Freefall. Jill Sorenson

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СКАЧАТЬ to tourists in Costa Rica. That had been a sweet gig. He should have stayed.

      “You look strong,” she said, her eyes trailing down his body.

      Well, yeah. Being physically intimidating was part of his job. Also, beating the hell out of people.

      They spent the next hour going over safety rules and rafting techniques. Javier paid close attention, memorizing much of the information. Caleb and Ted invited him for a smoke break, which he declined. He didn’t want to leave Faith’s side. His presence seemed to comfort her. She listened to the guide carefully, partnering with Javier to practice paddling. He did his best to look like a guileless outdoorsman. Every few minutes, he glanced up at the sky, searching for Gonzales’s helicopter.

      Soon they’d be coming for him.

      He hadn’t expected there to be women on this trip, and he felt conflicted about staying. On the one hand, traveling coed was a good cover. He enjoyed female company and he’d gone too long without it. On the other hand, he was running for his life. He’d waited months for an opportunity to break free. He’d shot and killed the last man who tried to stop him. If he had to do the same to Caleb or Ted, he wouldn’t hesitate.

      Hurting women didn’t sit well with him, though.

      That was why he’d never go back with Gonzales. He was going to escape or die trying. God help anyone who got in his way.

      “You smell like peroxide,” Faith said, interrupting his thoughts.

      Another problem with women: they were intuitive and observant. He shouldn’t have been standing so close to her. By gazing at her appreciatively and acting flirtatious, he’d invited her to ask him personal questions.

      Denying the obvious was no use, so he tugged the beanie off his head and braced himself. “How bad is it?”

      “Pretty bad.”

      Stupidly, he regretted the dye job. He wanted her to think him handsome.

      “Did you lose a bet?”

      “Yeah. Sort of.”

      She reached up to touch his hair, rubbing a few strands between her fingertips. He could see down the front of her tank top, which was disconcerting. “I could fix it,” she said, dropping her hand. “I’m a hairdresser.”

      “Really?”

      “Yes. Color’s my specialty. I do mine.”

      He evaluated her pretty brown eyes and honeyed skin tone. “You’re not a natural blonde?”

      She laughed, swatting him on the shoulder. “That’s for me to know.”

      The guide presented a pair of life jackets, dispelling the mood. Any clothes they wanted to stay dry had to be placed in waterproof sacks. Javier removed his T-shirt, watching Faith pull her tank top over her head.

      Coño.

      Before she put on her life jacket, he got an eyeful of her breasts, covered by little scraps of fabric. They looked real. He wasn’t the type of man who cared either way, but he’d seen so many strippers lately that her subtle curves seemed exotic in comparison.

      Tearing his gaze away, he shoved his T-shirt into his backpack and placed it in the plastic. His shorts weren’t for swimming, but they’d have to suffice. She stared at his bare chest, her lips curving into a smile.

      Bring on the cold water. He needed it.

      * * *

      WHEN SAM PUT his arm around her, Hope buried her face in his shirt, shuddering.

      He was a jerk, but his strength felt reassuring. She’d almost peed her pants a second ago. His heartbeat thumped against her cheek, alive, alive, alive.

      “Any chance this was self-inflicted?”

      She forced herself to move away from him and take a better look inside the cockpit. There was a handgun on the seat next to the pilot, and shells from two different weapons. It looked like a close-range gunfight. “No.”

      Sam turned his back on the wreckage with a grimace, keeping his distance while she photographed the scene. Or maybe he was keeping watch. She noticed his eyes scanning the mountains and trees nearby.

      There were few clues inside the fuselage. She didn’t see any illegal cargo or formal identification. From what she could surmise, the 9 mm next to the pilot wasn’t responsible for his death. He’d returned fire with his killer. She took pictures of the weapon and a pair of bullet holes on the opposite side of the fuselage.

      She was about to report to headquarters when static buzzed over the plane’s radio. Her heart seized at the sound of a man’s voice. “Del Norte, come in. Ya, contesta.”

      Hope rushed forward to pick up the receiver. Swallowing hard, she pressed the button to speak. “This is Ranger Banning of Sierra National Park. I need some information about this aircraft and pilot, over.”

      The man ended the communication.

      She replaced the receiver, her mouth dry. Careful not to touch anything else, she exited the fuselage.

      “What was that?” Sam asked.

      “Someone called on the plane’s radio. When I answered, they hung up.”

      “You answered?”

      “Yes.”

      He thrust a hand through his short hair. “Fuck!”

      “What?”

      “I don’t like this. Let’s get the hell out of here.”

      She wasn’t a big fan of the situation, either. There had never been a murder at Angel Wings. It could be days before a thorough investigation was organized. The logistics of processing a crime scene on a remote mountaintop were dizzying.

      They also had a killer to find. He must have left the area on foot.

      She walked away from the plane, examining their surroundings. A hiking trail led down the backside of the mountain and ended at the Kaweah River Campsite. Where she’d dropped off Faith this morning.

      “I have to go after him.”

      He gaped at her in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

      “I’m dead serious,” she said.

      “You’re not a homicide detective.”

      “No, but I have to protect the park’s visitors, and it’s my job to investigate any crimes committed here.”

      “Alone?”

      She frowned at his incredulous tone. Tracking a single assailant by herself wasn’t against procedure. Park rangers often worked solo, especially in the backcountry. But it was unorthodox, and perhaps unwise, to hunt down a murderer without help. “He’s got to be headed for the Kaweah. Faith is there.”

      “Who’s СКАЧАТЬ