Page 5 of Disappearance at Angel’s Landing (Red Rock Murders #2)

Ugh. Feelings.

No amount of Cherry Garcia was going to fix this.

Her body hurt from climbing to Angel’s Landing three times in the span of twelve hours of a single day, but worse, she couldn’t get back to that lovely space where she didn’t have to feel anything. The one place she felt safe. Numb.

The house creaked from another gust. The twelve-hundred-square-foot ranch-style house she and Sayles shared in the Watchman government housing development—when her roommate bothered to sleep here at all—was little more than a cardboard box with two bedrooms and a single bathroom.

Updates hadn’t been done in years, roaches and mouse droppings weren’t uncommon, and a good portion of her sleep terrors occurred right in this very room.

But it was only a quarter mile from headquarters.

Despite how often she and Sayles cleaned, there was no getting the stains out of the combination tub/shower or rid of the permanent smell of mildew. But they had put in a lot of effort to personalize everything without painting—that was against the rental agreement.

Risner’s Pepto Bismol remark might not fully apply to the flares of pink in her uniform, but it certainly applied to her bedroom.

Her twin-size comforter looked as though it’d been skinned straight off a pink Muppet with matching pillows and poofs.

Lampshade, check. Curtains, check. Most of her casual outfits?

Check. In the famous words of Julia Roberts in Steel Magnolias , pink was her signature color.

It was the only thing that kept her heart from turning all the way black.

Risner. She scowled merely thinking of his name.

Lila scooped another double spoonful of Cherry Garcia and shoved it into her mouth, relaxing on the secondhand couch she and Sayles had found on the side of the road in Springdale.

This place wasn’t anything extravagant, but it was theirs. Hers. Someplace no one could find her.

There were those feelings again. The ones she’d managed to ignore since coming to Zion, but the little buggers just didn’t get the message she wasn’t interested. Chocolate chunks and cherries weren’t going to touch this. She needed something stronger.

The romantic comedy she’d chosen for tonight—and almost every night—helped.

The lonely, isolated, nerdy main character was getting all dolled up and waxed clean to enter a beauty pageant in order to catch a bomber.

She just happened to find love along the way in another FBI agent, and right there was that shrapnel of hope Lila couldn’t afford.

That her self-isolation and loneliness would end in happily-ever-after.

Images blurred on the screen as her mind drifted back to Branch Thompson for the hundredth time tonight.

He’d corrected Risner’s use of her last name, though she wasn’t sure why.

In what world did Branch do anything that didn’t involve scowling, growling or prowling?

It didn’t make sense and had ultimately landed her higher on Risner’s hit list. The district ranger had removed her from the investigation in retaliation.

It was just as well. What did she know about murder? Her expertise—as far as her supervisor and coworkers were aware—extended to pairing the right eyeshadow to her uniform, coating herself in sunscreen because ew, wrinkles and changing out her boot laces with a pop of color.

No one took her seriously. And that was the way she liked it.

Pounding registered on the front door.

Her entire nervous system flinched at the onslaught, and she nearly dropped her Cherry Garcia on her favorite blanket. Dribbles of ice cream slid down her chin. She wiped it with the back of her sweatshirt sleeve. “Who is it?”

“Branch.” His voice was throaty and low.

Nope. Not what she was expecting. Her heart rate shot into overdrive.

She scrambled to clean up her face, smooth down her hair and make it look as though she hadn’t spent the last three hours trying to drown her sorrows in calories.

Then again, maybe he’d feel better she’d eaten, considering he’d gifted her that protein bar earlier.

His presence practically bled through the thin wood door. “You still there?”

She didn’t know. Maybe this was an out-of-body experience. Or a dream. Never in all his time at Zion had Branch crossed the development from his house to hers.

“Um, just a second!” Squealing. Sure. That was the way to go.

Lila nearly tripped over her extra thick fuzzy socks as she rushed to the front door.

She scanned the house with her hand on the doorknob.

There was no saving the Netflix-and-chill vibe she’d lost herself in, but at least it didn’t smell like animal carcass in here.

She wrenched the door inward, setting sights on the mountain of a man she had to remind herself would only visit for official reasons.

“Uh, hi. Who died? I mean, who else died? I mean, what can I do for you in the middle of the night, Branch?”

What wouldn’t she do was more like it.

He answered with a low growl that could mean anything from I don’t understand your joke to I only speak to animals as he stepped past her into the house.

She gestured over the threshold behind his back. “Won’t you come inside?”

He didn’t fit here. Though she imagined he didn’t really fit anywhere given his size. It worked well for him out in the open, but in her tiny-ass house that she had to share with a roommate to afford? Not so much.

Branch surveyed her kingdom as she closed the door behind him.

She’d changed out of her uniform into one of her oversize T-shirts from a secondhand shop in Springdale.

Sans pants. This was going really well for her tonight.

He watched a few seconds of the movie before taking in the melting ice cream and discarded spoon on the scuffed wood coffee table.

Then took a seat on her couch she was sure struggled to support his weight and grabbed what was left of her Cherry Garcia and the single spoon. That she’d eaten off of. “I love this movie.”

“What is happening?” Lila slapped both cheeks, trying to wake herself up.

Because there was no way in hell Branch Thompson—Mr. Don’t Look at Me if You Don’t Want a Tree Shoved Down Your Throat—was sitting on her couch, eating her ice cream and watching her favorite movie.

She must’ve died on Angel’s Landing today.

Yeah. That made more sense. She was dead, and this was her purgatory.

“Sit down.” Branch nodded toward the butt imprint on her side of the couch.

Lila didn’t know what else to do. Rounding the coffee table, legs bare and a little prickly, she lowered herself onto the couch beside him, careful to keep a minimum of six inches between them.

She sat stiff as a board, her mouth dry.

She tried to clear her throat, but two pints of Ben & Jerry’s had the unexpected ability to make that impossible.

“As much as I loved our time together today, Branch, my shift is over. I’m a free woman for the next six hours, and I’m curious as to why you’re here. In my house. Eating my ice cream.”

“Did you want more?” He offered her the container, only to reveal less than a bite left. Rude. Settling back into the thin couch cushions, Branch spread his legs in front of him as though he had nowhere else to be. Or like he made it a habit to visit her in the middle of the night.

“I’m good.” No. Her voice did not just crack on that last word. Closing her eyes against the rush of heat in her face and neck, Lila tried to get a handle on herself. Then she set her full attention on him.

Shadows had settled under his eyes, deepening the lines in the corners.

Like he was in the kind of pain no one could fix.

His shoulders seemed tighter, and it took everything in her not to offer to rub out the tension.

He wouldn’t appreciate being touched, and honestly, no matter how many times she’d fantasized about this exact moment—having him in her house—this entire situation made her nervous as hell.

Maybe she hadn’t actually accomplished scrubbing the day off in her too-hot shower until her skin turned raw.

“Are you a serial killer?” She’d never seen an attractive serial killer, but if they were out there, she bet they would look just like him.

Branch turned those dark eyes on her. His mouth twitched at one side as if she’d surprised him. Then again, maybe he got accused of committing murder all time. She didn’t know. She didn’t know anything about him. The man wasn’t exactly keen on engaging with society. “No.”

“Okay.” She dragged the word out longer than necessary to try to get her brain in drive. “So if you’re not here to kill me, what are you doing in my house?”

Setting the now empty pint on the coffee table with a last lick of the spoon, he scanned her house.

Though she couldn’t imagine what it was he was looking for.

All these government houses had the same floor plan and upgrades, which meant he was looking at an identical layout as his. “You’re back on the case.”

That…was not what she expected to come out of his mouth. Shock held her brain hostage for a minute. Maybe two.

Branch didn’t seem to mind the resulting silence.

Then she couldn’t stop the torrent as though she’d finally been released from a year-long vow of silence.

“I don’t… I don’t understand. Risner sent me back to headquarters.

He wrote me up and told me to make sure I met with HR in the morning.

As of three hours ago, I was convinced I was being fired. What could have changed?”

For the first time, Branch met her gaze without so much as a wince at the sound of her voice. And waited for her to connect the dots.

“You convinced him to keep me.” She braced herself for the argument, but it never came.

The gritty, peeling fabric of her couch rubbed against the backs of her thighs as a whole new level of awareness coursed through her.

She didn’t know what to think about that, what to do.

He’d gone against their district ranger to call Risner out for his blatant sexism she and the rest of the female rangers had to put up with for this job.

Now this? “Why would you do that? You can’t stand me. ”

Branch shoved to stand up, pushing the couch back a few inches at the effort.

He stared down at her. Not intimidating.

Just…there. Like he would sign up to fight all of her battles if he could, even the ones she’d kept to herself.

Which didn’t make a lick of sense. He didn’t answer for a series of moments.

She wasn’t sure if he would at all. Until all that intensity centered on her.

“Why do you let everyone think you’re something you’re not? ”

“Because the truth is too awful.” A rush of shame burned hot under her skin.

It took longer than she wanted for her to make sense of what he was saying—what he thought he knew about her—and for a split second, she was tired of lying.

Of being exactly what people expected of her.

If anyone was going to see through the lies she’d sprinkled like breadcrumbs over the years, she’d put her hope on Branch Thompson.

Only to have been disappointed over and over again when he ignored and flat out rejected her.

He hadn’t fought Risner for her to remain on the case out of some mutual interest or a potential friendship as she’d wanted since the day he set foot in Zion.

Branch had done it to figure out what happened to Sarah Lantos.

Which was kind of admirable in and of itself.

Lila fisted her sleep shirt to get her head out of the clouds.

“The Grotto at six.” He didn’t wait for her to answer as he suddenly lunged for the door. “Don’t be late.”

Lila couldn’t help but scramble after him. “Why? What’s at six?”

Branch pulled up short of crossing the threshold back out into the gusty darkness and locked his gaze on her. “We start tracking the killer.”