Chapter 5
Five
Irritation at Ryder Goodwin gnawed at her.
And that Dean guy—something about him rubbed her the wrong way too.
She couldn’t see herself spending a day or two or three with him up on the mountain.
But how did she convince Ryder to help her?
He was dead set against it, and there was something behind his flat-out refusal that went beyond the reasons he’d given.
He’d quit guiding two years ago? If she remembered correctly, his father had died in that accident, that SAR, two years ago. So Ryder Goodwin was a hero who couldn’t go back and face tragedies. Good to know.
Or maybe his own failures. Did he blame himself?
Of course he did. Sarah didn’t have time to psychoanalyze a man she didn’t know, even though, yeah, she’d read a lot in his file that maybe even his mother didn’t know.
And none of that information helped her now.
She couldn’t use it to somehow convince him to assist her.
Sarah had been good at her job. Had being the operative word here. She had to either try again with Ryder or pivot and shift her plan. Somehow, she had to get up on that mountain, even if, yes, she hired Dean Rourke, who seemed more than willing to take her.
Back in her motel room, she sat on the squeaky bed—the two thin pillows stacked at her back less comfortable than she’d hoped—and finished off the bag of Cheetos that had called out to her in the grocery store.
She didn’t need them after the chicken pot pie, but man, after the day she’d had—she was going to eat them and finish them off like a pro.
She watched the local news and noted the mudslide wasn’t even mentioned.
That incident had literally thrown her into Ryder Goodwin’s arms. For all the good that had done.
And Sarah had thought it was a sign. A confirmation.
Maybe it was, except Ryder hadn’t seen it that way.
Dinner had gone about like she’d expected.
Even though he understood his mother had pressured her, he had also seen through Sarah and somehow strongly suspected—okay, he’d known—that she had ulterior motives.
Maybe reading minds or seeing behind smoke screens was part of SEAL training.
What’s your problem, dude?
Honestly, she hadn’t believed he would refuse.
Or, at least, she thought she still had the ability to persuade others.
She’d considered he might already be booked or otherwise unavailable, but to outright refuse her for no other reason than he didn’t want her to get hurt?
Or that he thought she was a treasure hunter?
Who was he to judge? Maybe it really had to do with the possibility of the weather changing and that she wasn’t a group.
She was one lone woman. With his disdain for treasure hunters, he’d had all the reason he needed to turn her down.
If only you knew, Ryder Goodwin. If only you knew just how alone I am.
She’d had enough of sitting here feeling like a failure.
She shoved aside the exhaustion. Even though it was nearing nine o’clock at night, the pot pie and the argument with Ryder had infused her with energy.
She wiped the cheesy crumbs off her hands and washed them.
Gathered her gear and pulled on her backpack, since she might not come back to the motel.
No better time than the present and under the cover of darkness to get her vehicle out of the woods.
She hadn’t seen her followers again and needed her vehicle sooner rather than later.
Reid Maddox had been a figment of her imagination. A ghost from her recent past. An unreasonable fear trying to grip her and convince her that someone was onto her.
Sarah exited the room and locked the door. She’d drop the key off later or mail it back. The night had turned chilly and rainy. Her favorite.
Hiking up that hill, sticking close to the road, might not be the best idea, but she’d been in worse situations on foreign soil.
As far as she knew, the road hadn’t been closed due to the mudslide, so she had that going for her.
Still, paranoia set in again. She’d be fine as long as she took no chances and stayed in the shadows.
The rainy weather was in her favor. Her mind ran through all the possible future scenarios and the actions she should take to avoid them.
Three years ago, she’d resigned so she could work flexible hours as an intelligence analyst. Bought a small house on a hill in Port Angeles where she could look out her window every day and see the Strait of Juan de Fuca.
Was she wrong to think she could finish what Aaron started?
Was she moving out of her lane? As if in response to her silent question, the rain turned into a downpour.
Cold and hard. She took a back trail through the city park and then started the hike up the state highway that connected the small town to the outside world.
If she heard a car, she’d slip into the trees and hide.
Her skin crawled with the feeling of being watched, and this time she couldn’t shake it. No, this wasn’t paranoia or exhaustion playing with her mind. Before she made her way across the street at the end of the historic downtown district, she glanced over her shoulder.
Yep. That same vehicle she thought she’d lost before turning onto the highway to Mercy Ridge was right behind her now. Following. Someone planned to scrape her right off the street.
And where would that leave Tessa and Jeremy? Sarah couldn’t let this happen. Still, even if she picked up the pace, it wouldn’t be enough. She wasn’t going to escape. Maybe, like her brother, Aaron, she’d never even had a chance.
Don’t give up. You can’t afford to fail.
She slipped into an alley, then sprinted to the back of a shopping center. Backtracked over to another street. Breathing hard, she kept up the pace.
Where can I go, Lord? Where can I run?
A Chevy Silverado with a winch whipped around a corner in front of her at the crossroads, startling her. The passenger door swung open to reveal the driver—Ryder. Her breath caught. So he was good at mud rescues and dangerous stalker-men getaways. Also good to know.
His stark gray eyes held her gaze.
“Get in.”