“Where...are...we...going?” Ashley’s question came out between gasps for air.
Logan had already been considering the answer as they ran toward the Rio Grande. The shouting and gunshots receded and he slowed the pace as they forced their way through the thick grasses and reeds near the river’s edge.
“After we cross the river,” he panted, “we’ll try to lose them in the trees as we make our way back to the park’s main road.”
She nodded. “What about water?”
“The rangers keep a cache nearby, maybe a mile away. But we don’t really have a choice.”
“No, we don’t.” She gnawed her lip. “But I’d rather risk doubling back to San Vicente than turning into dinner for the turkey vultures. The river road isn’t even paved, is it?”
Logan shook his head. “No. But we do patrol it. Prayerfully we’ll meet a ranger before we have to walk all the way to Rio Grande Village.”
The absence of gunfire suggested they hadn’t been seen yet, but it was only a matter of time before their pursuers found their tracks. Taking Ashley’s hand, Logan crept into the center of the river where the water was waist deep and the current was stronger. A bullet zinged past his shoulder.
Seconds later three men scrambled down the slope toward the river, shooting wildly as they came.
“Duck!” Logan called.
Ashley dived under in the nick of time, a bullet skipping past where she had been a heartbeat before.
The three men reached the river’s edge. Two of them charged into the water while the other raised his weapon and fired.
Logan lunged forward. Searing pain ripped across his upper left arm as he kicked into a dive under the murky water. Bracing the injured arm against his side, he used the other arm to swim with the current, staying under as long as possible.
Surfacing with a splutter, he scanned the surface for Ashley. Her head bobbed downstream twenty yards ahead. They had traveled far enough that their entry point, with the solitary shooter, was now out of sight.
But the other two were still in the water somewhere behind them, firing as soon as Logan surfaced. He dove under again, accelerating to catch Ashley. His arm ached so badly it was impossible to use. But she was kicking against the current to wait for him and a moment later the current swept him to her position.
“There are two of them in the river behind us,” he said, swimming alongside her.
“There.” Ashley pointed downstream to a cluster of bushes on the US bank.
“Perfect.”
They both kicked hard, trying to gain distance on their pursuers before reaching the bushes. Ashley fired off shots upstream to distract their pursuers as she and Logan clambered onto the grainy, wet sand.
Logan flung himself underneath one of the prickly bushes, pulling Ashley down beside him. She held the gun out, at the ready, as they waited.
The leafy undergrowth obscured much of their view of the river, but they watched in silence as two heads bobbed past, facing downstream.
Logan let out a long breath. “Praise God.” He rolled onto his back. His arm throbbed mercilessly, and he hated to think about how many bacteria had just washed into the wound. But at least they were alive.
“You can say that again.” Ashley propped herself up onto her elbows. “Now what?”
She glanced over her shoulders, as if assessing their options. But when her gaze swept across Logan, she stopped, her dark eyes filling with alarm.
“Logan, what is it? You’re white as a sheet.” She stared down at the sand between them, stained red from his blood. “You’ve been hit.”
“My shoulder.” He pointed across his body. “I’ll be fine. Right now, we need to get away from the river before they decide to double back.” Every word was becoming harder to get out as the pain radiated from his shoulder down through his upper chest and side. He hadn’t even looked at it yet, but part of him felt nauseous just thinking about it. He had never done well with personal injuries.
It was much better to think about getting away.
Ashley watched him a moment longer, her brow compressed with concern. She checked over her shoulder again. “Still clear.”
She crawled out from under the bush and crouched behind it, waiting as Logan gingerly slid out.
Her eyes went wide. “Your shirtsleeve is soaked with blood.”
“Don’t tell me that right now.” Logan gritted his teeth against a wave of nausea. He nodded toward the north. “By my reckoning, we traveled half a mile down the river. That gives us about another quarter mile until we reach a couple of backcountry sites and the water cache. Keep low and behind the bushes as much as possible.”
Ashley nodded. “All right, but we’re going to look at that arm as soon as we get to the water. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
And then maybe he’d finally get some answers as to how she’d taken out an armed man like it was her job.
THIRTEEN
Logan set out in the direction of the water cache, crouching low and dodging from bush to bush. It’d only be a matter of time before their pursuers decided to double back. Ashley stayed right behind him, gun at the ready.
As they approached the first campsite, he scoured the tree line for the telltale color of a tent. Nothing.
Ashley stopped beside him inside the cover of the trees. “See anyone?”
He shook his head, pointing. “The water cache is up that dirt road, toward River Road East.”
Cautiously he led the way along the edge of the brush toward the large metal box serving as the cache.
Ashley tugged at the lock that secured the door.
“I’ve got the key.” He fished into his pocket, breathing a quick prayer of thanks that his key ring had survived their river excursion.
He opened the door, revealing several gallons of water. He pulled two jugs out, setting them on the ground as Ashley rummaged through the first-aid kit. After relocking the box, they found a nearby copse of cottonwood trees that would offer some degree of protection.
Finding a patch of grass shielded by overhanging brush, he collapsed onto the ground. Ashley sat nearby, opening one of the gallons and offering it to him.
He waved her off. “You first.”
She took a long drink before handing it back. “Mmm, 150-degree water. Too bad I didn’t think to bring a tea bag.” She wiped her lips with the back of her hand.
Logan chuckled. “Hey, out in here in the desert, this is liquid gold. Don’t complain.”
“We probably already swallowed enough river water to die of dysentery.” She frowned.
“You survived just fine the last time you went swimming in the Rio Grande.” Setting down the water, he gingerly touched the aching place on his left arm with his free hand, fresh blood coming away on his fingertips.
Ashley pulled his hand back. “Let me help you.” The words were gentle and soft, like her touch.
He watched her as she examined the wound. The way her wet hair fell against the curve of her cheek. Long lashes framing thoughtful eyes. The sweet, subtle scent of berries that made it hard to concentrate when she was near.
Had he ever seen anyone so beautiful? And it wasn’t only physical beauty. There was something about her—her inner strength and courage, the intelligence and compassion behind those eyes—that grabbed him deep inside. Made him want to protect her, even though she clearly didn’t need his help.
Before he could stop himself, he reached out to brush a finger against her cheek. He expected her to shy away, but instead her gaze turned to his. The depths of her eyes mirrored the same turmoil of emotions tucked inside his chest. Awareness. Fear. Longing. Hope. Was there love? Could there be so quickly?
His throat closed, seized with panic, and he jerked his hand back, inadvertently sending another shudder of pain through his body at the rapid movement
.
Erin. For one brief, glorious moment he’d forgotten entirely about her and the way she’d shattered his heart.
He forced a deep breath. No matter what feelings were flitting through his chest, he couldn’t act on them. Ashley had her own secrets and one day she would leave the same way Erin had. Hadn’t he learned his lesson the first time?
Pushing the unsettling thoughts aside, he glanced at Ashley. She’d turned her attention back to his arm, but a flicker of hurt crossed her features before she pressed her lips together into a thin line. Irritated at him? Somehow, Logan didn’t think so.
A relationship wasn’t something either of them could afford right now, especially when it was guaranteed to fail.
He’d have to try harder, much harder, if he was going to protect them both.
When Ashley spoke again, her tone was even. “It looks like the bullet only grazed you, but the wound is deep. Your deltoid is torn and you’re still losing blood.”
“Deltoid? What are you, an undercover medical doctor?” he asked, half laughing, half grimacing.
Ashley didn’t laugh. “Not exactly.”
“What then?”
She didn’t meet his gaze. “I’m going to rip off part of your sleeve, so I can clean this.”
Avoiding the question? One way or another, he was going to get the truth out of her.
When she poured water over the wound, washing away sand and debris from the river, he bit his tongue in pain. “That...really...hurts...” he said through gritted teeth.
“I know.” She smiled faintly, her eyes full of compassion. “And we haven’t even gotten to the isopropanol yet.” She held up a small bottle from the first-aid kit.
Logan groaned.
“Here. Squeeze my hand.”
It fit perfectly inside his larger one, as if she belonged there with him. He kept his focus on their hands, even as his shoulder caught fire and red flamed in front of his vision.
A moment later she pulled her hand away. “All done. I’ve gotten as much dirt out as I can.”
“You mean I won’t die of a strep infection?”
“You’re going to be fine.” It took a couple of minutes more for her to bind the wound with a roll of sterile gauze. Using the rest of his shirt as a sling, she secured the injured arm to his side.
“Thank you. I’m glad you paid attention during first aid.”
She gave him a crooked smile. “I bet you didn’t think your training job would be so easy.”
“You call this easy?” He held up his hand and she pulled him to his feet.
He felt better after the rest, but not as strong as he would’ve liked, especially since they might have to walk several more miles if a car didn’t drive by.
Ashley stayed beside him, ready to help if he needed it. Her shoulders were tense, her face wary, as she watched the surrounding foliage for any sign of their pursuers.
After they had reached the unpaved road along the river, Logan broke the silence. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” Her dark brows pulled together, head tilting to one side.
“Who are you?”
* * *
Ashley swallowed, staring at her feet as she trudged up the dusty road. “I’m sorry I put you in danger.” She glanced at him after a long moment.
“That wasn’t what I asked.” His face was pale and drawn from the injury, but his eyes were drilling a hole through her head.
No choice but to trust him now. If he was working for Jimenez, if he was the inside man, he’d just blown several perfect opportunities to kill her. And unless she left the park, she was going to keep placing his life in danger.
He deserved to know why.
“My real name is Ashley Thompson. I’m an agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigation.” She glanced sharply at him, waiting for some kind of response, but he merely watched her, his gaze unreadable. “I was sent here undercover to track Rico Jimenez.”
He was quiet for a long moment. “I’ve heard of Jimenez. He’s a cartel boss. But why are you here? I thought he operated mainly to the west, south of Arizona.”
“Not anymore. At least, not according to FBI intel.”
“And those men in San Vicente, you think they’re part of his cartel?”
“Yes.” She gnawed at her lip. Might as well come out with all of it. “The reason I wanted to go to San Vicente wasn’t for the chapel. I had to meet a contact. Jimenez must’ve found out and sent those men after us.”
His eyes narrowed. “When did you meet with this contact? I was with you the whole time.” His gaze drifted to her arm, the one no longer carrying a souvenir blanket, and he raised his brows. “Ah. The shopping. Now that makes more sense.”
She nodded. “I met him behind the chapel while you were taking pictures.” She filled him in briefly on what the man had said. “Jimenez is working the mine.”
Logan shook his head. “No, not possible. No way he could keep something like that secret, even in a remote place like this.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Oh, really? Dick Barclay gave me a file on him, and it was almost empty. But my file from the FBI contains pages of tips we’ve received of his activity through this park. He’s doing it, all right, and he’s doing it right under our noses.”
He frowned. “But why are you here undercover? Why didn’t the feds tell us?”
“I asked myself the same thing, until I pieced it together from the files on my laptop. He’s got someone on the inside, Logan. How else could he be smuggling drugs and cartel members through here without being caught? That’s why I couldn’t say anything to you. Barclay and Ed Chambers think I’m here undercover to avoid scaring Jimenez off, but the real reason is to find the mole in the park service.”
He ran his good hand through his hair, turning even paler. “That explains a few things.” His green gaze was steady. “Thank you for trusting me.”
“Well—” her lips tipped up “—if it was your job to get rid of me, you’ve failed miserably.”
“The last thing I want to do is get rid of you.” The gentle tone of his voice made her cheeks flush. “Does this mean you’ll let me help you?”
“I’ve already put you in enough danger.” Her chest constricted. “Besides, Barclay threatened to tell my boss about the head injury if I didn’t bring him hard proof of Jimenez’s activity. I’ve got nothing to report so far other than nearly getting both of us killed.” She gestured at Logan’s chest. “And losing a National Park Service camera.”
“Jimenez’s thugs stole it.” He raised an eyebrow. “That hardly counts as losing it. Besides, we still have the map. We even know what trail to search, thanks to your contact. And we’ve seen the view from San Vicente. I’m sure I can dig up some photographs from the archives to help us narrow the search radius.”
“You’re just trying to make me feel better.”
“Is it working?” The skin around his eyes crinkled as he grinned.
“Maybe.” Ashley smiled back. “You’re not mad at me?”
“For what?”
“Lying to you about who I am.”
“No. You were doing your job. I probably would’ve done the same thing.” He cocked his head to one side, eyeing her for a moment. “But what about the memory loss? The first day I met you? Did you remember any of this?”
She shook her head. “I figured it out when I got home to Panther Junction and found my badge. But I couldn’t tell you. Even though I wanted to...” Her voice trailed away, remembering both the frustrating darkness in her mind and how much she’d wanted to trust Logan. A part of her felt very glad he knew the truth now.
His hand slipped around hers, rough and warm and comfortable, and a tangle of emotions fluttered through her chest.
“Thank you for telling me now. I want to help you.” He gave her hand a squeeze and t
hen released it, leaving her fingers cold despite the afternoon heat.
“I know.” But how could he help? Realistically, Barclay would be on the phone with Morton the second he heard about what had happened today.
Logan cut into her thoughts. “Do you remember anything more about what happened to you that first day?”
“No. And I can’t think of any reason why I would even be driving down there.” So frustrating, these remaining bits of missing information. She frowned. “I’ve got this nagging feeling it has something to do with my brother. But that doesn’t make any sense.”
They walked in silence for a few moments. She kept glancing at Logan, at the way his brows knit together in concentration. Processing everything she’d told him.
He kicked a rock. Stared at his boots. Ran a hand through his hair. Stared at the horizon. When he finally looked at her again, he wouldn’t hold her gaze. “I might have an idea.” He hesitated. “You said your brother’s name was Sam, right? Sam Thompson?”
“Yes.” Why was Logan looking at her like that?
“Do you remember what he did? Where he worked?”
She thought for a long moment. “It’s not DC. Somewhere else, far away. At first, I could only remember him being in school, but that would’ve been two years ago.” She frowned. “Why are you asking?” And why was he using past tense?
Logan kept watching her, waiting, as if he knew the answer already and wanted her to work it out for herself.
“What?” she asked impatiently.
He pressed his lips together. “I think I knew him, Ashley. If it’s the same Sam Thompson, I think he worked here.”
She stared at Logan, not sure she’d heard him correctly. “But...how? How could you know him?” Something twisted inside her chest—the same feeling she had every time she looked at his photograph. Or remembered that she wasn’t on speaking terms with God.
“It might not be the same man,” Logan said quietly. “But we lost a ranger about three months ago. His name was Sam Thompson. He was young—early twenties. One of the most joyful people I’ve ever met.”
“‘Lost him’?” She repeated the words slowly, her brain struggling to catch up. Dead? She shook her head. “Sam’s still alive. He couldn’t be the same person. I know...”
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