Maybe it was time to bolt entirely, find a new corner of the world to disappear into. But this spot had everything—privacy, resources, a rare stretch of Bureau of Land Management property where she could camp without permits or questions. No, she’d wait. Give it a few days, let the ranger’s memory blur, then shift back to where she’d left her cameras.
She stood and stepped outside. Her breath fogged in the cool morning air as the sharp, clean scent of pine resin filled her lungs. She glanced around to confirm that the area was clear before securing the door with a satisfying click. Somewhere in the distance, a woodpecker hammered against dead bark in rapid-fire bursts, while the whisper of wind through branches created a soft symphony that would have been peaceful if she weren’t running for her life.
She slipped on her helmet and unchained her electric bike from where it hung on the bus’s rear rack. The metal was cold against her fingers, dew beading on the frame. With one final glance at her surroundings—checking for movement in the forest, listening for the distant rumble of vehicles—she climbed on and headed toward the main village. The wheels hummed softly against the packed-dirt path.
She’d made use of the fill and dump stations at the nearby campground yesterday. If she didn’t need the wide-open sky near the rim to give her satellite dishes a clear shot at the signals, she’d just stay hidden here permanently.
For now, though, she needed to get what she’d ordered. The catch? She had to avoid the cameras. Which was why she’d spent her first week at the canyon hacking every camera feed she could find a signal for and mapping their range. Most had been set up to keep an eye on wildlife, which made them easy to hack.
She wasn’t worried about the rangers—they were too busy chasing lost tourists to dig into her story—but she knew better than anyone how easy it was to hack a security feed. One slip, one clear shot of her face, and the Bratva’s tech dogs could find her.
The forest thinned as she approached civilization, pine needles giving way to gravel, then paved pathways. About five minutes later she turned into the North Rim’s village and parked her bike at the trailhead. It was still a five-minute walk from here, but with cameras doing a regular scan of the parking lots and village, this was as close as she was willing to park. She locked up her bike, then exchanged her helmet for a baseball cap, tugging it low against the morning sun. The brim cast her face in shadow—exactly what she needed.
She slung an empty backpack over her shoulder, adjusted her oversized sunglasses, and set out for the welcome center. HerVans made soft sounds on the asphalt. The whole image was designed to be forgettable.
The collection of buildings spread before her like a small frontier town—welcome center with its log-cabin facade, the grand lodge with its chimneys already sending wisps of smoke into the clear air, a convenience store with hand-painted signs advertising everything from postcards to hiking boots. A few outbuildings designated for staff sat back among the trees, their brown siding designed to blend with the forest.
She’d scouted it all weeks ago, mapping every security camera’s angle in her mind. The welcome center had two—one above the entrance with its wide-angle lens, one sweeping the parking lot in lazy arcs. The store’s single lens hung over the counter and pointed out the front door, easy to dodge if she kept her back to it.
She moved down the sidewalk with purpose, although her steps seemed casual, the picture of a slightly naive hiker soaking in the scenery. Her cap tilted just so, her shoulders slouched beneath the backpack—she was invisible, forgettable. Just another tourist starting her day.
The Amazon drop box stood near the lodge entrance like a small metal filing cabinet. A three-by-three grid of lockers, each programmed with a private code. She stopped at box number four and punched in the code she’d received in her email. The door popped open with a soft click that sounded too loud in the quiet morning.
She opened the padded envelope and checked the contents. A police scanner, compact and unassuming, and a pack of garish hippie stickers—peace signs, tie-dye swirls. She smirked. If anyone came sniffing around her bus, they’d see a free spirit trying to find herself, not a white hat hacker hiding from the Russian mob. She tucked it all into her backpack and zipped it shut.
A faint sniffle cut through the quiet. She turned. A little girl stood a few feet away. She was no more than three, her dark curls tangled and her middle two fingers shoved in her mouth. Tears had carved clean tracks down her cheeks, her tiny frame trembling as she hiccupped.
Nimue scanned the area—empty. No frantic parents, no wandering tourists, just the child and the distant caw of a raven.
Helping meant risk, meant exposure. But ignoring the girl wasn’t an option. She’d been a child like this once—alone, scared, while her mother disappeared for days at a time. If it weren’t for Emberly, she would have had no one.
Nimue adjusted her cap, keeping her face shadowed, and stepped closer, crouching to the child’s level. “Hey, sweetie.” Nimue kept her voice soft, the tone once used on her when she’d been a scared foster kid. “You lost?”
The girl’s fingers slipped from her mouth as she sniffed again, her lip quivering. “I want Mama.”
Nimue scanned the area. A few tourists were climbing out of vehicles in the distance, car doors slamming, voices carrying on the morning air, but no one seemed to be missing a child. She forced a smile, keeping it gentle. “We’ll find her, okay? What’s your name?”
“Lily,” the girl whispered, her big brown eyes locking onto Nimue’s with the complete trust only small children possessed.
“Pretty name. I’m—” She caught herself before giving her real name. “I’m a friend. Let’s find Mama.”
The little girl stepped forward and wrapped her tiny arms around Nimue’s neck, the gesture so trusting it made her chest ache.
Okay.Nimue straightened, lifting the child, her mind racing. The cameras were still a threat. She’d have to move fast, stay low-profile.
A broad figure appeared at the edge of her vision—khaki pants, tan shirt, the confident stride of someone in charge. Not the stiff uniform of the welcome-center rangers, but close enough.
“Excuse me.” Nimue raised her voice slightly as she stepped toward the ranger.
He turned, and she caught the faintest hitch in his expression—surprise, maybe, or curiosity.
Then recognition slammed into her like a physical blow.
That face—rugged, sun-weathered, and oh, he had deep-blue eyes, something almost magnetic about them.
The ranger from her camera feed. The one who’dseenher.
Her pulse spiked, but she smothered the reaction. He didn’t know her, not really. She was just another visitor to him.