Chapter 3
Three
He had to find that bus.
But first, he needed to shake off whatever had just happened with the mystery woman.
Liam’s heart hammered against his ribs as he stood in the lodge’s parking lot, scanning the area for any sign of her. When she’d first called out to him, he’d assumed she wanted to talk about the rescue—another well-meaning stranger eager to praise him for something he didn’t deserve.
But the moment he’d turned to face her, all thoughts of the rescue had vanished.
It hadn’t mattered if she wanted to discuss his actions yesterday or something as mundane as what she’d had for breakfast. For the first time in a year, electricity had shot through his chest—a jolt of life in a heart he’d thought had flatlined.
It wasn’t just her beauty that struck him, though she was undeniably attractive.
Her olive skin had caught the morning light, and when she’d stepped closer to hand over the lost child, he’d noticed the freckles scattered across her nose.
Then there were her high cheekbones, the gentle curve of her jaw.
Yup, she was gorgeous. But she also seemed to have a confidence about her, a self-assuredness, the kind that belied her casual attire of a simple T-shirt, a baseball cap pulled low over her brow, and cutoff shorts that revealed long shapely legs.
At first glance, the youthful outfit made her seem young, almost carefree, but the way she moved told a different story.
Her stance was solid, shoulders squared, movements deliberate.
She was someone who knew exactly who she was—the kind of confidence Liam used to have, the kind he ached to reclaim.
He’d wanted desperately to see her eyes, to catch a glimpse of the person behind that poised exterior, but her oversized sunglasses had hidden them from him, deepening his curiosity. Nimue. The name rolled through his mind, mysterious and fleeting, much like the woman herself.
The encounter had sparked something inside him—a fragile warmth he hadn’t felt in months.
But she was gone, and as much as he wanted to chase after her, to learn more about the woman who’d jump-started something in him, he didn’t have time to dwell on it.
Not with the bus situation gnawing at his thoughts, dragging him back to his responsibilities.
Liam shifted mental gears and turned toward one of the ranger trucks parked near the lodge. The National Park Service logo on the door had faded from years of Arizona sun. Some instinct told him something was off with that bus he’d seen yesterday, and he was determined to find out what.
Thirty minutes later, Liam parked beside a faint trail west of the park, his truck’s tires crunching on rocky terrain that hadn’t seen rain in weeks. He stepped out, the air warm now as the late morning sun climbed higher, casting harsh shadows across the canyon’s jagged edge.
The bus was gone, the campsite clean, as if it had simply vanished, a blink.
Maybe even his imagination? But he hadn’t been the only one who’d spotted it.
He inspected the ground, eyes scanning for clues.
Tire tracks etched faintly into the baked earth were the only sign anything had been here.
Whoever it was took “leave no trace” seriously—almost too seriously.
The complete absence of litter or footprints felt deliberate, calculated even, and it set his nerves on edge.
He stepped to the canyon’s edge, the vast expanse stretching out before him a masterpiece painted in stone.
The North Rim’s rugged beauty was breathtaking—layered cliffs of red and orange sandstone plunging thousands of feet to the canyon floor, where the Colorado River carved its ancient path.
Liam’s gaze drifted east. He could just make out the location of yesterday’s rescue.
The pile of fresh rubble at the bottom of the cliff, where the ledge had crumbled, hit him like a fist to the gut.
Close—too close to losing another life on his watch.
Kristen’s terrified eyes flashed through his memory, and he forced himself to look away.
A ribbon of smoke grabbed his attention from below the rim, a thin gray thread rising against the canyon’s earthy palette.
He pulled out his binoculars and focused on the source.
A cluster of people, maybe a dozen of them, sprawled around a smoldering campfire, surrounded by sleeping bags strewn across the dirt.
Tents dotted the area—faded greens and blues blending into the landscape.
The few faces he could see appeared to be maybe late teens.
Their shoulders were a little too narrow and their chins a little too smooth to be even twenty. Most of the kids looked still asleep.
One lanky guy wearing a black hoodie walked to the fire, adding a log with casual ease. Flames flared briefly, sending up a fresh plume of smoke, and Liam’s jaw tightened. He lowered the binoculars and grabbed his walkie. “Noah, you copy?”
“I’m here.” Noah’s voice cut through the static.
“I’ve got eyes on some campers below the rim, maybe a hundred feet down. Can you check the backcountry permits?”
“On it. Give me a sec.”
The line went quiet, and Liam kept his eyes on the smoke, mind racing.
They were in a non-camping area, but the North Rim’s trails were less trafficked than the South Rim.
Sometimes folks got confused about where they were allowed to be.
But permits were nonnegotiable. If these people were out here without one, they were either lost or deliberately ignoring the rules. Neither option sat right with him.
Noah’s voice came back. “Liam, I’ve got nothing. No permits issued until next week. You sure about the location?”
“I’m looking at them right now. I’m heading down to check it out.”
“Be careful. Let me know if you need backup.”
Liam clipped the radio back to his belt and hurried to his truck.
He popped the tailgate and rummaged through his gear, pulling out a coil of rope, a harness, and a water bottle.
Basic rappelling kit—nothing fancy, but it would get him down the sixty-foot drop to the trail he’d spotted below, which should lead right to the campers.
He slung the pack over his shoulder and returned to the edge, tying off the rope to a sturdy juniper, its gnarled branches twisted from years of harsh winds and scorching sun.
He clipped into the harness, double-checking the carabiners, and stepped backward over the edge.
The rope hummed under his weight as he descended, boots finding purchase on the uneven cliff face.
The air grew warmer as he dropped, the canyon’s walls closing in around him, their red and orange hues streaked with purple shadows.
He glanced left, noting the thicker foliage here compared to the South Rim—pinyon pines and scrub oak crowding the slopes, their branches clawing at the sky.
A faint scent of sagebrush filled the air, mingling with the dusty warmth radiating from the rock.
His boots hit the trail with a soft thud, and he unclipped from the rope, securing it to a tree for his climb back up.
He jogged down the path—narrow and winding, cutting through the rugged landscape.
The smell of smoke grew stronger as he closed the distance, the sound of his footsteps muffled by soft dirt underfoot.
When the trail opened into a small clearing, his jaw clenched.
They were gone. A thin wisp of smoke curled up from the still-smoldering fire, embers glowing faintly in the ash, but no tents, no sleeping bags, no people.
Liam knelt beside the firepit, poking at it with a stick he picked up from the ground.
The embers pulsed with heat, a flame flickered to life but quickly died—they hadn’t been gone long.
He grabbed the radio, voice even, but he couldn’t keep the bite from it. “Noah, it’s Liam. I’m down at the campsite. Fire’s still going, but the campers are gone. Left a mess—beer cans, wrappers, the works. Looks like they cleared out quick. Guessing they spotted my descent.”
“Copy that. Any idea who they were?”
Liam snatched a beer can from the ground—high-end craft brew with a fancy label, the kind you’d find in a trendy city bar, not the cheap stuff most kids hauled into the backcountry. These weren’t your average hikers. “No. But this isn’t exactly budget beer. I’m going to keep looking.”
“Copy. Over.”
Liam pulled a trash bag from one of the pockets in his bag and started gathering the litter.
He picked up one of the cans but paused, turning it over.
This can was different from the rest—same brand, but the label was faded, the lip crusted with dirt and time.
It had been out here for more than a night, maybe weeks.
His mystery visitors might be regulars, coming back to this spot again and again.
He straightened and turned in a slow circle, gaze sweeping the terrain.
The ground was flat here—which might seem perfect for a tent, but when it came to the desert, that just meant it was the path water would take in a big rain.
These kids had no idea that one unexpected storm could wash them right over the edge.
He itched to hunt them down, but the trail stretched in three directions, and the dirt was too dry, too rocky to hold clear prints.
A hot breeze stirred the dust at his feet, and he squinted against the glare of the sun, now high overhead.
He glanced up to where he’d rappelled from, the rope a faint line against the cliff, barely visible from this angle.
That bus nagged at him again. If he’d really seen a camera, maybe they’d captured something, a glimpse of the campers, anything. Too bad it was long gone.