Alone on the summit of Manitou Springs Incline, Elizabeth Hart focused her camera phone down the slope on the town that had started her career. She clicked one perfect shot. When this project was complete, she’d sever the weight that had hung from her like a bag of rocks for five long years.
Shudders quaked her. Manitou Springs, Colorado, was trouble. She had planned to never step foot in it again. Gravel crunched under her feet as she jumped onto the closest boulder and pulled out a worn piece of paper.
With a shake of her head, her topknot fell to blanket her chilled shoulders. The sweat she’d worked up on the mile hike was plummeting her core temp and this cotton tank was no match for the cool July morning.
She’d forgotten this climb had always fallen closer to intense than fun on the adventure spectrum—even when she hadn’t been so alone.
Fisting the faded letter in her hand, she kneaded her knuckles deep into her pectoral. Visiting Manitou Springs on the tail end of her Colorado project should have been easy. Why couldn’t she let go? “I’m not alone anymore,” she whispered. “God will never leave me or forsake me.”
If only her recent trust in God’s love would stop the shivers from winding down her spine. Just being in this town brought life and color back to moments best unremembered. That was exactly why she’d almost given a solid pass when American Travel magazine had sought her out to create content for a Rocky Mountain regional showcase.
She shoved the wadded paper back into her pocket. If she aced this project, she’d have her foot firmly in the door for the magazine’s full-time travel editor position—and the chance for a steady paycheck. Lucas deserved that security.
She rolled back her shoulders at the thought of her son. It was simple enough. For Lucas, she’d relive every Manitou memory.
Shielding her eyes, she surveyed the valley. This view from Pikes Peak was worth every muscle-quivering, solitary tread. She’d post a social media shout-out to her hotel’s concierge for suggesting the early hike because these views would go a long way toward solidifying her chances with American Travel. Manitou Springs, Colorado Springs, and the Garden of the Gods glimmered like gold.
She looked up at the sky. “And thank You, too.” She might still be new to her relationship with God, but she knew where to give her appreciation.
A group of hikers ascended from the false summit a few hundred steps below. The trail was beginning to buzz with activity and she closed her eyes to savor her last drop of solitude.
Her phone vibrated. She opened her eyes. A picture of her four-year-old son lit the home screen. She pushed away the memories, shrugged back into her mommy armor and swiped the Answer button.
“Mommy!”
Liz grinned at the precious pixelated face and held her phone at arm’s length so Lucas could see the mountain behind her. “Good morning, handsome. Guess what I just did.” She caught her forced smile in the corner thumbnail. She was an expert at the having-it-all-together act.
That’s all it was. An act. Someday, Lucas would see right through it. But for now, he just rubbed chubby, dimpled fists over his eyes and grinned. “Adventuring?” his small voice asked.
“You bet.” She stood and turned to show him the two-thousand-foot descent into the valley. She’d teach Lucas to seize every day—even if it scared her to death. “I climbed a mountain.”
“Wow.” His tiny head bobbed in excitement.
Nostalgia and disillusionment wrapped twin vises around her middle. He looked just like his father. The note burned like an iron in her pocket. When she was finished with this hike she’d leave it in a trash bin and finally put Riggen Price behind her. Forgetting that man was the best thing she could do for her son.
The screen pixelated again, sliding Lucas’s lazy smile and dark hair with a white patch on his cowlick into a crazy kaleidoscope of color. Pieces of her heart seemed to slide around in the same disjointed disarray.
She kissed the screen to the sound of garbled giggles and shoved all thoughts but those of her son away. “Mommy loves you, kiddo. I’ve got to get back to work. Tell Aunt Kat I’ll be home tonight.” Kat would be listening in the background. Liz pitched her voice higher. “Tell her I’ll pack everything up in time.”
The picture cleared as Lucas fish-kissed the screen. Kat passed into view behind him and disapproval flitted across her sister’s face.
What had she done to deserve that look now? Shouts below her dragged her attention from asking. Like human stairs, hikers stood on separate railroad ties and gestured her way. She kissed the screen and ended the call before waving back at her fellow hikers. No doubt Kat would regale her with a complete list of her failings soon enough.
The hikers’ shouts didn’t stop. They rose up the slope with avalanche force. A man jabbed the air in front of him with his trekking pole. The others pointed. Their words flew away on mountain wind. She tilted her head, trying to pluck their muffled message from the air.
Then scrapes sounded behind her and rocks cascaded around her feet. Before she could turn, callused palms scraped down her biceps. Hot fingers dug into her bare skin.
Terror leached down her spine. She tried to heave her body forward but all she felt was the scrape of her thighs against jagged stone as she was wrenched back and over a boulder.
She threw her head back as an arm wrapped around her skull. Her heart jolted to a stop. Another arm squeezed her waist with python strength and moist breath flooded her ear canal as she was pressed back into a hard embrace.
She flailed her arms. Fear pulverized her gut. Help! She squeezed her phone, fumbling with the emergency sequence on her power button. But pain slashed through her wrist and her grip opened.
Echoing thuds rose to her ears. Her phone and canteen hitting the ground? The stranglehold loosened as fingers moved down and clamped a choke hold around her neck.
God, help.
An intense crushing force snaked through every muscle, rendering them useless. She tried to fight, to cry out, but her head was too heavy. Her tongue wouldn’t move.
Then, only darkness.
Twenty minutes. A Manitou record. He was going to crush it. Riggen Price lunged to the left of his 1987 Ford Bronco for one last glute-warming stretch and gazed up the almost three thousand steps of Manitou Springs Incline.
It was good to be back. The Incline’s siren song called with a promise to wash away the fog of the last few days. He’d hit his limit of slow vacationer pace during the two-day hike he’d led for Price Adventure Excursions, the business he ran with his brother.
Tightening his climbing backpack, he dragged in a deep breath. His legs itched to let loose, to pound out his frustration on the mountain. He’d finish this run and head back to the job that actually paid the bills—serving his hometown as an officer with Manitou Springs Police Department.
Maybe it was weird—he was ready to own it—but conquering the Incline kept the nightmares and memories at bay. He shook his head to dispel the images that fought to creep in. Tonight he planned to sleep like a baby.
Yakub nosed his hand and Riggen scratched the mutt’s favorite spot right behind his ears. “Sorry, pal. Not today.” Opening the back door to his Bronco, Riggen let the dog, who had been his constant companion since Iraq, jump into the back seat.
Though he’d love to take the animal with him, dogs were prohibited on the Incline hike. He cranked down the window partway to allow Yakub plenty of fresh air.
Taking one last swig from his water bottle, he emptied the rest into Yakub’s bowl and placed it on the floorboard. Yakub slurped the water, droplets hanging from his whiskers and falling to the ratty carpet. Riggen chuckled and patted the dog before tilting his wrist to check his smartwatch.
Even after he’d climbed out of bed an hour early to help his brother clean and store the hiking gear, his morning routine was still on time.
He secured the door and shook off the guilt that tickled his conscience. He should have let Trevor take a morning off. There was no need for them both to lose sleep. It wasn’t as if he slept well as it was.
Zeroing in on the trail, Riggen broke into a jog. He needed to concentrate so he could be up the Incline and down Barr Trail with enough time to snag a cup of coffee before his shift started.
His watch vibrated and he skidded to a stop. Lieutenant Carr’s number scrolled across the screen.
He jabbed his finger on the smooth watch face. “What’s up?”
“We’ve got a situation on the Incline.” His boss’s voice boomed through the minuscule speaker. “Woman. Caucasian. Attacked by male in a black hoodie, black pants. Hiker called it in two minutes ago.”
He retraced his steps. “Backup?”
“On the way. Knew you’d be there already. Search and Rescue has been alerted.”
Riggen grunted. “It’ll take Search and Rescue at least an hour. Do we know the woman? Local?” He pulled his key from his cargo pants and jammed it into the Bronco’s lock.
“No. Caller recognized her from his hotel. Says she’s some big-time travel blogger over from Colorado Springs for the Juniper’s grand opening.”
Riggen’s stomach clenched. He yanked the door open and slid across his cracked leather seat. God, no. Where did that come from? He’d never tried the God thing before, and he was pretty certain he’d only find God’s silent back if he tried now. Of all things he’d stuffed into his emotional do-not-touch strongbox, well-known travel bloggers topped the list. “Elizabeth Hart?”
“Yeah?” The speaker distorted as Carr barked orders to someone.
Riggen pulled his Glock from the glove compartment and secured it in his holster before slipping his neck-chained police badge over his head. Yakub slipped across the center console and into his lap. The dog’s hackles raised in a ridge down his spine.
Carr was back, all gruff annoyance. “Sorry, Price. That’s the tall and short of it. Backup’s on the way. Don’t go up alo—”
Riggen pushed End Call, cutting off the lieutenant’s words, and climbed from the truck. Yakub’s paws hit the ground next to him and dust puffs exploded around their feet. Carr would be spitting fire, but he’d deal with that later.
He had bigger problems now. He had known his mistakes would find him, but he’d pushed Liz far away from his mess. What was she doing here?
He broke into a jog and shook his head clear. This was coincidence. God wouldn’t punish Liz for mistakes she’d had nothing to do with. His teeth ached. He loosened his jaw. Right?
No voice answered as he approached the looming mountain. All two thousand, seven hundred and forty-four abandoned railroad ties mocked him. He’d run the trail hundreds of times, but never had it mattered like today.
Early morning hikers meandered up the stairs in front of him, each one blinking in his consciousness like coordinates on a map. If he wanted to save Liz, he couldn’t jeopardize the crowd’s safety to do it.
Yakub brushed his side. Riggen groaned low in his throat. No time to secure the dog in the truck. Together, they zigzagged up the ever-steepening grade.
Railroad ties blurred as their feet devoured the distance. Riggen hit the first hand-railed section in record time. Blood pulsated in his ears, a steady drumbeat of dread. He didn’t break pace when his wrist vibrated with another call. He’d check for updates when he hit the top.
When it would be too late to stand down.
“On your left!” He slipped past a young couple and surged onto a broken section of the track. Not much farther now.
Soon the tracks were narrowing. Too narrow. He leaned forward and used his hands to steady himself. Your fault, the wind whistled in his ears. Yakub jumped off the broken ties and ran up the dirt that sided the trail.
They hit the false summit and Riggen gulped the thinning air. Jelly replaced his thigh muscles and his body threatened to collapse. But he couldn’t fail now. Not again. His toe caught on a railway spike and sweat poured into his eyes as he caught himself with a knee in sharp gravel. The trail blurred. Dragging his forearm across his face, he cleared his vision and pushed himself upright.
Three hundred more stairs. He pummeled the ties under his feet. A crowd of hikers had gathered around something at the summit. They were antsy. Agitated. Riggen tugged his badge from under his shirt and held it high.
They parted, letting him through. Riggen doubled over and dragged oxygen from the air. When he caught his breath, he straightened and nodded at them. “The woman?”
A gnarled hiker pointed his trekking pole at a smartphone lying in the dust. The man’s face was a mixture of fear and concern. His eyes clouded under bushy white brows before darting in the direction of Barr Trail.
“That way?” Riggen picked up the phone and waited for the old man’s answer. He turned it over. The screen was shattered.
“Half an hour ago,” the hiker answered. “’Fraid to go down there myself.”
The man’s voice faded away as Riggen depressed the power button. His own mirror-image miniature grinned back at him through splintered glass.
Bile soured her mouth as her stomach heaved. Liz rolled to her side and vomited. Her churning stomach competed with the searing pain in her head. Each heartbeat was a hammer blow.
She wiggled her hands, but they were weighted to her chest, strapped by an unseen force. Terror drifted over her like mountain mist. She’d been attacked. Where was she?
She peeked one eye open then the other. Sunlight filtered through an evergreen canopy and danced on her face. Tree limbs swayed above her as a tiny rosy finch perched on a branch and chirped. It was peaceful, like the falsely serene opening of a horror movie. She twisted against her restraints and the bird flew away.
Her hands were duct-taped over her chest in a funerary position. Sobs burst from her chest as her grip tightened on the curious bouquet taped within her clasped fingers. She kicked her feet. They were taped, as well.
Swerving her head back and forth only skyrocketed the pinball circus in her brain. It was worth it to find herself alone. Her attacker was gone. Or at least out of sight. As far as she could tell, she was wedged between two massive boulders with the packed dirt of Barr Trail to her right.
Be strong... She willed her pulse from its frenetic gallop, but the spicy scent of sagebrush wafted into her nostrils with every breath. And courageous... The bouquet had been artfully positioned in her empty canteen. Her heart slammed against her rib cage.
Sagebrush. This wasn’t a coincidence. Why had she ever come back? Closure wasn’t worth this. A steady job wasn’t worth this.
Lucas. What would he do if she didn’t make it back? His sweet smile flashed through her mind and dove down to spear her heart. Would he miss her, or would Kat slide in to take her place, giving him the life he should have?
Liz closed her eyes and bit her lower lip. Control yourself. No more tears. She wouldn’t give whoever this was the satisfaction. Instead, she cried out to the only One who could help her.
Do not be afraid—Something wet and warm slid up her cheek. Her whispered prayer ratcheted into full-blown screams and echoed off the rock-edged face of Pikes Peak.
She swiveled her head to stare into two milk-chocolate irises. The tongue came at her again and a dappled mutt knocked her face with its wet, tan muzzle before sitting by her head, its floppy brown ears on guard.
Panic crashed into giddy relief and tears pushed against her floodgates. If there was a dog, there would be an owner. Twisting to look behind her, she fought the pounding in her head and ran her tongue over her cracked lips, summoning every last ounce of energy. “Help!”
Footsteps pounded down the trail and a figure appeared. He was hidden in shadowy bristlecone pine, but the dog perked and stood. His tan tail wagged. Gratitude washed through her veins like summer rain. Her guardian approved. “Thank You, Jesus.”
The masculine figure stepped closer. Knelt beside her. Moved from shadow to light. “Jesus? You’re talking to Jesus now?”
Liz pressed her heels into the hardened earth under her, certain the entirety of Pikes Peak had shifted. Shock clamped its hands over her mouth to silence her as Riggen Price leaned close. Had he been conjured by her silent cries?
He pulled a pocketknife from his pants’ pocket and, with a flick of his wrist, had it open and slicing through her restraints. He shifted, moving to free her wrists. His skin, rough and real, brushed against her arm.
It couldn’t be. This had to be an illusion induced by trauma. Like an oasis in a desert or some other cliché mind trick. She clamped her eyes shut. She must still be unconscious and dreaming. How else could the man she had spent five years trying to forget be peeling duct tape from her hands?
The illusion’s movements stopped. And the only sounds were warbling birds and rustling trees. She forced one eye open. He was still there and her heart flip-flopped. Still Riggen. He hadn’t evaporated into the low-hanging clouds.
Confusion and lingering fear swirled in her stomach until they hardened into hot anger. Anybody else, Lord. Anybody but Riggen Price.
His gray eyes evaluated her, stormy and turbulent. Then he shoved his hand through his hair, mussing the hereditary white patch cowlick that swirled through his dark waves, and leaned forward. “I need to check you for injuries.”
She swallowed a mouthful of sandpaper, unable to spit out the million questions bombarding her. Why did he disappear? Where had he been? What right did he have to look at her with concern flooding his eyes?
Instead she nodded, letting the breeze fill the silence between them.
Tension radiated from Riggen’s body as he pulled a Kleenex package from his pocket and snapped a tissue open. He used it to remove the canteen bouquet from her chest. He studied it, storm turning to steel, wrapped another tissue around it and shoved it in his backpack. “Evidence,” he murmured.
Before Liz could move, his hands were back, gliding with expert precision over her head, neck and shoulders. He probed her arms and legs with gentle fingers and her skin pebbled under his touch. When he was finished, he held out his hand in the electrified space between them. She watched as her own hand rebelled to bridge the gap.
He helped her up. “Are you okay?”
“As okay as I can be.” Her words nudged past the lump in her throat.
He nodded. “Let’s get you to the station. Take your statement.” The muscles in his jaw tightened. “Whoever did this will pay.”
The mutt pushed between them and broke their handclasp, nudging into Riggen’s thigh. Riggen stepped back and a sigh surged from him as if from a closed-off cauldron of boiling chaos. He dug in his pocket and pulled something out. Her phone.
Glacial ice seeped through each limb and Liz prepared her shredded heart for another slice of betrayal. He clicked the power button. Lucas’s dimpled face flashed on the broken screen.
“When we’re done at the station, we need to talk about this.”
Copyright © 2020 by Stephanie M. Gammon