Page 92 of Nothing But Air

The dirt crunched beneath her boots as they followed the trail in complete silence. Each step stirred clouds of fine red dust, the air thick with sage and the faint mineral scent of the Colorado River deeper in the canyon. Heat pressed down from the midday sun, shimmering off limestone walls that rose a thousand feet on either side.

Up ahead, Marcus trudged along the trail, still clutching that ridiculous rock hammer. The one he’d used this morning to nearly bring a cave down on top of them.

Teague adjusted his pack, grimacing slightly. The bruises from his forty-foot fall yesterday had to still be screaming at him, not to mention the deep scratch now gracing his shoulder, but he hadn’t complained once.

She dropped into step next to him. “Do you want me to take some of your weight?”

“No.”

“Then maybe Xander?—”

“I’m fine.”

Stubborn man.

But she let it go, and they reached camp as the sun climbed toward its peak. Their gear bags clustered near a fire ring of blackened stones, bedrolls spread across the pale limestone in bright splashes of color. Xander stood near the water filtration system, his massive frame casting a shadow across the equipment.

The ranger’s blue-gray eyes tracked Marcus with quiet intensity. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. Xander communicated plenty with silence.

Teague dropped his pack and turned to face Marcus. The easy humor vanished from his expression. “We need to talk.”

Marcus’s grip tightened on his rock hammer. Limestone dust coated his expensive hiking clothes, and his brown hair stuck up at odd angles. “About what?”

“About the part where you almost got us killed.” Teague’s voice stayed level, but there was steel underneath. “What were you thinking?”

“I was trying to help?—”

“Help with what, exactly?” Eden stepped forward. “You ignored every warning. Rushed into an unstable cave. Started chipping at the walls while rocks were falling around us.”

Marcus’s face cycled through several colors. White. Pink. Red. Back to white. “I thought I saw something?—”

“What?” Teague stepped closer. “What are you really looking for, Marcus? Because this isn’t just about Roosevelt’s cache. There’s something more going on here for you. Has been since day one.”

Something flickered across Marcus’s face. Not quite fear. Not quite guilt. Something in between.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Really?” Eden crossed her arms. “Because you’ve been searching every cave like it holds something smaller than a sizable chest. You brought gear you don’t know how to use and a rock hammer you never mentioned.” She held his gaze. “What are you looking for?”

Marcus shook his head. “I can’t—there’s nothing to share.”

Teague let out a slow breath. “Until you can be straight with us, you’re grounded. No more climbs.”

“What?” Marcus’s voice pitched higher. “You can’t do that.”

“Already did.” Teague’s tone left no room for negotiation. “You stay in camp with Xander while Eden and I finish today’s climbs.”

“But the cache?—”

“We’ll find it if it’s there.” Teague turned away. “Eat something. Hydrate. Rest. We leave in an hour.”

Marcus stood frozen, his face working through anger and frustration and something that looked almost like grief. Then he stalked off toward his gear, rock hammer still clutched in one white-knuckled hand.

Eden moved closer to Teague, lowering her voice. “Think he’ll actually tell us?”

“Eventually.” Teague rubbed a hand across his face. “But not today.”

“And in the meantime?”