Page 2 of Disappearance at Angel's Landing
Summer in Zion had hit full force, and the heat never let her forget it. Storms broke up the days, but this was the busiest time of year in the park. Kids were out of school and driving their parents crazy. What better way than to force them up amountain—or three—to burn off some of that energy? No time for home-cooked meals in these parts.
Smooth red rock resembling melted taffy acted as stairs as she ascended the first section of the trail. Hikers could climb the first two and a half miles of the West Rim Trail without a permit. It was the second half of the overly popular, adrenaline-inducing, nothing-but-chains-to-hold-onto, 6000-foot drop Angel’s Landing was known for. There were days a line of people started at the base and grouped at the end.
Thankfully, she could move at her own pace through Walter’s Wiggles—a series of twenty-one switchbacks leading to Scout Lookout—without pushing anyone off the side of the cliff today. Rock turned to sand under her boots and added an additional layer of burn. She’d always been in shape, going from yoga to biking to marathon training and rock climbing over the years when she needed a change, but hiking would be the one to kill her in the end.
Mountains surged upward from every angle as she navigated the incessant rise of rough terrain. Chains signaled the beginning of the most difficult portion of the trail, the one leading straight to eighteen people’s deaths in the past fifty years. Even as a ranger, she wasn’t invincible. Or stupid. She used the chains to propel her up the incline, the metal biting into her palm.
Spots of winter white still clung to north-facing peaks, adding a bite to the air. Jagged surges in rock threatened every step, but she’d hiked this trail more times than she could count. What most considered a once-in-a-lifetime adventure had become part of her daily routine. Sometimes two to three times a day. Barren pines and scrub brush peppered the rock face along the final ascent to the top.
No sign of Sarah Lantos. Though there’d been a couple lookalikes she’d stopped to ask for ID, Lila couldn’t dislodgethe dread pooling at the base of her spine as she summited the peak. A few hikers snapped photos, a couple getting too close to the chains following the edge of the cliff face and providing unobstructed views of the canyon below.
Sarah Lantos wouldn’t have just disappeared off the trail. Allowing herself to feel the fear of falling and forcing herself to do it anyway, Lila stretched out over the near-nonexistent barrier between her and certain death. And caught a hint of bright yellow six thousand feet below.
Her chest squeezed—too hard—as she grabbed for her radio. Another jewel abandoned ship, following the projection of the body below. “Risner, I think I found Sarah Lantos.”
Chapter Two
People were morons.
Ranger Branch Thompson shoved through the ring of park visitors inching closer to the body. Always pushing to get a better look. As if the woman at the bottom of the cliff was some kind of tick in their to-do list during their national park tour. “Vultures.”
Law enforcement rangers were already at work to secure a perimeter around the fallen hiker, but national parks weren’t equipped like a regular police force. While rangers followed similar protocols during death investigations, they didn’t have crime scene tape, a forensic unit or the manpower to ensure the area around the body wasn’t compromised. That was where he came in.
Branch caught sight of a bright yellow jacket—unmoving—in the center of the controlled chaos. Risner, the district ranger, hadn’t given him a lot of information on the hiker who’d taken a flying leap off Angel’s Landing when he’d ordered Branch to help with crowd control. But Branch noted long red hair and thin fingers splayed out to the hiker’s side. Female, from the look of it.
Extending his arms out to either side, he forced the crowd back a couple feet, his expression more than ready to shut down questions. Facing off with two dozen onlookers grated his nerves raw. Why he’d chosen to interact with the public all day in a too-hot box surrounded by things that could eat and kill him, he’d never know. Felt right at the time, he guessed.
And now the park had a death on its hands. Nothing short of a miracle would convince the superintendent to close it. With over five million visitors a year—charged a minimum of thirty-five dollars a vehicle—Zion National Park was one of the most sought-after attractions in the west. The last time the National Park Service had been asked to evacuate Zion had been at the FBI’s request during a violent manhunt that ended with an agent and one of Branch’s fellow rangers almost dying in the process.
Park Service members had all signed on to protect the park from the people and the people from the park. They knew what they were getting themselves into. Knew the risks. But a hiker who hadn’t followed personal safety suggestions before attacking the tallest and steepest trail in the park? This was just another day in Branch’s book.
The line of bystanders closed in with their phones and cameras at the ready, questions and whispers and theories flying back and forth. Group mentality tended to do that. It took morality out of the equation. While having a hiker take a dive off one of the country’s most dangerous trails wasn’t an every day occurrence, Branch wasn’t going to give anyone a shot at disgracing the body. “No photos. Step back. I won’t tell you a second time.”
Pressure built as eyes turned toward him him. Amid the crowd, he noted a flash of pink. A burn that had nothing to do with unobstructed sun bearing down on him lit up under his skin. Heaven help them all if Risner had called her in to help with this mess.
Lila Jordan, or more accurate, the bane of his existence.
The Barbie-like ranger bypassed the crowd and cut straight toward him, a smile plastered on her face. Shiny blond hair had been sleeked back into a ponytail beneath her Stetson, but she’dspent time curling the ends for added bounce. As always. No other female ranger in this park went so far as to wear makeup or keep up her hot pink manicure. And did she just wave at him? “Hi, Branch. Great job on crowd control!”
A growl resonated in his chest as he tracked her to the inner circle of rangers assessing the body. What the hell had Risner been thinking, hiring a woman who accessorized her uniform like Cupid threw up after an all-night Valentines Day binge?
The district ranger himself followed close on Lila’s heels without so much as throwing Branch a glance, his eyes glued to her backside. Risner hadn’t been thinking with the head above his belt, that was for sure, despite the thick gold band on his ring finger.
Acid curdled in Branch’s stomach at the thought of the district ranger leering at Lila or any of the other female rangers in the service. While Branch would do anything to get out of a shift with Ranger Barbie—her enthusiasm and nonstop talking produced some of the most vicious migraines in existence—she didn’t deserve her boss’s lewd attention.
Though he doubted Lila hadn’t used it to her advantage once or twice. Women like her were used to getting what they wanted through any means necessary, just like his ex-wife, with no concern for the trail of bodies in their wake. Lila had probably manipulated Risner into allowing her to join this investigation with a few bats of those long eyelashes and glossed lips. He wouldn’t put it past her. Couldn’t fault her, either, considering Risner’s penchant for overlooking female rangers for the high-priority assignments. Zion didn’t have more than a handful, but they were as crucial to running this place and keeping visitors alive as their male counterparts.
The burn beneath his skin was on the verge of consuming him at the thought of Lila using her beauty to influence Risner. Sheprobably gave that son of a bitch the same smile she’d flashed him.
Nope. Didn’t matter. Wasn’t his business.
“Someone fell?” A visitor craned her head over Branch’s shoulder to get a better look at the scene, a feat in and of itself. Her cracked lips told him she hadn’t drunk enough water in these temperatures. If she didn’t rectify that soon, he’d have to haul her out of here when she collapsed from dehydration.
Branch set his unimpressed gaze on her, watchful of any others who might think to break the line he’d created to give rangers the space they needed. “I’m not at liberty to say.”
Still craning to see around his large frame, the visitor hiked onto her tiptoes, swaying toward him. She slapped her hand against his arm to catch herself. “Do you know who she was?”
“What part ofI’m not at liberty to saydidn’t you understand?” He shucked her hand from his arm.
