Hope couldn’t quite overhear his conversation, but she guessed he was talking about her. He murmured an affirmative, his eyes guarded.
She knew then that Sam had been right. Leather didn’t need her anymore, and she’d seen his face. She’d seen the pilot. She could identify Poncho. They wouldn’t let her live. Faith was probably dead already.
Her heart stalled in her chest, and she struggled to hide her panic. Faith couldn’t be gone. She’d feel it. Her sister was still alive; she had to be. Hope clung to that belief, and found the strength to keep fighting.
Leather had to attach the net to a line hanging from the helicopter, and the task required his full attention. While he fumbled with the hook, she took off running. He couldn’t follow until he finished, so she had a good head start.
Instead of going downhill, which was tempting, she went up. He might have greater size and strength, but he couldn’t outhike her. She raced to the top of Angel Wings, her blood pumping with adrenaline. There was a gun at the plane crash site, sitting on the passenger seat. She’d beat Leather there and give him a nasty surprise.
She heard him coming after her. As she sailed over the surface, weaving back and forth, he lagged behind. He wasn’t slow, but he couldn’t catch up with her. The uneven terrain worked to her advantage.
She reached the fuselage and dove inside. Crows flew from the cockpit, squawking and flapping their black wings. The smell of death was overwhelming. The pilot’s body had swelled and shifted, listing to the right. As she shoved him aside, she caught a glimpse of his empty eye sockets, picked clean by scavengers.
Gagging, she reached for the gun and shrank down, flattening her back against the interior of the plane.
When Leather appeared at the broken front window, she pulled the trigger. He saw the gun and ducked, but nothing happened. She’d left the safety on. Hands shaking, she released the mechanism and waited for him to enter the fuselage.
“Come on,” she urged. Come and get me.
The seconds ticked by. She wanted to peek out the window to see where he’d gone. Maybe he’d decided she wasn’t worth the trouble. Pleased with her quick thinking and fast footwork, she craned her neck to look for him.
Bullets peppered the side of the plane, penetrating the fuselage. She screamed and curled herself into a tight ball.
He fired again, narrowly missing her head.
Holding the gun in a tight grip, she squeezed off a couple of shots, estimating his location. She was afraid to keep firing, because she didn’t know how many bullets were in the chamber. For a moment, everything was silent.
Had she hit him?
Something slammed into the fuselage, jolting her sideways. A second later, the plane moved again. Its metal underbelly scraped along the jagged surface of the rock.
She gasped with terror as it dawned on her.
He was pushing her off the cliff.
* * *
SAM HAD NO intention of following Hope to Mist Falls.
None whatsoever.
A part of him wanted to go after her just because she’d told him not to. How dare she order him around at gunpoint? Although he knew she wouldn’t actually shoot him, he didn’t appreciate her intimidation tactics. Staring down the barrel made him feel like a little kid about to piss his pants. It was a hell of a power equalizer.
He should have tackled her when he had the chance. He could have used his superior strength to hold her down, keep her safe. She’d taken away his only opportunity to save her, and he resented her for it.
Seething with frustration, he stared down the path. He wasn’t going to chase her again. He refused to follow her into another ridiculously dangerous scenario. He was going to hike back to Kaweah, retreat from society and...free-solo until he felt numb.
Cursing, he scrubbed a hand down his face. That wasn’t healthy. This wasn’t healthy. Everything was so fucked up!
He knew he’d overreacted to her question about Melissa. Last night, he’d opened up to her about his head trauma, and she’d listened to him. She’d pointed out that he was running away from his problems, but she hadn’t been cold or uncaring. Then she’d shared her darkest secret with him, and he’d brushed it aside. He’d judged her and dismissed her pain.
He hadn’t reacted well to the confession about Dixon, either. Every time she gave him a part of herself, physically or emotionally, he shut her out. He thought he was doing it to protect Melissa’s memory. In reality, he was protecting himself.
Deep down, he’d always known there was something special about her. He’d recognized it the first time he saw her, but he hadn’t wanted a meaningful relationship. He had to heal himself before he could be with anyone else. Hope represented life, and change, and moving forward.
Over the past three days, he’d been in a constant state of anxiety. It finally dawned on him that his fears weren’t caused by triggers, or psychosis, or his tragic past. He was paralyzed with worry because he cared about her. She mattered more to him than recovery.
He’d sacrifice his last days with Melissa for a future with Hope.
The suspicion that he might never regain his memory had plagued him for two years. At this point, it seemed almost insignificant. If he lost Hope, he’d be devastated. Nothing else mattered.
He went after her.
Although he ran as fast as he could, leaping over boulders in his path, she had a good head start. He never caught up with her. When Mist Falls came into view, he veered off the trail and studied the area. There was a bolted line on the left side of the falls. Skirting around that expected route, he made his way to the other side, walking behind the curtain of water. He’d been cliff-diving here before and knew of an alternate ascent.
He climbed along the slippery rocks, using the cover of trees and shrubs. The crashing falls drowned out all sound. As he got close to the summit, a helicopter flew over. Sam searched the other side of the waterfall and found Hope. She was standing at the top with one of the drug smugglers. The man looked across the falls, directly above Sam. Hope nodded, and they headed toward the meadow beyond.
Sam couldn’t do anything to stop them. He hadn’t anticipated a helicopter. He’d assumed she would guide the drug smugglers to the stash on foot, and he’d have hours to find an opportunity to rescue her—not seconds.
He clung to a moss-covered wall, his heart hammering against his ribs. There was a clearing above him. Sam could slither back down the falls, take the dizzying jump to the pool below, or keep going up.
He kept going.
A small outcropping offered a number of handholds. He climbed over it and crawled behind a cluster of bushes, staying low. Near the summit, there was a woman sitting on a flat rock, her mouth gagged. She was bound at the wrists and ankles.
Faith.
She looked a lot like Hope. Slender, pretty, curly hair. She was blonde, and on the skinny side, more petite than her sister.
The man with her was the other smuggler from the cave. His clothes were wet. He held a gun in his right hand. Sam guessed he was about Owen’s age, but he had dark, shaggy hair and a bulkier frame.
While he watched, Faith made a mewling sound and gazed up at the young man, fluttering her lashes in distress. She tugged at her bonds imploringly, drawing his attention to her outthrust breasts. Clever girl.
Unfortunately, her captor didn’t fall for it. Flushing, he glanced away.
Sam’s instincts screamed to help Faith, but the drug smuggler was armed and dangerous. Interfering might put Hope at risk, as well. She’d probably agreed to their demands in exchange for her sister’s life.
He knew that Hope wouldn’t want him to leave Faith. She cared more about her sister’s safety than her own. And, once again, he didn’t have much choice. Angel Wings wasn’t far, but he couldn’t outrun a helicopter. Even if he left now, and speed-climbed the wall, he might be too late to reach Hope.
Saving Faith was a better option.
Sam’s pulse pounded as he deliberated an approach. T
he guy was about his size, but Sam had no experience in fisticuffs.
Faith rolled onto her side and arched her back, still trying to free her wrists. She couldn’t budge them, but she managed to jiggle her breasts and strike a provocative pose. Her efforts weren’t in vain. The guy was disturbed, and possibly tempted, by her machinations. He moved to the edge of the falls, turning his back on her.
It was now or never.
Sam was a loner, not a fighter, but he had a distinct advantage. He’d cliff-dived from this very spot.
Rising to his feet, he burst from the bushes and ran toward his target. The guy whirled around quickly, hearing him approach. He didn’t have time to step away from the falls or aim his weapon. Sam hurdled over Faith and tackled her captor. They sailed through the air in a tangle of arms and legs.
The blind drop was stomach-curling. While the drug smuggler flailed wildly, letting go of his weapon, Sam braced for impact. Seconds later, they hit the water with a cold shock. Their combined weight resulted in a harder slam and a deeper plunge.
Sam had another advantage in the pool. As a former Olympian, he was a strong swimmer, as comfortable in icy water as on dry land. Shoving his opponent down to the bottom, he kicked toward the surface.
Before he got far, a hand snagged his ankle, jerking him backward. Sam’s booted foot glanced off his cheek. The guy let go of Sam, releasing a flurry of bubbles. They broke through the water at the same time.
Sam’s new friend punched him in the face. Pain exploded in his mouth and hot blood dribbled down his chin.
He ducked and swam away, executing a swift freestyle. If the pool was larger, Sam could have put distance between them quickly. He could have scrambled out, climbed up the safety line and freed Faith.
But the pool wasn’t big enough to make a difference. He reached the shore in seconds, and the smuggler was right behind him. Sam tried a second tackle, having exhausted his attack repertoire. Too late, he realized he should have stayed in the water. The younger man boxed as well as Sam swam.
His opponent stayed on his feet, shoving Sam and advancing. Sam staggered backward, absorbing several blows to the face. They were close to the outer edge of the pool, where the flow fed into the river.
He glanced at the rushing water, dizzy. Maybe it was time to take another dive.
The smuggler made the decision for him. He came at Sam with a fist-sized rock, cracking him over the head.
Everything went black.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SAM REMEMBERED.
He remembered his last moments with Melissa. He remembered the morning of the climb, and the day before. He remembered the horrible, harrowing weeks after. He remembered the earthquake.
He remembered everything. The memories were no worse or better than he expected, just different. Hollow, in a way.
“Sam.”
The voice drifted into his semiconsciousness. Owen’s voice. His hand slapped Sam’s wet cheek lightly.
Sam groaned as reality crashed down all around him. His head...fucking hurt. He didn’t want to open his eyes. His clothes were soaked, and he felt...sick. As if he’d swallowed a bellyful of river water.
It came gurgling up, spewing from him in a violent rush. Owen rolled him onto his side and Sam vomited until he had nothing left. The cool liquid felt alien, like a foreign substance purged from his insides. When it was gone, he dry-heaved weakly. Tears rushed into his eyes with every stomach spasm.
He couldn’t focus. The world was a blur.
Owen set him on his back and covered his body with a safety blanket. The cold water, inside and out, had lowered his core temperature so much that he was shaking like a leaf, even while lying on a warm rock in direct sunlight.
“Hope,” he croaked.
Owen hovered close, his face a Munch painting. “Do you know where she is?”
Sam blinked several times to clear his vision. The bleeding colors rearranged into something that resembled reality. “Angel Wings.”
Owen picked up his radio to call it in.
“No,” Sam said, reaching out to stop him. His hand brushed Owen’s forearm and fell aside, ineffectual.
Owen flinched at the contact. He always did. “Why?”
Sam lifted his throbbing head to study their surroundings. His body had traveled several hundred feet downriver. The man he’d been fighting was gone. “They’re listening to the transmissions.”
Owen’s brows rose with surprise.
“How long was I out?” Sam asked.
“A few minutes, at the most.”
“Is anyone else in the area?”
“No. The other rangers got delayed. They’re still hours away.”
“Faith needs help,” Sam said, trying to concentrate on the most important details. His mind was reeling from the rush of memories. He’d waited years for recovery. Getting it now wasn’t just inconvenient, it was a damned nuisance.
“Del Norte went after her,” Owen said.
“When?”
“Just now. He caught sight of someone climbing up the side of the falls. He ran that way, saying the man would lead him to Faith.”
“He wants to rescue her?”
“That’s what he said.”
“You have to follow him,” Sam said.
“Is she over there?”
“Yes.”
Owen examined the trail, his gaze sharp. Then he returned his attention to Sam. “You look like hell.”
Sam straightened, staving off a wave of dizziness. There was a tender lump on the back of his head. His teeth ached from the punch he’d taken. He felt nauseated, and he probably had a concussion, but his vision had returned to normal. He wasn’t throwing up anymore. The uncontrollable shivering had stopped. “I’m fine.”
“Right,” Owen scoffed.
“I remember the quake.”
“What quake?”
“In San Diego,” Sam said. “I remember everything. I remember Melissa’s death.”
Owen appeared stunned. He was one of the few people who knew about Sam’s amnesia—because he’d been there during the freeway collapse.
“Do you have a rack?”
“Of climbing gear?”
“Yeah.”
“You can’t climb.”
Sam tossed aside the blanket and staggered to his feet. If he could stand, he could climb. “Give it to me. I’m going after Hope.”
Owen rose also. His expression was skeptical, but he shrugged out of his backpack and handed it over.
“Faith is bound and gagged on the right side of the falls.”
“I’ll look for her.”
“Be careful,” Sam warned.
Owen promised he would, and Sam felt his throat close up. He realized that he hadn’t managed to smother all of his feelings over the past two years. Somehow, he’d grown to like this messed-up kid from prison.
Maybe it was a mistake to leave Faith’s life in the hands of a park assistant and a fugitive criminal, but Sam couldn’t think of a better option. He was terrified for Hope. For the first time since the accident, he’d woken with a clear head.
He had to go with his gut. He had to save Hope.
The simple hike was grueling. When he tried to sprint, he started dry-heaving again. He was forced to stop and take sips of water until his nausea abated. After he reached the fork, he felt stronger. He found some crackers and an energy drink in Owen’s pack. The snack settled his stomach, and he jogged the last two miles to Angel Wings.
At the wall, he dropped his pack and removed the gear. Owen’s harness fit him. His ropes were good. Sam didn’t have time to mess around with perfect placements and safety measures. More than an hour had passed since he’d left Mist Falls. He had to speed-climb and pray for strength.
It was, without a doubt, the hardest climb of his life. His balance was off, he felt weak and his muscles didn’t work right. The bump on his head was like a beating heart, radiating pain throughout his body. He was sweating profusely, his gut churning.
He kept the crackers down, but it was a near thing.
At the halfway mark, a high wind tested his resolve. He swayed and clung to the wall, pressing his belly against the warm rock. His hands were trembling. The odds against him seemed insurmountable.
He was going to fail.
Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. Memories of Melissa flooded him. He hadn’t argued with her that day, or been careless with their gear, or pushed her beyond her limits. What had happened was an accident. Knowing that didn’t assuage his guilt. All these months, he’d assumed recovery would bring closure. Instead, he felt empty. He was overwhelmed by loss, not comforted or at peace.
And how cruel was fate, to put him in the same position with Hope. Unable to save her. So close, but so far. Another life, slipping through his fingers.
Gunfire echoed through the canyon, startling him into action. He continued his ascent, aware that the shots were coming from the mountaintop. It sounded like two different weapons firing, but he couldn’t be sure.
A moment later, the remains of the plane toppled over the edge of the cliff, coming straight at him.
* * *
THE WATERFALL WAS almost as majestic as the ones he’d seen in Costa Rica.
Javier recognized the man climbing up the path as Nick Kruger. He was Martin’s little bitch. Martin Hinojosa did most of Gonzales’s dirty work. Both men were likely candidates for Alexia’s murder.
He couldn’t wait to tear Nick apart.
Tucking the gun into his waistband, Javier began his ascent. Nick had already spotted him, so he didn’t bother with stealth. He climbed quickly, closing the distance between them. Near the top, he caught a glimpse of tangled blond hair. Faith sat on the opposite side of the falls. She’d been gagged with dirty cloth, her wrists and ankles bound.
Javier would kill Nick for that offense alone. Although he had him in his sights, Javier hesitated to shoot.
He didn’t want to do it in front of her.
Instead of pulling his gun, he continued to the summit. Nick waded across the top edge of the falls, almost slipping in his haste. Javier couldn’t let him get to Faith. He traversed the space with caution, but he also made a misstep, sinking into waist-deep water. When he regained his footing, he hurried to catch up.
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