Page 3 of Manhunt in the Narrows (Red Rock Murders #1)

Closing down the park took an act of God.

Or a serial killer on the loose.

Sayles clipped into her custom hydro bib.

The waterproof material resembled a pair of overalls apart from one key difference: it added at least ten pounds to her already heavy gear.

Worth it. The Narrows was one of the least forgiving trails in Zion.

If you could call it a trail at all. Entry started at the bottom and forced hikers to travel upstream directly in the Virgin River anywhere from ankle-deep waters to full-blown you’re-going-to-have-to-swim-from-here-on-out.

And considering April marked that time of year when the snowbanks started melting, she and Agent Broyles were in for a treat.

They could look forward to freezing temperatures and loss of more favorable camping locations ahead.

They had to do this fast.

Speak of the devil himself. She watched as Agent Broyles hauled a backpack over one muscled shoulder, those dark eyes locked on her as he approached from the visitors’ center.

It was cute the way he thought he’d get through this in jeans and T-shirt.

This wasn’t one of the park’s amateur hikes where parents could carry their toddlers on their shoulders or stop to have a snack.

“Did you get everything on the list?” The answer was plain as day in his chosen outfit.

Jeans would soak up river water and weigh him down.

Not to mention they wouldn’t do a whole lot of good against hypothermia.

She could just imagine the blisters from the seams now.

She’d left the suggestions for gear and supply with one of the information rangers in the visitors’ center.

He’d clearly chosen to ignore some of the key components.

Probably thought he knew best, but nature didn’t work that way, and people had died in the park for that same arrogance.

Agent Broyles unshouldered his bag, setting it down in front of him in the lot.

They’d have to take the shuttle back to Temple of Sinawava to access the trailhead, then go on foot from there.

And the sooner they got going, the better.

She’d caught word of a storm about forty miles out that looked like it had its sights on the park.

While she was sure the rest of Springdale police and whoever Agent Broyles had brought along on this hunt could manage their respective search grids in the rain, the Narrows would kill them if it flooded.

“Think so. First aid kit, matches and a lighter, water, map, sunscreen, flashlight, knife, some food.”

It was a good start. Between the two of them, they could make up the lack wherever needed, but there was one key item missing off that list. “What about a tent?”

She wasn’t the sharing type.

“Worried you’ll have to bunk with me, Ranger Green?

” Amusement lit up his face and corrupted the whole emotionally unavailable law enforcement officer persona he’d had going on in the visitors’ center.

She wasn’t dead. Agent Broyles was more than handsome with high cheekbones, a strong jawline with the barest hint of facial hair, a straight nose with a bump between his eyes that said he’d broken it at least once and a body that would put any Greek god to shame.

None of which would be getting within twelve inches of her if she could manage.

Sayles shut down the urge to roll her eyes into the back of her head.

Wasn’t worth the sparring energy. Not for what they would face ahead.

While she could easily traverse the Narrows alone, she wasn’t just responsible for herself on this one.

If she got a federal agent killed, even as a by-product of his own stupidity, she’d lose…

everything. “There are no fires allowed in the park. A tent is the only way you’ll keep from freezing when the sun goes down. ”

Agent Broyles unzipped his pack, showing off the single-person tent crammed inside. Brand new. They were about to find out just how experienced the federal agent was out here in the big wild. She had her bets with the other rangers. They weren’t great odds. “This good enough?”

“It’ll do.” Twisting toward the trunk of her sedan, she pulled another hydro bib—maybe a little too small and definitely not custom-made for his frame—from the confines and tossed it at his feet. “Put this on.”

Agent Broyles rolled the hydro bib out, then glanced up at her as she offered a pair of waterproof boots. She’d had to guess his size to borrow them from another ranger. They weren’t perfect, but they would work for what they needed. “We going fishing?”

“The Narrows is an upstream hike. There are only a few areas dry enough to camp. Otherwise, we’ll be in the river the entire time.” She nodded to the gear. “These will keep you dry for the most part and protect you against water toxins.”

He fumbled into the waterproof gear and tried to straighten fully, but the hydro bib was obviously cutting into some very vital organs below the waist. “Is this how it’s supposed to fit?” His voice had climbed almost an octave.

“Not so much.” Her laugh escaped without permission. “Here. Let me help.” She stepped into him. Well, damn. She’d already broken her twelve-inch rule. Working the adjustable straps on his chest, she loosened the gear’s hold on his manhood. “How’s that?”

“I can breathe again.” Agent Broyles shot her that crooked smile again. Wasted on her of all people. He grabbed for the rest of his gear after shoving his feet into the boots. “You just happened to have these lying around?”

“Not for you, Agent Broyles.” Her ex had been a few inches shorter than Agent Broyles’s six four, but there were a few similarities she didn’t want to acknowledge between the two of them.

“Elias,” he said. “If we’re going to be spending the next few hours, possibly days, together, you might as well call me by my first name.”

She didn’t agree. Naming something humanized it, and she wasn’t interested in getting to know him. “Let’s get moving. The shuttle is waiting on us.”

She didn’t bother to check to see if he’d followed.

This was his manhunt. She was just the guide, but Sayles couldn’t ignore the permanent goose pimples along her neck and arms. The man they were after had already killed five people, including a hiker in this very park.

What was to stop him from turning on a park ranger?

It was her job to protect Agent Broyles from the park.

What guarantee did she have Agent Broyles would protect her apart from his duty?

Sayles boarded the shuttle, one of the new electric ones the park had invested in over the past couple of years. The engine barely grumbled as she took her seat behind the driver and tugged her pack to her chest. A barrier between her and the man sitting across the too-slim aisle from her.

The ride wasn’t more than twenty minutes, but those minutes seemed to drag on forever as she focused every ounce of attention out the elongated windows over Agent Broyles’s shoulders. Her body swayed as the shuttle’s transmission shifted, making her overly aware of his attention centered on her.

“Risner said you were one of his newest rangers.” He had to raise his voice over the shuttle’s engine despite them being the only passengers on board. “How long have you been at Zion?”

“Five months.” Her inexperience wasn’t a secret. She was sure the FBI could unearth her personnel files with the snap of a finger.

“Did you always want to become a ranger?” he asked.

What was with the third degree? Narrowing her gaze on him, Sayles worked to shut down whatever expression on her face was telling him she was up for small talk. “Did you always want to be an FBI agent?”

“Ever since I was a kid.” Broyles reached overhead to grab on to one of the many stand bars installed throughout the shuttle bus for balance. “But that was probably because I watched too many true-crime shows. You know, like Dateline .”

“Your parents let you watch Dateline ?” Damn it. She wasn’t supposed to encourage conversation. There was a reason she didn’t trust federal types like him. She had to remember that.

“Let me? No.” His gaze cut to the driver as he shook his head. “Did I sneak into the living room in the middle of the night and watch TV after they fell asleep to watch that and Tales from the Crypt ? Absolutely.”

“That show gave me nightmares.” As a kid, she’d believed that was the worst that could scare her.

Then she’d gotten older and seen what real evil looked like.

“My degree is in art history. I wanted to work for a museum, curating artwork and building collections, overseeing preservations, that kind of stuff.”

She didn’t know why she’d told him that.

Wasn’t even sure if she’d ever told her fellow rangers about that dead dream.

Then again, they’d never asked. Not even her roommate, Lila, who everyone accurately nicknamed Ranger Barbie.

But working in a national park came with a lot of transition.

Rangers moved across the country to get coveted positions and full-time work, which was a lot harder than it looked.

The big parks were where everyone wanted to be.

Yellowstone. Yosemite. The Grand Canyon.

Otherwise known as the crown jewels of the National Park Service, those were the ones that came with bigger animals to protect, more scenery to guard and bad guys waiting to get busted.

Rangers had sabotaged, lied and manipulated their way into those assignments.

Rangers like Risner. What was the point of getting to know your coworkers who would stab you in your gray-colored back for the opportunity to patrol Denali?

“Why the national park rangers then?” Broyles asked.

To hide. To escape. To finally have the chance to make her own decisions. Zion wasn’t just a place for her to work. It was freedom in every sense of the word. Something she’d never had before and certainly not in her marriage. Sayles gripped her pack a bit too tight. “I needed a change.”

The driver maneuvered into the semicircle meant to corral shuttles at each trailhead, and Sayles practically bolted for the door.

Not like she could escape the federal agent on her heels, but she could sure as hell put more distance between them.

She shouldered her pack and headed straight for the asphalt trail she’d hiked this morning.

Only there wouldn’t be a body waiting for her on the other side.

At least, she hoped they didn’t come across any more. She sensed she’d already be seeing that hiker’s face when she closed her eyes tonight. They were well into the afternoon at this point. Shadows seemed to drip down the cliff walls waiting to consume them whole.

Sayles stepped off the asphalt path and headed straight for the canyon mouth towering over 2,000 feet above them with a mere sliver of eight feet of ankle-rolling, algae-covered rocks between them.

“The canyon will block the sun for the rest of the day, but we’ve got about six hours before sunset hits.

At that point, we’ll need to make camp.”

The slosh of water at her back told her he was sticking close. “Think we can make it to a spot and set up for the night in that time?”

“The driest location to camp is two miles in. About an hour and twenty minutes if we stay consistent.” Her feet immediately became sluggish in the mere six inches of water fighting them at every chance.

They had to move slow to avoid burning out before reaching a sufficient campground.

“Problem is we’re right in the middle of snowmelt season.

The waters here are much deeper than any other time of the year.

Your killer picked a hell of a time to flee. ”

“I’ll be sure to mention that when we catch up with him.” Broyles’s words echoed off the canyon walls. “Back at the visitors’ center, you knew what unsub stood for. I take it I’m not the only fan of Dateline .”

Knowledge of law enforcement protocols and terminology wasn’t something she’d ever been interested in. But that was the cost of escaping a murder charge. “Something like that.”