Chelsea got herself out of the truck before Dylan made it around to help her, a small victory. Very small, all things considered, but she’d take it. Her broken foot wasn’t bothering her much now, though by the time she finished their task, it would likely be throbbing. She closed her door as Dylan stepped beside her.
“You sure you won’t let me go alone?” He glanced at her walking cast. “This doesn’t seem like a good idea.”
“It hardly hurts at all.”
His narrowed eyes told her he wasn’t buying it. “I can jog up there, have a look around, and be back in thirty minutes.”
She glanced at the small grass-and-gravel area that had been cleared years before. The small lot was full—cars, minivans, and SUVs. And, of course, Dylan’s pickup. This time of year, the walking trails around Mt. Coventry were often filled with hikers, and today was no exception. The sun was high, the air warm. Tourists were here to take in the scenery and get some exercise—much more enjoyable reasons to visit the mountain than hers.
“It’s a short hike.” She started across the parking lot. “I can handle it.”
“I’d rather you wait here.” But Dylan caught up, walked beside her.
A woman about Chelsea’s age smiled at them from behind a folding table at the far end of the parking lot. “Hey, guys. You need a map of the area?”
“No, thank you,” Chelsea said.
“Actually, yes.” Dylan stepped forward, and the woman unfolded the map and rested it on the table.
“You’re right here”—she circled the entrance to the trail—“and you’ll start out going this direction.”
Dylan listened to the woman’s spiel while Chelsea took in the area. She hadn’t been to this spot often in her life, usually coming up the mountain from the other side. There was a stand near the trailhead with a slot for donations—no doubt the woman would hit Dylan and Chelsea up soon enough—and a trash can with a painted sign that read Keep Mt. Coventry Beautiful.
The place had been maintained impeccably. Thanks to HCI, she knew. Her mother had taken caring for the community seriously, and the company had worked hard to support the town’s second largest source of income, tourism.
When the perky park worker was finished, Dylan asked, “Any chance you were here Monday morning about six?”
The woman said, “We don’t have anyone at the lot until seven-thirty. You could always talk to Dougie. He would have been here.”
Dylan took the map. “We’ll do that. Thanks.”
“Would you be willing to leave a donation to help us keep up the property and print these maps?”
“Uh, sure.” Dylan tugged his wallet from his back pocket and handed the woman a ten-dollar bill.
“Thanks. Have fun.”
Chelsea and Dylan walked to the trailhead.
“Are you sure you can do this?” He gave her foot a pointed look.
“The cliff’s not too far up the mountain. I can handle it.”
She hoped.
She went first on the narrow trail, and Dylan followed. They stepped on dirt and roots and rocks. Trees towered around them. The scents of pine and bracken brought back a million memories.
A slight breeze offset the warm air. The morning humidity hadn’t burned off yet, but the breeze made her think it would. The air would cool tonight, especially on the mountain. It would be brisk and chilly, a perfect night for roasting marshmallows and telling ghost stories.
Except Chelsea didn’t need childish stories to be afraid. She’d lived enough fear this week to last a lifetime.
Above, a crow cawed. Squirrels rustled the bushes, chattering like schoolgirls over the new boy on campus.
Occasionally, she and Dylan met other hikers, some who passed them from below, others who were making their way back toward the parking lot. They exchanged hellos and how-are-yous but otherwise kept quiet on the climb.
At the top of the first big hill, the trail split. A sign indicated the red trail turned to the left. She paused and leaned on a skinny tree to catch her breath. The rough bark felt as familiar to her fingers as the handle of a coffee mug. It felt like home.
Before Monday, this had been her safe place, the place she’d longed for almost as much as her own house. The events of Monday had colored this whole mountain with a dull haze of fear.
“You okay?” Dylan’s hand gripped her upper arm. “How’s the foot?”
Throbbing. Aching. Begging for a Tylenol or four. “It’s fine.” She indicated the fork to the right, and they continued.
She paused beside a thick maple tree. “This is the entrance to the trail to my house.”
He looked around. “Where?”
From here, one couldn’t tell there was another trail. “We didn’t want people to follow it, as it’s not official and leads directly to my backyard.” She pointed ahead. “See those two birch trees?” The trees were three feet apart at the edge of thick woods.
“I see ’em.”
“Daddy always told me never to follow the same route to them. So I’d look for this tree”—she tapped the bark—“look around to make sure nobody was watching, and then pick my way to the birch trees over all this mess. The trail starts there.”
When she was younger, she’d come through enough with childhood friends that the bushes stayed short and small trails were cut around them. But now that she’d been gone so long, the trail was really and truly hidden.
Dylan turned a slow circle, taking in the spot. “Someone could have hidden back there”—he nodded toward the trees on a little rise opposite the birches—“or, really, anywhere, if they wanted to see you.”
“Yes, well…” Rather than dwell on that unpleasant idea, she continued along the trail. “I came up that morning, turned in this direction.”
Dylan walked behind her. His voice was quiet when he asked, “Now that we’re here, do you remember anything else? Did anything stand out to you? Any sounds, any smells…?”
She tried to remember, but all that came to mind was the grief she’d felt. So strong, her eyes prickled.
Focus.
But she couldn’t remember anything out of the ordinary.
She’d been alone, or so she’d thought. But somebody had been lurking, watching her, as she’d climbed the mountain.
They continued up the path until she saw the clearing ahead. She paused, and Dylan stepped beside her. “How’s the foot?”
“Killing me,” she admitted but climbed the short rise, came through the last of the trees, and stepped onto the giant rock outcropping. She froze a good twenty feet from the edge of Ayasha View Point.
He stepped forward slowly, taking it in. There was a family there, a mom and three teenagers. The teens were taking photos of each other, laughing. One filmed a video.
Everything had to go on video these days. Chelsea hadn’t jumped on the social-media bandwagon, had never felt a need to share her personal life that way. Her mother had cautioned her against it, but even if she hadn’t, Chelsea didn’t understand the appeal of telling the world her every move.
The woman asked Dylan to snap a photo for them. He took the offered phone and captured a few pictures of the family. They thanked him and continued on the path, leaving Dylan and Chelsea alone.
It was beautiful—towering trees behind, mountains on the far side, valley and lake below. But, after Monday, she’d never see it the same way again.
He faced her. “Where were you when it happened?”
She pointed. “Just a few feet to your left there.”
He stepped to the spot. “About here?”
She resisted the urge to tell him to come back, tell him it wasn’t safe. “I was looking at the view.”
He turned and took it in. “It’s beautiful.”
“The sun was rising.”
He turned to face her. “And the man came from where?”
She walked toward the trees that rimmed the far edge of the giant boulder. Tried to remember… She stopped. “I think about right here.”
“And you were crouched down,” he said.
“Yes. I’d noticed my shoe was untied.”
He crouched down, looked toward her. Then stood and walked her way. He passed her, stepped into the trees, looked around.
“What do you see?” she asked.
He moved deeper into the woods until he was hidden, or would have been if she hadn’t known he was there. “In movies, people would come in here and find a clue. A cigarette butt with DNA, a piece of fabric from a distinctive jacket, the print of a rare type of shoe. All I see is… dead leaves. And bugs and acorns and twigs.”
“I always wondered about those shoe prints.”
“It worked in the OJ case.” He stepped out of the woods. “Well, it didn’t, but it should have. Size… what, twelve super-expensive Italian loafers or something?” He marched across the boulder toward the edge.
Her heart raced. “Please be careful.”
He shot her a smile, his red hair blazing in the sun. “I promise not to fall.”
She wanted to say something clever, but the sight of him so near the spot where she’d tumbled and nearly died caught her voice. She swallowed, closed her eyes. Protect him. It was ridiculous. People came here all the time, and nobody ever fell. You’d have to be a fool to…
Dylan inched nearer the edge. He dropped to his hands and knees and crawled forward.
“What are you doing? You’re going to fall.”
He ignored her, lowered to his belly, and army-crawled. The boulder sloped toward the edge like a slide. Was he crazy? Was he trying to kill himself?
“Dylan, you need to come back. Right now.”
Again, he turned to her, gave her that same smile, though it looked a bit wicked. “I promised, didn’t I?”
“I’ll be sure to have that engraved on your tombstone.”
He chuckled, inched forward until his head was over the cliff’s edge.
She squeezed her eyes closed, sucked in a breath. She couldn’t watch.
The whole scenario came back—tumbling down the hill, careening over the edge. The crash against the outcropping, the feel of leaves, branches. The scrape of bark against her hands as she caught herself. Hanging, praying, seconds from her own death.
She covered her face with her hands, willing the images to go away.
“Hey, hey.” Her eyes snapped open at the sound of Dylan’s voice. Somehow, he’d survived his foolish look over the edge. And made it back to safety while she’d cowered.
She hated her fear.
His hand slid around her back. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“I’m fine.” But his arm felt so good there. So safe. And she wasn’t fine. Her father was dead. Her mother was dead. And somebody had tried to kill her. Twice.
She was tired, her foot throbbed. She wanted Mum. She wanted Daddy.
A sob rose from her heart, escaped her mouth. She clamped her hand over it.
Dylan stepped in front of her, pulled her close. “You’re okay.”
“I’m sorry. I’m fine.” She tried to pull away, but his arms tightened around her.
He held her while her tears soaked his shirt. His presence was comforting, safe, strong. She told herself she was making a fool of herself, but she couldn’t seem to stop. When the emotion passed, she backed away, embarrassed.
“You’ve been through a lot,” he said. “This place must bring it all back.”
She wiped her tears with her fingertips and stared out at the view. “I used to feel safe here. When I was in England, missing my father, longing for my mother, I used to think of Coventry with such fondness. In my memories… I’d thought I’d idealized it. Made it more beautiful, more magical than it truly was. But really…” She glanced around, shook her head. “It is magical, isn’t it? Except, I’m afraid I’ll never see it the same way again.”
Dylan took her hand. “You will. It won’t always be colored with fear.”
Except, her mother had died on this mountain, too.
But the mountain couldn’t be blamed. “You’re right. I can’t let my fear ruin this place for me.”
She should step away from him after such a pronouncement, but her hand felt so right in his. The attraction she’d felt for him before hadn’t waned since she’d met him. It had only grown.
She didn’t know what to think. What she did know was that, if she let her thoughts run wild about this rugged redhead, they’d take her places she had no business going.
The expression on Dylan’s face… Not sympathy, like she’d expected to see. Not concern.
There was something else in his eyes, something she was afraid to name.
Something that seemed to respond to the attraction simmering in her heart.
She licked her lips, and his gaze dropped there. Then snapped up.
He let go of her hand and stepped back. Shook his head. Turned his face to the cliff. “I can’t believe you fell over that.”
Right. The fall. That brought her back to reality.
She could hardly believe it herself.
“I got a glimpse of the tree that caught you, but I couldn’t see the ledge you hit on the way down or the one you walked across to safety.”
“They’re there.”
He glanced at her, a quick peek. “They must be.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Cote seems to think I’m lying about the whole thing.”
“Yeah.” Dylan’s expression darkened. “Which is odd.”
A rustling behind them had them both turning.
“Hello?” Dylan called.
A moment later, a man stepped out of the woods.