Her brain had been stuck on everything except what this could mean for Xavier and his training. Only now did it sink in how serious this was.
She’d been trying to figure out how to tell him he was going to be a father, while he was worried about security for the training. “You think the SEAL team is going to be ambushed”—she pointed to the pit—“with weapons that were stored there?”
He nodded. “The platoon is in the air right now, armed only with Simunition, and I can’t raise anyone on the radio to stop it.” His nostrils flared. “To be honest, I’m scared of what this means. It’s unprecedented.”
Xavier Rivera was scared. She’d been wrapping her mind around the fact he was a SEAL, and now he’d admitted to being scared. The math on that really only had one solution: they were in deep trouble. Plus, it solidly answered the question of whether or not tonight would be a good time to tell him he was going to be a daddy in late July. He needed to focus on this disastrous turn of events without distraction.
They could fight about the rest later. “Let’s hurry and check on George, then. We can skip the path up here, cut across the forest, and catch the cliffside trail with less zigzagging. You want to lead?”
He nodded. “Step where I step. Try not to make noise.”
She nodded. “I’ll do my best.”
He lifted a hand as if he intended to cup her cheek, but dropped it without touching her. “I know you will.”
He was fast and silent as he moved through the rainforest, heading downhill at a rapid pace. She kept up as best she could, trampling over ferns and dodging roots.
These woods were familiar territory. Four years ago, she’d run an eight-week archaeological field school excavation of the village, and they’d done plenty of test pits to find the extent of the site in areas where the ground leveled out.
During the day, the rainforest glowed brightly in shades that ranged from pale greenish yellow to deep dark green due to an abundance of mosses and lichens, which covered the ground, rocks, and trees. High and low limbs of Sitka spruces, western red cedars, and Douglas firs were draped with mosses and lichens, creating yellowy veils they had to duck under.
In addition, bright yellow and orange fungi sprouted from fallen logs and branches. Large green ferns covered the forest floor. In summer, the ferns were perky, knee-high, and shrub-like, but tonight, the plants lay flat, having been tamped down by several inches of snow that had melted a week ago. Both fern and moss ground cover softened the sound of their steps as they slipped through the ever-darkening forest.
The cold air smelled of moss, fungi, pine, and saturated soil. The scents all familiar to her in the darkening shadows. She knew this place, winter and summer, night and day. But for the first time, the smell—even the very feel of the rainforest around her—wasn’t comforting.
They passed a lichen-coated rocky outcrop where she’d escaped on field school afternoons to write up her site notes for the day, uninterrupted by her students. When George discovered her hiding place, he’d taken to joining her. He’d bring a thriller novel and a snack—often biscuits with elderberry or salal jam made by a cousin, or smoked salmon and crackers—while she provided a thermos of herbal tea. He’d sit in the shade and read while she worked. Sometimes, he’d take a look at her notes and quiz her on what she thought they’d learn about the village that he didn’t know already about his ancestors.
George enjoyed consulting with archaeologists and liked working for the park as an on-site master carver, demonstrating his skills for visitors from all cultures, but he was disdainful of her profession at times, and with good reason. Archaeologists had spent decades yanking other cultures’ ancestors from their sacred resting places and putting them in museums without any regard for the beliefs and cultural practices of their living descendants.
Anthropologists in all disciplines had a lot to make up for.
As she passed the area where they shared their daily tea together, she found herself holding her breath, as if the superstitious act would protect him and they’d find him safe and undisturbed in his cabin.
“Audrey?” Xavier asked in a whisper.
She realized she’d stopped walking in addition to breathing. She shook her head. “Sorry. George and I—”
“You can explain later. We need to hurry.”
Xavier didn’t wait for an answer. He turned and resumed walking. She followed, placing a hand on her abdomen. There were so many things she needed to explain to him later. Teatime with George was the least of it.
Minutes later, they were back on the path and reached the fork. They turned and headed down the trail that some visitors claimed was more suited to the park’s mountain goat population than it was to humans. This was an exaggeration—it was a safe trail for hikers if they were mentally prepared for the steep drop and pinch points along the switchbacks once they began to ascend the cliff. Signs were posted all over the lodge grounds and trail maps, directing the casual hiker and visitors with a fear of heights who just wanted to see the top of the falls from a safe vantage point to take the easier path across the meadow.
But the truth remained: this wasn’t a trail for casual tourists even in good weather.
They began their ascent up the first switchback, no longer sheltered by the forest canopy, the basalt ground bare of moss and ferns. From his sure stride, she could tell Xavier was undaunted by the drop-off. And usually she was fine with it, but she’d never hiked this trail in January before, when the ground was saturated and what little soil had collected on the rocky path was slippery. It didn’t help that she wore only lightweight cloth hiking boots not suited to the trail or conditions.
They’d turned the corner on the first switchback, and her tension began to ease. She could do this. She knew this trail. This was her park. It was home to her as much as her rental house in Port Angeles.
Xavier was a few strides ahead—showing no signs of being winded from the steep climb—and she had taken several quick steps to catch up to him when she planted a foot on a loose rock. She let out a yelp as she scrambled to regain her footing, and her other foot landed on more loose rocks.
She reached for him as he turned. Her reaching fingers missed his arm, but he caught her. He gripped the lapel of her winter raincoat and anchored her to the path.
Her heart beat frantically as her belly did somersaults. This was worse than the icy roadway. If she’d gone off the edge on the drive to the lodge, the SUV would have slammed into some trees. She could’ve been injured, maybe killed, but also might have survived with nothing more than a few scrapes.
But this cliff?
Right here, it was a thirty-foot drop down a seventy-five-degree rock face. She’d land in icy-cold shallow water filled with jagged basalt boulders that had broken from the face over the centuries. If she somehow survived the fall, she’d probably be knocked unconscious and drown before Xavier could climb down and save her.