Randall removed a nylon rappelling harness, a coil of rope, and a pair of worn leather gloves from the bed. A small disposable camera hung around his neck. But he didn't look like a tourist. He looked fit and determined and very capable.
"Shouldn't take me any longer than forty-five minutes to rappel down, take a few pictures, then climb back up." His eyes swept down to hers, looking as dark and dangerous as the approaching storm. "Wait in the truck."
The wind had kicked up to a cutting speed, whistling through the treetops, accentuating the quiet and the fact that they were totally alone. "I've every right to go--"
"Forget it, Ace. The terrain's too rough." He started for the ravine.
He looked like a seasoned rock climber in his faded Levi's, cleated hiking boots, and parka. Addison watched him loop the rope around the base of an aspen, clip it onto his safety harness, .and test it with a yank. She couldn't help but notice his well-muscled thighs or the way the harness accentuated his male attributes. With a cavalier wave, he started into the ravine.
Addison waited until he was out of sight before venturing off the shoulder. While she stood shivering in the bitter wind, she noticed a path cut into the trees. Easing closer to the edge of the ravine, she saw the broken trunks and realized the sapling aspen and pine had been clipped close to the ground ten months earlier when her parents' Lincoln had plummeted over the edge.
She tried not to imagine the terror they must have felt in the seconds, before their deaths. Had the roll into the ravine killed them? she wondered. Or had they suffered with broken bodies and the brutal elements? Had they died together? Or had one of them been forced to watch the other in the throes of death? They were excruciating questions. Questions that left her heart raw and a new bitterness in the pit of her stomach. Suddenly Addison knew she couldn't sit in the truck and do nothing. As painful as the thought was, she wanted to see the car. She wanted to touch it. And she desperately needed to know if her parents had been murdered.
Shivering, she edged closer to the drop-off and looked into the ravine. "Fox, you're insane," she said, grasping the nylon rope. Mimicking Randall's form, she began an awkward descent down the steep incline.
She'd only traveled a dozen feet when she realized her mittens hadn't been designed to stand up against the rough surface of a braided nylon rope. By the time she'd traveled fifty feet, a hole had worn into the palm and the rope bit into her skin with the .fervor of a hungry rat. By the time she'd traveled a hundred feet, she realized how foolish it had been for her to attempt the climb.
"Admit it, Fox," she said to herself through clenched teeth, "the Neanderthal was right." A branch from a sapling scraped against her face hard enough to open the skin and yank the muffs from her ears.
"Ouch!" She brought her only remaining mitten to her face, cursing when it came away red. Looking up, she spotted her earmuffs banging from a branch like a cheap Christmas tree ornament. The Jeep was no longer in sight and, to her dismay, the climb back up looked worse than the climb down. "Oh, this is just peachy," she muttered.
Returning her attention to the ravine, she wondered how Randall had managed to get so far ahead of her so quickly. Simple, she thought. He does this all the time. Weekend warrior stuff. If he could do it, she certainly could.
Feeling like a fool, she resumed her descent. Early on, there had been no doubt in her mind that she could make it to the ravine floor. It was just a little hill, after all. But faced with the rugged terrain and rocks the size of Volkswagens, her confidence withered. Her mittens no longer protected her hands and, somehow, she'd lost the bow keeping her hair out of her face. He arms were beginning to ache and, to her utter horror, her grip seemed to be waning. She considered retreating, but couldn't bring herself to admit defeat—not that she thought she could climb back up. But, dammit, the last thing she wanted was to give Randall the chance to say I told you so.
After fifteen minutes of struggling with the rope, she settled into a rhythm, easing down a couple of feet at a time, sliding her left foot, then her right. Despite the fact that her arms were aching and her legs felt like overcooked spaghetti, she thought she could make it.
With just over thirty feet to go, she took her right hand off the rope to shove the hair out of her eyes. When she reached for the rope, she missed. Adrenaline skittered through her when she felt her other mitten slip off. The last thing she saw was her hiking boots as they went over her head. Then she was tumbling backward.
Tree branches clawed at her face and hair while the heavier trunks punched her in all the wrong places. Something hard and sharp cut into her shoulder as she flipped end over end. She heard branches breaking, heard herself cry out as they bit through her sweatshirt. Then her body went still as suddenly as it had cartwheeled out of control.
The first thing she became aware of was the wind humming through the pines above her, the sound of footsteps, and pain.
"Addison!" Randall's voice pounded into her brain.
She moaned.