Chapter 2
Amanda’s lungs burned as she fled down the trail, her legs pumping hard. No sign of Nash. Good. He’d flipped everything upside down; she hadn’t thought of herself as Amanda in a long time.
She shouldn’t have come to the cave today. She’d known it was risky, but after what happened to Bill, she needed to check if any evidence remained. She never imagined running into Nash Cross—not here, not anywhere.
The shock of seeing him had rendered her confused, a bit disoriented. He looked good—more mature, with his lanky teenage frame filled out into that of a confident man. But it was his eyes that had thrown her, still that same intense blue that had once made her heart flutter at Cross Creek High.
Amanda shook her head, forcing herself back to reality. She couldn’t afford distractions. Not now, not with everything at stake. The path steepened, and she increased her pace. Her backpack bounced uncomfortably against her spine, heavy with survey equipment and her research notes.
Those notes were everything—months of painstaking research into Porter Rockwell and the rumors of gold he’d hidden in these mountains. She’d been so close to connecting the final dots when Bill …
She swallowed hard, pushing away the image of Bill Harris’s body crumpled beside his car in Provo Canyon. A shotgun blast to the back of his head had left little doubt about the killer’s intentions.
Bill’s research notes were gone. The official police report called it a robbery gone wrong, but Amanda knew better. Someone had silenced him. Why?
And now Nash was involved. Nash, with his questions about the same gold she was tracking.
The trail curved sharply around a cluster of boulders.
Amanda’s foot caught on an exposed root, and she felt herself pitching forward.
Her arms windmilled frantically as she tried to regain her balance, but momentum carried her down.
She landed hard on her side, feeling a sharp twist in her ankle as her body slid several feet down the gravelly path.
“Crap!” she hissed, pain shooting up her leg.
Her backpack had slipped off in the fall, spilling its contents across the trail. Maps, notebooks, her GPS unit, and geological tools lay scattered among the pine needles and dirt.
She tried to stand, but her ankle buckled under her weight, sending a fresh wave of pain through her leg.
This was bad. Really bad.
She crawled toward her scattered possessions, frantically gathering them. She needed to be gone before Nash decided to follow her. She stuffed a topographical map back into her bag, then reached for her research notebook—the one with all her notes on Porter Rockwell and the broken arrow symbol.
Her fingers closed around it just as the sound of footsteps reached her ears.
Too late.
“Amanda?” Nash’s voice carried down the trail, closer than she’d expected. He must have followed her after all.
Panic surged inside of her. She tried again to stand, gritting her teeth against the pain, but her ankle wouldn’t cooperate.
Her mind flashed to eight years ago …
“I had an amazing time tonight,” she told Nash as they stood on her front porch after prom. His fingers were linked with hers, and she wished the moment could last forever.
“Me too,” he said, his eyes reflecting the porch light. “Maybe tomorrow we could—”
She pressed her lips to his. He relaxed into the kiss, and for a wonderful moment, only the two of them existed.
The door flew open behind them, and they jumped apart at the sound of her father’s voice. “Amanda, inside. Now.”
Regretfully, she turned away from the confusion on Nash’s face.
“Good night, Nash,” her father said, before he slammed the door.
Inside, the small rental house was in chaos. It looked like half of their belongings had been stuffed into boxes.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“They found us,” was all her father said. “We have to go. Now.”
Her mother had frowned. “I’m sorry sweetheart, we have to go.”
Within twenty minutes, they were in the car, driving away from Cross Creek and everything Amanda had come to love about it. She stared out the back window, tears streaming down her face, wanting to explain everything to Nash but knowing she couldn’t.
Her father’s voice was tense as he drove through the night. “I’m sorry, sweetie. I’m so sorry.”
“Amanda! Are you okay?”
She jolted and fumbled with her backpack, trying to stuff the rest of her equipment inside, but it was too late. He appeared around the bend in the trail, concern etched across his face when he spotted her on the ground.
“I’m fine,” she said automatically, trying to push herself up again. “Just clumsy.”
Nash rushed over and knelt beside her. “You’re hurt.” It wasn’t a question. His gaze dropped to her already-swelling ankle.
“It’s nothing.” Amanda pulled away when he reached toward her. “I just need to get back to my car.”
“On that ankle? Not happening.” Nash began collecting her scattered belongings, his movements methodical and careful.
He picked up a page of notes, his eyes scanning it before she could snatch it away.
“Porter Rockwell’s connection to cache locations based on broken arrow markings.
” He looked up at her, eyes narrowed. “Explain, please.”
“Just a university project,” she insisted, grabbing the paper from his hand. “Nothing important.”
“At the exact same cave with the exact same symbols I’m investigating?” Nash shook his head. “I don’t believe in coincidences that big, Amanda.”
“Sadie,” she corrected automatically. Then she bit her lip. Stupid. Stupid mistake.
“Sadie?” Nash’s expression shifted from concern to suspicion. “What are you talking about?”
“Nothing.” She stuffed the last of her papers into her bag. “Look, I appreciate the help, but I need to go. I’ll be fine.”
“You can’t walk on that ankle.” Nash zipped her backpack closed and slung it over his shoulder before she could protest. “And I’m not leaving you here.”
“I don’t need your help.” The words came out harsher than she intended.
“Well, you’re getting it anyway.” Without warning, Nash bent down and scooped her up in his arms.
“Put me down!” She pushed against his chest, mortified by the position and the closeness.
He started walking. “Don’t make me drop you and hurt both of us. I’m taking you to your car. Then you can tell me exactly what’s going on.”
She didn’t want him to drop her, so with a sigh, she let herself be carried. Her heart raced. The man was gorgeous and strong and … no. She couldn’t think about that.
“Sadie,” he said softly. “What’s going on?”
She jolted out of her thoughts. “There’s nothing to tell.” Right, she was Sadie now. She’d left Amanda behind.
“Right.” The sarcasm in his voice was unmistakable. “Nothing except why you disappeared without a word eight years ago, why you’re calling yourself Sadie now, and why you’re researching the same historical gold cache that my family is tracking.”
Sadie fell silent, knowing arguments would be useless.
Her mind raced to formulate a story that would satisfy him without revealing the truth.
Which was hard to do, because she was distracted by this man from her past picking her up and carrying her like it was nothing.
He was going out of his way to help her, even though she’d abandoned him all those years ago.
That’s what had drawn her to Nash in the first place; he was just plain good. Well, that and he was extremely hot.
They reached the trailhead parking lot in uncomfortable silence.
“Keys?” he asked as he approached her vehicle.
She hesitated, then reluctantly fished them from her pocket.
Nash managed to unlock the driver’s side door while still holding her, then gently set her down on the seat. He placed her backpack on the passenger floor.
“Thank you,” she said stiffly, avoiding his eyes. “I can manage from here.”
Instead of backing away, Nash leaned against the open door, effectively blocking her from closing it. “Not so fast. I think I deserve some answers.”
Sadie looked up at him then, taking in the determined set of his jaw. “I’m sorry we left town,” she said eventually. “It was complicated.”
“Complicated how?” Nash’s eyes searched hers.
“Just … complicated.” She grabbed her backpack and pulled it onto her lap, a subconscious barrier between them. “Family stuff. But I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
“If?” Nash’s eyebrows rose. “I called your house. I went by the next day and found out your family had just … vanished overnight. No goodbye, no explanation.” His voice grew quieter. “I looked for you for months.”
Guilt knotted in Sadie’s stomach. She’d thought about him so often over the years, wondered what might have been if her family hadn’t been in WITSEC, if her father hadn’t been preparing to testify against Vincent Ferrante, if that bullet hadn’t ended his life and forced her and her mother deeper into hiding. “I couldn’t reach out. I’m sorry.”
Nash scowled at her. “What do you mean, you couldn’t reach out?”
She squeezed her eyes shut, then flashed them open. “I just couldn’t.”
He sighed. “Fine. We can talk about it later.”
“No,” she said quickly, trying to shut the door. “We are done talking.”
“Wait.” Nash pushed the door back. “What are you doing researching Porter Rockwell’s gold?”
Sadie tensed. “Look, I’ve read about your family and everything you’ve gone through with the conquistador gold. The fire at your ranch, the treasure hunters. That’s exactly why you need to stay away from me.”
He looked confused. “What do you mean? Is your life threatened?”
She wished he would just go. “Nash, just leave me alone, please.”
Nash’s expression shifted, concern replacing frustration. “Amanda—”
“I need to go.” Sadie pulled the door again.
Finally, he stepped back and let the door go.
She turned on the car and started the engine.
Nash crossed his arms, scowling.
Feeling guilty, she rolled down the window. “Please, Nash. For your own safety, forget you saw me today.”
Before he could respond, she backed up the car. Through the window, she could see him standing there, his expression a mixture of confusion and determination.
Thirty minutes later, Sadie pulled into the parking lot of her modest apartment complex in Sugar House, a neighborhood on the east side of Salt Lake City. The pain in her ankle had intensified during the drive, and she knew she needed to elevate and ice it immediately.
She hobbled up the stairs to her second-floor apartment, wincing with each step.
Inside, she engaged all three locks on her door—the deadbolt, the chain, and the extra-reinforced bar she’d installed herself.
Old habits from a life spent looking over her shoulder.
She leaned against the door, letting out a long breath as the weight of the day’s events crashed over her.
Eight years of careful anonymity, shattered in an instant by a chance encounter.
Nash Cross. Of all people.
She limped to the kitchen, filled a plastic bag with ice, and wrapped it around her swollen ankle.
Then she limped to her small living room, where her research wall dominated the space—maps of the Salt Lake Valley, historical photographs of Porter Rockwell, and newspaper clippings about hidden caches of gold allegedly secreted away in the mountains.
And there, in the corner, was an article about the Cross Creek Ranch fire, with a family photo showing Nash standing alongside his brothers. She’d recognized him instantly when she’d seen the article three months ago. He looked older and more serious in the photo, but his eyes were the same.
Sadie reached for her phone, finger hovering over her FBI contact’s number.
Agent Winters had warned her to report any unusual encounters.
But what would she say? That she’d run into her high school prom date, who just happened to be researching the same historical gold cache she was? It sounded absurd, even to her.
Outside, a car engine cut off. The sound of a door closing echoed through her open window.
Sadie froze, then moved cautiously to peek through the blinds.
Her heart stopped.
There, in the parking lot, climbing out of a black Jeep and scanning the apartment building with determined eyes, was Nash Cross. He looked up, as if he’d sensed her watching, and their eyes met through the slats in the blinds.
Sadie stepped back, heart racing. How had he found her? What was she supposed to do now?