8

“A LOOKOUT TOWER. A mountain, a river, and a few switchback roads? That could be all of Montana!” Pete braced his arms over the map in the middle of the room, studying the landmarks Ned had described to his brother, Fraser Marshall.

Who had called the PEAK team shortly after sundown last night with a message. Ned, Shae, and Jess had been run off the road, but they’d managed somehow to escape and were now lost in the wilderness. His words lit a fire under the team.

Especially when he added, “Ned said Shae and Jess were hurt.”

Yeah, that did wonders for Pete’s ability to focus. He’d stayed up most of the night with Ian and Kacey routing out possible locations.

At one point he’d wandered out to the porch to stare at the stars and listen to Sam’s voice. “You gotta start trusting in God’s love for you. For Jess. Lean into it.”

He didn’t know how to lean into God’s love. What that even looked like.

The stars blinked in and out of a cluttered sky, the air crisp. He’d smelled snow in the air, and it turned him brittle.

God, I know you probably don’t want to hear from me, but I need you to keep them alive. Long enough for me to find them.

He’d finally trudged back inside, found the lights off, everyone trying to get some shut-eye before dawn. He’d forced himself to lie on the sofa, to close his eyes.

And all it did was scrape up the image of Jess, backlit by flames, grimy and wide-eyed as he emerged through the forest on his four-wheeler. Or Jess, nearly falling as she rappelled during a training op.

Or even Jess, the wind in her hair, shivering as he held her, as he handed over his heart to her in Paris.

Stay alive, honey. I’ll find you.

He wasn’t the only one thinking about Jess—and Shae. Ian hadn’t gone home, either. He’d spent the night upstairs in the bunk room, tossing away the night.

And Felipe. They’d all sort of forgotten about Felipe, who stood back, arms folded, face grim as he listened to them talk. He’d also retired upstairs, to the men’s bunk room.

The rest of the team had peeled away to regroup, catch some winks. Kacey and Ben left for their lodge home just down the road. Sam had brought Willow home. Sierra had stuck around in the women’s bunk room. And Gage and Ty returned to their condo, dropping Brette off at the apartment she shared with Ella, Gage’s girlfriend.

At the first wax of gray light, Pete was up making coffee.

Sierra came down soundlessly and pulled some pancake batter, already mixed, from the fridge. She said nothing as she retrieved a griddle.

Ian emerged, donning a thermal shirt. He walked over to Sierra, wrapped his arm around her neck, and kissed the top of her head. She turned in his arms, curled hers around his waist, and set her head on his chest.

Pete turned away, his gut twisting, a longing rising through him so thick he couldn’t breathe. He went outside, let the crisp air peel away the frustration and loosen the coil in his gut.

The rim of Rocky Mountains to the east was still shrouded in the royal blue cover of night, the sunlight beyond just burning it away with a glorious ribbon of gold and salmon. A pale layer of snow evidenced the cold night in the higher elevations.

Pete shoved his hands into his jeans pockets, blinking hard against the chill that swept in under his T-shirt—a change he’d gotten from Gage, who stashed a small wardrobe upstairs.

The door opened, and Pete stiffened to see Felipe walk outside. He handed Pete a cup of coffee. Met his eyes.

Pete’s mouth tightened, but he accepted it.

A truck pulled up in the gravel drive, and Kacey and Ben got out. Kacey touched Pete’s arm as she ascended the steps. Ben nodded to him, then Felipe.

Apparently, no one was taking sides today.

Neither was Pete. Because right now it didn’t matter whom she chose.

He turned, looked at Felipe, whose gaze was now fixed on the mountains. The Frenchman looked rough—dark whiskers across a weary face. Red-lined eyes. So maybe he too spent the night fighting demons.

“We’re going to find her today,” Pete said, and then, not sure why, he clamped a hand on Felipe’s shoulder.

Felipe’s jaw tightened, but he met Pete’s gaze and nodded.

Pete headed inside, the room now thick with the smell of frying bacon and flapjacks.

Kacey was printing off the updated weather report.

Ben and Ian stood over the map, debating.

Pete’s phone buzzed from where he’d plugged it in to charge last night next to the sofa. He picked it up and tried to swallow back his disappointment that it wasn’t Jess.

“Sam.”

“We got a break,” his brother said. “A couple hunters called in just a few minutes ago. They apparently tried to track a deer they shot last night, but it got away. When they took another look this morning at the tracks—well, they think they shot a person.”

Pete wrapped his hand around his neck, kneading a muscle there. “And?”

“They couldn’t find him, but they found blood. And boot tracks. Possibly male, from the size.”

Oh no. Pete closed his eyes. “What did they call on—a sat phone?”

“I don’t know.”

“If it was a cell, maybe they called from the same pocket Ned located. Do you know where?”

Pete had raised the attention of everyone in the room, maybe by his voice, perhaps his posture, but Sierra turned off the heat on the flapjack griddle and bacon pan, and Ian walked over to the map. He braced himself over it, staring at Pete, as if he could somehow hear the conversation with his Superman ears.

“Just east of the Bob Marshall Wilderness,” Sam said. “Not far from the Squeezer Creek Lookout tower. It’s about fifteen clicks south of Swan Lake, toward the Bob.”

Pete set his phone down on the map and clicked it on speaker. “Tell us again, Sam.”

Sam repeated the information, and Pete pinpointed the tower. “It’s west of Swan Peak.”

“The mountain to the east,” Kacey said, repeating Fraser’s words. “And if the lookout tower was to the northwest, around 11:00, that puts him in this area.” She pointed to a ridgeline.

“He mentioned a lake to the southwest,” Ian said. “Could be Van Lake.”

“And there are switchback roads all over Swan Mountain.”

“Kacey, let’s get a chopper up there, see if we can spot anything,” Pete said.

“I’m pulling in,” Sam said and hung up. Outside, his truck hit the gravel lot.

“I know that area,” Ty said. Pete looked up to see Gage and Ty crowding around the map. “That’s not too far from where the chopper went down.”

Ty pointed to a campground maybe ten miles northwest of Swan Mountain. “We were headed here, to pick up a wounded skier. Ended up north of there about eight miles.”

Sam had entered and now came over to the map, Willow behind him.

“There’s no way you’re going to get four-wheelers in there,” Ty said. “Horses, maybe . . .”

Horses. Pete drew in a breath, his hands breaking out in a sweat.

Sam gave him a tight-lipped shake of his head.

“Fine. Okay,” Pete said, ignoring him.

“I’ll call my brother and we’ll get some of our pack horses loaded up.” Ty pulled his cell phone from his pocket.

“I’ll ride with Kacey,” Gage said. “More eyes.”

“I can ride,” Ian said.

“As can I,” Felipe said.

Sam was still looking at Pete, but he didn’t meet his gaze. He could ride.

Mostly.

Pete wiped his hands on his jeans. “We all need maps, and I’ll head out to the barn for a few first aid packs. If Ned is injured—”

“Ned is injured?” Ian said.

Pete glanced at him, but Sam filled in the blanks. “A couple hunters called in fearing they’d shot someone last night. They couldn’t confirm until this morning.”

“He’s shot?” Ian’s words silenced everyone. Ian took a breath, and Sierra covered her mouth with her hand, turning away.

“We don’t know that,” Sam said, using his cop tone. “But maybe.” He turned to Pete. “You could stay here, run ops—”

“Have you lost your mind?” Pete rounded on him. “I’m not staying here while the woman I . . .” He swallowed, amended, “When Jess is out there, hurt and terrified and possibly hunted by the person who ran them off the road.”

“But—”

Pete held up his hand. “Don’t, Sam—”

“He hates horses. Got bucked off once and broke his leg.”

Pete shot his brother a look. “Thanks. We all needed to know that. Yeah, I hate horses. But seriously, I also hate airplanes, but that doesn’t stop me from flying. Sheesh, Sam.”

“I’ll run coms,” Sierra said, sweetly rescuing him. “And Chet is on his way in.”

No, Chet was already there, the wind whisking in behind him.

But really, they could use someone professional at the helm, running operations.

Not Pete. Not today.

In fact, a part of him would like to never run operations again, maybe. The thought slicked through him, tightened in his gut. Lately, he hated running operations. The responsibility, the mistakes . . . even though he mostly got it right, the times that he got it wrong sat in his gut, took hold, and held him prisoner.

This is your fault.

He hadn’t really realized before how much he carried those words with him. “Sorry, but I’m not staying behind.” Pete grabbed his jacket. “Meet me in the barn for coms and maps. If Ned is shot, we’re running out of time.”

The good news was that Shae had stopped shivering. Sometime during the night, her body simply began to shut down, sink into the cold and the pain, and now she just felt numb.

As long as she didn’t move. Because when she moved, pain wrapped tentacles around her, cut off her breathing, and threatened to make her shrill out a scream.

Jess curled behind her, her arm around her waist, pulling her in close to conserve body heat, her breaths steadily rising and falling. She knew because she’d been listening, depending on that steady breathing for the better part of the night, her gaze peeled on the entrance to the cave.

Praying.

Keeping at bay the brutal thought that Blackburn had found Ned. Killed him.

Left him to die in the woods, like he had Dante.

Shae’s eyes burned, and she blinked away the moisture. It trickled across her nose, dripped onto her arm. Sweet, heroic Dante. Her first real love. He’d wanted to join the military, to be a soldier.

Even had a plan to ask Ian if he could marry her.

“Run, Esme!”

Her breath hitched, Dante’s shout like a flash in her head, reviving the past so vividly that for a second she was caught up in the smells of that summer day, the feel of his hand in hers as they hiked down the path, away from the campfire. Away from Uncle Ian and his watchdogging.

He’d caught them, just the night before, in a pretty G-rated clench that he’d completely overreacted to, losing his mind and ordering her into her tent like she might be a grade-schooler and not an eighteen-year-old woman who’d just gotten accepted to Yale.

So, she’d sneaked out that morning to find Dante and talk about . . . well, yeah. Running away. Being together.

“Es—just wait. Let’s think about this.” Tall, wide-shouldered, lean and tough, Dante had all the markers of trouble. A tattoo that banded his arm, a half-hitch smile that made her heart flip in her chest. Dark hair that fell over his beautiful brown eyes, and despite the renegade spirit he exuded, he possessed a way of looking at her that shut down the chaos and fear in her head. Safe. Dante made her feel safe.

And right then she got it—Dante, for all his trouble-making history, had reminded her of Uncle Ian. Brave. Confident. Creative.

She’d woven her fingers around his neck, leaning against him. “I have thought about it. I want to be with you.”

Even in memory she wanted to shake her head. Poor Ian—and even Sierra—had tried to talk her out of giving away her scholarship, but she’d been so focused on the immediate, she hadn’t given one thought to the future.

Not again. Shae refused to live by her passions. If she lived through this, she’d listen to her uncle. Let him come up with a plan. Obey it.

“I love you, babe. We’ll figure it out, I promise.” Dante had kissed her then, so sweetly, his hands on her waist to keep their passion at bay.

As the golden dawn streamed light through the forest that fateful morning, he’d pushed her away and taken her hand, walking her down the path. “We’ll figure out a way to make it work. You’ll visit me after basic, and when I get leave, you know I’ll find you. And you can come down to wherever I’m stationed for spring break.”

He’d been drawing a picture of their future, enough for her to start to see it, when he suddenly stiffened and pulled her down, behind a scruff of bushes.

Across the river, in a clearing, a man yelled at a woman, clearly scaring her because she held her hands up, as if for protection. Shae made out words that she’d heard before, back when she lived with her mother, and it made her want to cover her ears and run.

Dante’s arm locked around her waist, and he held her to himself. “It’s Sheriff Blackburn,” he said. He would know, of course. More, she too recognized him as one of Uncle Ian’s friends. Blackburn had sparred with her uncle in his home gym.

Dante leaned over. “Shh. It’s okay. Let’s just go back to camp.”

She’d started to rise, her gaze stuck on the altercation when, to her horror, the man hit the woman so hard she cried out, tripped backward, and fell right over the edge of the cliff.

Twenty or more feet down, into the river below.

Shae spotted her crumpled at the base of the cliff, her blood pooling into the water a moment before the rapids gobbled her up.

Shae had screamed. A high, loud shriek that echoed through the canyon and alerted the man across the river.

Dante’s hand clamped over her mouth, but the man had already spied her. Shut her down with the look in his eyes.

“Run!” Dante’s hand closed around hers, tugging.

The man had already taken off into the bush.

She just stood there, stupidly, unmoving. Just like she had when her mother’s boyfriends started screaming at her. She couldn’t think, couldn’t react. Just mentally retreated, leaving her body behind.

Unable to fight back.

Precious moments during which Dante actually picked her up and started to run with her. Stumbling, really, because he too was freaked out. She finally pushed against his chest, coming back to herself. He looked pale and terrified as he put her down.

She made the mistake of looking behind her, down the trail.

And screamed again. Because the man had found a place to cross. He barreled up the trail after them.

She turned, and this time her legs worked. But the trail was rutted and old, the path broken with roots and boulders, and she fell, skinning her hands, her knees. Dante hooked his arm around her waist and hauled her up, pushing ahead.

Then he yowled, stumbling, and landed on his hands and knees. He was bleeding behind the ear.

The man had thrown something—a rock probably—and it nailed Dante in the head.

She whirled around just as another rock whizzed past her head.

Then the man was on her. Or would have been had Dante not gotten up and lunged at him, meeting him in the path with a feral, wounded cry.

She’d shattered, right there, watching the man take Dante down. He was big—probably had sixty pounds on Dante.

Even as Dante fought back, Shae knew.

Dante would die for her.

“Run!” Dante was screaming. Blood ran from his nose, his ears, but still he fought.

Run, Esme!

Yes, run. The words clicked in and found her synapses, her muscles, and suddenly, just like that, she fled. Down the path and the direction where they’d come.

Run away. Into the forest. Run away as fast as her legs could take her. Run away and hide! Hide until dark, until Dante stopped screaming, until she knew the truth, and then keep running.

She’d found a cabin in the woods. A woman who recognized trauma in Shae’s wide eyes and garbled words. A woman who put her in her old truck and drove her to a lodge on the other side of the park where Sheriff Blackburn would never think to look for her.

Stupid her had thought, after five years, she could actually stop running. What had she been thinking? That Blackburn would simply forget the girl who’d seen him beat the boy she loved to death?

And now . . . Shae closed her eyes and put a hand to her mouth. Which only made her release a groan and elicited a shiver. The tears took her, bending her in half as she sobbed, her hands pressed to her mouth to keep from waking Jess.

Blackburn was going to take more people from her.

Dawn waxed gold along the riverbed, peeling away the shadows, and Ned was still out there.

Probably dead.

“Shae, are you okay?”

Jess had roused behind her, and Shae heard a quick intake of breath as her friend moved. A chill stole through her as Jess sat up. She pressed her hand to Shae’s forehead. “You’re a little warm.”

No, actually, she just might be freezing to death. She couldn’t seem to stop shaking.

“Ned isn’t back yet,” she whispered.

Jess said nothing. But she stood up and walked out to the edge of the cave as if assessing their situation.

Which, to Shae’s math, felt dire. No food, no water, and now her teeth chattered. Jess held her arm to her body, but even as Shae watched, Jess worked her wrist in a circle. So, maybe not broken like Jess had feared.

They had to get out of here.

“We can’t wait for Ned,” Shae said quietly.

Jess didn’t move.

“He’s not coming back.”

This got a reaction. Jess turned, frowned. “He’s coming back.”

“Not if he’s dead.”

Jess just stared at her. “He’s not . . . he’s . . . no.” She turned back to the entrance. “He’s coming back.”

Jess made a noise, something of a hiccup, then in a moment she stumbled out of the cave, climbing over the rocks and disappearing.

“Jess?”

Shae bit back a moan and rolled over onto all fours. Reached out for a grip on the rock. A sweat broke out as her entire body clenched, but she bit down on the pain and found her feet. She leaned hard on the rock. “Jess!”

Bracing her hand along the cave, she took a step toward the entrance, then another.

Rocks spilled, footsteps scrabbling toward the opening.

She stilled, held her breath.

Jess appeared, her arm around . . . Oh, Ned!

He was limping, half-dragging one foot, breathing hard, his jaw clenched so tight Shae thought he might break molars. He leaned hard on a stick, and the other hand reached out to brace himself on a boulder.

Fatigue and cold stripped the color from his skin, and his dark hair was matted, his clothes sodden and grimy.

“Ned!” Shae reached out for him but couldn’t hide a wince as she lifted her hand.

He caught it. Wove his fingers between hers, dropped his walking stick, and curled his other hand around her neck. “Shae.”

“What happened?”

He didn’t answer her. Instead, he kissed her, hard, his lips crushing hers, holding her there as if he might be unraveling, as if only her touch kept him together. He backed off, his body trembling, his voice falling. “Shae.”

Then his knees buckled.

“Ned!”

He slid down to a ball at her feet.

Jess crouched beside him, her hand to his forehead. “He’s burning up.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine! You’re hurt!” Shae slipped down to her knees.

He closed his eyes, leaned forward on both hands. Then, slowly, he put his head in her lap, letting his body fall to the side.

“Ned?”

“I just need a second. Just . . . a . . .” He drew in a breath, let it go.

“Ned!”

Jess pressed her fingers to his carotid artery. “Just sleeping. Or maybe in shock.” She was examining his leg. “He’s been wounded,” she said. “His pants are bloody.”

“I was shot,” Ned said from the catacombs of slumber.

Shae stilled. Looked up, met Jess’s eyes.

“Don’t get excited,” Ned mumbled. “I’ll be fine.” He sighed, a deep growl in his chest. “He hit me in the bum. It’s just a graze.”

Shae leaned down, ignoring the flash of pain, and kissed Ned’s cheek.

“What’s that for?” he mumbled.

“For being alive,” she said. “For coming back.”

His hand squeezed hers.

Then he was out.

What would Pete do? Jess didn’t always want to default to that position, that thought, but Pete Brooks was the smartest rescuer she knew. He always knew the right answer and wasn’t afraid to do something crazy. Like the time he’d spider rappelled down a cliff, facedown, her on his back, to escape a mother grizzly.

Those kinds of risky decisions were exactly what Jess longed to be able to reach out and grab.

Instead, she stood at the mouth of the cave, watching the sky open up and pour down despair and death, the temperature skimming just above freezing.

If they stayed, Shae—and maybe Ned too—would die. Shae was fighting a fever, and Jess feared internal bleeding from her wound; the blood was black and the wound red and inflamed with infection. Jess had taken Ned’s proffered undershirt and wadded it into Shae’s wound, using his belt to hold the makeshift compression bandage in place. Shae simply closed her eyes, her breaths short, her hand whitened in Ned’s as Jess tended to the wound.

As for Ned, poor guy had been shot in the backside. The bullet had grazed across his upper buttock, leaving an ugly, probably agonizing, but not life-threatening wound. She was more worried about possible internal bleeding from the fall he’d taken down the hill, aggravating the already cracked ribs from yesterday’s crash.

“I crawled over to the river and just sank into it, letting the coldness slow the bleeding and numb me,” Ned told them after he’d slept on Shae’s lap. Not long, but enough for life to return to his face. Enough for him to shut down the pain that cut off his breath when she examined his wound. What she would give for thread, or even fishing wire. Something, anything to close it.

“I can’t believe you walked on this,” Jess said.

“Crawled. Lots of crawling. I finally found a stick, but I stayed to the river, sitting in it to numb myself when it got crazy.”

Jess could see what Shae saw in him. The guy was brave and dedicated to haul himself all the way back to their cave. In the dead of night, no less.

“There was a half-moon. And the clouds gave way halfway through the night. I followed the river, then managed to find the dry creek. It took me longer after that. I . . . well, there was no river to . . .”

Numb the pain. Jess pressed her hand on his shoulder, squeezed.

“I’m good now,” Ned said, but the grit of his jaw and the finest squint around his eyes betrayed his lie. “We need to get out of here. I saw a cabin about four miles from here. We can make it. And then . . . well, at least we’ll be safe and dry and warm.”

That was when she rose and walked to the mouth of the cave.

As if God had heard them and decided to add more tragedy, the sky opened and sent the deluge. The water trickled into the riverbed, running through stones and rivulets down into the cave.

“You can’t make it, Ned,” Jess said, her breath reforming her words. “You can’t walk.”

“I can walk, Jess.” He said it calmly. “What I can’t do is carry Shae.”

She turned, and his gaze caught hers, his Adam’s apple dropping in his throat. It cost him to admit that—she saw it on his face.

Shae had curled next to him, and he had his arm around her. She’d stopped shivering, and Jess knew without touching her that her skin was clammy and hot. “I don’t know how much internal bleeding she has, and if we move her, it could open up again and . . .” Jess shook her head.

What would Pete do?

“But if we stay, no one will ever find us.” Shae’s voice emerged in a mumble. “I can make it.”

Jess wrapped her arms around her waist.

“We need to make a decision, Jess,” Ned said.

“I know!” She drew in a hard breath. “I know, okay? But if we go, Shae could die. And if we stay . . .”

“We could all die of exposure. Not to mention I’m still bleeding, aren’t I?”

Her mouth tightened. She gave a sharp nod.

“You could go,” he said softly.

“That’s a great way for us all to die. I don’t have a compass or a map and I’ve never been a pro at navigation. Wilderness medicine, yes. Bringing us home . . . well, that’s always been Pete’s job.”

And that memory only made her ache. She came over, crouched next to them. “It’s getting colder out there.”

“I know they’re looking for us,” Ned said. “I talked to my brother and I know he’ll call PEAK.”

“But we’re not anywhere near where they’re looking. And they won’t have the faintest idea where we might be.” Jess ran her hands up her arms, trying to stir heat into them.

Ned just looked at her.

“Every time I make a decision, someone gets hurt.” She met his gaze. “I can’t . . . I don’t . . .”

“You don’t want someone to die on your watch,” Shae said. “I get that.”

Ned frowned, but Jess nodded. “Last time I made a hard decision, my father was sentenced to 101 years in prison and my brother stopped speaking to me.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” Shae said.

“It feels like it. It feels like I took the easy way out.”

“What are you talking about?” Ned said. “The Ponzi scheme your father went to jail for? How is that your fault, in any way?”

And, well, what did it matter anymore? “When I was sixteen, I found my father collapsed at the bottom of the stairs. I thought he’d fallen, but really, he was having a heart attack. I called 911, and while we waited for the EMTs, he told me that he probably deserved to die. That he had done a terrible thing and that this was God’s justice. I didn’t know what he was talking about—and afterward, when he lived, he never said anything again.”

She scrubbed her hand down her face. “And maybe I didn’t want to know. My brother and I both interned for him, but I was mostly working PR. My brother came to me with questions. Said things didn’t add up. Investor statements that pulled from accounts he’d never heard of. And overseas accounts that had no evident funding. But I was on my way to medical school and I . . . I just didn’t want to know. So, I said nothing.

“The worst day of my life was when the FBI showed up at my school and marched me out for questioning in front of Felipe. I just wanted to run. To hide.”

She closed her eyes against the shouts of her brother, clawing through the memory to terrorize her. “How could you?” “They told me that they had enough to put both my brother and my father—and even me, because they’d tracked my brother’s emails to me—in prison for a very long time. And then . . .”

She opened her eyes, watched the sky weep. “I didn’t want to, but I was scared. I wasn’t sure they could actually put me in prison, but I didn’t know. And I don’t know why they needed my testimony—maybe they didn’t have enough evidence for all their charges. Maybe I should have said no and called their bluff. Believe me—I’ve blamed myself for not being stronger for years. It didn’t help that my father’s lawyer gave me a letter from my father. In it, he told me to testify and detailed exactly what I should say. All the proof the FBI needed to put him away.” She sighed. “I think he might have been afraid of what might happen to my brother and me too. So I did what he asked.”

She turned to Shae and Ned. “I memorized exactly what I needed to know, got on the stand, and convicted my father with my words. I made it emotional and real and couldn’t meet his eyes once. Nor he, mine. He stared down the entire time, even when I finished. Then I sat in the gallery and listened as they took away the rest of his life.”

She looked away. “I love my father. And I deliberately hurt him to save myself. And I can’t do the same thing to my mother.”

“That’s why you’re still engaged to a man you don’t love,” Shae said. “Deliberately hurting yourself to keep from hurting your mother. And Felipe.”

“But I can’t win. Because I destroyed Pete.”

“You’re just like your father, Jess,” Shae said softly. “You believe somehow that you don’t deserve to be happy. And that’s why you don’t choose the one person you know you want to be with.”

“Not everyone gets to live happily ever after, Shae,” Jess said.

Shae’s mouth tightened. “I know that, Jess. Better than most. But it doesn’t mean we can’t try.”

Jess felt like a jerk. Because Shae did understand, and she did deserve to live.

For Jess to try. “Sorry.”

Shae simply met her gaze, gave her a nod.

“Okay, listen,” Ned said. “Meanwhile, this cave is filling up with water.”

She hadn’t noticed that, but as they talked, the rainwater seemed to pool in the recesses of the cave, already five inches deep.

Jess climbed to her feet. “It doesn’t mean we can’t try.” She turned to Ned. “You want to get out of here?”

“No, I’d like to stay here and build a summer home.”

“Funny. Give me your jacket. I’m going to make a stretcher.”

Ned unzipped his jacket even as Jess stepped out into the rain. “Stay put. I’ll be back. Then we’re making a run for the cabin.”