Chapter 13
Thirteen
Into the wild we go . . .
Sarah had contacted Tessa last night and spoken with her and listened to Jeremy’s jabber and laughter.
She had to make sure all was well. As she listened to the fear in her sister-in-law’s voice—the tears she held back for Jeremy’s sake—Sarah almost wished she hadn’t called.
Still, of course she had to make sure they remained safe.
And hearing Tessa solidified Sarah’s resolve, especially after seeing Malcolm.
The warning in his words had left her unsettled and questioning her decision.
“Do not go down this path . . .”
Tessa’s email early this morning didn’t help.
Found a thumb drive. Audio file. More later.
Sarah hadn’t even had time to ask where it came from or what it contained since she was about to shoulder a pack and follow Ryder into the wilderness.
Tonight, at camp, she’d deal with it if they had any kind of service.
As for this dangerous expedition, it was about her grandfather, the truth he’d hidden that needed unveiling. The truth behind Aaron’s murder.
She’d resigned three years ago and sworn off danger for a life in which she could pick and choose her own projects and walk away when she needed to. But family mattered, and now . . . she was heading back into danger. Still, this was on her own terms.
And she had Ryder with her—thank you, Lord. Ryder Goodwin wouldn’t let her down. He parked his Silverado and got out. Sarah’s heart rate jumped. This was it. Really it. She was really doing this.
He gave her a cursory glance, and maybe he suspected she needed a moment to herself.
He might even expect her to back out. But they were here, and she was doing this, so she opened the door and hopped down.
It was definitely cooler up here. She stretched, drew in the crisp mountain air, and stumbled over to the small, barely visible sign.
“Lost Signal Trailhead,” she said. “Where did that name come from? I’m almost afraid to ask.”
“I’m not sure.” He moved to the bed of the truck for their gear.
Sarah followed. “It’s kind of foreboding, don’t you think?”
“I try not to think about trailhead names, or mountain names for that matter. I’d never hike if I did.” His crooked grin made her curious about his life. The part she couldn’t read in a file.
She wanted to get to know him in a personal way, not during a stressful, dangerous mountain-climbing experience to find answers someone wanted buried. No. I’d like to get to know you, Ryder, when a deadly threat doesn’t lurk so near.
But she didn’t have the luxury of those kinds of dreams.
He handed her the fifty-pound pack. She heaved it onto her shoulders, the weight pulling at her muscles in an unfamiliar strain, but she hid her sudden uncertainty from Ryder, who watched her.
She got the feeling he was just waiting for her to scrap the whole thing.
Or maybe he was trying to stay attuned to every nuance—Sarah included.
Fifty pounds was definitely more than she’d wanted, but not as much as she’d feared.
She liked that Ryder had packed for every conceivable scenario.
An ice ax was strapped to the side of both her and Ryder’s packs, but he carried both sets of crampons since they’d be traveling near Ironveil Glacier.
She prayed they wouldn’t have to use the crampons or the ice axes.
Ryder pulled on his own backpack and then locked up the truck. He pocketed the keys. His gaze was intense, serious, and searching, and after a few frantic heartbeats, he finally asked, “You ready?”
“As I’ll ever be.” Because was she, really? Or was she on a doomed mission that Aaron never would have wanted for her? Regardless, she wasn’t backing out now.
She wore a light fleece jacket over her base layer, and hiking pants that brushed her boots with every step.
At this elevation it wasn’t that cold yet, and she kept the heavier layers tucked inside her pack, ready for when the wind picked up higher on the mountain.
Gloves and a beanie waited in her pocket.
For now, at least, the cool autumn air felt good against her skin.
The pack wasn’t that heavy. I can do this.
Between them, they carried a few liters of water and a compact filter for the mountain streams ahead. They’d refill as they climbed.
Sarah drew in a breath of the crisp autumn air, the scent of pine and adventure filling her head along with something else . . . “It smells like snow.”
“According to the forecast,” he said, “we have forty-eight hours. But forecasts lie.”
“Well, that’s comforting.” But she knew that already.
He readjusted his pack. “This isn’t Everest or K2—the second-highest and second-deadliest mountain in the world—but we’ll treat this with all the same care.”
“Good to know.”
He started forward on the trail, and she fell in line behind him. At some point they’d leave the well-worn path—that much she knew—to follow a track only Ryder knew in his head. If only she could be embarking on this in the summer instead of the beginning of fall.
Despite his warning that they had forty-eight hours before the weather turned, the early morning sky was painfully clear.
Too clear. Maybe the smell of snow had been a figment of her imagination.
The calm skies made her relax when she needed to focus on the looming threat.
A cloud-free day belied the danger they would face against nature and whatever they found at what she hoped would be the actual crash site of a long-lost World War II plane and . . . possibly—please, God—answers.
She wouldn’t lie to herself—they could face danger from the men who wanted to stop her too.
An hour and a half into the hike, she was sweating but invigorated. Ryder stepped off the trail onto a ledge, and she paused next to him as he pointed. The Blackspire Mountain summit was dark against the early-morning light. “See the ridgeline along that spire? It’s white from last week’s snow.”
“I get it. It’s already been snowing on the mountain.” She’d lived in Oklahoma, Indiana, and briefly in Denver, and then, during a stint with her previous job, in Portugal.
“I’m not concerned. We’ve packed for all potential threats,” he said.
Ryder continued along the trail—at least, she hoped it was a trail, but she couldn’t tell—and her pulse kicked up.
The muscles in her thighs burned. She tried to hide that maybe she was a little out of shape.
But she was too stubborn to let her physical inadequacy win.
Still, she couldn’t hide her gasps for breath.
Her deep need for air. The fifty-pound pack was making her work for it.
Ryder stopped. “We’re above six thousand feet now. Let’s stop and rest. Hydrate.”
“I thought you wanted to keep a fast pace.”
“We are.”
The altitude, along with the pack, was getting to her.
She drank from the hydration bladder and tried to ignore that the air once again had that sharp edge to it that came before a storm.
Though the sky remained clear, a few clouds gathered up top, where they were headed.
Zipping her fleece jacket, she glanced sideways at Ryder. He adjusted his straps on his back.
“Still think we can make it in and out before the storm hits?” she asked.
“As long as we keep up the pace.” He gave her a once-over, then stared ahead. She didn’t miss the flicker of concern in his eyes as he scanned the ridgeline again. “Snow should hold off until late tomorrow. By then we should be on our way back down.”
“Is that the weather forecast talking or your experience?”
“A little of both.”
“Then we’d better not waste time.” Sarah feared they’d make this trek and not have the time required to find what she needed to find, and she wasn’t even sure what that was. Proof, maybe. Ryder had proof that had been stolen, but she needed more than a piece of metal.
The million-dollar question—What was her brother killed over?
Break over, Ryder continued on the narrow trail that snaked into the trees.
Sarah followed, the crunch of their boots muffled by fallen pine needles and patches of frost clinging to the earth.
Frost. Yeah. October in the mountains could mean freezing temps at night.
The forest quickly enclosed them, lofty evergreens reaching to the sky.
She expected to hear birdsong, but it was still and quiet in the cold woods.
No breeze blew the treetops. Nope. Just the rhythm of their breathing—at least she wasn’t the only one breathing hard—and the steady crunch of footsteps on the cold earth.
At least no arctic air blasted them. She could find the things for which she could be grateful. The path grew steeper, and her leg muscles burned. Time to admit her triathlete years were far behind her. But she’d continued to jog five miles a day, so at least she had that going for her.
After what felt like ten miles, Ryder slowed ahead of her. Letting her catch up? Hands on his hips, he stretched and peered at the surrounding mountains.
Majestic.
But so was Ryder Goodwin. The man was a sight to behold, if anyone asked her. Good thing no one did. He glanced her way. “You okay?”
“You don’t have to keep checking on me.” She flashed him a tight smile.
“I might have grown up in Oklahoma, but I’ve been on a mountain hike or two.
” Maybe the plane crash, escaping these mountains, was the reason Grandpa had settled in Oklahoma, where it was painfully flat for the most part.
Grandpa raised her and Aaron after Mom and Dad died . . . ironically . . . in a plane crash.
Ryder’s gaze softened. “Even so, what’s waiting at the top has to make you anxious.”
Sarah didn’t answer. He was right. She wouldn’t argue.