Chapter 2 #2
Liam reached the lodge’s entrance. Through the windows, warm light spilled out, promising coffee and conversation with colleagues who saw him as the hero from the morning’s headlines.
He’d chosen a job over a thousand miles away to keep his family at arm’s length. Because as much as they loved him, they’d want to fix him, and Liam wasn’t sure he was fixable. He couldn’t forgive himself, and he wasn’t sure he could let go of the fact that God had let it happen either.
So, there was that. Maybe five and a half months wasn’t long enough. Not even close.
“I have to go, but yeah, resend me the dates.” Liam pulled open one of the lodge’s heavy wooden doors. He ended the call, slipping the phone into his pocket as he stepped into the dining hall, the buzz of voices and clatter of plates filling the space.
He flashed his ID at the check-in desk, then made his way to the buffet, the smell of eggs and bacon filling the air.
Liam grabbed a breakfast burrito and orange juice, then claimed a spot at a table with other staff members.
Teague was there, already halfway through a stack of pancakes, his plate drowning in syrup.
The group was a mix of familiar faces—rangers, maintenance crew, a few interpretive guides—all bonded by the shared experience of living and working in one of the most remote parts of the park.
“Morning, hero.” His director, Noah Wilde, tossed a newspaper onto the table in front of Liam.
The headline blazed in bold black letters: “Local Ranger Rescues Girl from Cliff in Grand Canyon.” Above the article was a huge photograph of him in climbing gear with Kristen wrapped around his neck like a cape as they cleared the edge. Who knew where they’d gotten the photo.
And of course, in the caption, Kristen had called him Superman.
Noah laughed, his voice full of teasing. “You’re going to have all the female population faking injuries if they think they have a chance to be rescued by you.”
Liam cringed. “I doubt anyone young enough to try that even knows what a newspaper is.”
“Don’t worry.” Noah dropped a hand on his arm. “It’s online. There’s probably memes and reels circulating.”
He wasn’t a stranger to female attention and usually rolled with it.
But the last time he’d asked a girl out, he’d crashed and burned.
That hadn’t bugged him as much as what she’d said.
I can tell you’re searching for something right now, but I’m not it.
Deep down I think you know that. He’d dismissed it at the time, but the words seemed to cling to his mind on repeat.
Maybe because as a longtime friend, she knew Liam better than most.
Eden motioned to Noah. Her long blonde ponytail swayed as she spoke. “Someone reported a bus parked near the rim yesterday. They said it was uncomfortably close to the edge. I told them I’d pass the word to the backcountry rangers, but all they could tell me was that it was west of the park.”
A soft chuckle rippled through the group at the table.
Most visitors had no grasp of the Grand Canyon rim’s scale—how its jagged, winding expanse stretched for miles, far beyond what anyone could imagine from a simple map.
“West of the park” was about as helpful as pointing at the sky and saying “up.”
Liam’s thoughts drifted to the bus he’d glimpsed during the rescue yesterday, the memory snapping into focus. It had almost looked like a city bus painted in faded mint green and browns.
“I think I know where it might be.” Liam downed the rest of his burrito, then looked at Noah. “You good with me checking it out?”
“Sure. Just keep your radio on.”
He nodded and pushed away from the table as another memory tugged at his mind—a faint glint in a nearby tree, like the reflection of a camera lens.
Like wilderness surveillance equipment. But to his knowledge, the park service wasn’t monitoring that area.
So why would a family in a beat-up old bus have high-end surveillance equipment?
The idea seemed absurd, but it gnawed at him.
He might not know how to fix himself, but he could do his job. He could ensure that that family wasn’t being careless, that they were safe from the canyon’s unforgiving edge.
He could attempt to be the hero everyone called him.
For now, that would have to be enough.
Get in, get out. Today wasn’t a high-target mission—all she had to do was collect her package.
Nimue’s fingers traced the edge of the laptop as she stared out the window of her relocated camper bus, now tucked five miles north of her last position in a grove of gnarled pinyon pines.
The move had been quick, efficient—the bus’s dusty frame blending into the trees like it belonged there.
Maybe it was time to bolt entirely, find a new corner of the world to disappear into.
But this spot had everything—privacy, resources, a rare stretch of Bureau of Land Management property where she could camp without permits or questions.
No, she’d wait. Give it a few days, let the ranger’s memory blur, then shift back to where she’d left her cameras.
She stood and stepped outside. Her breath fogged in the cool morning air as the sharp, clean scent of pine resin filled her lungs.
She glanced around to confirm that the area was clear before securing the door with a satisfying click.
Somewhere in the distance, a woodpecker hammered against dead bark in rapid-fire bursts, while the whisper of wind through branches created a soft symphony that would have been peaceful if she weren’t running for her life.
She slipped on her helmet and unchained her electric bike from where it hung on the bus’s rear rack.
The metal was cold against her fingers, dew beading on the frame.
With one final glance at her surroundings—checking for movement in the forest, listening for the distant rumble of vehicles—she climbed on and headed toward the main village.
The wheels hummed softly against the packed-dirt path.
She’d made use of the fill and dump stations at the nearby campground yesterday. If she didn’t need the wide-open sky near the rim to give her satellite dishes a clear shot at the signals, she’d just stay hidden here permanently.
For now, though, she needed to get what she’d ordered.
The catch? She had to avoid the cameras.
Which was why she’d spent her first week at the canyon hacking every camera feed she could find a signal for and mapping their range.
Most had been set up to keep an eye on wildlife, which made them easy to hack.
She wasn’t worried about the rangers—they were too busy chasing lost tourists to dig into her story—but she knew better than anyone how easy it was to hack a security feed. One slip, one clear shot of her face, and the Bratva’s tech dogs could find her.
The forest thinned as she approached civilization, pine needles giving way to gravel, then paved pathways.
About five minutes later she turned into the North Rim’s village and parked her bike at the trailhead.
It was still a five-minute walk from here, but with cameras doing a regular scan of the parking lots and village, this was as close as she was willing to park.
She locked up her bike, then exchanged her helmet for a baseball cap, tugging it low against the morning sun.
The brim cast her face in shadow—exactly what she needed.
She slung an empty backpack over her shoulder, adjusted her oversized sunglasses, and set out for the welcome center. Her Vans made soft sounds on the asphalt. The whole image was designed to be forgettable.
The collection of buildings spread before her like a small frontier town—welcome center with its log-cabin facade, the grand lodge with its chimneys already sending wisps of smoke into the clear air, a convenience store with hand-painted signs advertising everything from postcards to hiking boots.
A few outbuildings designated for staff sat back among the trees, their brown siding designed to blend with the forest.
She’d scouted it all weeks ago, mapping every security camera’s angle in her mind.
The welcome center had two—one above the entrance with its wide-angle lens, one sweeping the parking lot in lazy arcs.
The store’s single lens hung over the counter and pointed out the front door, easy to dodge if she kept her back to it.
She moved down the sidewalk with purpose, although her steps seemed casual, the picture of a slightly naive hiker soaking in the scenery. Her cap tilted just so, her shoulders slouched beneath the backpack—she was invisible, forgettable. Just another tourist starting her day.
The drop box stood near the lodge entrance like a small metal filing cabinet.
A three-by-three grid of lockers, each programmed with a private code.
She stopped at box number four and punched in the code she’d received in her email.
The door popped open with a soft click that sounded too loud in the quiet morning.
She opened the padded envelope and checked the contents.
A police scanner, compact and unassuming, and a pack of garish hippie stickers—peace signs, tie-dye swirls.
She smirked. If anyone came sniffing around her bus, they’d see a free spirit trying to find herself, not a white hat hacker hiding from the Russian mob.
She tucked it all into her backpack and zipped it shut.
A faint sniffle cut through the quiet. She turned. A little girl stood a few feet away. She was no more than three, her dark curls tangled and her middle two fingers shoved in her mouth. Tears had carved clean tracks down her cheeks, her tiny frame trembling as she hiccupped.
Nimue scanned the area—empty. No frantic parents, no wandering tourists, just the child and the distant caw of a raven.