style="font-size:15px;"> “No!” She jerked away and lost her balance.
Arms flailing, she lunged forward, hoping to grab something to keep from careening down the mountainside. Instead, she caught air as she skidded over the edge.
She cried out as she tumbled downward, her pack cushioning her fall. She willed her body to relax knowing that tensing would only increase her injuries.
Injuries? She should be more worried about her attacker, who was probably carrying a weapon in his denim jacket.
She came to an abrupt stop and gasped for air. Tears rolled down her cheeks, not so much from the pain but from the realization she hadn’t come close to accomplishing what she’d hoped to in this lifetime. Like her husband, Billie had made her own share of bad decisions.
Like falling for Quinn Donovan.
Unbelievable. She was bruised and battered, possibly going to die so close to where Rick had suffered life-threatening injuries, yet she was thinking about Quinn, his warm eyes that grayed when he was upset, eyes that sparkled bright blue when confident or pleased. Blue, like the sky peeking through the western hemlock and Douglas fir trees towering above.
“Stay conscious,” she ordered herself. She had enough presence of mind to reach into her pocket and activate the personal locator beacon that would alert her friend Bree that she was in trouble.
A gray fog drifted through the trees like a curtain, similar to the one drifting across her mind, muddling her thoughts, her prayers.
“Please, God...”
She struggled to focus, to hold on to a sense of time and place. She couldn’t pass out, not yet.
In her last moments of consciousness, maybe even the last moments of her life, she struggled to pray, but the prayer was not for herself.
“Help...Quinn,” she whispered.
And the world faded to black.
* * *
Quinn had sent Billie away months ago for her own good, yet she lay at the bottom of a mountain trail so very still and motionless...and dead?
No, Quinn would not accept that.
“I’m going down,” he said, gripping the rope with both hands.
“Maybe you should wait for the rest of the team,” Artie Meyers suggested.
Quinn and Artie were the first to arrive. Not a surprise since it was the middle of the day when most Snoquamish County Search and Rescue volunteers were at work. More would be coming soon, but as one of the first two at the scene, Quinn took the field command position. That’s about as far as normal protocol would matter to Quinn today. He wouldn’t get bogged down by procedure, not with Billie’s life at stake.
“I’ll radio when I get to her.” Quinn nodded at the middle-age man and started his descent.
Quinn had to pretend this was a routine rescue, that Billie wasn’t lying broken and bleeding on the plateau below. He had to act as if the injured party wasn’t the woman he’d rescued over a year ago and taken into his life to help her get back on her feet.
The only woman who’d touched a spot inside of Quinn that he thought had been destroyed by a brutal childhood, war and loss.
He shifted his boots against the mountainside and steadied his descent, trying to rein in his panic. He needed to get control of his thoughts, needed to think of Billie as a random, injured hiker.
The text he’d received half an hour ago flashed across his mind: Female victim, thirties, fell while hiking. He hadn’t been sure he’d be able to leave his business meeting to join the team.
Then Aiden, Quinn’s friend and Billie’s boss, sent another text: the victim was Billie.
Billie knew better than to take off into the mountains without hiking buddies. The rule was at least three in a group so that if someone was injured, one hiker could stay with the immobilized party while the third person went for help.
Billie was smart and sensible, yet she’d fallen off a trail close to where she and her husband had been stranded for days, and her husband had sustained a blow to the head from a fall that ultimately took his life.
Was this some kind of penance? Return to the scene where she’d been unable to save her husband in order to drive home her personal failure?
The rope slipped between his gloved fingers and he tightened his grip. He had to focus on helping the victim and stop analyzing his friend’s motivations for coming out here alone.
A friend? Is that what she was? The frantic beating of his heart when he’d read Aiden’s text indicated otherwise. Quinn couldn’t remember driving to the trailhead, or specifics of the conversation he’d had with Aiden. Everything was a blur except the rope between his fingers and the chill seeping through his jacket.
And, of course, the thought of Billie lying on a mountain plateau bruised and broken, and no doubt terrified.
But alive. God, please let her be alive.
Back up, buddy. God doesn’t listen to guys like you, remember?
He must have dropped a good fifty feet before he touched down. Corralling his panic at what he’d see when he examined Billie up close, Quinn took a deep breath and kneeled beside her still body.
“Billie?” he said, brushing copper-streaked dark brown hair off her cheek. “Can you hear me, sweetheart?” The endearment slipped out.
He pulled off his glove with his teeth and pressed his fingers against her neck. He realized he held his breath.
A strong and steady pulse beat against his fingertips. A sigh of relief escaped his lips.
“Thank you,” he whispered, not sure if he was thanking God for watching over her or thanking Billie for her incredible strength.
He cleared his throat and pressed the button on his radio. “The victim’s alive. Send a litter down ASAP, over.”
“Roger that. How many team members will you need to secure her to the litter and lift her up, over?”
“It’s a small area. I can manage it by myself.”
“Roger.”
Quinn took off his pack and pulled out a thermal blanket. He covered Billie, tucking the blanket snugly around her body. Glancing at the sky, he hoped the weather would hold until they got her out of here. They’d strap her securely to the litter and raise her to the trail. Her injuries would determine how they’d get her out of here, either by helo or ambulance.
A moan drew his attention to Billie. She opened her normally colorful eyes—usually rich with hues of amber, green and warm brown—now a dull dark gray.
He forced a smile. “We have to stop meeting like this, Wilhelma.”
“Quinn? What are you doing here?”
She must be in pain if she wasn’t scolding
