Page 58 of What Doesn't Kill Her

Max was a Di Luca. His family roots were in Italy. He had relatives on the US East and West Coasts. While Max was in his teens, his father died and he’d been the head of his family ever since. He’d played football for Alabama and got a business degree, too. For a brief amazing few months, he’d climbed peaks in the Himalayas, lived in a monastery, traveled out of range of modern technology, concentrated on learning inner peace and began the long slow process to become a man of wisdom.

Immediately upon his return, his niece, Annabella, had been kidnapped by her father, a worthless scoundrel intent on siphoning off the family’s money. When he’d found her, he’d also found a young vagrant woman protecting his niece with fierce reckless courage. When Max remembered that day, the way she attacked Ettore Fontina, faced pain and death to save a child she didn’t even know... He had seen a goddess, and he had fallen in love.

In love. With a homeless woman with no name, too many scars and fears he could only imagine.

She called herself Ceecee, and he had taken her into his home and been all kinds of a fool over her. He had courted her, romanced her and in a rush of tragic events, he’d seen his lover shot. He’d been with her as, still in a coma, she bore his child. He became a single father, and when Ceecee woke unattended and walked out of the hospital, he found himself a forsaken lover.

The wisdom of the Far East meant nothing when compared with everyday events.

Except, he had to admit, climbing the Olympic Mountains was easier when one had trained one’s mind to concentrate on inner peace. Or maybe concentrate putting one foot in front of the other andnotthinking about that body tied to a tree and bathed in blood. His mother had faith in Kellen’s survival skills for both Rae and herself. He did, too. If he continued at this pace, they could all make it to Horizon Ridge at about the same time...

If Kellen and Rae survived the trek...

He blocked the thought of death and fear. Whoever had slit that man’s throat would not find them.

“Sir!” Two park rangers stepped from behind a massive red cedar onto the uphill side of his path. “May we see your ID?”

Max skidded to a stop.

According to their badges, the female was Ranger Holt and the male, Ranger Nicolson. Both looked grim. Both carried sidearms.

Ranger Holt repeated, “Excuse me, sir. May we see your identification?”

Max took a step back. “Sure.” Slinging his backpack off his shoulder, he went for the side zipper pocket.

The sound of a safety being released made him freeze. He looked up to see Ranger Holt in a firing stance, her unwavering pistol pointed at him.

The rangers were jumpy, and that made him jumpy, too. Jumpy and suspicious.

“My wallet’s in here.” Max touched the zipper. “I’ll let you get it out.” He passed his backpack to Ranger Nicolson. “With all due respect, the outfits look authentic, but may I seeyourIDs?”

Ranger Nicolson pulled his badge from his pocket and passed it over. “Will one do? Ranger Holt seems unready to abandon her stance.”

“I see that.” Max examined the badge. It not only looked authentic, it looked worn, like a badge that had been carried in a pocket for many years. That, more than anything, convinced him he had the real thing. Well, that, and the fact that if they were killers rather than park rangers, they could have already shot him. “May I ask what’s up?”

“There’s been foul play.” Ranger Holt still stood braced to fire.

“Must be bad.” Max kept an eye on Ranger Nicolson as the ranger bought out his wallet, flipped through driver’s license and credit cards, then rummaged a little deeper. “You can search the whole backpack,” Max said. “I’ve got rope, food for a couple of days, a change of clothes, bladder of water, sleeping bag, one-man tent and a knife. Knife’s in the left zipper pocket in a sheath.”

Ranger Nicolson pulled it out and examined it.

“What’s the knife for?” Ranger Holt asked.

“Sometimes I need to cut rope. Or salami, which I’m carrying. It’s a camping knife. Doesn’t every camper carry a knife?”

“Have you used it lately?” Ranger Holt asked.

“Not on this trip.” Max planted his feet. It was time to act like an innocent hiker unfairly detained. “What’s happened?”

Ranger Nicolson replaced the knife. “Two men were attacked and bound.”

“Twomen? My God.” Max only knew about the one. “Badly hurt?”

“One was shot, not fatally. One was hit and knocked unconscious.”

They weren’t talking about the guy Max had found. This was two different men entirely. Had Kellen been involved?

“And there was a murder.”

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