Page 26 of Disappearance at Angel’s Landing (Red Rock Murders #2)

He’d waited. And waited. But there was no sign Lila intended to meet up with the SAR team.

But while Branch was more than ready to admit she liked to disobey orders to get under Risner’s skin, she wasn’t stupid. She wouldn’t risk her life in a storm like this to make a point, and the rangers back at headquarters hadn’t seen her.

Lila was missing.

Which meant something had happened in the time he’d left her in this very spot and when he’d pulled his head out of his ass to come back and apologize for the way he’d treated her. And Branch had an idea who might’ve been involved.

He scanned the ground in circles, frustration building each time the rain corrupted evidence of her boot prints.

The first print had been protected by an overhang, pulling him down a narrow slot canyon worn into smooth curves over the years.

He’d recognized it from their two days together.

The subsequent prints had washed away in the storm.

Every shred of evidence, every clue telling him where she might’ve gone erased in a matter of minutes.

He couldn’t fight back the desperation that’d nearly destroyed him after the landslide.

The killer had come back to finish what he’d started.

Branch didn’t have proof. It was literally vanishing right in front of his eyes, but he’d always trusted his gut.

He followed the slot canyon, recovering mere divots of her footprints.

Until they just…stopped. She must’ve taken a wrong turn. Doubled back.

Crouching to get a better look at the patterns left in the mud, he tracked Lila’s divots.

But her prints weren’t the only ones lingering.

Another set had followed her in. Deeper.

Harder to wash away despite the storm’s relentlessness.

No ridges or treads. Just impressions. Bigger than his partner’s.

And right in the center of one, rivets of brown mixing with rainwater. Like slicked oil refusing to give up the fight against a more soluble opponent.

Blood.

Fire burned up Branch’s throat as he shoved to stand.

Lila didn’t carry any weapons, which meant she’d been injured.

He couldn’t tell how badly, but enough for the killer to abduct her a second time.

Damn it, he should’ve been there. He should’ve known the son of a bitch wouldn’t let her go.

Lila had tried to tell him. The killer was convinced she was just like Sarah Lantos, that she deserved to suffer for her sins, and Branch had left Lila to fight this alone because of some warped sense of protecting himself.

His blood pumped too hard. His throat raw from swallowing the growl clawing through him.

He marched straight out of the slot canyon.

She wasn’t here. The killer wouldn’t have left her body out in the open.

He’d want Lila to suffer as promised, secluding her.

Branch had returned to the trail in less than thirty minutes after he’d turned his back on her and hadn’t seen any evidence of anyone until Risner showed his pinched face.

Which meant the killer would’ve taken her someplace nearby.

Somewhere he could take his time but distant enough no one on the trail would hear her scream.

Branch ran through his knowledge of the area. Lila was better at this kind of thing. She was just…better.

In every way.

And he loved her.

More than he relied on his fear. More than his isolation.

He loved every inch of her, complete with her shame, her secrets and unwillingness to bend.

He loved her meddling and impulsiveness and the way she made decisions based solely on her mood.

He loved the flares of pink on her uniform and the way she protested Risner’s control by bejeweling her belt against regulations.

He loved the way her body had melted into his when he’d kissed her, as though she’d always been the missing piece of his soul he’d lost in the divorce.

But he mostly loved how she’d dragged him back into the light with her unending invitations to show him around Springdale, to meet for coffee and when she’d thrown him a surprise birthday party in the break room.

He still couldn’t figure out how she’d learned about his birthday, but it didn’t matter.

She’d stood in the middle of that linoleum-coated corner of the office with balloons and a cake made just for him with that gorgeous smile on her face and daring in her eyes.

He loved her.

And he would do whatever it took to get her back.

Branch rushed from the slot canyon, taking in as much detail as his brain allowed.

Rain pummeled the tracks he’d followed into the canyon, but he could still make out the increasingly rare divots she’d left behind.

None of them faced the direction of the valley, wider on one end compared to the other.

Had she backed up? Stumbled away after being injured?

His boot met the edge of the upper rim. And then he saw it.

The drag marks about ten feet down. They were similar to those he’d found in the landslide.

Scrambling to get a better look, he scrubbed water from his face.

These marks were much deeper than the ones he’d come across before, and he gauged the distance between this position and the top of the rim.

She’d been…pushed. Branch scanned the surrounding area.

And found another set of drag marks. Rocks and bushes acted as obstacles between the first point and the second, but there was no denying the pattern.

He descended the incline and froze. Blond hair clung to the branches of a scrub brush.

Her hair must’ve caught on the way down, ripping free from her scalp.

He untangled the strand, too many images assaulting his brain as he played the scenario marked in the earth out.

The killer had injured her, then pushed her down the hill.

Blood seeped in the stone there. Another cluster of hair suctioned to a prickly pear cactus a few more feet down.

His heart worked overtime as the pieces of her disappearance came together.

Pushing himself down the last few feet, he crouched at the base of the incline.

Next to the largest impression cast in mud, where she’d landed. “What happened to you, Barbie?”

Standing, Branch circled outward from the point of her last known location until another set of tracks took shape. A smooth boot tread with a slight drag behind it. Son of a bitch. He’d taken her. But where?

He didn’t have time to think of a strategy.

Only time to act. But the radio was already in hand.

He called through to Risner and relayed his location.

He’d burned through whatever calories the oatmeal from this morning had provided.

His legs ached, his energy levels had gone well beyond exhausted, but he couldn’t stop. “Hang on, Lila. I’m coming.”

The fear he’d given into that had driven him away from Lila had no room in his chest as it was slowly replaced with need.

For her. To have her within reach. To hear that rare laugh she reserved for certain people.

To absorb that inner sunshine to counter his darkness.

In that moment, Branch was convinced he’d die without it.

He needed her more than he needed his next breath.

Blackened tree branches clawed at his face, clothes and pack as he navigated the base of the valley, but the sting was nothing compared to the agony tearing through him at the thought of being too late.

Each track in the mud he recovered was lighter than the one before it.

Soon, he’d lose the trail altogether. Lose her forever.

Not an option.

Branch broke through a dense collection of trees ahead, into some kind of clearing he’d never seen before.

Desert grass had overtaken the area, camouflaging evidence the killer had dragged Lila through.

The trail here was a little more worn without the protection of trees keeping rain from corrupting the boot prints.

There was no next step to follow. As though the killer had vanished into thin air.

In an instant, he was lost. About what to do next, where to go. Except that invisible thread that’d developed over the course of the past few days—the one tied directly to Lila—tugged harder.

He had no other choice than to follow it.

He was her last resort. The only person who hadn’t given up on her.

The storm was only growing worse, pinning Risner and the SAR team in place.

Lila’s family had betrayed and shunned her when she needed them the most. Their fellow rangers wanted nothing more than to see her fail. And he…he’d turned his back on her.

That connection—however bruised and broken after what he’d said—was still there, guiding him forward. His feet were moving without conscious effort, leading him straight ahead.

A rise in the valley wall took shape to his left, and he slowed.

To listen. To wait. Despite everything she’d faced, Lila Jordan was without a doubt the strongest person he’d ever met.

Stronger than him. And she would figure out a way to stay alive until help arrived.

He just hoped she didn’t give up before then.

Grass parted as he maneuvered through the clearing.

The rain lightened into a drizzle, slowing the destruction of evidence, but the damage had already been done.

Mere rings of mud bled through trampled grass every so often.

Branch pulled up short. The grass. Broken and bent stalks of wheat-like feathers swayed under the influence of the wind, revealing the path the killer had taken through the field.

A second burst of adrenaline filtered into his veins.

She was close. He could feel it, feel that tug in the center of his chest. He didn’t know how to explain it, and he didn’t care what it meant, but as long as it was there, he’d follow.

He’d fall to his knees for his woman. Hell, he’d crawl if she asked him to.

He’d cut himself off from everything and everyone to keep himself from getting attached to another human who could hurt him.

Love had ruined him once. He’d done whatever it took to avoid it from happening again, but he’d never been a match for Lila.

Not chasing it was impossible when it came to her.

He wanted Lila to ruin him. Because she was worth whatever chaos she brought into his life.

The trees grew dense along the outer edge of the clearing, the grass thinner.

He was on the verge of losing her again, but he wasn’t about to give up.

Not when everyone else had. Lila Jordan had crawled beneath his skin and carved her name with manicured nails on his heart. He was a marked man. Entirely hers.

Movement rustled through the blackened forest about a hundred yards ahead, though he couldn’t make out what had disturbed the trees.

Then came a dull pounding. Unsteady, hurried.

Footsteps? Every cell in his body hardened with battle-ready tension.

Branch ducked behind one of the larger trees. Waiting.

Then he saw it.

That flash of familiar blond hair.

Lila. She threw her attention over her shoulder, one arm clutched to her side. Her uniform had torn in places, streaked with blood and caked in mud. But he’d recognize her in the dark or completely blind.

“Lila!” Swinging himself into her path, Branch secured his arms around her middle, bringing her into his chest. Where she belonged.

Hints of her scent drove into his lungs and released the vice in his chest. He could breathe easier, see clearer, think better with her here.

As though the world had gone from black and white into full-blown color with her mere presence alone.

That was what she’d done for him. Bought him back to life after losing all meaning.

She was his meaning now. His purpose. “I’ve got you. ”

Her fist connected with his jaw, throwing his head to one side. “Let me go!”

Lightning erupted behind his eyes. Damn it all. This woman. Tightening his arms around her, he pressed his mouth to her ear. She was in survival mode. Desperate to escape. “It’s me. It’s Branch. You’re safe.”

“No.” Tears streaked down her face as she struggled to get free of his grasp. “I’ll never be safe. Not from him.”

“Look at me.” Branch framed her chin in one hand, turning her attention to him.

Lila’s eyes rolled into the back of her head. Just before she collapsed.