Chapter 9 #2
A faint wisp of smoke curling up from the canyon floor ahead snagged his attention. His gut twisted. Could be those teens. Could be other reckless campers.
The ranger in him wanted to investigate. Wrong direction though—away from where they needed to go.
One look at Nimue—face smudged with dirt, eyes wide with trust and fear—and everything else faded, the moment turning clear. Sharp. Final.
His job mattered. His responsibilities. The canyon and everyone in it.
But Nimue?
She was everything.
He’d give it all up—badge, home, his place here, even his own life—if it meant keeping her safe. The realization settled into his bones. He’d protect her.
No matter the cost.
“We need to keep moving.” He helped her to her feet, brushed dirt from her knee with a tenderness that belied the urgency thrumming through him. “We’re putting distance between us and them.”
Miles of it.
She nodded, jaw set, and fell into step beside him. The canyon stretched ahead—towering walls, endless shadows, a maze of stone that could hide them or trap them.
Didn’t matter.
The Bratva could come. They’d have to go through him first.
Nimue’s legs ached, her hand throbbed beneath its bandage, and the weight of the day pressed down like the oppressive heat. They hadn’t made nearly enough progress.
A landslide had swallowed their first trail two hours back—a cascade of melon-sized boulders and scree that Liam had taken one look at and shaken his head. Too unstable. Death trap.
So they’d backtracked. Lost an hour. Precious time bleeding away while they took a steeper, more punishing path down the cliff face.
Now, with light fading and water bottles nearly empty, Nimue’s adrenaline was crashing. Giving way to something that felt dangerously close to panic.
She stole a glance at Liam. His silhouette cut sharp against the canyon’s jagged skyline as he led the way. Strong. Confident.
They were completely exposed out here. Vulnerable.
The Bratva might not find them in this maze of stone and shadow, but the elements? Just as deadly. Heat hammered down, relentless, air so dry it scraped her throat raw with every breath.
Breathe. Just breathe.
Liam stopped. Pointed to a narrow stream trickling through the canyon floor, surface catching the last dying light. “We’ll cowboy camp here.” Rock steady, even now. “It’s too dark to keep going. One wrong step near an edge…” He didn’t finish. “And we need water.”
Nimue nodded, her throat too parched to argue. She dropped her pack, wincing as every muscle protested. Liam was already moving—efficient, focused—setting up some kind of filtration system by the stream.
He was here because of her.
Risking everything for a mess she’d dragged him into. The realization of all he’d done for her, all he’d risked, sat in her stomach like a stone.
Liam seemed satisfied with his setup of bags and tubes, then walked over and knelt by his pack.
“Dinner options.” He pulled out several packets. “Beef stew, chicken teriyaki, chili mac, veggie pasta, or southwest chicken.” He held them up like a waiter presenting fine wine. “Pick your poison.”
She blinked. Half expected him to grin, admit that this was some kind of joke.
He just waited for her answer.
“You’re serious?”
“I promise they sound better than they taste.” A ghost of a smile. “But they’ll keep us going.”
“The mac one.”
He shoved the rest back and pulled out what had to be the world’s smallest camp stove. “Backcountry ranger life. Emergencies don’t wait for convenient timing—lost hikers, flash floods, you name it.” Water started heating with a soft hiss. “Keep my Bronco loaded for trips like this.”
Nimue caught a packet of granola that he tossed her. “Who knew I was befriending a Boy Scout.”
“Rangers and Boy Scouts?” He shrugged. “Not exactly a huge leap.”
She sank onto a flat rock. Her body screamed for rest. Rummaging in her pack for fresh bandages, her fingers brushed something unexpected at the bottom.
Her sketchpad.
Right. She’d shoved it in there this morning. Back when her biggest worry was whether Liam would show up for their run.
A lifetime ago.
She pulled it out, pencil still tucked in the spiral binding, and flipped it open. Her throat tightened at the half-finished sketch of Alani—that sweet kid from the campfire, smile captured in sharp graphite lines.
Not finished, but recognizable.
She hesitated. Flipped to a clean page.
Liam.
She’d tried drawing him twice before. Never seemed to capture…him. Maybe her skills weren’t good enough. Or maybe she simply didn’t know how to capture all the things he’d become to her.
But right now, the way the last of the evening light highlighted his strong jaw, his steady confidence, the image formed—complete—in her mind.
Without thinking, she let the pencil move across the page. Quick, sure strokes captured his brow, his eyes, the way dark hair fell across his forehead as he worked.
He glanced up. Raised an eyebrow. “Let me see.”
Heat crept up her neck. She flipped back to her sketch of Alani, turned the pad toward him.
His jaw went slack.
“That’s…amazing.”
She shrugged and located a rock-squirrel sketch. “Just a hobby.”
“A hobby is collecting stamps.” Those blue eyes locked on hers. “That’s a gift. You’re a talented artist.”
“I’m a talented hacker who does art on the side.”
The words tumbled out before she could stop them. Her stomach dropped. Stupid. Stupid. Why had she said that?
Of course Liam didn’t miss it. “Are these people after you because of something you hacked?”
She nodded. Couldn’t take it back now.
He adjusted the stove flame. “I don’t know much about hacking, but I know it requires seeing code—not just as a whole, but breaking it down line by line. Right?”
“What are you getting at, Ranger?”
“You see things others miss. Break them down in ways other people can’t.” His voice carried quiet conviction. “It makes you a good hacker, but it makes you a great artist.”
Oh. But she frowned.
“You see the same world I do, but you can break it down stroke by stroke. Line by line.” His gaze held hers. “That’s what you were made to do.”
Something in her chest shifted. Ached.
Maybe her hacking was art. Maybe she was made for more than just staying one step ahead of enemies, more than using her skills as armor against a world that kept trying to break her.
“You ever draw in color?”
“When I was a kid.” She let out a bitter laugh. “Back when I drew unicorns and rainbows. Shades of gray feel more fitting now.”
“Your life’s still full of color, Nimue.” His voice went soft. “You’re full of color.”
Oh my. The words could drown her with the terrible rush of longing. She forced another laugh. Sharp. Defensive. “You barely know me, Ranger.”
He winced.
Yeah. Her words hit like a slap after everything—after he’d put his life on hold for her, kissed her like she mattered, promised he wasn’t going anywhere.
But he was digging too close. Expecting too much.
She tucked the sketchpad back in her pack. “I didn’t mean—”
“Forget it.” No smile now. His blue eyes still locked on hers. “You’re right. There’s a lot I don’t know about you.” He paused. “But I know you’re beautiful—inside and out. Don’t be afraid to let all of Nimue out. She’s more than a hacker trying to control the uncontrollable.”
Another pause. Heavier.
“She’s amazing.”
The air between them thickened. Charged.
What would it be like if he stayed in her life?
Her lips still tingled from that kiss. She’d never been held like that—cherished like that. Like every touch of his mouth was a promise.
And here she was, acting like they were strangers. Like he was invading her life, when in fact, if she was honest, the words balmed the raw places.
What would she do if he asked her to stay?
The longing for family, for connection, burned in her chest. But opening herself to that kind of hope…
Terrifying.
Because staying meant hoping. And maybe…loving.
And love ripped away hurt so much worse than no love at all.
She must have looked away, maybe worn that on her face, because two strides brought Liam to her. Kneeling in front of her, his hands cupped her face with a gentleness that stopped her breath.
“Hey.” Thumbs brushed her cheeks. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s wrong.”
His eyes held hers. Fixed. Sure.
“That kiss? It meant something. A big something.” His voice dropped lower. “Right now, I’m pouring everything into keeping you alive. And let’s be real—you’re holding back half your story and I’m still here.”
Her eyes stung. He was right. She hadn’t told him about the files or the four million dollars Teresa demanded. He’d been open—sharing family stories, his life—while she’d kept walls up, guarding secrets that could get them both killed.
“I’m trying.” Barely a whisper.
“I know.”
Instead of kissing her—what she half expected, maybe hoped for—he pressed his lips to her forehead. Soft. Steady. A promise.
Her chest ached with the weight of it.
He pulled back, eyes warm but resolute. “Rebandage your hand. I’ll finish dinner.”
She nodded. Swallowed hard around the knot in her throat.
As she reached for her pack, fingers searching for bandages, a faint blinking light at the bottom caught her eye.
Her sat phone.
Her heart skipped. She grabbed it, thumbed the screen to life. A voice message from Emberly.
“Nim, Coco and a few of her team are on their way, but it’ll take more than a day. Stay safe and don’t—”
The screen went dark.
Dead battery.
Her brow furrowed. That made no sense. Sat-phone batteries lasted days, especially with minimal use. She popped the back panel.
Her blood turned to ice.
The battery compartment had been tampered with, the wires askew and a tiny chip soldered where it shouldn’t be with a green light blinking from its side.
A tracker? A bug?
Her pulse hammered as the pieces clicked into place. The trashed bus. Untouched laptop. Package with Liam’s name.
Not the teens.
Bratva.
They’d been in her bus. Sabotaged her gear. And she and Liam had walked straight into their trap.
“Liam.”
He turned, MREs steaming in his hands, eyes narrowing at her tone.
“We’ve got a problem.” She held up the sat phone, hand shaking. “They’re tracking us.”