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Twenty-nine

RILEY BLEW ON HER FINGERS , then shoved them back into her coat pockets, her gloves too thin to fight off the chill of a December night.

They hiked at a good clip, side by side, but had remained quiet for the last two hours, focused only on moving and occasionally looking over their shoulders. So far, all remained still and dark behind them.

“Take my gloves,” Greyson said, pulling them off with his teeth, not relinquishing his hold on the rifle.

She’d slid the SIG into the back of her pants but could draw the weapon in a flash. Hours upon hours of practice with Deck had trained her well. It was nearly rote muscle memory at this point.

“I’m not taking your gloves.”

“I’m not asking.”

“I’m not taking them,” she reiterated.

He shook his head. “You’re so stubborn.”

“Pot. Kettle.”

“I’m trying to keep you warm.”

“And I’m trying to keep you warm.” Though she’d rather be held in his arms than hiking through the cold mesa en route to a reservation she’d never been on to meet a friend of Greyson’s that she never knew he had. So much she didn’t know, but so much she was learning. Really intimate stuff on a different level from casual friendship. And that kiss held far more passion than friendship—at least for her. But she must have misread his body language, how he’d deepened the kiss after she’d kissed him back, the racing of his heart against her chest ... How had she misread all of that?

She studied his profile in the falling snow. What if she hadn’t misread it? What if...? A smile graced her lips.

He looked over. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.”

“You smiled that smile.”

“What smile is that?”

“Your curious one.”

“Ah.”

“What is it you’re curious about?”

“It can wait.” She wanted to hold on to the possibility a little while longer before he crushed her hope.

He gestured to the endless mesa ahead. “We have time. As long as we keep moving.”

“You think they’re still coming?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Then it can definitely wait.” Before he could answer, she continued. “I should try my phone again. I’m sure Deck’s worried. We always check in at night.” She pulled out her phone but no signal. She slid it into the back pocket of her ski pants.

“I think we can definitely rule Tate out now.”

“Unless it’s something wild and he’s in cahoots with the retreat, I’d wager you’re right.”

Rumbling sounded in the distance.

Greyson scanned the area. “Move for the cave dwellings. Up!”

“What is it?” she asked, already in motion.

“Four-wheelers.” He raced beside her.

“I’d ask if you thought it was them,” she said in spurts as she scaled the rock face for the dwellings above. “But we both know the answer.”

The headlights of two four-wheelers came into view. Ridden by two bulky, shadowed figures. Kevin and the unknown man.

Greyson halted and scanned the rock face.

She waited, reading his mind. The dwellings were too high to make it in time.

“That crevice,” he said, pointing to a narrow opening in the rock.

“ That crevice? It’s too narrow.”

“It’s wider than it looks.”

Miraculously, Greyson was right. She managed to slide inside and scooted back until she was flush with the cold rock. He slid inside, shielding her with his body. “If they see you, we’re trapped, and you’re dead.”

“Not happening.” He held his rifle against his chest.

She took a breath, but it was shallow in the confined space. Dark with no wiggle room, the top of the rock mere inches from her face.

“Here they come.”