At the man’s back, a vertical wall of sheer rock went straight up to a higher peak. In front of him was the woman and the sharp drop-off. Sneaking up on him just wasn’t going to happen. Either by luck or by design, he’d chosen a spot that was impossible to approach without being seen.
As Adam watched, the man gestured with his pistol for the woman to head south, away from Adam. When she didn’t move, he stepped forward. She backed up, moving perilously closer to the edge. Adam drew a sharp breath. If he didn’t do something fast, this was going to end in tragedy. He’d have to approach openly, giving up his element of surprise, and hope that cooler heads prevailed.
He unsnapped the safety flap on his holster—just in case—and straightened. Keeping his gaze trained on the ground, he boldly stepped onto the path in plain sight and whistled a tune—AC/DC’s “Highway to Hell.” It seemed appropriate at the moment.
Continuing to look down and pretending not to notice the couple, his hope was to get as close to them as possible and appear nonthreatening—just a ranger in the mountains, doing his job. Most people didn’t realize the difference between informational officers and federal law enforcement rangers anyway. They’d assume the pistol holstered on his belt was for protection against bears or other dangerous wildlife. Usually, it was.
In his peripheral vision, he saw the man shove his pistol into his pants pocket. Adam kept moving forward, head down, increasing the volume of his whistling and tapping his thigh to the beat.
“You gonna run into us or what?” the man’s voice snapped.
Adam jerked his head up as if in surprise, stopping a few feet away from the couple. “Sorry, folks. Must have been daydreaming. Pretty morning for it, don’t you think?” He smiled and waved toward the mountains around them. “Even with the blight from the wildfires, it’s still beautiful up here.”
The man watched him with open suspicion as if sizing him up and trying to decide whether Adam really hadn’t seen the gun. The woman stared at him, her green eyes big and round behind matching green-framed glasses. But instead of seeming relieved to have help, she appeared to be even more terrified than before.
Adam struggled to maintain his smile. “I’m Ranger Adam McKenzie. You folks lost? Got to admit I’m a bit surprised to see you on this particular trail. Know why?”
Tattoo Guy seemed to come to some kind of decision and offered his own smile that didn’t quite reach his dark eyes. “Afraid I don’t. Why?”
“Because the trail is closed, for your safety. It’s because of the fires last season. You heard about those? Burned over seventeen thousand acres, ten thousand of them right here in the park. Killed fourteen people, too.” He didn’t have to fake his wince. The fire had been horrible, tragic. Innocent civilians—including children—had perished in the flames. Families had been destroyed. The community was still struggling to recover as best they could. But nothing could replace the precious lives that were lost.
The man glanced at the woman, his eyes narrowed as if in warning. “Can’t say that I’ve heard about that. I’m not from around here.”
“What about you, miss?” Adam grinned again. “Sorry. Where are my manners? I didn’t catch your name. I’m Adam McKenzie. And you are?” He held out his hand to shake hers, purposely leaving enough space between them so that she’d have to move away from the edge to take his hand.
She looked at the other man as if for permission, then leaned toward Adam, her hand out. As soon as she grasped his hand, he pumped it up and down in a vigorous shake, pulling her even farther away from the edge.
“Your name, ma’am?”
“I, um... Jody. My name’s Jody Ingram.” She shook his hand, eyes wide with fear.
“Pleased to meet you.” Adam let her go and held his hand out toward the gunman. “And you are?”
The man’s nearly black eyes dropped to Adam’s outstretched hand while he clearly debated his response. A handshake required that he use his right hand, his dominant hand, the one that had held the pistol earlier. He’d be giving up precious seconds of reaction time if he decided that Adam was a threat and he needed to draw his gun. Which of course was exactly why Adam wanted to shake his hand.
Adam was left-handed.
And his pistol was holstered just a few inches from where his left hand currently hung down by his side.
Come on, come on. Shake the clueless cop’s hand.
An awkward silence stretched out between them as no one moved. Adam pretended not to notice. He kept his hand out, waiting, a goofy grin on his face. From the corner of his eye, Adam saw the woman watching them closely, her gaze sweeping back and forth.
Finally, the man mumbled something beneath his breath that sounded suspiciously like “stupid hillbilly” before gripping Adam’s hand.
Adam yanked hard, jerking the man off balance. The man stumbled as Adam grabbed the butt of his gun in the holster. But Tattoo Guy was lightning fast. Even as Adam began to draw his pistol, the other guy was already drawing his and swinging it toward him.
“Drop your weapon. Now.” Adam had both hands wrapped around the butt of his Glock. The bore of his gun was aimed directly at the other man’s head.
Tattoo Guy stood statue still, his weapon aimed slightly to Adam’s left, frozen in midmotion. But one quick twist and a squeeze of the trigger would blast a hole through Adam’s gut. The only question was whether Adam could blow the man’s brains out before that happened. Not exactly a competition he wanted to wage, especially with a woman a few feet away who was dangerously close to the kill zone.
The seconds ticked by. They stood frozen. The only sounds were the woman’s short gasping breaths as she watched the standoff, apparently too terrified to back away to a safer location—preferably behind a thick, solid tree.
Adam didn’t dare say a word to her. He didn’t even blink as he kept his gaze glued to his opponent and his finger on the frame of his gun, just millimeters from the trigger. He narrowed his eyes, letting the stranger know that he wasn’t kidding, wasn’t bluffing and wasn’t the head-in-the-clouds idiot he’d pretended to be moments earlier.
Tattoo Guy must have read the truth and determination in Adam’s eyes, in his stance. He tossed his gun to the ground.
Adam kept his finger right above the trigger, ready to fire at the slightest provocation. Everything about the man screamed danger, and he wasn’t taking any chances. “Turn around.”
The man hesitated, his gaze darting past Adam.
The urge to check over his shoulder to see what Tattoo Guy was looking at was almost impossible to resist. Did the man have a partner in crime creeping up on Adam? Or was he trying to trick him, distract him? His shoulder blades itched, expecting a bullet to slam into them any second. But he didn’t turn around. He focused on the known threat in front of him and waited.
The man finally did as Adam had ordered and turned to face the wall of rock.
Adam kicked the pistol out of reach. “Down on the ground. Put your hands behind your back.”
Again Tattoo Guy hesitated. Adam pulled a pair of handcuffs from one of the leather cases attached to his utility belt. He desperately wanted to check on the woman, make sure she was safe, that no one was sneaking up behind her. But he didn’t dare. Not until he had this guy secured.
When the man finally put his hands behind his back, Adam holstered his pistol in one smooth motion