LITMIR.BIZ

       One

      Maybe a wiser man would have blocked her number.

      Weston Rivera gripped his cell phone tighter as he paced from his home office into the sunken family room. He knew he couldn’t pretend he hadn’t seen the text from a certain sexy private investigator he really needed to avoid.

      The sun was already setting outside, but he could still discern the faint outline of the Bitterroot Mountains framed through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The hulking, irregular peaks were partially shrouded by an incoming storm.

      Swearing to himself, he peered back down at the message on his screen.

      Any tips for navigating the Northeast Couloir trail? Just made camp but hope to summit in the morning.

      Did he have tips?

      As a proficient climber and mountain-rescue volunteer, he sure as hell had advice for April Stephens, the smoking-hot financial forensics expert who was an unwelcome guest at Mesa Falls Ranch. She should have never climbed a class-four trail in the winter by herself in the kind of weather brewing out there.

      Too bad she hadn’t asked him before she started up the mountain.

      He’d really thought he’d dodged April for good. The last time she’d cornered him at the ranch office, he’d made it abundantly clear that he had no comment about her investigation into the finances of Alonzo Salazar, a frequent guest of the retreat Weston owned with his brother and four other partners. Salazar had been a friend and mentor to all of them since they were teenagers. And he’d been there when a devastating accident had ended in a classmate’s death. Weston wasn’t about to speculate on what the man did with his money. Loyalty wasn’t something Weston took lightly.

      Yet he hadn’t blocked the investigator’s number after that meeting, which had paved the way for today’s text message.

      Was she baiting him? Looking for a way to restart their conversation and dig up dirt for her investigation? Or was she genuinely contemplating that climb? He’d heard from one of the trail guides that she’d visited a local outfitter for gear when she’d first arrived, so he wasn’t surprised she wanted to get out into the mountains. But a day trip was tough enough in the winter, even on the easier peaks.

      Cursing again, he dropped down to the leather sofa close to the fireplace. A log popped and shifted, sending a shower of sparks against the screen. How should he respond? Obviously, he didn’t want her trekking back down the mountain by herself in the dark. But with the weather worsening by the minute, spending the night up there could be hazardous too. He knew he had an overdeveloped sense of caution where others were concerned, even if he was a risk taker himself. That cautious streak probably stemmed from the tragedy that had bound his fate to Alonzo Salazar’s more than a decade ago.

      Where are you?

      He banged out the words with more force than necessary, already knowing where this conversation was going to lead.

      She replied with a link. Map coordinates like any good hiker would use, showing her exact position.

      His chest eased a bit at first. If she knew about tricks like that, she surely had some solid climbing experience. Clearly, she understood the importance of knowing her location at all times. But as he zoomed in closer on the map to see where she had made camp, the tightness in his chest returned.

      And then tripled.

      Because April wasn’t camping in one of the safer spots like Gem Lake or Baker’s Lake. Instead, she wasn’t all that far from the Northeast Couloir. A notorious avenue for avalanche activity.

      It didn’t matter how experienced a climber she was or whether she knew the risks. She was a guest of his ranch. Someone he felt responsible for. Now that she’d specifically asked for his advice on this ill-advised venture, he had no choice. He had to help.

      Stay there. Keep phone on. Don’t light a fire. I’m on my way.

      She might not be happy to see him. But Weston didn’t particularly care. Shoving his phone in his pocket, he took the stairs two at a time up to his bedroom to dress for a climb that he hoped like hell wouldn’t turn into a rescue effort. Just the thought of it turned his blood icy, and he hadn’t even set foot out of the house yet.

      He already had one catastrophic event on his conscience. He couldn’t survive a second.