Freefall

She was about to report to headquarters when static buzzed over the plane’s radio. Her heart seized at the sound of a man’s voice. “Del Norte, come in. Ya, contesta.”

Hope rushed forward to pick up the receiver. Swallowing hard, she pressed the button to speak. “This is Ranger Banning of Sierra National Park. I need some information about this aircraft and pilot, over.”

The man ended the communication.

She replaced the receiver, her mouth dry. Careful not to touch anything else, she exited the fuselage.

“What was that?” Sam asked.

“Someone called on the plane’s radio. When I answered, they hung up.”

“You answered?”

“Yes.”

He thrust a hand through his short hair. “Fuck!”

“What?”

“I don’t like this. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

She wasn’t a big fan of the situation, either. There had never been a murder at Angel Wings. It could be days before a thorough investigation was organized. The logistics of processing a crime scene on a remote mountaintop were dizzying.

They also had a killer to find. He must have left the area on foot.

She walked away from the plane, examining their surroundings. A hiking trail led down the backside of the mountain and ended at the Kaweah River Campsite. Where she’d dropped off Faith this morning.

“I have to go after him.”

He gaped at her in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m dead serious,” she said.

“You’re not a homicide detective.”

“No, but I have to protect the park’s visitors, and it’s my job to investigate any crimes committed here.”

“Alone?”

She frowned at his incredulous tone. Tracking a single assailant by herself wasn’t against procedure. Park rangers often worked solo, especially in the backcountry. But it was unorthodox, and perhaps unwise, to hunt down a murderer without help. “He’s got to be headed for the Kaweah. Faith is there.”

“Who’s Faith?”

“My sister.”

Hope would do anything for Faith. She loved her with the fierce protectiveness of an older sibling and the deep loyalty of a best friend. Faith had always meant the world to her, but their connection had become even stronger after a heartbreaking incident in her past. Hope had lost someone precious to her, and she’d vowed never to let it happen again.

Sam swore under his breath. There was no way he could talk Hope out of pursuing the suspect. “You can’t make it to the river before dark. Let’s rappel down, go back to Mineral King and call for help.”

She shook her head, stubborn. “I have three more hours of daylight. I won’t waste it by traveling backward.”

“You can drive to the Kaweah camp faster!”

That was true, but Faith wasn’t at the campsite. She was rafting down a river that intersected the killer’s path. “I might not be able to pick up his trail from there. I know I can track it from here.”

“You should wait for backup.”

She didn’t have time to argue, so she radioed Dispatch and relayed the details. “Send a couple of rangers to look for any suspicious activity at Kaweah. We need to contact the sheriff’s department, monitor the exits and put all park employees on alert.”

The dispatcher repeated her instructions and signed off. Although the ground was too dry and rocky for footprints, Hope noticed signs of a disturbance. “Drag marks,” she said to Sam, following them down the trail. They led to a pair of boulders about a hundred feet away. There was a crack between them large enough to hide another body.

While Sam watched her, his face taut as a bowstring, she removed her gun from the waistband of her pants.

In her five years as a ranger, she’d drawn her weapon only a handful of times. She’d aimed it once, last summer. A drunken idiot was shooting at marmots near the Giant Forest Campsite. When she’d shouted a warning for him to put down the gun, he’d swung around to face her, pointing his .38 at her chest. She’d damn near fired on reflex.

Incidents like that were rare, however. Most of the park’s visitors were law-abiding, nature-loving people. Guns were allowed inside park boundaries, but discharging a firearm was strictly prohibited.

That didn’t mean her job wasn’t dangerous. Hope was more likely to be assaulted in the line of duty than an FBI agent. Rangers stationed at the parks along the Mexican border were targeted by drug cartels, but the Sierras had their share of narcotics-related crime, as well. Secret marijuana fields, guarded by armed men, had become increasingly common. These brazen growers used federal land for their crops.

“This is Ranger Banning of Sierra National Park,” she called out, holding her weapon at her side. “Anyone there?”

Wind skimmed across the mountain. The sun was still bright, but the temperature had dropped and the air felt cooler. Hope shivered in her damp tank top. Gesturing for Sam to stay back, she crept forward, pointing her gun at the rocks. A jumble of dark shapes came into view. Her eyes struggled to identify a human form and failed.

Duffel bags. She was looking at a pile of duffel bags.

Hope lowered her weapon, releasing a slow breath. She made sure the safety was on and replaced it in her waistband. When she stepped close enough to reach between the boulders, Sam was right there beside her.

The duffel bag she removed was large and heavy. She unzipped it, revealing what appeared to be high-grade marijuana. It was in loose brick form, lightly compressed and wrapped in plastic to disguise the skunky odor.

Sam let out a low whistle.

Hope looked in another bag and found the exact same contents. Ten bags, each weighing about forty pounds, equaled...a whole lot of drugs. It was probably local. Sierra’s finest had a street value of about five thousand dollars per pound. She estimated the pot’s worth at over a million dollars.

“Someone will be looking for this,” he said.

“Yes.”

“All the more reason to go back to Mineral King.”

Hope agreed that the illegal cargo escalated the danger. Protecting park visitors—Faith included—was imperative. If she didn’t go after the suspect and someone got hurt, she’d be devastated.

Saying nothing, she photographed the evidence and replaced it. When she was finished, she updated Dispatch and requested a radio communication with Ron Laramie, the rafting guide. He wouldn’t be answering calls while on the river, but he was supposed to check in after the group stopped to camp.

She prayed for good news.

“I’m going to Kaweah,” she said to Sam, shrugging out of her pack. “You can head back to Mineral King. Just give me the overnight gear before you leave.”

He frowned at the trail that led down the mountain. How different he seemed from the man she’d met at Long Pine Lodge. That night, he’d been relaxed and charming. She’d known he was Sam Rutherford, reclusive Olympic champion, but he hadn’t acted arrogant or self-important. They’d laughed together and spoken of inconsequential things. She’d been fascinated by him. And wildly attracted.