heat had gotten to him. “Sure. Hanson’s sending a helicopter with a large triple pepperoni, but the tip’s going to be steep.”
“It would be worth it. I’ve been craving a pizza since about two o’clock yesterday afternoon.” He dragged a hand across days-old scruff along his cheek, then nodded to the sky. “I have no idea why pizza, but there you go.” He surveyed the sky once more, then swept his hand to the side. “I made a quick scan. There are no bobcats or snakes. We should be safe in—”
A crack, close, as strange thunder bounced jagged off the canyon. The rock by Eric’s head exploded, sending shards flying, striking pain along Morgan’s cheek.
Familiar pain. Shrapnel. Screams.
Morgan froze and fought to stay in the now. They were in the canyon. Alone. There was no way—
Another crack and Eric shoved her into the cave. “Shooter!”
* * *
Another shot showered rocks, dust and dirt over them as Eric shoved Morgan deeper into the cave. She stumbled and he muscled all of his weight behind her, urging her forward.
Had someone really fired on them?
Inside the shelter of the shallow crevice, he bent forward and caught his breath, heart pounding as the adrenaline flooded his system.
Morgan regained her footing and faced the entrance, weapon drawn and steady in both hands, by her thigh.
Just like him. He didn’t even remember drawing the pistol from its holster.
Pulling her attention from the entrance long enough to glance at him, Morgan said, “Tell me we were struck by lightning. Twice.”
“Three times. I’m certain lightning doesn�
��t work that way.” No, he knew gunfire when he heard it, knew the whip crack of a rifle. The sound was different echoing through the Grand Canyon than it was flying across the mountains of Afghanistan, but it was the same retort, different tone. “Pretty sure it was a rifle. And a fair shot, too.” He tipped his head toward the entrance. “Quick guess based on the way it hit, I’d have to say the bullet came from the rim on the far side.”
“High-powered rifle.”
“Possibly a sniper.” Based on his calculations as they’d hiked, the distance was about two miles. Trajectory would help with travel, but whoever had fired was well practiced. Few rifles in the world could travel the distance with force. Even fewer marksmen could shoot with that sort of accuracy. Whatever had happened out there, it was no accident. While the chance they were being targeted was slim to none, he’d learned on more than one mission to plan for the worst and pray for the best. Worst right now involved being pinned in a cave with only one way out and no way to survey the world beyond.
Morgan pulled her phone from its spot on her pack. “If somebody’s taking shots at hikers in the area, we need to get a helicopter in the air and eyes high. Fast. Before they find cover.”
A loud crash roared through the canyon, echoing over and over along the walls, the noise eerie and unfamiliar. He could live here a hundred years and never get used to the tone of thunder in the canyon.
The sound following chilled his blood more, though. Rain. Torrential rain driving toward them with a wall of water. Rain would obliterate any signs of Hannah and keep them trapped inside this crevice. “No help coming till this storm passes. And your sat phone won’t get a signal with this cloud cover.”
“We’ve got a while in this mess, according to my last call.”
Eric ventured to the entrance, wind-whipped droplets cooling skin still heated from their trek deeper into the canyon. Two weeks ago following this same route with Hannah, he’d reveled in the exercise and the view. But this time his sister was missing. And now someone was taking potshots at tourists.
What if she wasn’t lost? What if someone had... “No.”
“No, what?” Morgan stepped closer, holstering her sidearm.
“Nothing.” He hadn’t realized he’d spoken out loud. The thought of Hannah lost and suffering was bad enough. The thought of her bleeding out because some psychopath got his jollies firing a sniper rifle at unsuspecting hikers...
He was going to be sick. Eric drew in deep gulps of the cooling air. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He had to stay strong if he was going to find Hannah alive.
Because she had to still be alive, and it was his job to rescue her.
He couldn’t think about negative possibilities while he was tucked in a cave, hunkered down and hiding from Mother Nature and a possible killer. “If our friend out there decided to pursue and approach our location, how long would it take?” He couldn’t take his eyes off the rain falling outside, the torrent so hard it obscured everything beyond three feet in front of him. That meant flash flooding. Which meant more danger to Hannah if she was caught in the elements.
“Assuming we’re truly a target and they’re foolish enough to try... And assuming they’re on foot and don’t have a helicopter... Several hours if you’re right about the distance. It’s not level ground. We’re safe in here for now.”
Eric willed his shoulders to relax and holstered his weapon, then faced Morgan for the first time. A thin rivulet of blood ran down her cheek from a small gash, likely where rock shrapnel had nicked her. His hand lifted to brush it off, but he simply awkwardly pointed. Contact would be out of bounds for both of them. It had been too long since he’d felt the soft skin of her cheek beneath his touch. “You got... You’re bleeding.”
In the bluish light flowing into their shallow shelter, the color drained from her face, highlighting the red streak of blood that flowed over the faint scars on her cheek. Her expression froze the way it had in the aftermath of the explosion, her eyes cast in the same faraway look.
Morgan wasn’t afraid of blood, so Eric solidified the belief something had happened in her past.
Those scars she refused to talk about... Maybe before he met her? What had sent her to the backcountry and kept her there? How had he missed it during their brief marriage?
No matter. He could appreciate the need to run. It haunted him most nights as he lay awake remembering too much.
Eric started to reach for her again, to treat her the way he used to in their too-brief time together and pull her closer for comfort, but his gut stopped him. She was emotionally and physically tougher than anyone he knew. If he was in her shoes, he’d resent the “help.” Instead, he stepped away a couple of feet to give her some space, to let her get her bearings. He pulled a small camp lantern from his pack and lit it, providing illumination in the semidarkness. It wasn’t a deep recess, running back into the side of the canyon about ten feet, but it was enough to keep them dry and out of the range of lightning...or bullets.
Outside, the wind kicked up and the rain poured impossibly harder, sending a wave of damp air into their shelter.
He turned to Morgan. If she wasn’t back to normal in about two minutes, he’d—
“I’ve got a first aid kit in my pack. It’s... I’m sure it’s nothing.” A slight tremble in her voice said otherwise, but she was in motion and had slid the huge pack from her back before he could comment. As she withdrew a small white box from its pouch, her fingers fumbled and the kit clattered to the cave’s rock floor. Morgan planted her hands on her knees and stared at the side wall of the cave, determination tightening her jaw and drawing a deep V between her eyes.
This wasn’t fear. This was remembrance. The tension waving off her spoke to Eric’s memories and struggles. Despite his earlier resolve, he couldn’t let her do this alone. She’d stood beside him in the wake of his parents’ deaths, had comforted him when no one else could... Was even now sacrificing her personal time to search for Hannah.
Crouching beside Morgan, Eric popped the latch on the first aid kit and dug out an alcohol wipe and a small bandage. He snapped on a thin pair of gloves to keep his trail-dusted fingers from adding an infection to the mix.
At the snap, she seemed to return to reality and cut her eyes sideways at him. “You doing surgery?”
“Only if there’s really a pizza on the way. Otherwise, you get field medicine.”
Arching an eyebrow, she held out her hand, palm up. “I can slap a bandage on my own face.”
“But you can’t tell if you need stitches, can you?” With a gentle hand, he grasped her chin and turned her cheek toward the light.
She yielded.
Surprising. He’d expected more resistance. For the briefest moment, he was caught in brown eyes that crossed the years to the time when they belonged to each other.
But that time wasn’t now.
Eric forced his attention to the job at hand. Tearing open the alcohol wipe, he scanned the wound before going to work. It was merely a nick, but it sliced about half an inch across the field of smaller scars on her cheek.
He ran his thumb along the small dimples, barely visible unless someone was close enough to... Well, to kiss her. That was how he’d noticed them the first time, how he’d been led to ask her about them. Because he’d been close enough to kiss her. In all the years since, he’d honestly never imagined he’d be this close to her again.
“Is it so bad you’re contemplating a cheek amputation?”
Eric cleared his throat, pulled his fingers from her cheek, then gently wiped the area with the alcohol pad.
Though she’d cracked a joke, the tightness in Morgan’s voice and in her facial muscles betrayed her anxiety.
Still, he’d play along. “So, Ranger Dunham. What brings you to my clinic? The fabulous online reviews? The heroic tales of my cheek-doctoring skills?”
She winced as the alc
ohol did its work. “I was told you have pizza.”
He actually snorted. Her sense of humor ran deeper than he remembered. Sweet. “Well, the driver’s late. No tip when they get here.” As Eric opened the bandage, he paused to stare at the small figures dotting the white surface.
“You carry princess bandages in the backcountry?”
“What can I say? I’m whimsical.”
“Whimsical.” He kept his voice flat, though a smile tugged the corners of his mouth. It felt good to be amused, to think about something else after long days and nights of driven fear over Hannah.
Even if that something was his ex-wife.
Dude, he was in so much trouble.
Thunder roared, closer as the storm intensified.
Morgan jumped, grasping for the wall with her hand.
“What’s scaring you?” The words were out before he could stop them, born of a kindred fear that drove him to help her.
The friendliness in her eyes hardened and she shoved herself upward, pacing to the cave’s entrance. “Nothing scares me. You need to be less concerned about me and more concerned with finding a way to fight Mother Nature and to outwit someone who’s out there with a gun.”
Out there with a gun...and possibly with his sister.
THREE
Eric turned from the cave’s entrance and reached for his backpack. “If this goes on much longer, I’m heading out anyway.”
Morgan’s head snapped up. It was the first time he’d spoken since he’d come awfully close to guessing her secrets, seeing her fear. She shook off her shame.
Was he kidding? Sure, he’d been stubborn from the start—it had been one of the many things working against their marriage—but to take his life into his own hands on a nearly invisible trail? The turnoff to Lava Creek and Still Spring was tough to find on a clear day, let alone in the mess falling outside. “Absolutely not.”
“My sister is out there.” His voice was hard, determined. The cheerful gleam that lit his eyes earlier had hardened into a glint as cold as mid-January. “She’s out there in this. With a—” He jabbed a finger toward the cave’s entrance and, presumably, to the other side of the canyon. Gone was the gentle touch that had tended her wound. Gone was the knowing look that said he understood more than she wanted him to.
Canyon Standoff Page 11
