Page 7 of Disappearance at Angel’s Landing (Red Rock Murders #2)

The killer had known exactly what he was doing.

He was experienced and knew his route up the side of Scout Lookout better than the rangers who practically lived in this park.

The bolts he’d drilled into the cliffside for his anchors were doing a masterful job of remaining in place despite Branch’s dangling weight.

Their killer was experienced, but he would’ve been better off taking his rope with him during his escape to avoid potential DNA testing. So why hadn’t he? Had he needed a quick getaway and couldn’t afford the extra weight? Or had he left it on purpose?

Lila touched down at the base of Angel’s Landing first, her harness digging between her thighs and around her hips. Hands dusted with chalk, she brushed the excess on her uniform slacks. That was really going to piss Risner off.

Having her descend the killer’s route had been the most efficient use of their draining energy after four hours of hiking vertically.

Using the killer’s anchors and carabiners, she’d secured her own rope to the cliff face as Branch lowered her at an excruciatingly slow pace as though afraid he might drop her at any moment.

Which had been a possibility, but a part of her trusted him more than she trusted herself.

She couldn’t make out his features from six thousand feet below, but she could imagine him using his best grizzly bear impression to scare people off.

Unholstering the radio at her hip, she pressed the push-to-talk button with little hope her signal would escape the surrounding mountains.

“Ranger Jordan to Ranger Thompson. Your turn. Over.”

Static crackled through the speaker. One second. Two. The high whistle of the wind cutting through all these surrounding peaks and valleys cut through her concentration as she stared up at his outline.

“I’m good.” A man of few words and even less humor. She couldn’t get enough.

Lila allowed herself to relive the gravel in his voice. Was that nerves? Damn, he was killing her down here. She studied him while opening the channel. “I promise not to drop you. If I wanted you dead, I would’ve used the candles I lit last night as part of a sacrificial ritual in your honor.”

“You’re not funny.” Another crackle from the radio. Or was that a crack in his voice?

Widening her legs to take more of his weight—because she was going to get him off this mountain come hell or high water—she locked the end of the rope near her dominant hip.

She couldn’t stop the laugh bursting from her chest. She’d never thought there would be a day when the great Branch Thompson showed vulnerability.

She was pretty sure the man did anything he could to avoid it, and he sure as hell wouldn’t want that vulnerability made public. “I’m pretty funny.”

No answer to that.

She kept her squinting gaze on him, noting the position of the sun.

Shade bathed her in cooler temperatures, but time hadn’t been on their side since Sarah Lantos’s murder.

“How do you plan to get down here if you don’t trust me to take your weight?

Maybe you shouldn’t have eaten my Ben & Jerry’s last night. ”

Okay. Now she was just poking the bear, but she couldn’t resist getting under that guarded man’s skin. Just felt right in the moment.

“You shouldn’t shame people for their food choices.” The rope tugged in her hand.

“All right. How about this.” Why did she suddenly feel like a hostage negotiator?

Maybe that should be her next area of study.

Something new to keep her mind busy while she tried to figure out how to get this black abyss out of the middle of her chest. “I will buy you your own pint of Cherry Garcia that you can eat in the dark with no one else around. I’ll even lend you my DVD of the movie we watched last night. ”

“You’re the only person I know who still uses DVDs.” He was stalling, and they both knew it.

But she was going to let that comment slide. It was the least she could do considering she’d discovered a new species of grizzly bear that could speak more than two words at a time. “I’ve checked all the bolts and anchors. They are perfectly capable of handling your weight.”

His outline shifted overhead. They were killing daylight here. Every second he refused to trust her was another second Sarah Lantos’s killer remained free. Was it really so much to ask to trust the woman you’d despised for the better part of four months? “Now you’re shaming my weight.”

She couldn’t win. Lila raised the radio to her mouth to counter.

But stopped short. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, her scalp tightening in warning.

As though she was being watched. Shifting her weight to dislodge the sensation, she searched for the source.

There wasn’t a whole lot to study, but there were countless ridges, shadows and shrubbery to hide in.

A shiver chased down her spine. They’d set out to track a killer, but what if the killer was tracking them? “Get down here.”

The change in her voice must have been apparent.

Without a response, the slack slid from the rope, tightening with Branch’s weight.

Exposed to the rope’s fiber, the friction against the raw skin of her hands threatened to leave her with burns, but she wouldn’t compromise Branch’s descent because of a little pain.

She’d demanded he trust her. This was him trusting her.

His full weight tugged at the harness strapped at her hips, bringing her to her toes.

One wrong move, and she could face-plant against the side of the cliff as he free-fell, though she was fairly certain she wouldn’t drop him.

Seventy-five—no, eighty percent sure. This was why it was a good idea to climb with a partner around your same size, which begged the question: Of all the rangers at his disposal, why had Branch fought for her to be part of this hunt?

Lila kept her gaze upward. Minutes stretched into hours of repetition: the rope sliding through her gloved hands, the mental check-ins on his progress, the lactic burn in her arms. Sweat built at her temples, but he’d only reached the halfway point.

Pressure expanded in her chest and hadn’t let up.

It was growing stronger. As if whoever was watching had somehow gotten closer without her realizing.

Her breath shallowed as she tried to split her attention between Branch and the presence at her back.

She couldn’t risk a single mistake with his life in her hands.

Her arms shook with the effort to keep Branch from falling to his death, but they were making progress.

He was almost on the ground, and the closer he got, the less the pressure in her chest had power over her.

The fact that his harness accentuated the muscles running the length of his thighs and rear with every movement didn’t hurt, either.

When he touched down, the rope slackened between them—taking both a physical and a mental weight off her body—and she rushed to meet him, throwing her arms around his neck. “Look at that. You did it!”

A wave of tension tightened every muscle under her touch, from his shoulders to his toes. The air charged with something she couldn’t name, but it was far from the friendly conversation they’d engaged in during the descent down the cliff face.

Branch shoved out of her hold, expression shut down. Eyes hooded. His chest rose violently. “Don’t touch me.”

The inky blackness she tried to keep under wraps below layers and layers of pink and bubbles threatened to escape.

Air lodged in her throat at the sudden change in his demeanor, and the banter between them a little while ago vanished as though it never happened in the first place.

Had she imagined it? She had the tendency to do that.

To see connections and relationships as more than they really were. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“It doesn’t matter what you meant.” Branch loosened his harness, stepping out of it and leaving it behind.

No, shoving it away as though it would come to life and bite him.

He maneuvered around her without so much as a second glance at her.

Why did that hurt more than his words? “We need to keep moving.”

Lila stared after him, not really knowing what to do as he searched the ground around them. She’d made a mistake. Believed he’d started letting down his standoffish guard. For her.

She stopped herself from clenching her hands.

They ached from acting as base to his descent.

What did she think was going to happen when she hugged him?

That he’d suddenly see she’d been right there in front of him this whole time?

Forget he hadn’t ignored and pushed her away since he came to Zion?

A nauseous churn erupted in her stomach.

All too familiar and suffocating. Rejection. Shame. Worthlessness.

Shucking her own harness, she folded and packed it in her pack, unwilling to leave it behind as Branch had done with his.

The killer. They were tracking a killer.

Analyzing what had changed between them from last night to a few minutes ago wouldn’t get them any closer to finding Sarah Lantos’s killer.

It would be okay. She’d survived the mess she’d made of her family.

She would survive Branch’s indifference.

Her boot caught on a rock, and she pitched forward. The world ripped out from beneath her.

Lila threw her palms out to catch herself, but a massive wall of muscle stepped between her and the ground. Strong hands secured her hips and steadied her on her feet.

Her breath escaped her chest for an entirely different reason than Branch running as though she’d physically disgusted him. But it was the heat singeing her insides beneath his palms that threw her off-balance.

Drawing herself to her full height—at least a head shorter than Branch, his chest pressed to hers—she locked her gaze on his. The hardness had left his expression, leaving the man who’d set himself in front of her TV with her favorite ice cream last night.

She set her hand against his chest to return to the distance he’d set between them. “Thanks.”

“It’s not personal.” Calloused fingers tightened on her hips, keeping her in place. His body heat seared through the thin cotton of her uniform’s button-down. It was made worse by the increasing temperatures as the sun arced higher in the sky. “I haven’t let anyone touch me since my divorce.”

“I didn’t know.” Divorce—no matter the circumstances—was hard.

It changed people. While she hadn’t been through it, she’d witnessed friends’ entire lives crumple when a marriage ended.

Couples she’d admired for their commitment and those stolen glances at each other when they thought no one was looking had suddenly turned bitter and angry and hostile, until they were no longer recognizable. And Branch was one of its victims.

Lila counted off his heartbeats against her palm, steady and strong. Just like him. “But it’s a little hard to believe you don’t like to be touched when you’re still holding onto me.”

Distinct lines deepened between his brows as if he couldn’t possibly figure out why he hadn’t let go.

In Lila’s next breath, Branch seemed to come back to himself and retreated a step, but the impression of his hands refused to dissolve.

“I’m sorry. I’m not… I’m not good at being around people anymore. ”

“Everyone has cuddle-with-a-toaster-in-the-bathtub days.” Brushing invisible wrinkles from her uniform, she set her performance smile in place, trying to lighten the mood.

She’d been doing it for so long, it’d become as easy as breathing.

Because it was better than letting the darkness win again.

She didn’t expect him to tell her about his divorce, and she wouldn’t push.

But the idea of someone hurting this man set her teeth.

Lila readjusted her pack on her shoulders. Unnecessarily, of course, but she’d achieved satisfactory distraction level. There weren’t any signs of a campsite around here. The killer must’ve moved deeper into the valley.

“Don’t.” That single word rocked through her as Branch ate up the distance he’d put between them. She felt the roughness in his voice deep in her bones.

Time slowed as he raised his knuckles to brush against one corner of her mouth. “Don’t put that fake smile on, Lila. You don’t ever have to hide from me.”