by Vivian Arend
Well. That was weird. “Any particular reason you’re sharing this right now?”
“Because it’s important. You’ve changed, even in the past couple of weeks, and the only difference in your life is Becki. So I’m calling it as I see it. Whether it’s her dragging you back or I don’t know the hell what else, I’m glad you two hooked up.”
The urge to snap out some sarcastic response was strangely lacking, mainly because he agreed one hundred percent with David’s assessment. “Thanks for that.”
“Call me if you need anything else.”
Marcus tossed his phone onto the table beside the couch. He debated briefly hitting the liquor cabinet for something to take the edge off his nerves but decided what he really needed was a long warm shot of something else.
He stripped and joined Becki in the bed, wrapping himself like a barrier between her and the world. She shivered, her arm that had escaped the covers cold against his. He threaded their fingers together and lay there waiting for his brain to slow.
The words—the accusation—that Ted had thrown at Becki repeated in his mind. Had Becki cut the rope on her partner?
If she had, did he care?
It was an unanswerable question in a way, because it wasn’t a logical question to ask in the first place. Tying yourself to another person was a signal of ultimate trust. You handed control over to them and believed they’d make the decisions that had to be made.
There were times during rescues he’d worked on when things had gone wrong, but he’d never once doubted that every choice he and his team made were based on reaching the best possible outcome.
Becki had shown herself to be that same kind of person.
She’d been reckless years ago. He liked to imagine that it was partly his hauling her aside way back when she’d been a student that had been the catalyst that set her on a better path.
Now, as David had said, she’d been the catalyst to pull him back from the darkness that he could have easily gotten lost in. From the moment she’d arrived in town he’d felt the difference, as if she’d begun to anchor him by her mere presence. The difference she’d made the other night was undeniable as well.
All he knew for certain was that when it came to climbing, he’d let her control his ropes—let her make the decision if it had to be made to cut the line. On the mountainside he had no doubts at all in her instantaneous decision-making skills.
Yet in their relationship he wasn’t willing to give up that kind of trust. He wasn’t willing to let her cut him free.
The contrast in thoughts was enough to keep him awake for hours.
CHAPTER 27
The ground swept away before her, the heavy weight of Dane’s body at the other end of the rope dragging her downward. Becki fought for a handhold, scrambling backward crablike. Heels digging in, fighting for purchase. She caught a boot against a firm protrusion and leaned back to stop her momentum. Her harness lifted her hips from the ground as the rope insistently tugged her toward the cliff edge.
She would have sworn, would have called for help. Would have begged if there were the slightest possibility anyone could hear her.
The root beneath her foot wiggled. The stump crumbled, the soil around the rotting wood coming free. Becki kicked her other heel into the hillside, trying to form a divot, desperate to hollow out a place to hold herself steady.
The rope groaned, twisting with the weight on the other end. She was losing the battle. Another rock worked loose, the wind howling past her and forcing her to turn her head to the side. The scent of fresh earth and loose rock dust mingled together and filled her nostrils. She peeked longingly at the trees behind her, so close and yet totally out of reach.
Her vision blurred as she fought to focus. Looking ahead for anything that would provide an anchor for a safety loop.
Nothing. An inch at a time she lost ground. She’d slowed her approach to the cliff edge, but it looked inevitable. It wasn’t a matter of if, but when.
She was going to be dragged over the edge by the weight of her partner.
Becki scrambled at her leg pocket, bruised and battered fingers protesting as she tore up the Velcro and yanked out her knife. She’d lost little bits of fingernails on her right hand, and sharp pains stabbed her as she frantically pressed the safety catch to release the protective covering. The casing fell away to expose the serrated knife edge. Becki longed for a nice fixed blade, something with an extended reach and more than a three-inch cutting surface. She slipped her forefinger into the holding loop and stabbed at the ground behind her, working to find a spot firm enough to allow her to Just. Stop. Sliding.
She swung again and again, each time the ricochet when blade met rocks bounced through her hand and arm to grip her with pain. For a moment, she thought she had it. The blade sank in deep and she clung tight, gasping for air. Biceps flexed hard, muscles shaking as her descent slowed. Praying for a moment to recover her position. If she could find something to brace against.
The blade quivered.
“No. No, no, no. Stay in place, oh please please, stay in place,” she begged. Kicking frantically. Fingertips of her free hand scratching for purchase.
She was almost at the point where she’d warned herself she had to give up. Three more feet before she’d have to turn her back on everything she’d worked toward for so many years. But if she crossed that imaginary line, if she couldn’t stop herself from slipping past it, she would go off the cliff, and she and Dane would both die.
That invisible boundary was the last possible moment she had to save herself.
And while every bit of her protested dying, she wondered how she’d ever deal with knowing she’d as good as killed her partner.
* * *
Her instinct to jerk upright was stopped by something heavy across her body. Becki held her breath and tried to pull herself together, ordering her heart to slow enough so that it wasn’t about to pound its way out of her chest.
Warm lips touched her cheek, heated air caressing her as a firm grip caught her arm. “I’m here. You’re not alone.”
Becki nodded and curled under him, burying in tight like a kitten looking for protection. The scent of his skin soothed her and she inhaled deeply, attempting to find the balance that had been torn away the previous night.
Dreams shouldn’t be able to do things like this. “What time is it?”
Marcus lifted his head slightly, glancing over her at the clock on the nightstand. “Nearly eight A.M.”
“Good drugs. I never sleep this late.”
“You needed it. Don’t fuss. You want to get up, or shall I let you hog the covers without me?”
Becki wiggled far enough away to look into his face. “Lots on the agenda for today?”
Dark eyes stared back, searching her carefully. “Nothing but you.”
She wanted to protest that he didn’t need to, but that would be the opposite of what she wanted. Especially with the dream lingering in her brain. “I need your help, Marcus. I need to have someone there to help me deal with the next few days.”
He brushed his fingers over her cheek and into her hair, cupping the back of her head tenderly. “Thank you for asking.”
Becki gave a wry smile. “Well, I figured you were planning on taking charge anyway, and this way I can’t complain because it’s my own damn fault.”
“You know me too well already.”
“I know how your brain works, yes. I think I have a bit of the bossy gene in me as well. Makes us clash.”
He grinned. “Fighting sucks, but the makeup sex is pretty hot.”
The memories made her body warm and tingle in spite of everything crowding her brain. Or maybe because of the things that had gone wrong. Sex was easier to concentrate on than anything else. Natural, easy, with the added bonus that in the end you forgot everything except pleasure, at least for a little while.
She was suddenly very aware that they were both naked. Becki stroked a hand over his chest, watching closely as
she played with the curves of the muscles. Spreading her fingers wide as she pressed on his chest and rolled him to his back.
There was no way she could have made him go unless he was willing. When she lifted her knee over his hips to straddle him, Marcus pulled off the blankets, then folded his arms behind his head.
“I’m not even going to pretend to wonder what you’re doing,” he said.
“Is it wrong?” Becki asked, slipping herself backward far enough to grasp his erection and stroke it carefully. “I need you. This way as well.”
He didn’t answer, just thrust against her grip, the skin over his shaft so soft compared to the hardness beneath it. She pumped him unhurriedly, bringing him to full rigidity before lifting herself over him.
One hand on his chest as she braced herself, the other guiding him in. That sense of fullness and pleasure distracting her. Helping her concentrate on nothing but the here and now. Marcus reached up and stroked her breasts, one, then the other. Trailed his fingers down her body softly, like the brush of wings teasing and making her more sensitive.
All the while she rose and fell over him, undulating slowly and savouring having him fill her.
He touched between her legs, bringing up moisture from where they met and lifting it to her clit. He rubbed firmly, tilting his hips and adding a small thrust every time she dropped, and suddenly the sex wasn’t as calm as it had been a moment before.
She closed her eyes and just felt. Relished the sensations, the caring in his every touch. The climax that was fast approaching.
“Fuck.” Marcus rolled her and scrambled from the bed, jerking the discarded blanket from the floor and tossing it over her. He stormed to the French doors and snapped one open, buck naked and still aroused. “Get the hell off my deck.”
Becki clutched the sheets to her chest like some old-time romance heroine and stared at the windows. “Marcus?”
One movement and the door slammed shut. Two steps and he had the narrow gap in the curtains snapped closed. He rotated toward her, anger in his eyes, body gone tight with tension. “We had a visitor. I’m calling Ted to inform him that next time, the cops get involved.”
Her stomach fell. “You think it was reporters?”
Marcus grimaced, pacing back to sit on the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his hips. “I don’t usually have neighbours coming over on a Saturday morning to borrow cups of sugar, if that’s what you’re suggesting.”
“No, I understand how they get.” She had far-too-clear memories of being hounded by reporters. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Nothing you did.” Marcus stroked her leg under the sheet, looking her over carefully. She tried not to show how out of whack she was, but it must have been apparent because he sighed. With a pat to her thigh, he changed topics. “Come on, I’ll get breakfast.”
Her nerves still tingled with her almost-orgasm, but he was right. Slipping back into sex wasn’t going to work. “Frustration is not my cup of tea. Just to be clear.”
Marcus’s smile twitched. “Mine, either, but we can finish this later. Hit the shower.”
By the time she stepped back into the bedroom, wrapped in a towel, clean clothes were waiting for her on the bed. She dressed quickly, the comfortable familiar clothing helping to set her a little more at ease.
Whatever was going to happen today, she would survive it. She was strong, capable. No matter how confused, she could do this. Having Marcus to help her . . . Maybe she shouldn’t have felt as much comfort at the thought that he’d promised to be there for her, but right now she wasn’t about to wonder why.
He had breakfast laid on the table, the curtains opened to the view. Becki walked to the glass and peered out on the grey and cold.
“There’s snow again,” she complained. “Haven’t we had enough?”
On the deck a clear line of footprints led to the windows, then disappeared around the corner toward the bedroom.
Marcus stepped beside her and hugged her briefly. “Our Peeping Tom. I made a few calls.”
Becki nodded, then deliberately turned her back on the mountains, choosing a chair at the table where the only thing she saw was Marcus seated across from her.
Which wasn’t a bad view, to be honest.
Fighting the numbness inside, Becki pushed herself forward. She’d been here before, ready to fall apart, and sheer determination had rescued her. One day at a time.
She had to get through this day, and that meant getting through this hour. “Tell me what you’ve already done, and what’s next.”
* * *
Marcus went through the list of people he’d been in contact with while she’d been showering and dressing. It was short but made it clear he wasn’t messing around. The newspaper and the RCMP were both on the list. Every point he mentioned, she nodded, eating her breakfast with more appetite than he’d have been able to muster in the same conditions.
When he reached the end, he leaned back in his chair and examined her carefully. “Good so far?”
“About what I’d have done, although you have all the contacts here in Banff to do it quicker. Thank you.” Becki pulled over the notepad she’d been jotting down notes on. “I need to call Alisha and thank the team for their support. The news must have been a terrible shock for them as well—I’m grateful they stood up for me.”
“You’ve made a good impression on them, Becki,” Marcus assured her. “You’re not just Rebecca James, some unknown superstar, anymore. You’re obviously considered part of the team.”
That conjured her first full smile of the day. “Thanks. Still, I want to let them know it means the world.”
“Monday will be soon enough—there’s no training this weekend.” Something occurred to him. “Hmm, the fact that it’s the weekend might make it more difficult to reach anyone in Yellowstone. I assume you have contacts?”
She nodded.
“If the authorities need to get hold of you, they will, e-mail or phone. If you want to make contact first, that’s fine as well.” Marcus hesitated, but had to ask. “Did you want to return to Yellowstone for Dane? A memorial or something?”
She clutched her fork a little tighter but shook her head. “We already had a funeral, and there’s not anyone who wants to do it all over.”
And after more than eight months, he didn’t want Becki to have to deal with the body. “Family who might want him buried somewhere in particular?”
“No. It’s too bad they found him, in a way.” Becki lifted her gaze to his. “And I know I can say this to you, because you’ll get it. I’m not talking about the trouble this means to me—them finding his body. It’s just, things were done, and now they’re not. Even your question about a memorial. Dane wasn’t close with his adoptive parents. He’d gotten in contact with his birth mother for the first time a couple of months earlier, but nothing more seemed to come of it. It’s sad he’s gone, but being buried on the mountainside was what he would have wanted if he’d had the choice.”
She shivered, and her eyes grew wide.
“Becki?”
“Thought I’d remembered something.” She stared across the table and sighed. “It’s gone. I’m not sure what it was, but you need to know—last night I dreamed about the accident again.”
“Figured you would.”
“I remembered the next part after that scene when things repeated all the time. Dane fell and I got yanked upward. I rigged new lines to haul him up, but they failed. I got dragged nearly off the cliff—” Becki shivered hard enough her body shook. She lifted her tired gaze to meet his, sorrow and fear overwhelming her. “And that’s where it ended. I had my knife ready, Marcus. And I was being pulled toward the ledge.”
He didn’t snap out the first thing that came to mind, because if he did, she’d probably wave his assurances away. Instead, he took a step back. “For the record? I understand what you meant about Dane and the mountain.”
She nodded, small jerky motions. “Thanks.”
The doo
rbell rang, and she shot to her feet.
Marcus waved her down. “I’ll get it.”
He cautiously opened the door a crack. What he found on his doorstep made his temper flare. “You’re not welcome here, Ted.”
The other man shrugged. “Had to try. I’m not the only one looking for information. Of course, if I get a story then the others will probably back off a little more. No promises, but it might work. If Ms. James wants to talk?” The reporter raised his voice at the end.
Marcus crowded forward. “Get off my property.”
The man stared over Marcus’s shoulder. “Sure. No problem.”
Marcus didn’t believe that for a second. This intrusion was only the first attempt. He knew it. Ted knew it.
When he turned to face Becki, he could tell from her expression she knew it as well.
“They won’t go away because you told them to,” she warned. “They never did when I was in Yellowstone.”
He paced to her side. “We’ll do what we can to help. All of us will. Maybe there will be some huge political scandal in the next few days, and they’ll all scurry off to bother someone else.”
Becki folded her arms over her chest, fingers cupping her upper arms as she rubbed. “I hate this. I hate not knowing. I hate being poked.” She stared into his eyes, concern creasing her face. “If they go by rote, we’ll be trapped in your house or swarmed every time we leave. I’m sorry.”
Marcus slipped his fingers around her neck and pulled her against his chest. “Now that’s one of those ‘Don’t be stupid and apologize for things you didn’t cause’ statements.”
“I asked to spend the night with you.”
“And it would have been so much better for you to be alone in the dorm rooms this morning. Where Ted and everyone else would have complete access to you. Bullshit.”
Marcus had thought this through a dozen times, setting aside his conclusions because she’d asked him not to make decisions for her, but the solution rose again. It was the only decision that made any sense.
Only he had to phrase this correctly. He’d learned that much.