Page 71 of One Last Stand

“Maybe.” He was staring upstream, to the source of the river. Another waterfall careened from a ledge some thirty feet up.

“What do you see?”

“Just . . . nothing, maybe. But . . . let’s go.” He pulled her with him upriver along the cliffside. They stayed low, behind boulders and trees, and behind them, the sky began to tremor.

“Rain is coming. That should hide us,” he said, his voice solid. He’d gone into rescue mode.

They climbed to the next falls, these more narrow, misting in the darkening air. They fell into a pool before escaping downstream.

“Can you climb this?” He pointed to the not-quite-vertical granite face that bordered the falls, slicked with moss and water.

“Of course.”

Then she was suddenly fifteen and back at camp, finding footholds, jamming her hand into crevasses. She worked her way up the face, not looking down, keeping her body away from the rock, making sure each hold worked before easing onto it. Even a thirty-foot fall, especially in this terrain, could be fatal.

And of course, if she fell she could take out Shep. He’d started up behind her, just a few feet below and a little to the side, as if he could catch her if she tumbled by him.

Maybe.

He’d turned dark and serious and a little bossy as he pointed out holds to her here and there.

“I do know how to climb there, Alex Honnold.”

“Who’s that?” he said, his voice roughened by effort.

“The guy in that terrifying documentaryFree Solo.”

“London, there are people shooting at us. Just climb.”

She glanced over at him. “Sorry. Sheesh?—”

“I’m more concerned that you’re having a good time. Seriously?” He gestured and she turned back to the climb, spidering up to the top.

He came up beside her just as the sky opened up and spat on them.

“So this is a fun outing,” she said.

He looked at her, breathing hard. The clouds had settled in, turning the entire mountain to shadow, and even in his red siren jacket, up here among the trees, probably they were hid?—

He kissed her. Took her by the lapels, pulled her to himself, and kissed her. No, inhaled her. Fierce, and maybe fueled by desperation, or frustration, but he kissed her in just the same breathtaking, desperate way he had before. So maybe that first time hadn’t been about the rush of emotion over her coming back from the dead, although someonewasshooting?—

It didn’t matter. She wove her fists into his jacket and kissed him back, the rain on her face, his whiskers against her skin. He was the mountain, pulling her into his protection as he put his arms around her. A sound rumbled out of him and into her, taking her slowly apart.

Yeah,she’d definitely stopped spiraling.

He finally released her and met her eyes. “I hope that answers your question.”

She blinked at him.Question?“Wait—youwere the one with the questions.”

“Was I?” Then he got up and pulled her with him. “C’mon. It’s around here somewhere.”

The granite wall was covered in vines and scrub brush, but he pushed the litter away and there in the wall hung a double wooden door, slightly rotted around the edges. “I thought so.” Built like an old stable door, with a few fasteners holding the boards together and two rings hanging from the front, it seemed like it locked from the inside.

Except, the hinges faced outward, so . . .

“You take one ring; I’ll try the other.”

She grunted, with no success.

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