They’d left the rim before ten in the morning, Noah leading with the kind of confidence that should have steadied her nerves. Should have. Instead, something twisted tighter in her gut with every step. He’d navigated forgotten roads to a trailhead westof Nimue’s abandoned bus, the plan simple: intercept Liam and Nimue somewhere along the trails.
Except the canyon stretched silent and vast. No sign of them.
Maybe that meant they were safe. Already across. But the knot in Meg’s stomach said otherwise, and something about the guys’ relentless speed suggested they felt it too.
Noah’s hand shot up, halting them at a cluster of boulders. He pulled his water bottle free, eyes flicking to her with laser focus.
“Drink.”
She nodded, fumbling for her own bottle while avoiding his eyes. His new look still knocked her sideways—short hair and clean-shaven jaw that made him look like a completely different man. The scruffy, shaggy-haired Noah was gone, replaced by someone whose brown eyes suddenly seemed to see straight through her defenses and possessed the power to stir something deep inside her.
Her pulse kicked up a notch. She looked away, focusing on the cool water against her parched throat. And she thought her attraction to him before had been bad.
Teague barely looked winded as he scanned the trail ahead.Show off.Her pack—stripped down to just first-aid supplies and water—felt like it was loaded with rocks. Noah and Teague had insisted on carrying more of her gear at every stop, and she hated it. Hated feeling helpless. Hated the voice in her head questioning whether she should have stayed behind.
But if Liam or Nimue was hurt, she was their best hope for medical care.
Yeah, right.Noah could probably splint a fracture as well as she could, and there was no way she was carrying anyone out of this canyon.
The trail forked—one branch heading southeast toward the distant glint of the Colorado River, the other northwest toward the cliffs where their friends had rappelled into the unknown.
“You good?” Noah asked.
She nodded.
Oops,that was a lie, but maybe she should have been honest, because they were up and moving again. The men set a brutal pace—not quite running, but definitely not walking. Her breath came in ragged gasps, eyes straining for any flash of color, any sign of life.
The silence between them felt heavy. Ominous. Broken only by boots crunching on gravel and the sound of her own labored breathing.
“What’s that?” Teague’s shout made her jump.
The trail ran parallel to churning brown water now—a wash swollen from the morning’s storm.
“Flash flood.” Noah brushed past Teague, long strides eating up ground. “Happens fast in storms.”
“Not the water.” Teague was pointing. “That red thing.” He took off toward it.
Noah barely paused before following, charging off-trail toward a crimson speck in the distance. Fearless. He dodged cacti like they were traffic cones while Meg followed more carefully, already mentally reaching for pliers and tweezers in case he got too cocky.
As she crested a small rise, Noah and Teague were hauling something heavy from the water’s edge.
Her throat closed.
Please don’t let it be a body.
The world tilted, colors washing out to sickly yellow. She was a doctor—she’d seen death, stitched wounds, held hands through final breaths. But this felt different. These were her friends.
At least Liam was becoming one.
She’d fled Colorado to escape exactly this kind of loss. The kind that cracked you open and left you hollow, wondering why you’d ever cared about anyone in the first place. Her knees buckled, vision narrowing to a tunnel.
“It’s Liam’s pack!” Noah’s voice cut through the fog. “It was snagged in some rocks.”
Pack.Notbody.Pack.
The world went dark anyway.
Teague’s hand gripped her arm, keeping her from hitting the ground. “Meg, sit.”