Renegade (Heroes of Renegade #1)

Chapter 1

One

Trouble was stalking her. And Sierra wasn’t keen on being anyone’s lunch. Especially not a one-hundred-and-fifty-pound mountain lion, with blood on its teeth.

Sierra Blackwood stood on the foothills trail, her breath forming white puffs in the October morning air. The tracks in the frost-covered pine needles told the story—massive paws four inches across, with claw marks extending beyond the toe pads. Fresh. Maybe thirty minutes ahead of them.

“Jackson, you see those prints?” Sierra’s voice carried across the narrow trail, pitched low enough not to spook the cat but loud enough for her SAR team to hear.

Jackson Stewart materialized from behind a cluster of scrub oak, his military training evident in the way he moved—silent, controlled, eyes constantly scanning.

His tactical gear was worn but functional, the kind of setup that screamed former special ops.

“Yep. Big tom. Following the same trail as our missing hikers.”

“We need to get moving if we want to find him first.” She picked up her pace on the trail, already sweaty under her jacket.

The foothills rolled away toward the distant peaks covered in a mix of pine, aspen, and juniper.

This terrain sat between the high country and the valley floor, where her ranch spread out in the distance.

She could actually see the corner of her property from here—the old fence line that marked the boundary between Blackwood land and the national forest. The trail they followed wound through BLM land before connecting to the network of old mining roads that crisscrossed the area.

This was familiar country—harsh, but more forgiving than the high peaks.

Every ridge held memories of childhood rides, every valley a lesson learned about reading the land.

The terrain still demanded respect. One wrong step on these loose rocks could send a person tumbling down a thirty-foot drop into the creek bed below.

And out here, alone, that mistake could be your last. The vastness swallowed sound, swallowed hope. A person could scream until their voice gave out and never reach another soul.

She pressed forward, following the faint trail that wound between massive boulders and stands of pine.

Roland and Suzette Lopez, the couple from Denver, had been missing for eighteen hours now.

City folks, probably wearing cotton sweatshirts and running shoes, definitely hypothermic by now if they’d survived the night.

The temperature had dropped to twenty-eight degrees, and the wind chill made it worse.

“Kevin, Paige, you copy?” Sierra keyed her radio.

“Copy, Sierra.” Kevin’s voice crackled through the static. “We’re about two hundred yards southeast of your position. Found some fabric caught on a deadfall.”

“What color?”

“Blue. Looks like fleece.”

Sierra closed her eyes briefly. Suzette Lopez had been wearing a blue fleece jacket when they’d started their “easy day hike” yesterday morning. Easy. Right. Nothing about the Renegade wilderness was easy, especially not in October, when the weather could turn lethal in minutes.

Their teenage children had called the Renegade Parks and Rec service when they hadn’t returned home last night.

“Stay put. Don’t approach until we clear the area. We’ve got a cat sighting up here.”

“Mountain lion?” Paige’s voice, pitched higher. She was newer to SAR, a substitute teacher who’d joined the team six months ago with her SAR K9. Good intentions, but she spooked easily.

“Affirmative. Jackson and I are tracking north along the ridge. You and Kevin work the lower trail system. Radio check every fifteen minutes.”

Sierra clipped the radio back to her utility belt and pulled out her GPS unit.

The coordinates put them at 6,800 feet elevation, still high enough that the air bit at her lungs with each breath, but low enough that the terrain was manageable.

She’d been riding these hills since she was old enough to walk.

“Blood trail’s getting heavier.” Jackson pointed to dark spots on the granite slab ahead of them. “But it’s not human.”

Sierra moved closer, studying the crimson droplets that dotted the rock face. Too much blood for a small animal. Deer, maybe. Or elk. “He made a kill recently. That’s good news and bad news.”

“Good news—he might not be hunting. Bad news—he’s territorial and won’t want to share his territory with hikers.”

“Or searchers.” Sierra shouldered her pack and checked her bear spray. Fat lot of good it would do against a mountain lion, but protocol was protocol. “Stay twenty feet back. We don’t want to corner him.”

They moved along the ridge, following the intermittent blood trail and the deep gouges in the earth where something heavy had been dragged.

If the hikers had stumbled across something that scared them, they might have panicked and run.

Running was the worst thing you could do around a predator, but city folks didn’t know that.

Her radio crackled. “Sierra, this is base. How’s your progress?”

She keyed the mic. “Still tracking. Found evidence of a mountain lion kill in the area. Hikers may have encountered the cat.”

“Copy that. South Eagle police are requesting an ETA.”

Sierra bit back a word. The last thing she needed was pressure from law enforcement. “Tell them we’ll have an update in thirty minutes.”

The truth was, they might not find the Lopez couple at all. The wilderness had swallowed people before, leaving behind nothing but questions and grief.

Probably it was good to be out here. Kept her mind off the hole Grandpa Elway’s death left in her life, the ranch’s mounting bills, the rodeo in two weeks that gave her son a reason to go to school, maybe figure out how to work out his grief.

She sighed. Focus, Sierra. She’d deal with the dead after she saved the living.

She picked up the pace, following the blood trail as it curved around a massive boulder formation. The granite here was streaked with quartz veins that caught the morning sun and threw it back in brilliant flashes.

“Movement.” Jackson’s voice was barely a whisper.

Sierra froze, following his gaze to a cluster of pine trees about fifty yards ahead. A tawny shape moved between the trunks—fluid, powerful, built for killing. The mountain lion paused, massive head turning in their direction.

“Easy,” Sierra whispered. “Back away slowly. No sudden movements.”

The cat’s ears flattened against its skull. Not good. That was aggressive posturing, the kind that preceded an attack. Sierra reached for her radio, no quick movements, everybody stay calm.

“Base, this is Sierra. We have visual contact with a mountain lion. Large tom, approximately one-fifty, showing aggressive behavior. Requesting immediate assistance from Fish and Wildlife.”

“Copy, Sierra. ETA on Fish and Wildlife is forty-five minutes.”

Forty-five minutes? They’d be cat food before then.

The mountain lion took a step toward them, yellow eyes fixed on Sierra with the kind of intensity that made her skin crawl. She’d encountered bears before, even aggressive bulls during breeding season, but nothing with the coiled lethal grace of a hunting cat.

“Jackson,” she said softly. “You still have that sidearm?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Don’t shoot unless he charges. Gunshots might spook him off, or they might bring him straight at us.”

Jackson nodded, but slowly withdrew the gun.

The cat disappeared back into the trees, leaving nothing but the whisper of wind through pine needles.

“He’s still out there,” Jackson said.

“I know.” Sierra studied the terrain ahead.

The blood trail continued along the ridge, disappearing toward the old mining district that dotted this section of the foothills.

If the hikers had gone that direction, they were in serious trouble.

The area was a maze of abandoned shafts and unstable ground.

“Sierra!” Kevin’s voice exploded from her radio. “We’ve got them! Both hikers, alive but in rough shape. We need immediate extraction.”

She let out a coiled breath. Glanced at Jackson, who also nodded. “Copy, Kevin. What’s your location?”

“About three hundred yards down the south face, near an old mining entrance. Sending you coordinates now.”

“Medical status?”

“Male has a broken leg, possible concussion. Female is hypothermic but responsive. They’re both scared out of their minds.”

“Roger that. Jackson and I are en route. Have Paige prep the emergency shelter and warming packs.”

They worked their way down the slope, Sierra checking occasionally for signs of the cat.

The terrain here was riddled with old mining claims, most of them abandoned since the 1880s when silver played out.

The park service had tried to seal the dangerous shafts, but there were too many scattered across the hillsides.

By the time they reached Kevin’s position, Sierra could see why the hikers had taken refuge here.

The old mining shaft was carved into the hillside, its entrance partially concealed by fallen timber and scrub brush.

The wooden support beams, gray and weathered from decades of mountain storms, sagged at dangerous angles.

Rusty cable and broken equipment littered the ground around the entrance, remnants of some long-abandoned silver claim.

Not a place she’d want to spend the night, but it had probably saved their lives.

Inside the mine entrance, two figures huddled together under emergency blankets.

Suzette Lopez—late forties, wearing that bright blue jacket, albeit torn, that had helped them spot her—sat with her husband’s head in her lap.

Roland lay with one leg bent at an unnatural angle, his face pale with pain and cold.

“How long have they been like this?” Sierra knelt beside Roland, checking his pulse. Strong but rapid—shock, probably from the broken leg.

“Hard to say. Suzette’s been pretty shaken up. Says they’ve been here since yesterday evening.”

Sierra nodded, pulling out her medical kit. “What happened? How did you get hurt?”