part0019

And worse, she’d broken Orion Starr.

His bone-scarring scream had yanked Jenny from the darkness, a feral ripping through the layers to grab her, jerk her to consciousness.

She shouldn’t have reached for that last clip. She knew it was a stretch, and she’d heard Orion yelling—but no, her brain said she could make it.

Her arrogance.

Her prideful belief that she could save Orion. Save both of them.

Right. The fire in her shoulder seared through her. Her head throbbed.

But worse than her broken parts was Orion’s pain.

The man had his face buried into her shoulder, his shoulders trembling.

Oh no, he was weeping.

It was probably stress, and pain, and maybe fear, but seeing him torn asunder ripped apart any illusion that they might move on from this moment into freedom.

She’d broken him. And sure, she knew he was wounded, and still mending, but he hid his wounds well. She’d somehow betrayed herself into thinking that they might start over.

Made herself believe she could stop running. Which was exactly why she’d kissed him before ascending the wall, a touch that spoke of rescues and fresh starts. Apparently, she’d started to think that she could do something right.

What a fool.

Tears blurred her vision, and she looked away.

The movement alerted him. “Jenny?”

“I’m sorry, Ry. I shouldn’t have reached for the last clip—my hold was too unstable.”

“Please tell me you’re okay.” He leaned up, his gaze scanning over her, his glove over her throbbing temple.

The agony in his eyes could make her howl. Tears ran down his handsome face. His jaw was strung tight and he stared at her with such reddened eyes, she wanted to reach for him.

She moved her arm. And nearly screamed. She’d definitely broken something.

Orion swore, and his expression changed. Hardened. “Stop moving.”

“I—”

“Your arm is hanging funny.” He sounded almost angry.

She knew she wasn’t helping with the moaning, but she suddenly couldn’t seem to stop. He moved his hand over her arm and she bit back the wave of pain.

“Sorry!” By his breathing, he was clearly fraying as he examined her, his head shaking, his jaw so tight he might break molars.

“Breathe, Ry,” she said. “I’m okay.”

“You’re not okay. You’re bleeding from the forehead, and you definitely have a dislocated shoulder.” He let out another dark word.

PTSD. She knew it well enough to see him in full-out unravel, starting with the scream and now in the fraying edges of panic around his eyes. He blew out another breath, almost starting to hyperventilate.

“We’re going to be okay, Ry.”

“In what world? The ice axe is still up there, and . . .” He shook his head. Covered his face with his hand, as if trying to hold back his emotions. “Sorry—I’ll figure it out.”

Oh, Orion. She should have expected him, really, with all his wadded frustration, to explode.

Yeah, she’d broken him because he just sat there, completely wrecked.

They would die here. Him, trapped in a cave. Because of her. Again. “I’m sorry I fell.”

That, too, was the wrong thing to say. He looked at her with so much fury on his face she recoiled.

“Are you serious ? I should have been the one going up that wall.” He swallowed, his jaw tight.

“Rian, I’m a good climber—”

“You’re a freakin’ mountain goat! But I can’t . . .” His mouth closed. He stared at her so hard it took the breath from her lungs. “But I can’t watch someone I . . .” He swallowed. “Someone I care about die in front of my eyes. Not again.”

Oh. Right.

No wonder the guy was panicking. And maybe it wasn’t just Afghanistan but also watching his family be swept away that had fractured him. PTSD didn’t always happen in war.

He looked away from her, and his eyes ringed red, his body trembling as if he might be trying not to let out another feral shout.

Keep him talking. “How did you get me down?”

“I lowered you.” His voice was tight, as if trying to keep it from shaking.

“I’m sorry I scared you.”

He looked away.

Closed his eyes.

Then he leaned over, and another crazy sound came out of his mouth, almost a moan, but deeper. As if torn from his soul.

“Ry?”

“I’m so sorry, Jen. I told you I’d rescue you, and—”

“You’re blaming yourself ? How is any of this your fault?” She wanted to sit up, to grab him, to make him look at her. Instead, she reached out for his jacket sleeve with her good hand. “This is my fault. I should have waited—”

“What?” He jerked away and stared at her as if she’d struck him. “You’re amazing, Jenny. If you can’t make it over that cornice— No, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Yeah, I did. First rule in climbing—calm down. Take your time. Don’t crazily lunge for something.” She shook her head. “Listen. Can you put my arm back in the socket? I can try again.”

“Have you lost your mind ?” His eyes were dark, unyielding. “There’s no way you’re going back on that wall. Sheesh. Are you trying to kill me? ”

She recoiled. “Actually, no. I’m trying to save our lives.”

His lips tightened into a bud of frustration and he pulled off his hat.

His dark hair was rucked up, snarled. He ran his arm across his sweaty brow.

His desperation shook her to her bones.

He refused to look at her. “I should have listened to you. Climbed up to High Camp. Instead, I thought I could get you down, and—”

“Stop.” Her voice wavered, but she pushed through. “Just stop. This is not your fault. You’re not the one who . . . who destroys people’s lives with her stupid decisions.”

He started to argue, but she couldn’t stop. She’d broken this man in so many ways, and there he sat, blaming himself.

Not anymore. “I’m the reason you’re stuck. I’m the reason you have a broken knee. I’m the reason you won’t leave Alaska. I’m the reason your entire life blew apart.”

His expression had morphed into a sort of confused horror, and aw shoot, they might die down here. And she couldn’t bear to let it happen without him knowing the truth.

Answers. This poor man deserved answers.

He deserved peace.

“I wasn’t a journalist in Afghanistan, Orion.” Overhead, snow kicked down into the crevasse. She glanced up, hoping the cornice wasn’t about to come down on them, even if it seemed the right finale to her epic mistakes. “I was a CIA profiler. And I’m the one who believed the Taliban informant.”

His chest was rising and falling, but even as he stared at her, he was shaking his head.

“Yeah,” she said, pushing herself up to a sitting position.

He let go of her.

“I was there to profile our informants, help root out the reliable ones . . . and the ones most likely to lie to us.”

He swallowed, but he’d stopped shaking his head.

“I know I should have told you the truth—I . . . well, for security reasons . . .”

“I get it.”

She wanted to wince at the cool rasp of his voice.

“So, you were . . . you knew the intel about the Taliban stronghold.” His green eyes didn’t leave hers.

She nodded. “I knew Azzumi, the informant. He was working with one of our agents, and my job was to observe him, profile, and vet his information.”

Orion didn’t move. She fought a shiver, probably her body going into shock. She wanted to say something, but . . . well, what could he do? He was as hurt as she was, and her confession just might be sending him into shock.

They were both going to die down here. Now, at least he could die with the answers he longed for.

“He was ten years old, and he spoke English, and he seemed . . . well, he was well educated, liked Americans, and I just didn’t believe a ten-year-old kid could have that much guile. My head said he was telling the truth.”

But not her heart. Her heart had a check—but she feared her feelings for Orion—and her fear that he could get hurt—had compromised her thinking. Kept her from thinking clearly. So she prayed that she was right. That she hadn’t sent the man she was falling in love with to his death.

Her throat thickened. “I went to Afghanistan because I wanted to save lives. I ended up killing two SEALS, two PJs, and . . . well, two good men were captured and tortured by the Taliban.”

Orion said nothing. Just sat on the ice, his chest rising and falling.

She looked away, her body shaking.

Silence fell between them, and with it, the cascade of snow, dribbling down into the crevasse.

She didn’t look up.

What did she expect? That he would forgive her? Sheesh, she didn’t even forgive herself.

“Is that why you changed your name?”

She looked at him. His eyes had turned to ice, his tone brusque.

“I wanted to start over.”

“Mmmhmm.”

Nothing he could have said would have hurt her more than his quiet, deep-throated noise that told her the brutal truth.

Some people just didn’t get to start over.

Her best hope was to keep running.

She closed her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Orion. Please, for—”

“Look out!”

Orion’s body slammed over her, and in a second she was pinned down, his arms bracketing her, his face next to hers.

Snow cascaded down over them, slamming into their ledge. She screamed, grabbed his jacket. Closed her eyes. Buried her face in his chest.

And she was a fool because she simply stole the moment for herself, holding on to this man one last time. Giving over her heart to him, even if he didn’t want it. Because this man—this wounded, loyal, courageous man couldn’t help but rescue her, even when she didn’t deserve it.

The snowfall ceased to a dribble, and Orion eased back. His eyes fell to hers, held there. His mouth opened—

“Orion!”

The voice from above jerked them both, and Orion’s breath shuddered out as he looked up.

She too saw it, a man, dangling from a harness over the cornice, free rappelling down on a line. The end of the rope hit the ledge beside them.

“Ham!” Orion’s voice ripped out of him, so much emotion in it, Jenny knew he’d been grieving.

“Get back! The top is pretty loose.”

Orion hooked his arm around her and wrestled her back toward the wall to stay away from falling debris.

Ham landed next to them, and Jenny wanted to weep. He looked beat-up, exhausted, but his blue eyes shone. “Wow, you guys are hard to find. We were flying over the icefall and got a blip on our avalanche beacon. Just for a moment. Then, it vanished. And we weren’t sure . . .” He unclipped from his line but stayed on belay and toggled his radio.

“Rescue one, they’re here. Send down the litter, and some help.”

Ham knelt next to Jenny, eyeing her gash. “We put down and were looking for you but we would have never found you if you hadn’t screamed, Jenny. That was quite a . . . well, are you okay?”

She had screamed, maybe. But she looked at Orion, whose mouth tightened. So not her scream but his had brought Ham to their tomb.

“She has a dislocated shoulder, I think,” Orion said, his eyes on her a long moment before he turned back to Ham. “How are you? We thought we lost you in the slide.”

Another person was coming down the rope.

“It just missed me. I hunkered down behind a serac and watched as Jenny disappeared . . . and then, there was nothing. You must have fallen too far down for your beacons to reach the top. I hadn’t a clue where you were.” He had unzipped Jenny’s jacket, was reaching inside to probe her shoulder.

He had warm hands, and she closed her eyes as he touched the loose socket. “We need to get that secured before we transport you.”

“Orion’s knee is busted, too.”

“It’s fine,” Orion snapped.

Ham frowned as he got back on the radio. “Jake, send down a splint kit.”

“Jake?” Orion said as the second person landed on the ledge. “He’s with you?”

“We already got Sasha and Aria off the mountain.”

“Sasha—is she—?” Jenny asked.

“She’s on her way to the hospital in Anchorage,” said a female voice.

The woman’s dark braids wound out of her wool hat, her face lined, probably with worry. She knelt next to Jenny. “As soon as we got her to Base Camp, her husband was there. She’s in good hands.”

Poor Lucas. He’d been through so much watching his wife suffer.

“Let’s get you splinted up and into the chopper,” Ham said.

“We have another telescoping pole in the pack,” Orion said and gestured to their gear, still tied into the rope.

Ham made to get up, but Kit stopped him, her hand on his arm as she rose slowly. “Oh my . . . oh . . .” Her face had paled and she looked at Jenny, then back to the pack. “Where did you get that?”

“It was frozen to some dead climber, in the ice,” Orion said, but Jenny wanted to grab him, stop his words. Because she didn’t have to be a doctor of psychology to see the shock, the grief rippling across Kit’s face. She knelt next to the pack, rubbing her thumb over a patch sewn on to the top flap.

“He fell into the crevasse,” she said quietly.

Orion looked at Kit, then drew in a breath. “Oh, Kit.”

Kit’s eyes closed.

Orion got up and limped over to her.

“Who is it?” Ham said.

“I think it’s her missing husband,” Jenny said quietly, watching as Orion, the rescuer, drew Kit close and wrapped his arms around her.

Her eyes filled and she looked away.

The litter came down, and with it the splint kit. Ham worked quietly, stabilizing her arm, then packaging her up into a sleeping bag, and finally lifting her into the litter.

Orion had brought Kit over to the ledge, pointing up to where her husband lay.

He never looked at Jenny.

Probably a good thing. Because she couldn’t bear to look back and see all she’d lost. The could-have-beens.

The debris of her mistakes.

Ham clipped himself into the basket line and radioed up. In a moment, they were lifted off the ledge and into the cool blue of the crevasse, out into the open blue skies that blanketed the Denali massif.

Jake pulled them into the chopper. He and Ham lifted her out of the litter and secured her onto the platform.

She closed her eyes as a PJ took her vitals. He set up an IV line and gave her a shot of morphine.

Somewhere in there, Ham was lowered again with the litter, but he unhooked it and sent the line back up, empty.

“Ham says they’re going to retrieve a body, and to come back for them. So, let’s get you down to camp,” Jake said, leaning over her, concern in his eyes.

She nodded. It didn’t matter if she waited for Jake or not. Because she was already away, already running.

Already saying goodbye.

Rescue had come too late.

An hour earlier and he would have never known Jenny’s secret. In truth, Orion wasn’t sure he didn’t want to rewind time and go back to that moment when he didn’t know the broken woman in his arms had betrayed him.

Answers. He’d come onto the mountain seeking answers, and now his entire body was filled with poison.

He watched as Ham belayed Kit up the wall to retrieve her frozen husband. She’d been weeping as Ham had delivered Jenny to the chopper, but by the time he returned with the litter, Kit had pulled herself together.

Orion wished he could do the same.

“He must have fallen off the pass, just like Jenny and her team,” Ham said. He fished out the belay rope as Kit mounted the bridge and anchored herself into the ice screws. She’d created a lowering system while Ham was splinting Orion’s leg.

“Maybe he tried to hike down, like we did,” Orion said, trying to pay attention, but really his thoughts kept cycling back to Jenny.

So, she’d run from the truth. Run from the people she’d hurt.

Run from him.

Orion wrapped his arms around himself. Ham had given him a shot of morphine, so he might not be all himself, but the fact was, no one got away, not really.

He’d always be trapped, somehow, in the dark, cold crevasse of his anger.

God had brought him back to the mountain, all right. To connect him with hope. With a future. To restart his frozen heart.

Only to betray Orion again.

Kit had chipped her husband free and now pulled his frozen body into her arms. Bent her head down.

Ham looked away, giving her a moment.

Orion, too, looked away.

Pain followed you through life, and it was a miracle if you just got back up again after life knocked you down.

“I’m ready to lower him.” She’d clipped the rope to a biner on his harness and then his rope into an anchor on the wall. Ham and Kit switched ropes, working with the pulley system she’d rigged.

She pushed the body over the edge of the wall and Ham lowered it to the ledge.

Then she rappelled down, leaving her tech in the wall.

Ham and she carried the body to a bag Ham had brought down. They zipped him up and loaded him into the stretcher.

Kit sat on the ledge, her hand on her husband’s form.

“The chopper will be back soon,” Ham said, unrigging the ropes to coil them back up.

Orion had nothing. Because what then? He got to spend more time in rehab, then maybe return to his homestead to finish his current novel?

Add another addition on the house?

The thought settled like a fist in his gut. Shoot, but Jenny had awakened something inside him, given him a taste for more.

He didn’t want to return to the woods.

Ham hunkered down beside him. “Okay. I guess I would have thought you might be happy to get out of this crevasse. Sorta makes me wonder if you had planned to set up a vacation home down here, or if I found the bat cave. What gives?”

Orion looked at him.

“You were the one who shouted, weren’t you?”

It really wasn’t a question.

Orion blew out a breath. “She fell. It . . . rattled me.”

“Sounded like more than that . . . but good thing because we hadn’t a clue where you were. If I hadn’t heard you, we would have kept walking. By the time you attempted to climb out again, we might have been long gone.”

Orion looked at him.

“So, I guess God even uses our darkest moments for good,” Ham said.

“Okay, whatever. I was mad. You can’t take everything and turn it into a God-is-on-your-team moment, Ham.”

“Why not? He is . . . and maybe he brought you up on this mountain—”

“To wreck my life. Again.”

Ham recoiled.

“Guess what, Chief. The person I’ve been wanting to find, the one who had all the answers about the ambush that killed Nickles and Dirk, the informant who lied, and the CIA brass who didn’t care and sent us in anyway—Jenny.”

Ham just blinked at him.

“Mmmhmm. She was the CIA analyst who made the call—”

“She hardly had the power to make the call, Ry. The Taliban strike was confirmed by drones and on-the-ground Ranger intel—”

“The Taliban set us up, and she should have seen it coming.”

Ham cocked his head. “Aw, dude, that’s a little . . . I mean, nobody can read minds.”

“She’s a profiler. That was her job.”

Ham’s mouth tightened around the edges.

Orion looked away. “It doesn’t matter. Like she said. It doesn’t change anything. I’m still angry. Now I just know who to be angry at.”

“You sure you want that?”

Orion looked at him. “Want what?”

“To carry all that anger around inside you. It’s like . . . it’s like you drank poison but you expect the other person to die. You’re the one who suffers.”

It did feel a little that way.

“You’re right. God did bring you up here, but maybe to show you that the turmoil inside you has nothing to do with blame. Or even what happened to you. It’s about the fact that you didn’t deserve it. You were innocent, and it happened to you anyway.”

Orion breathed that in. Maybe. “I went in to help people, and . . .” He shook his head. “I don’t get it. Why?”

“That’s the answer you really want. Why did this horrible thing happen to you, to Dirk and Nickles and my guys, when we’re the good guys. We didn’t do anything wrong. If we’re going to go down, at least it should be because we deserve it, right?”

“Yes, actually. Because if it’s not, then it’s either random and grossly unfair or . . . God really isn’t on our side.”

“Or he is.”

Orion gave him a look.

“Consider what we go through at BUD/S. We are tested. Pushed. Tried. And made into men through our suffering.”

“So, God wants me to become a better person? That’s why he punishes me?”

“Or, he chooses you because he has amazing plans for you, but you need to walk through that fire first. You need to contend with the darkness in your heart, learn to forgive, and realize that it’s not about you. It’s about who you could— will —be. Because of your suffering. And because you came through it.”

The radio burst to life. The chopper, returning. Ham got up and walked over to Kit. “Ready to go?”

Kit found her feet as the chopper lowered the litter down to the ledge. Then she and Ham dragged over the body and loaded it in. Kit grabbed the top strap of her husband’s backpack, attached herself to the rig, and Ham radioed her up.

Leaving him and Orion on the ledge.

“Consider this, bro. Jesus hung on the cross. In front of him, he had betrayers and accusers, and beside him, a murderer and a thief. He, however, was innocent. And yet he hung there and suffered because he knew the future. He knew it would save us. He looked out at that rabble and he said, ‘Father, forgive them. For they know not what they do.’”

The litter started coming back down.

“God brought you up on this mountain not to betray you, but because you matter very much to him, Ry. He does not want you to stay in your anger, does not want you to hide from your calling. And if getting you to face your fears is what it takes—making you helpless and letting you discover he’s still with you—then that’s what he’ll do. Even if you have to suffer.”

Ham caught the litter and brought it to the ground.

“Yes, life is unfair, and we will always have people who will hurt us. Who don’t know what they do. But God wants you to let him handle the justice . . . you just give him your heart. Because that’s what he’s really fighting for. He wants to wash it free from the anger and fill it with his love. The question is, are you brave enough to let go and give him your heart?”

Ham picked up his pack of gear. “God is contending for your heart. And so am I. Because neither of us are done with you yet.”

Ham came over and hooked his hands under Orion’s shoulders.

“I can walk.” Orion growled as Ham lifted him to his feet.

“Yeah, I know.” Ham gripped him around the waist, helping him to the litter. “But it doesn’t hurt you to have a little help. That’s what teammates are for.”

He settled Orion in the litter and strapped him in. Then he knelt next to Orion and clipped his harness to the rig. “Let’s get off this mountain.”

Jake was waiting on the deck of the chopper as they rose, and he pulled the both of them in. Kit was strapped in, her husband’s body on the floor next to her. Ham shut the door.

Then they were descending. Orion watched the peak rise, fall away as they swooped into Muldrow Glacier, then around the mountain to the Denali Base Camp.

Snow kicked up into a whiteout as they settled on the icy surface of the Kahiltna Glacier. The door opened, and for a crazy moment, he hoped that Jenny might be there, waiting.

Of course not.

Maybe he shouldn’t blame her quite so much for that, because she was hurt— really hurt—and they’d probably already flown her off to the hospital in Anchorage.

Wait. Amidst the roar of the dying rotor wash, the wind that seared the mountain, and the shouts of rescuers, he heard her quiet voice.

Already in trouble.

Already having an emotional breakdown?

Oh, Jenny. No wonder she’d wept so hard when he told her his story.

Weeping for him. For his buddies. For her mistakes.

Maybe she had a little PTSD too.

Just like that, his anger snapped free. Just released, like a whoosh from his body. And compassion into the empty places flooded.

Or maybe he’d call it love.

Jake and Ham had carried him out of the chopper like he was some kind of invalid, and the moment they set him down and released him, he sat up and held out his hands.

“What?” Jake said.

“Help me up, dude. Is Jenny still here?”

Jake grabbed his hand. “No. We sent her on a flight to Anchorage.”

Ham too had helped him up. “Then find me a ride, bros, because you’re right. God isn’t quite done with me yet.”

Jake raised an eyebrow.

Ham just grinned. “Oh good. This is my favorite part of the rescue.”

Orion looped his arm over Ham’s shoulder, letting him help him off the tarmac while Jake ran to find a pilot. “What part?”

“The part where my buddy comes to his senses and goes after the girl he’s been crazy about for three years.”