Chapter 14
Fourteen
Three times.
Three times in his life, terror had grabbed Liam by the throat and squeezed until he couldn’t breathe. Logan’s fall from those rocks when they were kids. Christiana’s scream echoing off alpine peaks. And thirty minutes ago when Nimue vanished over that ledge as if the earth had swallowed her whole.
His heart still hammered against his ribs as if it were trying to break free.
Her faint “I’m okay” from the darkness below had been the only thing keeping him from complete meltdown. But seeing her sprawled on that ledge—that half grin cutting through obvious pain—that’s when he’d finally managed to drag air into his lungs.
If she hadn’t needed him to figure out how to get her off that ledge, he might’ve collapsed right there. Relief could be just as brutal as fear.
Crying. The urge had been real, raw, rising in his chest like a tide. He hadn’t cried in probably ten years, but watching her disappear had cracked something fundamental inside him.
Instead, he’d shoved everything down. Gone full ranger mode. Check injuries. Move patient to safety.
And she was safe. Finally.
But his need to protect her now burned hotter than ever.
They’d hiked a good half mile, maybe more, from their position, and he’d found them a section of large boulders just off the end of one of the switchbacks.
There was a sort of cave, like their earlier spot when they’d waited out the rain.
This one, however, was wider but not deep.
A light layer of stratus clouds had moved in and was being lit by the full moon that had climbed high in the sky.
They provided a dome of light that would aid in keeping them safe and yet make them more vulnerable to being seen.
He could only hope that the clouds didn’t mean another storm come morning.
The teens huddled up, and Brian helped ease Nimue from Liam’s back and lay her on the ground.
His back burned, his muscles bunching up after carrying her, but…yeah, it didn’t matter.
I’m sorry. I just didn’t know if—
She could trust him? Emberly would want her to? Whatever it was, it still felt like a raw wound inside. Even with his words about forgiveness.
But oh, he wanted to forgive her.
Now she stared up at him, pain in her eyes. He knelt next to her. “Rest.” He tucked Jeff’s rolled-up jacket under her head, avoiding her eyes. Too much emotion there. Too much that he wasn’t ready to face. “I need to double back and see if we’re being tailed.”
She put a hand to his arm, gripped it.
“There’s more gold in the cave.” Her voice stopped him cold. “Twenty bars, maybe more. I thought if I could pay Teresa what I owe—”
“Not now.” No one needed to know. She needed rest. He needed space to think. Process. Figure out how they were getting out of this alive. He paused. Shoot. Where was that gold bar now?
He set her water bottle within reach. “I’ll be back.”
Turning, he nearly collided with Brian. The kid stood there, his hands gripping Nimue’s pack. “You had me gather her stuff.”
Right. And that look said it all. He must have seen the gold bar among her things, and by the look in his eye, he’d heard what she just said.
Problem for later. Liam gestured to him. “C’mon.”
They’d left David two hundred yards behind. He crouched near the canyon’s edge, watching distant flashlights—two beams maybe a quarter mile off—veer down a side trail that wouldn’t bring them closer.
Liam dropped beside him, eyes straining through darkness. “Any change?”
“They turned off.” David pointed into the void. “Not coming this way anymore.”
Liam’s jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth.
Those lights could mean salvation. Search and rescue with radios and medical supplies and a way out of this nightmare.
Or they could mean death. Bratva trackers following their sat phone’s last signal, armed and ready to finish what Teresa started.
Although a voice in the back of his head suggested they’d be following the decoy and traveling downstream, right?
But the larger fear was that by now the trackers had put together that Liam and Nimue weren’t swimming down the Colorado and were back on their trail.
He doubted Russian enforcers were wilderness experts—most city killers weren’t—but desperation made people dangerous. The tampered phone. Nimue’s story about four million dollars. Teresa’s threats. It all painted a picture of relentless pursuit that wouldn’t stop until they were all dead.
If those people in the distance were rescuers, signaling could save Nimue’s life.
If they were Bratva, signaling would end it.
“I don’t understand why we’re hiding from them.” Brian gripped their dying flashlight.
Because you have no idea what’s hunting us.
“I’m watching their pattern first.”
Brian’s eyes narrowed. “You’re acting like they’re terrorists or something. What’s really going on? Why are you so paranoid?”
Liam couldn’t explain about the Bratva without sending these kids into complete panic. “Not paranoid. Careful.”
Brian hesitated, then nodded. But skepticism radiated from every line of his teenage posture.
Liam turned back to the lights, mind racing through impossible scenarios. If it was the Bratva, he’d have to act fast. Draw them away from the kids.
But with Nimue down, he couldn’t leave her side. And the thought of facing armed killers with nothing but a failing flashlight made his hands curl into fists.
He needed help. And it couldn’t come from a bunch of teenagers.
He picked his way back across the rocks to where Nimue lay propped against a stone, head tilted on one side, eyes barely open.
Something was wrong.
He crouched beside her. “Nim?”
She blinked slowly. Unfocused. As if she were looking through him instead of at him.
His unease spiked into full alarm. This wasn’t exhaustion or pain medication—something was seriously wrong. Her hand trembled near the water bottle, but she wasn’t reaching for it. Sweat beaded her forehead despite the cold air. Her skin was clammy and pale as the moon itself.
No.
He’d checked her head, neck, spine. No injuries there. But the lethargy, the sweating, the pallor—his first-aid training started screaming warnings.
“Nimue.” He tried to rouse her. “I need to check your ribs.”
“Hmm?” Her eyes stayed closed, head tilting like she was drifting.
“Your side,” he repeated, pulse hammering. “I need to look.”
He fumbled with her shirt, lifting it with clumsy movements.
His breath stopped.
The sun was almost down now. But even in the dim light, the deep-purple-and-red bruises that spread across her ribs like spilled paint stood out in stark contrast to her olive skin. His vision tunneled, dizziness hitting as the truth crashed over him.
Internal bleeding.
The fall had done more than bruise her—it was killing her. Slowly. Steadily. And if she didn’t reach a hospital tonight, she wouldn’t see morning.
He fought to breathe as he pressed gently around the bruising, watching her wince.
“Stay with me.” His voice cracked despite his best efforts.
The gold, her secrets, his hurt feelings—none of it mattered now. Only keeping her breathing. Those flashlights were their lifeline. If they belonged to rescuers with radios, they could call for a medevac. If they were Bratva, he’d fight, bargain, trade his life for hers.
Whatever it took.
“Brian.” He kept his voice low to avoid panicking the other kids.
Brian jogged over, his expression strained.
Liam held out his hand. “Flashlight.”
Brian handed it over, and Liam took off, running in the darkness—illuminated by his light—toward David.
“Can you still see them?”
David glanced at him. “Yeah. Their lights appear every once in a while, but then they’re gone. I think they’re moving further away.”
Liam raised the light high. Pointed it toward those distant figures. Three short bursts. Three long. Three short again. Pause. Repeat.
SOS.
Please be rescuers. Please have a radio. Please don’t be here to kill us all.
A beat in the darkness, his heart thundering in his chest.
The distant lights blinked back—same pattern.
He put his hand on David’s shoulder, more for balance than relief. Okay, both.
Brian ran up behind them.
“Keep tracking their movement.” He handed the flashlight back to Brian. “Let me know if they change direction.”
Brian nodded, eyes wide with new understanding.
Liam hurried back to Nimue’s side. She seemed to be unconscious now, the rest of the group huddled together, fear and cold threaded between them.
He brushed dark hair from Nimue’s beautiful face, thumb lingering on her cheek.
“Hold on.” His whisper was a prayer. “Help’s coming.”
Please let it be help.
Please don’t let him have just killed them all.
Everything hurt.
Not just hurt—consumed. Pain wrapped around her like a living thing, pulsing through every cell, every nerve ending. This wasn’t like that high school knee sprain that had benched her for weeks. This was different. Deeper.
As if she’d been hit by a freight train instead of falling a few feet onto rocks.
Her eyes felt superglued shut. Thoughts started to form, then scattered like startled birds before she could catch them.
The gold. Had she and Liam fought about the gold? Before the fall or after?
Someone was talking to her. Not Liam’s voice. She couldn’t focus, couldn’t make her mouth work. Her body begged for sleep—sweet, painless oblivion—and she was too weak to fight it.
Sounds drifted in and out like radio static. Shouts. Movement. Some low humming she couldn’t identify. Every time she tried forcing her eyes open, invisible weights dragged them closed again.
Hands touched her face. Gentle. Warm.
Liam.
She liked when he was close. His voice reached her—soothing, familiar—but the words might as well have been underwater. Everything kept fading to gray static.
More voices now. Unfamiliar ones. One sounded like Emberly—soft, careful.
Was she home in Florida?