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“Then don’t come as Black Heart.” Wyatt’s jaw locked. “Come as a man who cares about his friend. I’m going, with or without you.”
Carson opened his mouth to argue further, but both their phones went off at once, buzzing hard in near unison.
Carson checked his screen first, and something in his expression shifted fast, replacing the argument with something colder.
Wyatt’s app read the text rapid-fire. Before the words finished, he whipped toward the road where the love of his life disappeared and then spun toward the mountain in the distance. “Fuck!”
“One of the guys on the mountain expedition is missing.” Carson’s jaw steeled as he repeated the text they both read.
“Bradley,” Wyatt grated out, stomach dropping through the gravel beneath his boots.
“Went off comms two hours ago during a solo navigation exercise,” Carson read aloud as more information came in. “Storm rolled in faster than forecasted. They need someone who knows that terrain, and you’re the closest qualified person.”
Wyatt’s mind—and heart—split in two directions. Whitley—taillights already vanished—and one of his teammates lost on that mountain in weather that could kill a man in hours if nobody found him in time.
Carson accurately read the war taking place on his face. “Whitley is fine. This is a live emergency, Rhodes, and it’s your area. We need you.”
He hated every second of the decision even as he was already on the move to the SUV because a distant fear about an agent who’d checked out clean wasn’t the same as a confirmed teammate lost in a storm on the mountain.
Carson stepped up to the back of the vehicle and opened the gate. “Go. I’ll get a ride back to the ranch. There’s gear here. Should be enough to get you through.”
“Copy.” Wyatt was already digging through the bag of tactical gear. Finding a base layer, he tore off his outer jacket and flannel shirt and yanked it over his head. He geared up fast and leaped behind the wheel.
Carson gave him an appraising stare. “You good?”
“I’ll bring him back safe. You watch out for my girl.”
Carson nodded hard and stepped away from the SUV at the moment Wyatt backed onto the road and shot toward the mountain.
He met with the other guys on the expedition at the trailhead twenty minutes later. They filled him in fast, their voices thick with the worry they felt.
Wyatt quickly gave orders. In minutes they were climbing the same terrain he felt he’d walked months ago, in another lifetime, rather than mere weeks.
As they reached base camp, the storm hit hard. Visibility dropped to nothing within the first mile. Snow blew at them sideways and the wind screamed through the pines loud enough to swallow the sound of their voices as they called out for Bradley.
His boots sank ankle-deep in mud that hadn’t yet frozen completely but would make the ground even more treacherous within hours. And he couldn’t help but think about what would have happened to Whitley if he hadn’t found her.
Wyatt read the terrain the way he’d done for twelve years as a ranger, calculating where a lost, injured or disoriented man would seek to preserve himself. Considering that Bradley wasn’t experienced enough to fight the wind instead of moving with it, he would follow the wind direction and the slope of the land.
That meant Wyatt had to push upward against the heavy gusts to the place Bradley was last seen.
He turned and checked on his team. Taking in their faces one by one, he assessed how much reserves each had left. Silva still looked strong. Three others did too. But when he looked at the fourth, he saw he couldn’t go on and would be more of a liability.
He lifted his voice to carry above the howling wind. “Silva, you’re turning back. You”—he pointed to the fourth man—“go with him.”
Silva’s eyes hardened in surprise. “I’m good. I can keep going.”
He shook his head. “This is how it works. The strong with the weak. Jefferson doesn’t have the energy stores. Your job is to get him down the mountain safely and check in with Reno from there.”
He paused but only for a beat before he obeyed Wyatt’s command.
Waiting to ensure his orders were followed, he stood with the others, watching them go. Then he took the lead.
They changed course, shouting the new heading over the wind, and the others followed without question.
They found Bradley forty minutes later, huddled against a rock outcropping with a badly sprained ankle, hypothermic and barely conscious. But alive.
“Hey!” Wyatt dropped to his knees beside him and checked his pupils and pulse. “You’re okay. We got you.”
