Chapter 11
Eleven
Phantom Ranch.
That’s where they needed to be. Where Emberly’s backup could find them, help them figure out this nightmare.
Nimue’s warmth pressed against Liam’s chest, the emergency blanket crinkling around them. Her steady breathing eased the knot that had taken permanent residence behind his ribs. This—her closeness, the way she fit against him like she belonged there—this was what mattered.
After Christiana’s fall, he’d become obsessed with safety protocols. Checked and double-checked every piece of gear, every route, every decision. But how did you plan for the Russian mafia? There wasn’t exactly a ranger handbook for outrunning international criminals.
The urge to stay here forever crashed over him. Hide away in this stone shelter where nothing existed except her heartbeat against his chest. Kiss her until they both forgot there was a world outside. But she needed him sharp, focused. Not drowning in feelings he couldn’t afford.
The rain was letting up.
He eased out from under the blanket, cool air slicing through his thermal shirt. “We need to move soon.”
Nimue shivered, hands trembling as she pulled the blanket tighter. Nerves probably as much as the cold.
He grabbed his mini stove from his pack. “Hot drink first. Maybe some soup. Then we push hard for Phantom Ranch.” The words came out steadier than he felt. “We should make it in a few hours if we don’t hit complications.”
She stayed quiet while he filled the small pot with filtered water. The propane lighter flicked, blue flame hissing to life. He set the mini pot on to boil. And pulled out his collapsible pour-over drip coffee maker.
Everything was going to be fine.
Keep telling yourself that, Kingsley.
“You have all the backpacking toys, don’t you?” There was a teasing lilt in her voice, but he caught the tremor underneath.
“Not all.” He forced a half smile as he set the orange funnel on one of the mugs, dropped in a paper filter and filled it with some grounds, then poured the hot water through it. “Just the essentials.”
“Coffee’s essential?”
“Never doubt the power of a strong cup of joe.” Their fingers brushed as he handed her the steaming mug, sending a warm thread through him. “It won’t win any awards, but it’s hot and loaded with motivation.”
“And the cardinal-red pack? Doesn’t feel very ranger-like.” She sipped at the hot liquid.
“That’s my private pack.” Laughter laced his words as he readied his own cup. “I was a hiker long before I was a ranger. And I like red.”
Thirty minutes later, they’d finished the coffee and soup, the rain slowing to a drizzle. Time to face whatever the canyon had thrown at them.
He stepped outside and his stomach dropped.
Water flowed everywhere. Cascading down canyon walls like a thousand tiny rivers, turning the ground into a mud pit that would slow them to a crawl. And between them and their route—
“Shoot.”
A brand-new wash cut straight across their path. Ten feet of churning brown water that hadn’t existed an hour ago.
He ducked back into the cave. “We have a problem. There’s a new river right where we need to go.”
She blinked. Waited for him to produce a solution he didn’t have.
“I guess we skirt the edge until we can find a place to cross. It is adding water with every foot as it moves toward the Colorado, gathering all these streams, so if we follow it upstream, it should eventually be small enough to cross.”
Her nod was tight. He didn’t need mind-reading skills to know what she was thinking. If the Bratva hadn’t bought their phone decoy, every minute away from the direct route to Phantom Ranch put them deeper in the crosshairs.
Before long, they were slogging parallel to the impromptu river. It was at least ten yards wide, churning like a miniature Colorado. When it curved north—away from where they needed to go—frustration clawed up his throat.
Wrong direction. Getting farther from their target with every step.
His boots sucked into the mud with each stride, his shoulders knotting under the pack’s weight. Behind him, Nimue was struggling. She caught herself after tripping over a branch, but fatigue was winning.
“Lift your feet.” He slid his pack off one shoulder, water bottle appearing in his hand. “You need hydration. Drink.”
“I’m fine.” She brushed past him, chin set in that stubborn line he was learning to recognize. “Sorry I tripped.”
Great. Now she thought he was mad.
Not mad. Worried sick, but not mad.
“Nimue.” His tone turned sharp enough to make her freeze. He softened his expression, held out the bottle. “Drink. Please.”
The wariness in her eyes gut-punched him. Exhaustion was written in every line of her posture. She was fighting to keep up, just as he was fighting to keep them both safe.
She finally took the bottle, gulping water while scanning the canyon. “Is that a trail?”
He followed her gaze. A faint line of lighter dirt stretched across the wash—barely visible, but it sparked hope in his chest.
“Maybe. We could try crossing, but—”
“What’s that?” Alarm spiked her voice. She was already moving, hurrying along the wash’s edge toward something yellow and sodden.
A sleeping bag. Waterlogged, heavy.
His pulse kicked into overdrive.
Someone else had been caught in this flood.
He scanned the area, his stomach lurching. Camping supplies littered the ground. Clothes. A backpack. The twisted remains of a tent. He jogged over, snatched up a gray hoodie.
Highland High School imprinted the front in teal letters.
Probably different kids than the ones he’d been tracking, but kids nonetheless. Kids who’d picked the wrong spot to camp.
“They must have set up their camp in the wash.” His voice came out grim. “Easy setup…until the water comes.”
He scanned for bodies, praying he wouldn’t find any. Praying these teenagers had made it out alive instead of getting swept downstream like debris.
He needed to call this in. Which meant beelining to Phantom Ranch. But he also needed to search for survivors. And every instinct screamed at him to focus on Nimue.
The growing list of people he was supposed to protect was getting out of hand.
“Let’s move.” He shouldered his pack. “I went over the backcountry passes a few days ago, and this group wasn’t among them. No doubt they’re down here illegally—probably came from the South Rim.”
“Any idea where they went?” Nimue’s voice strained as she kept pace.
“Same place we’re headed. They’ll head for Phantom Ranch. The bridge is the only way to the South Rim from this side of the Colorado.”
She nodded, bending to snag an empty water bottle from the mud. “Breadcrumbs.”
How had it come to this? He was supposed to protect people—hikers, campers, the woman beside him. Instead, they were running blind through a canyon, chasing lost teenagers while dodging killers.
“You hear that?”
He froze mid-step. Sound cut through the wash’s roar—faint but unmistakably human.
A yell. Desperate.
Nimue’s eyes went wide. “That’s them.”
He broke into a sprint, pack hammering against his spine. Nimue’s footsteps pounded behind him as the wash curved around a bend and—
There.
A lanky kid, maybe seventeen, straining against a frayed rope held by a couple teenagers onshore. It stretched into the churning water. Sweat and mud streaked his face as he fought the current’s pull, desperation radiating from every line of his body.
Why had they decided to cross here of all places?
Liam scanned up the river, and his heart sank.
The mass of the wash had been split into two channels by a sizable boulder, leading half of the water to their left and the other half to their right.
He’d led Nimue onto a stinking peninsula with no escape routes.
The only path was across the water. If they wanted to get to the bridge, they needed to cross the river on their right. But with the raging confluence there, it was clear why the teens had chosen the other.
He could get Nimue and himself across to where they needed to go, but that meant abandoning the teens who shouted directions to their friends from the far bank. In the middle of their river, four more kids clung to a shrinking sand island, ground eroding beneath their feet with each passing second.
Time seemed to slow down. But his choice was made, wasn’t it? His mission had shifted from escape to rescue.
He’d never been able to walk away from someone who needed help.
Even if it killed him.
They were all going to die.
The thought slammed through Nimue’s head as her boots sank into canyon mud that grabbed at her like quicksand, each step a battle against earth determined to swallow her whole.
A miracle. That’s what it would take for any of them to survive this.
Liam moved as if he’d done water rescues a thousand times. He waded right out into the river, seized the rope from the panicked teenager, and pulled him to safety onshore. “Stay put.”
Then he looped their lifeline around a mesquite tree.
Their pathetic lifeline.
The rope looked ancient. Frayed hemp that probably hadn’t been used since the last century. Nimue’s stomach clenched as she watched fibers unraveling in real time. She wouldn’t trust that thing to hold her laundry, let alone human lives.
What she wouldn’t give for one of Liam’s climbing ropes right now. The good stuff they’d left behind in their desperate flight.
Then, of course, he did something crazy.
He waded right into the water, fighting the current, dragging the rope all the way out to the island.
But he didn’t stop there. He kept going, to the other side, took the end from the burly teen trying to save his friend, found a place in the rock, and secured the rope with one of his climbing anchors.
The rope made a bridge, of sorts.
He headed back, his hand on the rope.
Please hold. Please.
Nimue’s hands fisted at her sides, every nerve focused on that thin line. Waiting for the inevitable snap.
It held.
Barely.