Away from whoever wanted her dead.
Liam’s boots found purchase on the rocky outcrop, midday sun slicing harsh shadows across the sandstone. The wall fell away beneath him—two hundred yards of sheer drop that bled rust-colored stains down the pale surface. Handholds jutted from the rock like ancient doorknobs, worn smooth by wind and rain. A crack ran diagonally across the face, just wide enough for his fingers, while loose scree shifted that would clatter into the void below with the wrong step. His hands moved—muscle memory taking over—setting up the anchor system. Cams wedged tight into bomber cracks. Sling looped around a boulder the size of his Bronco.
Focus. Check the knots. Double-check.
He clipped the dynamic rope through quickdraws, tested the figure-eight. Clean. Tight.
No room for error today.
Emberly’s voice still echoed in his skull—brisk, urgent, cutting through sat-phone static like a blade.The Bratva don’tmess around, Liam. Last time, they burned down her house, blew up an inn, and put a gun to Nimue’s head.
His chest squeezed. The image of cold metal pressed against Nimue’s temple burned behind his eyes.
You need to get her away from there, now. Off-grid. Tell no one.
When he’d walked into her bus, he’d heard “Bratva.” “Russian mob.” “Files.” “Money.” Something about backup and…cocoa? Half of it made zero sense, but that didn’t matter. The picture was crystal clear—someone wanted Nimue dead, and Liam would die before he let that happen.
He’d left Noah a short text.Going off grid for a few days. Can’t explain. Sorry.
He’d grabbed his red personal pack, since it was already stocked, and then changed from ranger gear to hiking gear. The fastest route deep into the canyon stretched below—sixty meters of sheer sandstone wall. They’d hiked a mile from her bus before starting their descent. The ropes would stay behind when they reached the bottom.
“Harness on.” His voice came out rougher than intended, but all he could think wasMove.
After she’d stepped into the climbing harness, he checked her gear, fingers brushing nylon straps, making sure everything locked tight. “Leg loops good?”
Nimue nodded, her gaze flicking toward the edge. “Yeah.” She swallowed hard. “Let’s just do this.”
“Have you ever rappelled before?”
“Once. In a climbing gym, with one of my foster brothers.”
One rappel in a gym.Perfect.
He adjusted her belay loop, carabiner clicking into place. “Lean back, feet wide. Keep your good hand on the rope always.”
She stepped to the edge.
Trust. That’s what this required—complete, absolute trust.
She looked at him, her eyes meeting his, so much in it.
You can trust me, Nimue.
“Don’t look down.”
She leaned into the harness and began walking down the wall. Liam belayed her from the top, feeding rope through his ATC, stance solid as granite. She fixed her hand on the rope like instructed, boots scraping rock as she started down. He kept his eyes locked on her—rope taut, movements smooth, every fiber of his being focused on keeping her safe.
When her boots hit solid ground, his knees nearly buckled.
His turn.
The descent felt like flying backward—push off, feed rope, plant feet. Rhythm and precision. The canyon walls blurred past until his boots touched earth beside hers.
“You okay?”
She nodded but looked a little white.
He couldn’t stop himself from stepping up to her, his hands on her shoulders, meeting her eyes. “Trust me. I won’t let them find you.”