by Gail Barrett
“I’m going to climb up the ridge and get our bearings. You can sort through what we’ve got.”
She murmured her agreement, and he started climbing, still keeping an eye peeled for snakes. The sun blazed down on his head. Sweat streaked down his temples and stung his eyes. He scrambled over the sun-baked rocks, his breath coming fast, the hot, dry air desiccating his throat.
Minutes later, he reached the top. He blotted his face on the edge of his T-shirt, pulled out the cell phone, and turned it on.
No service. He frowned, switched the channel to roaming, but still couldn’t pick anything up.
They were on their own.
His mood plunging, he stuffed the phone back into his pocket and braced his hands on his hips. To the east stood the mountain range they’d flown over—where Crater Canyon lay. They’d landed in the rocky foothills to the west. Beyond the rocks lay the desert, the flat, gray sand stretching to the horizon a hundred miles away.
He sucked in the fiery air and scanned the endless, unbroken terrain. As he’d expected, there was no road, no sign of civilization in sight, just rocks and sagebrush. He sighed.
Not eager to break the bad news to Zoe, he climbed slowly down the rocks, then returned to where she sat in the sand. She’d divided the sandwiches, granola bars and water into two orderly groups. A third pile contained the first aid kit and miscellaneous supplies.
She raised her eyes at his approach. “What did you see?”
“Nothing.”
“No road?”
“No.” He lowered himself to one knee beside her, pulled the map from the pile, and spread it out. He found the area of Pedro’s airstrip and slid his finger across the page. “We’re about here, in the southern part of the Antelope Valley.”
She scooted closer, her bare arm bumping his, and pointed to a dotted line. “Isn’t that a road?”
“Yeah. But that’s probably fifty miles away—and it’s unpaved. I doubt it gets much traffic this time of year.”
She nibbled her lower lip. Her worried eyes met his. “You think someone will search for us?”
“I doubt it. The radio didn’t work. The Emergency Locator Transmitter might have sent out a signal if Pedro kept the battery charged…but his maintenance wasn’t the best.”
“So no one knows we went down.”
“It’s worse than that,” he admitted. “No one knows we even took off.”
“I see.” Her voice sounded strained. She picked up the map with trembling hands. He could guess what she was thinking. There were plane wrecks all through these mountains—and the skeletons of people who’d never been found.
Closing the door on that grim thought, he grabbed the first aid kit and took out some antiseptic wipes. “Let’s take care of those cuts.”
She tore her gaze from the map and frowned. “They can wait.”
“You don’t want an infection, Zoe. We’ve got problems enough.”
“I guess.” Her forehead still furrowed, she set the map aside, leaned toward him and tilted her head. He parted the hair above her ear and cleaned the gash, then did the same to her cheek.
“Your cheek’s just scraped. Ointment should be enough. But your head’s still bleeding. We’d better wrap it with gauze.” He took out the antibacterial ointment, put a dab on her cheek, then applied some to a length of gauze. More of her braid slid loose and slithered over his arm.
Trying to ignore the silky caress, he tied the gauze around her head. The frayed ends fluttered in the breeze. “There you go.”
“Thanks.” She shifted back, lifted a hand to the knotted gauze, and shot him a rueful smile. “I don’t even want to know what I look like.”
Kissable. The thought curved out of nowhere, sending a bolt of heat through his veins. He dropped his gaze to her lips, to that sexy mole at the edge of her mouth, and his blood made a ragged surge.
He shouldn’t touch her. He knew that. She was injured, scared, and they had their survival at stake.
But sex with Zoe had been explosive. They’d shared a summer he’d never forget. And damned if he didn’t want to press his lips against hers and discover if she’d still make him burn.
He inched closer, his pulse heavy. She stayed riveted in place, her tongue moistening her lips. He angled his head, hunger rising inside him, desire crackling the desert air.
But then the hot wind gusted, whistling through the rocks behind them, stopping him dead. What was he doing? He couldn’t touch Zoe. This situation was complicated enough.
He leaned back on his heels, appalled at what he’d nearly done. He had no business kissing Zoe—and not just because of the crash. The FBI wanted her for questioning. She’d once tried to ruin him. He couldn’t forget his job.
Looking as awkward as he felt, she burst into a flurry of motion—folding the map, repacking the first aid kit, her eyes not quite meeting his. “You never said what you were doing at the airstrip,” she said, loading the water into her knapsack.
Shrugging, he fed her the official line. “I took leave and came back to see Pedro. He wanted to visit his niece, so I told him I’d man the airstrip until he got back.”
She nodded, as if accepting the story, and more guilt piled in his mind. The story should have been true. He should have come back to see Pedro. He’d visited him a few times through the years, but not nearly enough. Not as much as the old pilot deserved.
He shifted his gaze to the wrecked Cessna, the familiar call sign on the fuselage taking him back. He’d found Pedro’s airstrip by luck. He’d been a dirty, nine-year-old kid, his scrawny frame covered with bruises, his stomach cramped with hunger, trying to run from his drunken old man. He’d hidden overnight in the flight shack, where Pedro discovered him the following day.
Coop’s mouth kicked up at the memory. Pedro had fed him a breakfast of baked beans—the old pilot’s meal of choice—then hired him to do odd jobs around the airstrip whenever he didn’t have school.
And he’d changed Coop’s life. He’d shown him that a man could be gentle, that not everyone who drank got violent and mean. And when he’d taken him up in that Cessna…Coop had discovered freedom, excitement. Escape.
“Then Pedro will miss you, right?” Zoe asked, drawing his thoughts back to their current plight. “He’ll notice that the plane is gone and start a search.”
Coop shook his head, reluctant to cause her more worry, but unwilling to give her false hope. “He won’t be back for a couple of weeks yet.”
“I see.”
“Yeah.” They were screwed. He leaned back against the rocks and let out a heavy sigh. “Is this all the food we’ve got?”
She grimaced. “Yes. It isn’t much. The two sandwiches I brought and four granola bars that feel like concrete. They’re ten years past their expiration date.”
And they only had water for a day or two at most—which meant they should rest by day and hike at night to avoid the heat, especially since Zoe had banged her head.
But they couldn’t risk staying by the plane in case their assailants caught up. He eyed the sizzling sand. “Do you have a hat?”
“In my bag.”
“Put it on. We need to start hiking to that road. Or at least find a safer place to rest.”
She pulled a straw hat from her knapsack, then fiddled with the brim. “Listen, Coop…I’m not going with you.”
“What?”
She met his gaze. “I’m going to Crater Canyon.”
The ghost town? He stared at her in disbelief. “Are you crazy?” Had the triple-digit heat scrambled her brain? “This isn’t a game, Zoe. We could die out here. We have to get to that road and get help.”
“I can’t. I don’t have time. I have to find that flash drive before the deadline runs out.”
“The hell you do. Let the FBI handle this. They’ll bring in a SWAT team and rescue Shaw.”
“They’ll never believe me. And if I hike to that road to get help, I’ll miss the deadline.” Her eyes pleaded with his. “Don’t yo
u understand? If I don’t pay the ransom he’s dead.”
Coop’s outrage rose. “So you’re going to hike to Crater Canyon?”
“Yes.”
“And what good will that do? Even if you find the flash drive, you’ll still be stranded—and even farther from help.”
“I know, but—”
“And what if those men come back? What if they’re waiting up there?”
Fear flickered in her eyes, but she raised her chin. “I have to risk it. I’m not changing my mind about this.”
He stared at her, too incredulous to speak. She really intended to go to the ghost town. She was out of her brilliant mind.
He rose and paced to a clump of sagebrush, his frustration increasing with every stride. She was insane, suicidal. Those men wouldn’t give up; they’d lie in wait at the ghost town and gun her down for sure.
And what was he supposed to do? He couldn’t make her change her mind or force her to hike to that road.
But neither could he forget his job.
Swearing, he kicked a tumbleweed out of his path. He didn’t need this grief. Her problems were none of his business. And he definitely couldn’t help her. The Navy and FBI wanted her for questioning. She was the target’s granddaughter—and he had a job to do. He had to hike to that road, flag down a ride and let the Navy handle Zoe.
But what if she was right about the authorities? What if there was more to this case than he knew?
He yanked off his ball cap and plunged his hand through his hair. It didn’t matter. If he screwed up again and disobeyed orders, the Navy would ground him for good.
He wiped the sweat from his face and glanced up, spotted two vapor trails streaking the brilliant Nevada sky—probably F/A-18 Hornets flying out of Fallon—and sudden panic squeezed his chest. He couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t jeopardize his career. He belonged up there—rocketing through the sky at mach speed, dogfighting and pulling Gs.
He shoved his cap back on and swung his gaze back to Zoe. She sat with her knees drawn up to her chest, her scraped cheek already puffy, her lopsided braid dangling around her flushed face. She looked defenseless, tired, determined.
His hopes dove. She wouldn’t give up. He’d never convince her to go to that road.
And right or wrong, no matter what the consequences, he couldn’t leave her out here alone.
He tipped back his head and closed his eyes, calling himself every kind of fool. Hadn’t he learned from the past? This woman had screwed up his life.
And now, against his better judgment, he was about to let her do it again.
Chapter 4
The mountains kept moving.
Zoe squinted at the brown peaks shimmering in the haze, her head floating with fatigue, the fiery air a blowtorch on her throat. They’d been hiking toward those peaks for hours now, trudging over uneven rocks, roasting in the relentless sun—and the mountains kept dancing away.
She stumbled, barely managing to stay upright, and stole another glance at Coop. He strode silently beside her, his jaw locked in an angry jut, his lug-soled flight boots bludgeoning the rocks, broadcasting his hostility with every move.
He didn’t want to be here. And she didn’t need the aggravation of his bad mood. Her temples ached; her scraped cheek throbbed. Worry about her grandfather tormented her thoughts.
“There’s shade up ahead,” Coop said, his voice curt. “We’ll stop there and drink some water.”
Her spine stiffened at his bossy tone, his take-charge attitude ticking her off. But her protests died in her scorched throat. No matter how much she longed to argue, he was right. They needed to rest. She was dangerously dehydrated. And bickering over who was in charge wouldn’t help.
He was also right about something else, although she refused to admit it to him. This journey defied common sense. They were hiking with too little water in lethal heat, heading to a ghost town even farther from help—where killers might be lying in wait.
Fear scraped her spine at that thought, but she pushed aside her concerns. She couldn’t worry herself into a frenzy, couldn’t conjure up disasters at every turn. She had to stay calm, deal with one dreadful problem at a time.
“This is good,” Coop announced. He stopped in a sliver of shade and set the emergency kit on the ground.
She dropped her knapsack beside him and propped her hands on her knees. Sweat streamed down her face. A wave of dizziness made her head spin. Dark spots pirouetted in her vision.
She heaved in the blistering air, then made herself stand upright, unwilling to let him see her fatigue. If she showed any sign of weakness, he would insist on turning around.
He handed her a bottle of water, and she drank greedily, the warm liquid ambrosia on her raw throat. She gasped, caught her breath, and guzzled the water again. They hadn’t even reached the mountains, had an entire night of hiking ahead of them, and she was already growing too weak.
Coop pulled the blanket from the emergency kit and folded it over the rocks. “We’ll sit on this. The hot rocks will make us sweat too much.”
Too exhausted to comment, she plopped down beside him on the scrap of fabric, her hip pressed against his. She handed him the bottle of water, trying to ignore his wide shoulder nudging hers, the brush of his corded arm.
He tipped back his head, and her eyes followed the movement, tracing the muscular line of his throat. Her gaze lingered on the black scruff coating his jaw, the jet-black hair peeking from beneath his cap. She pressed her palms to her thighs, the sudden urge to touch him throwing her off guard.
“How far do you think it is to the mountains?” she asked to distract herself.
“Another hour, maybe. It’ll take us most of the night to hike to the ghost town. Those hills are steeper than they look.” His electric eyes met hers, making her heart sprint. “We’ll have to rest at some point, too.”
Afraid he’d see her unruly reaction, she peered at the mountains again. Angry or not, he was a seriously sexy man. But she couldn’t compound her mistakes, couldn’t start fantasizing that he wanted to kiss her—like that moment when he’d bandaged her head.
She brushed some dirt off her shorts and tried to corral her scattered pulse. But the subtle touch of his shoulder, the feel of his hard thigh pressed against hers made it difficult to breathe.
“Here.” He held out the bottle of water.
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
“You’d better drink up. People have died out here with water in their canteens.”
“All right.” She took the bottle and sipped the warm liquid again.
“So when is that ransom due?” he asked.
“Midnight tomorrow.” A familiar spurt of panic skittered inside her. She only had thirty-one hours to get to the ghost town and find the flash drive, then deliver it to the rendezvous point halfway across the state.
“And you really think that flash drive’s at the ghost town?”
“It has to be. I’ve looked everywhere else.” She inhaled sharply, refusing to consider what would happen if she was wrong. “My grandfather has kept supplies out there for years—his sleeping bag and tent, even an ATV. He goes there so often—at least once a month—and he didn’t want to lug stuff back and forth. I’m sure that’s where he hid the flash drive—with his supplies.”
Coop took the water bottle from her and closed the cap. “So let’s say you find it. What then?”
“I go to the rendezvous point.”
“Where’s that?”
She hesitated. She trusted Coop, but she couldn’t take any risks with her grandfather’s life at stake. Too much could still go wrong. “The kidnappers will let me know.”
Coop lifted his brows, his skepticism clear. But she couldn’t tell him everything—at least not yet. She took off her wide-brimmed sun hat and fanned her face.
“So exactly what’s on that flash drive?” he asked, his voice neutral.
“I’m not sure.”
“You must have an idea.”
“Yes, but I can’t really discuss it. The information is classified, and I signed an oath.”
His mouth tightened. “I have a top-secret clearance.”
Of course he would. She couldn’t stop the swift shaft of hurt. “I know how important that is to you.”
His eyes hardened. “What does that mean?”
As if he didn’t know. She pressed her knees to her chest and hugged her legs. Coop had ended their affair because of that clearance—or rather the rumors that her parents had been spies. He’d feared any link to her family could harm his budding Naval career—and the top-secret security clearance he’d eventually need.
But her parents hadn’t been traitors. The accusations had been lies. And she’d thought that with his family’s background, Coop would have understood.
That hardly mattered now, though. Ignoring the old hurt, she turned her mind back to the missing flash drive. “I don’t work on his project, but he has been trying to do the same thing all his life—find a way to recycle spent nuclear fuel rods. He’s trying to leach out the waste, then concentrate and reuse the uranium.”
“I thought they could already do that.”
“They can. They’ve developed a few different processes, but they all require expensive equipment, centrifuges, special reactors—and it still leaves dangerous waste.” She stuck her hat back on her head and angled the brim against the sun. “He’s trying to invent a simpler procedure, one that’s cheaper, more portable.”
Coop leaned back on his hands and stretched out his muscled legs. A tear slashed the knee of his jeans. “And why is that important?”
“It would be better for the environment, for one thing, a way to reuse the nuclear waste that we’ve got piling up. Storage is always a problem. Security, too. You’ve seen the trains.” They passed through the desert on their way to the Navy’s repository in Idaho under heavy military guard.
Coop’s forehead creased. Insects buzzed in the shimmering heat. “So who would want this technology?”
“It depends on the process, the level of refinement. But the government would definitely want it. The military, too. That’s why they’re funding his research.”