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  Her instinct was to remove her humiliated and sad-sack self promptly from the grasp of this kind stranger, run back to her car, and drive until she was safely away from this mess. But she couldn’t leave; she was so damn close to it. She could feel it was here, somewhere hidden on this mountain. The Atros Fallis was here, the book of lost secrets, and she wasn’t leaving without it.

  Her emotions were rising fast; confusion, pity and aggravation all made her head spin. She was grateful to her rescuer, but she was more annoyed by her undignified hoist from sure death.

  “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” he asked, his mouth sensually close to hers.

  “I’ll be fine. Thank you,” she said, barely catching her breath.

  She placed her hands on the ground on either side of him to lift herself off his chest, but pain shot through her arms like an electric current, and she collapsed, once again, on top of his solid chest. His strong, flannel-covered arms embraced her like a cage so she wouldn’t roll onto the hard ground. She didn’t resist him, but only glared at the small cuts and gashes that the jagged rock face had sliced into her smooth and manicured hands. They throbbed and were becoming more painful as her adrenaline high began to wear off. She stopped herself from cursing as she realized she had forgotten to put on her gloves before rappelling down the side of the cliff. Now her hands and her ego were both damaged.

  Shit, she’d really screwed this up. This was supposed to be a quick snatch; she would’ve entered the cave, retrieved the book, and then been on her way to a new life with a new alias.

  She’d spent the last several months researching Claudius Smith and his connection with the Atros Fallis. This area of upstate New York along the Appalachian Trail was home to that notorious bandit during the eighteenth century, and her research pointed to this cave as being the last place Claudius had left the book for safekeeping.

  “You’re not fine, you’re hurt. Let me see your hands! You need first aid.”

  The man’s commanding tone put Andie slightly on edge and reminded her of her father’s harsh way of questioning her. He eased her up, using her waist as leverage, and helped her to her knees so he could better examine her tortured hands.

  A northeast wind blew hard at them, and the chill painfully penetrated her head. Even with her wool hat snugly fitting over her thick locks of hair, she still felt the cold drive through her like icy daggers. Dark clouds rolled in fast and shrouded what was left of the strong April sun. With this swift change in weather, the colors of the landscape transformed from vivid greens and soft browns to dreary, gunmetal grays.

  It was typical of early spring storms in New York state to blast in and ruin an entire day of outdoor activity. But Andie was used to hazy clouds masking Manhattan skyscrapers; she was not used to heavy fog over deep, rocky gorges and slippery hiking trails.

  She watched the rugged man before her look up at the sky and grimace. His face contorted into a sneering gaze of disdain as if to intimidate the almighty storm god that was lurking ominously on the horizon. His action amused her—his valiant effort to fend off bad weather with just a glare. The archetypal hero, right from the pages of Bullfynch’s Mythology— he and the storm god, two titans ready to duke it out. This, of course, was a very different kind of man from the kind Andie was used to being around.

  As an antiquarian who dealt with old, rare books and manuscripts, she was used to brainiacs who smelled like musty, ancient papyrus and century-old dust that collected on vellum book bindings. Except, that is, for her boss, Giovanni Tivoli—he smelled divine. Always impeccably dressed, too—not even an eyebrow hair out of place.

  Her rescuer stood, walked to his backpack and removed a first aid kit, then suddenly stopped. He tossed the kit to the ground and grabbed the nylon climbing rope that was no longer attached to the sturdy oak tree. He shook his head at the knot Andie had tied in the rope to support her descent down the cliff.

  “Why would you use a single alpine butterfly knot? You should’ve used a double instead—or at least a tape knot.” He followed the rope to the end, which was still attached to Andie and her climbing harness. “You don’t even have ascenders attached to your rope. How the hell were you planning to get back up to the plateau? Were you thinking you could just pull yourself up?” He tugged hard on the rope, almost lifting her off the ground and mumbling with annoyance. “Well, at least you tied yourself into the harness correctly, but the knot is a sign of an amateur. You barely made it off the ridge before it came undone!”

  Single or double alpine knot? Ascenders? She was lucky she’d remembered any of the safety rules on rock climbing and rappelling. She remembered when her family had been stationed in Georgia and she’d been seventeen with a monster crush on Sgt. Brian Sanders. Every year he taught the rock climbing and rappelling class at youth group for all of the bored and reckless army brats—and every year Andie had showed up with a face full of way too much mascara and lipstick for a girl who would be descending and ascending a sheer cliff. Even at that age, she’d been fully aware that there was only a thin piece of nylon rope preventing her from splattering on the rocks below, but it was all worth it—because always, at the end of the class, Brian Sanders would smack her rear end lightly and say, “Great job, Andie. Outstanding,” and flash his million-dollar smile. Well worth it. Well worth it, indeed.

  Andie watched the man puff hard through his nostrils as condensation swirled around his face in the cold air.

  “Do you want to tell me just what the hell you’re doing out here all alone, with half-rate gear, descending into a ravine—and to top it all off, with a storm headed this way?” he asked in a steely tone.

  He bent down in front of her and cared for her wounds, never once looking up into her eyes. An awkward moment of silence passed before he addressed her again. “We need to get off of this mountain. That storm is headed directly for us, ready to dump at least ten inches of snow.”

  “Snow! What are you talking about? It’s April!” Andie exclaimed, furrowing her brow as she rose to her feet, a bandage dangling loosely from her hand.

  “Don’t you listen to the news, lady? It’s all they’ve been talking about for days.” He stood up and grabbed at her bandage to finish wrapping the dressing.

  “You don’t understand, I need to stay,” she pleaded to him. “I need to get down that cliff and into that cave before this so-called storm hits.” Agitation grew inside her along with fear that she had just spilled the beans.

  Andie broke away from him and walked toward the oak tree to begin tying a double knot into the nylon climbing rope. Her hands were burning, but she knew she would find the strength to get through the pain. Besides, it was time for her to atone for her sins and correct the deceitful life she’d been living. Materialism and greed were no longer her rulers. Life began again here—right now, and the only thing that mattered was the contents of that cave.

  “Don’t make me carry your ass off this mountain!” He growled out the words, but he remembered to pull the rope gently free from her torn and blistered hands. He sighed, most likely trying to hold back any more harsh comments. “Listen. Maybe we started out on the wrong foot. My name is Brandon Clayton, but all my friends call me Clay.” He outstretched his hand to shake hers, but then pulled back with the realization that her palms were torn up. “Please, call me Clay. And you are?”

  “Well, Brandon, I’m Andrea Brown,” she said. She was so annoyed that he had threatened to physically remove her from a public place that she decided to address him with emphasis on his first name. She had no time to make new friends or pique the interest of a nosy hiker, even if he had just saved her life.

  She stared him straight in the eye and said, “Listen, thank you for saving my life and for the great field surgery, but I’m fine, and I really need to continue my hike. I’ll find my way back to my car before the storm hits. Thanks again.”

  She stood only five foot three, but she knew how to take men down to their knees. She was fair, with soft features and whea
t-blond hair that usually fell loosely beyond her shoulders, and a perfect, porcelain complexion. Everyone noticed her emerald green eyes well before any of her other attributes. She was self-conscious about their strange color, and she usually didn’t accentuate them with liners and eye shadows—only when seduction was necessary to get her what she needed. She had an athlete’s body; she ran five miles daily, and she held a black belt in Taekwondo. With her strong body and strong will, she knew she was more of a pain in the ass than a bad ass.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Andrea,” he began, “but these are some pretty extreme circumstances. For your safety and mine, I suggest we start heading down off the mountain.”

  He was calm now, burying his tough-guy attitude, but she wasn’t buying it. He was an obstacle she had to get around. He tried to fake a smile, but all he could manage was a distorted grin with his lower lip tightly pressed against his teeth.

  “What’s so important in that cave that you can’t wait until tomorrow or the next day to get at it?” he asked. “Spring snow storms like these ... well, they pack a punch, but the snow usually melts within a few days.” He smiled again, this time looking less like it pained him to be nice. “I’ll tell you what, I have a good friend, he’s a park ranger up here, and I’ll give you his number. Next weekend he can give you a personal tour of all the caves, mineshafts, nooks and fox holes of these fine Ramapo Mountains. Hell, I’ll come with you, too, and we can check it out together. The snow will be melted by then and we can manage a nice hike.”

  Andie smirked. This guy was good. Either he was desperately trying to get rid of her and lead her away from this cliff, or he was a real smooth character. She wondered if she looked like a Girl Scout to him, or maybe even one of those twinkie, brainless babes he probably enjoyed dating. He would flex his biceps and pectoral muscles and they’d come running. To be fair, Andie could see why—he was pretty solid stuff under that flannel, and he oozed a sexy confidence.

  He was attractive—a bit of a grizzly bear, but she saw potential under his olive-green flannel parka and fitted jeans. Dark brown, wavy locks covered his fair-skinned forehead, and as the wind blew, a set of chocolate brown eyes mixed with flecks of glowing amber were revealed. That same brown and reddish hue covered his face with a healthy week-old scruff. Andie thought he’d probably clean up nice for the right occasion— or better yet, the right woman.

  However, she was not that woman.

  She’d given up dating tough guys a very long time ago. Living her younger years among military families and cocky soldiers, and having a father who was away more than he was home, had left a bitter taste in her mouth when it came to dating alpha males—although she might still make an exception for Sgt. Brian Sanders.

  A frigid wind interrupted her thoughts. Hefty chunks of snow fluttered down from the slate colored clouds, sticking to the grass and the early spring buds of the surrounding oak trees.

  This wasn’t a good sign. She was saved once today from her stupidity and stubbornness, and she knew that whatever luck she had left would soon run out if she stayed on this mountain. It was killing her to throw in the towel, but freezing to death was certainly not an option.

  Andie threw her ropes and climbing harness into her backpack and winced as she felt through the bandages the sting of the open wounds on her battered hands—a harsh reminder of her carelessness. Next time I’ll tie a triple knot. Anger surged through her, and she was infuriated by her own failures. She knew better than to rush into a situation without being prepared. Fact checking and scrutiny were her job, and she was damn good at it—a definite asset to The Tivoli Gallery of Treasure and Fine Art.

  Clay reached for the straps of her backpack at the same time she did, but she tugged it from his grasp, trying desperately not to grimace with pain.

  She was suspicious of everyone, something Andie had inherited from years of working as an antiquarian. Sifting through rare books and dusty ledgers to authenticate an ancient carving or manuscript was her specialty. To get the best information on a priceless relic, Andie sometimes had to deal illicitly with shady characters—people who wouldn’t think twice about killing her for a priceless black market item. Tivoli usually sent bodyguards with her into the field so that no one could betray his top antiquarian or steal his money. But this time it was Andie who was betraying Tivoli. Now she could officially add double-crosser to her resume.

  No one could be trusted, and she wondered why this man was so eager to lead her away from the cave below.

  He smirked, then mumbled something inaudible and reached for his own backpack. He moved his arms swiftly through the shoulder straps with one fluid motion—as if he had done it a million times before.

  She squinted her eyes and pushed a lock of wind-blown hair from her lips. “And may I ask what you’re doing up here? Or are you the only one allowed to ask the questions in this interrogation?” She shot him an inquisitive look. “Do you normally patrol remote areas off the Appalachian Trail to rescue helpless women from sheer rock faces, or is this just your hobby? Most men I know go fishing or skiing to relax.”

  Andie was trying to get a feel for this towering figure standing before her. She knew it was only a matter of hours before Tivoli realized she was missing and sent those same bodyguards out to find her. His henchmen would leave no stone unturned until Andie was found and brought to him for punishment.

  But what if Clay was sent by Tivoli? A new hired gun she hadn’t met yet? She sized him up quickly, but he didn’t seem like Tivoli’s typical bodyguard or mercenary. He definitely had the brawn and the attitude, but she noticed something genuine about him—he was not like the typical juice heads Tivoli hired to do his dirty work. There was something sweet and familiar about his natural good looks, but she needed to be careful about whom she trusted. Tivoli would have no remorse about using violence, especially against someone who had just crossed him. Tivoli was about to lose money, and his record of dealing with betrayal was unblemished. There would be no forgiveness from him if she were caught.

  “All right, tough guy. You want to carry my pack? That’s fine. But it’s a long hike back to my car,” she said.

  “We’re not going to your car. This storm is coming up quick, and your car is most likely parked in the commuter parking lot near the train station. That’s about a two-hour walk from here.” Clay bent over and pulled her pack gently from her hands. He stared deliberately into her eyes, locking on as if he had become slightly hypnotized by their potent color. “In about an hour visibility will be nearly zero, and you’ll have to deal with the steep descent of that trail before reaching the parking lot. It’s pretty slippery, even without a foot of snow covering it. Oh yeah, and good luck trying to follow the trail markers in this soup. If this wind picks up any faster, you’ll have a complete whiteout on your hands. In my opinion, you’re screwed.” He turned away in silence and started down a narrow deer trail leading away from the edge of the cliff.

  He didn’t look back to see if she was following.

  Andie stood motionless for a minute, thinking out her options, but none came—although she was amazed at how he’d figured out where she had parked her red Mini Cooper. Maybe the meteorologists were wrong; it could be just a brief, uneventful snow shower. Even with their radars and satellite equipment, they were still only right half the time. She could ride back into town and get a motel room for the night. In the morning she would begin her trek again, but this time there would be no mistakes.

  The wind blew hard across the deer path and she noticed small, white whirlwinds of snow surrounding her like a thick fog. Visibility was quickly diminishing, and she could hardly make out the heavy underbrush that bordered the forest beyond the bedrock plateau where she stood. Tired and bruised, she began her silent retreat from the edge. Her head down with the sickening feeling of defeat, she followed Clay onto the deer trail and tagged along several feet behind him. She walked in his large footprints that were now vivid in the sticking snow.

  Why are y
ou trusting him? Use your head, girl.

  “Wait!” she exclaimed. “Where the hell are we going? And what am I doing following you? I don’t even know you!” She stopped dead in her tracks, and so did he.

  “Keep moving.” He didn’t turn around to look at her. Instead, he reached into his parka and pulled out a black wool fisherman’s cap. He fastened it tightly over his head with only the ends of his wavy brown locks emerging to cover the back of his neck.

  “I’m not going with you,” she said. “What if you’re some crazed, sexually deprived woodsman? Maybe you like to find stranded female hikers and take them back to your desolate grass hut—next thing you know the FBI has me on their missing persons list, and years later some unsuspecting hiker finds my remains up here in the woods! No way am I going with you, buddy.”

  Clay was still facing forward. He placed his hands on his hips and leaned slightly to his right. With a deep sigh, he began, “Yeah, that’s right. I like to come up to the mountains and cruise for easy women …”

  “Did you just call me easy?” she interrupted in disbelief, but her comment was ignored.

  “ ... who get themselves jammed up because they have absolutely no right to be out here with crap equipment, no food, and dressed as if going ice skating at Rockefeller Center.”

  Clay slowly turned to face Andie. Pow! Her cold, green eyes matched his own dark stare. She folded her arms across her chest as she stood facing him in silence.

  A Mexican standoff.

  Several moments that seemed like eternity passed, then Clay spoke first. “I’m sorry. I can’t help myself. Sometimes I’m a cave man. I’m not a serial killer or a deviant. I live about two clicks from here. Oh, sorry that’s ...”