Freefall (2 page)

Hope swore under her breath, rubbing a hand down her face. This was her worst nightmare. Of the twelve park rangers with law enforcement badges, only Hope and Mark Griffon were accomplished climbers. Mark wasn’t available. The SAR team wasn’t available. Her supervisor wasn’t available.

Heart racing, she weighed her options. The clock was already ticking. If she didn’t reach the crash site before sundown, she couldn’t call for a helicopter. Night rescues were too dangerous to attempt at a place like Angel Wings, where extreme wind conditions were common. And when the temperature dropped, crash victims often died of exposure.

Hope had responded to a similar call a few years ago. Before she became a permanent employee at Sierra National Park, she’d worked winters in Joshua Tree, one of Southern California’s desert parks. A family of four had gone down in a twin-engine plane near Jumbo Rocks. Two of the wounded were children, and there was nothing anyone on the SAR team could do to save them. Hope had been training for her EMT certificate at the time. The scene was so horrific she almost quit the next day.

She didn’t want to face another tragedy like that, especially on her own, but she couldn’t afford to wait for a backup team. Her window of opportunity 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

S
AM
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. “We should eat lunch,” he said. “You don’t want to get light-headed on the climb.”

She agreed, reaching into her pack for two protein bars and two apples. He accepted her offering without complaint. His dehydrated meals weren’t half as tasty. The crisp apple awakened his senses.

Although he tried not to stare, he couldn’t avoid glancing at her. She was even lovelier than he remembered.

The night they met, he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her. The moment she walked into the bar, his pulse had kicked up and his throat had gone dry. After more than a year of his feeling next to nothing at the most challenging, dangerous summits, this flood of sensation left him breathless.

She’d been wearing a dark blue thermal with a cute snowflake pattern. It was about as sexy as a reindeer sweater, not revealing in the least, but he’d ignored the good-girl giveaway and focused on the body underneath. He’d been mesmerized by her bright smile, smooth skin and shiny dark hair.

Why hadn’t he left her alone? She’d looked disgustingly sweet, innocent and healthy. Easy pickings.

They’d both been drinking. She sipped white wine like a teetotaler while he knocked back shots. He’d waited until she was tipsy to make his move. At that point, he’d been drunk enough to go through with it, but not too drunk to perform.

He knew Hope wasn’t a no-strings type, and he hadn’t cared. He hadn’t cared about her name, or her profession, or her feelings.

And the way he’d acted afterward—Jesus. He couldn’t get rid of her fast enough.

Since then, he’d tried not to think about her. He’d convinced himself that she wasn’t special; any woman would feel fantastic after a long stint of abstinence. She wasn’t beautiful; he’d had beer goggles on.

He’d really been kidding himself.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her bite into the apple. Her white teeth pierced the fruit’s ruddy skin. She was flushed from the hike, dewy with perspiration, her tank top plastered to her chest. No, he didn’t need alcohol to find her attractive.

“How do you know Owen?” she asked.

“Owen?”

“Owen Jackson.”

He blinked a few times to dispel the sexual voodoo. “We met in San Diego during the earthquake.”

She arched a curious brow, crunching on another bite of apple. He hadn’t spoken to the media about the incident, but it was widely reported that he’d almost died in a freeway collapse. “You were in a coma.”

“Most of the time,” he agreed. “A group of us were trapped in the rubble. Owen used my climbing equipment to get out and find help.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“And now you’re friends?”

Sam wouldn’t go that far. Even his close friends didn’t talk to him anymore, and he avoided his family. He’d alienated everyone who loved him. “We’re friendly enough,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

“I was just wondering.”

“Has he given you any trouble?”

“No. He works hard.”

“He seems like a good kid,” he said, shrugging. “I owed him one, and I thought he deserved a second chance.”

She nodded, finishing her lunch.

It occurred to him that she might be interested in Owen as a man. The “kid” was in his early twenties, but prison had matured him beyond his years. Although he had some issues, he wasn’t half as screwed up as Sam.

“How old are you?” he asked, suspicious.

“Twenty-eight.”

He let out the breath he’d been holding. Most park rangers were college graduates, and she was hardly jailbait. “You look younger.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-two.”

“You look older.”

He acknowledged this truth with a wry smile. Even before grief and illness ravaged him, the sun had stripped any hint of youth from his skin. “I owe you an apology,” he said, surprising them both.

She almost choked on a mouthful of water. “For what?”

“I...wasn’t myself that night.”

“Who were you?”

“I don’t know.”

Hope didn’t seem impressed by this nonexplanation.

“The way I reacted was rude,” he said, feeling lousy. “I’m sorry. I could have handled it better.”

She still looked skeptical, and he couldn’t blame her. There was no polite way to tell the woman you just had sex with to get out of your house. He shouldn’t have brought it up; his behavior was inexcusable.

“Let’s just forget about it,” she said, forcing a smile.

Sam wasn’t relieved that she’d let him off the hook. On the contrary, her words plucked a painful chord inside him. He’d never forget anything on purpose. Every memory he’d been able to retain was precious to him.

She rose to her feet and brushed off the seat of her pants.

“Do you want me to carry your pack?”

“No, I’m okay.”

As they continued toward Angel Wings, the silence became increasingly uncomfortable. His apology, though sincere, hadn’t cleared the air. If anything, it made the situation worse. Tension swirled between them, thicker than ever.

The last two miles of the path were the most challenging. He didn’t want to exhaust her before the climb, so he let her walk in front of him. This way she could set her own pace, rather than struggle to keep up.

Her other physical attributes were just as fine as her face. She had an athletic build, taut and toned, but not skinny. She was curvy in all the right places. Her cropped jogging pants clung to her slender thighs and cute ass. She had long, graceful arms. If she climbed with as much gusto as she did everything else, they’d have no problems reaching the summit.

Sam wasn’t looking forward to the ascent. He didn’t partner anymore. Not with men at his skill level, not with women at any level. The idea gave him hives. He didn’t want to hold Hope’s life in his hands.

Angel Wings rose in the distance, a massive wall of pale gray granite. This angel had dirty wings, feathering high into the sky. Mighty Valhalla stood directly across from her. Both monoliths had smooth faces, ribbed with cracks and handholds, etched by ancient glaciers. It was the stuff of climbers’ dreams.

Hope stopped and flashed a smile, more genuine than the one she’d offered earlier. “Which route did you take up Valhalla?”

He fell into step beside her, following her gaze to the wall. There were five or six charted routes with fixed pitons. Climbers could follow a trail that had already been blazed, or strike out on their own. “North Arete.”

The smile fell off her face. “You free-soloed North Arete?”

“Yes.”

“That’s impossible.”

He didn’t argue. It was the most difficult route on Valhalla, and a challenging free solo, but hardly impossible.

“It hasn’t been done. Not even in the daytime.”

“I did it.”

She squinted into the distance. “How?”

He rotated the elastic band on his wrist, uncomfortable. A climbing feat didn’t exist without a witness, so there was nothing to brag about. Glory and record-breaking no longer appealed to him. “Never mind.”

But clearly, she did mind. “You free-soloed a 5.12 route in the middle of the night? Are you crazy?”

“Maybe.” Probably. Yes.

“Next you’ll tell me you BASE-jumped off the top.”

He smiled at her horrified expression. “That’s illegal.”

“So is backcountry hiking without a permit,” she said, her dark eyes flashing.

“I don’t free-BASE,” he said. Some young daredevils were combining free-solo climbing with BASE jumping. Sam wasn’t tempted. He liked the freedom of climbing without gear; the sensation of falling just made him nauseated.

“I’d arrest you in a heartbeat if you did.”

Oddly, this conversation thrilled him more than the risky climb. He pushed the limits because he felt dead inside. Although he still had some capacity for fear, he’d lost his sense of self-preservation.

What he’d retained, in overabundant amounts, was concern for others. He couldn’t belay a partner without anticipating a fall. His intense anxiety interfered with his love for the sport. He didn’t want to be responsible for another climber. Often, he didn’t trust the gear. Solo-climbing had become his only solace.

Partnering with Hope would be excruciating.

“Why did you report the accident, instead of checking it out?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You could have climbed up to investigate the crash.”

“Before contacting park authorities? That’s against rescue protocol.”

“You’re a rule-breaker. We’ve already established that.”

He scowled, guilty as charged. “I was afraid of what I’d find.”

“Survivors?”

“Corpses.”

She tilted her head to one side, deliberating. “I suppose you saw a lot of those in San Diego.”

He didn’t want to talk about it. “Have you ever done a 5.11?”

“Yes,” she said, moving her attention from him to the wall. “I’ve climbed this one.”

“Which section?”

“South Ridge.”

“With a partner?”

She nodded.

“Okay. I know that route, too.”

They checked and rechecked the gear. He gave her a pop quiz on ropes and knots, pleased to find her proficient. Most of the prep was second nature to him. He could tie an eight in his sleep.

At noon, they were ready. It was the hottest part of the day, near ninety degrees on the rock face, but a pleasant breeze drifted through the canyon. Sam did the lead climbing and Hope followed, steady as it goes. Although she was a natural athlete and a fair climber, he couldn’t relax while she was in motion. Every time she reached for a new handhold, he held his breath. Disaster seemed imminent. Images of her plummeting to her death swarmed his vision. He saw frayed ropes, broken harnesses...cracked skulls.

Melissa’s ashes.

Sam knew better than anyone else that climbing was mental. The sport required intense concentration, a quiet mind and a positive outlook. Fear would literally kill you on the rock face. If he didn’t rein it in, he might endanger Hope.

Luckily, he was experienced enough to know the difference between foreboding and phobia. Climbers were a superstitious lot. They followed their instincts, weighing risks in a fraction of a second. Only a fool ignored his internal warning system. But Sam’s reaction was based on psychological trauma, not the situation at hand.

Hope could do this.

Besides, abandoning the effort would have grave consequences. She’d have to find another partner, maybe even wait until morning. While any possible survivors battled the elements on top of the mountain after the temperature plummeted.

Sam tried to tamp down his fear, but it wasn’t easy. He didn’t get scared that often, and he wasn’t accustomed to dealing with it. He’d become soft, in a way. Apathetic. Caring about life or death required effort.

Oblivious of his struggle, Hope continued to climb. She was confident, but cautious, spending too much time thinking about every move. Time dragged out into an eternity. He had to bite his tongue to keep from criticizing the flaws in her technique. She wasn’t an expert and it showed.

A few years ago, Sam had been an easygoing partner who enjoyed initiating newcomers to the sport. Now he was quickly frustrated, his body humming with impatience. The type of climber he used to loathe.

To her credit, Hope stayed positive and kept a smile on her face. He began to suspect that she was doing it just to annoy him. When she made a minor misstep and almost lost her grip, he swore up at the sky.

His negative attitude made an impact on her near the top. She came to a wide gap about ten feet away from her last placement. A fall from this distance could be dangerous, whether the gear held or not. Even during short drops, climbers could get tangled in ropes, crack their heads against the rock and break bones.