Angel held in a grin. As he’d suspected, she’d done her homework. He respected that. She told him the basics of maneuvering, moving to and from shore and the best way to get in and out of a kayak.

“It’s all about center of gravity,” she told him. “What they mean is your butt. Get your butt safely in the boat, and the rest will follow. From what I saw on the videos I watched, getting in seems a whole lot easier than getting out. Want me to demonstrate different paddling techniques?”

“Maybe later,” he told her.

He picked up the small cooler he’d brought. There was a light lunch inside. Then they walked over to the dock.

“We’re going downriver a few miles,” he said. “I walked it yesterday and it’s pretty calm. Just remember, this is snowpack runoff. It’s cold.”

“So I shouldn’t fall in.” She studied the water for a second. “You know this only flows one way. How do we get back to our cars?”

“We’re being met at the other end. I make a call and a guy meets us. We load the kayaks and drive back here.”

“We could just drive both ways and admire the view outside the window.”

“We could, but we won’t.”

“I didn’t think so.”

He stored the lunch in his kayak, then handed her a life jacket. She slipped it on. He did the same with his, then put one foot on her boat to steady it.

“Ladies first,” he told her.

“Lucky me.”

She sidled up to the kayak, then paused. After shaking her head, she sat down on the dock, parallel to the boat, then grabbed the sides of the kayak and swung her butt over until she was nearly in the center. She dropped into place. The boat barely rocked. She pulled her legs in, shifted to get settled and grinned.

“See?”

“Beginner’s luck,” he said, and handed her the paddle. He untied the line. “Wait for me.”

She grinned. “You think I want to be floating down this river by myself? No way.” She put the paddle across her knees and hung on to the dock.

Angel got into his boat and untied the line. He pushed off and let the current carry him down until he was next to her. The current was a little rougher than he would have expected but still manageable.

“Ready?” he asked.

She nodded and pushed off, as well.

He stayed with her easily, watching her strokes. She was a little wobbly but not too bad. As she paddled, she got more confident and her boat moved more quickly.

The late morning was bright and clear. They could hear birds around them, and the trees had gotten their leaves. It was mid-May. The only snow left was high up on the mountains.

“This is better than hiking with that stupid backpack,” she said.

“Still too heavy?”

“I wear it for half an hour every night. It’s getting better. But I swear, once we land this account, I’m going to go find some shoe designers to represent. Or maybe a company that makes fudge. I’d be great at sampling fudge.”

He glanced ahead. “There’s a bend coming up. We’re going to paddle to the outside.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Because the river will move slower on the outside than the inside? Great. Next you’ll make me do fractions.”

She’d barely finished speaking when her boat was caught by an underwater current and spun halfway around. Taryn shrieked. Instinctively she stuck the paddle in the water to keep the boat pointing where she wanted to go. The back fishtailed before straightening.

Angel moved toward her. “You okay?”

She sucked in a breath. “I’m fine. I didn’t like that.”

He thought about the clouds that had piled up against the mountains the previous night. There hadn’t been any rain down in town, but he would bet moisture had fallen at higher elevations.

“There could have been some runoff,” he said. “The river might be faster today. Stay close.”

“Like I said, I don’t want to be doing this on my own.”

They moved to the outside of the bend and took the corner. As they did, Angel saw that what had been a smooth spot now bubbled with fast water over rocks. He swore under his breath.

“I heard that,” she said, looking in front of her rather than at him. “That looks complicated.”

They were already going faster. He pointed to the shore. “Paddle over there. We’ll walk the boats past this stretch of river.”

She nodded and began to paddle. Only she wasn’t making any progress. With every stroke she was being drawn toward the small rapids. Angel moved his kayak next to hers, then held out his hand.

“Come on,” he said. “Grab me. I’ll pull you to safety.”

She frowned and shook her head. “I’m okay.”

“You’re not. You’re inexperienced. Take my hand.”

She glanced at him. “I’m not doing that, Angel. If I stop paddling I’ll—”

Her boat spun away and she screamed. Angel dug in deep, paddling toward her as quickly as he could. But she was caught in some current he couldn’t see, and no matter how hard he stroked, she kept slipping farther and farther away.

“Taryn!” he yelled, furious at her for not reaching out to him and at himself for not taking better care of her.

She did her best to keep her kayak pointing downriver and toward the shore. The water flowed faster and faster. Suddenly her boat shifted left, then right. It turned around completely and she nearly lost her paddle. She bumped over rocks and screamed again, only to disappear around a narrow bend.

Angel paddled as quickly as he could, searching as he went, wondering how long it would be before he saw her overturned kayak floating ahead of him or bumping into shore.

He reminded himself she was wearing a life jacket and the water wasn’t deep. Sure, it was cold, but she could survive for a few minutes, until he could pull her to safety. Only the tightness in his chest warned him there were a thousand ways she could be injured in seconds on the river. Or worse.

He alternately prayed and swore as he paddled down the river and yelled her name. He saw nothing on either side, nothing in the water. Then he spotted the kayak pulled up onshore and Taryn standing next to it.

He surged forward, willing the boat to go faster. The bow had barely touched land before he was out and running toward her. She stood in place, her face pale, her arms tight across her chest. She was dry, he noted as he grabbed her by the upper arms and shook her.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he demanded, his voice harsh and loud. “You could have been killed. You don’t know what you’re doing. Why didn’t you grab my hand? Goddammit, that’s all you had to do.”

* * *

TARYN KNEW IN her head that eventually the shaking would stop. The adrenaline would fade and she would be able to breathe and talk and think. But right now there was only trembling and the exhaustion left behind as the fear slowly drained away.

Angel glared at her, his fury tangible. She wasn’t afraid of him—she understood she’d scared him. She’d scared herself. When the water had captured her, she’d wondered if she was going to drown on a stupid river in some backwoods wilderness outside Fool’s Gold.

She’d fought to stay in control of her kayak. She’d learned that much from the videos she’d watched on YouTube. She’d tried to point the bow in the direction she was going—sort of like coming out of a skid in her car. Only the river had been way more powerful and she’d been swept away.

Once she’d rounded the second bend, the water had slowed and she’d been able to paddle to shore. What had seemed like a lifetime had probably taken thirty seconds. Now she was left with the physical aftermath and the terrified, angry man standing in front of her.

“Dammit, don’t you trust me?” he asked.

She pressed her lips together. “I want to,” she managed, her voice only trembling a little. “But I can’t.”

He dropped his hands to his sides and stared at her. She read confusion and what might have been pain. Because he wouldn’t understand. He would think it was personal. That she didn’t trust him, when in truth, she didn’t trust anyone.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He turned away. “No problem. Let me figure out where we are. I’ll get the guy to meet us with the trailer and we’ll get out of here. You can go home.”

He was dismissing her. Dismissing them. Gone was the teasing, sexy man who had intrigued and delighted her. And while she hadn’t been looking for a happily ever after, she had wanted to keep seeing Angel. To learn more about him. She’d wanted to make love with him and spend time with him. She’d wanted to laugh and talk, because being with him was both challenging and easy.

She wasn’t ready for this to be over.

He pulled out his cell and checked for a signal. After he shook his head, he walked to his kayak and pushed it higher on the shore. He removed the cooler containing their lunch and another small box. Inside was a more complex-looking phone. Probably the kind that worked off a satellite rather than a cell tower, she thought.

He began to dial.

“Stop,” she said. “Just stop.”

He raised his head.

She hugged herself more tightly. The shaking had faded, but the adrenaline lingered. She felt weak and scared but also empowered. She’d survived. Wasn’t that the good news? She’d survived and this wasn’t the first time the odds had been against her.

She raised her chin and drew in a breath. “My dad was a mean drunk. When I was little he went on binges every few months. When he did, he beat the crap out of my mom and me, but mostly her. Sometimes he just bruised her and sometimes he put her in the hospital. We lived in Los Angeles. There are a lot of hospitals, so she always saw a different doctor. She didn’t tell anyone what had really happened and no one else put the pieces together.”

Angel dropped the satellite phone back into the box and watched her. She tried to figure out what he was thinking but couldn’t. She knew there was no point in trying. If he didn’t want her to know what was in his head, there was no way she could guess. Better to simply get it all out while she could.

“He didn’t hit me much,” she continued, switching her attention to the ground. That was better, she thought. Safer. Dirt and old leaves, a few branches. “At least not at first. But when I was ten, she left. I came home from school and she was gone.”

Taryn remembered the shock of going through their small house and seeing all her mother’s things were missing. It was as if she’d never been there at all. She’d been crying when her father had walked in the door. She’d gone to him, expecting comfort.

“That was the first night he beat me,” she said quietly. “I was terrified. I knew what he was capable of. I knew what was going to happen next.”

“How often?” Angel asked.

She kept her attention on the dirt below. “A couple times a month. Mostly he bruised me, but every now and then it was worse and I had to go to the emergency room. As I got older, it was easier. If the doctor guessed I hadn’t fallen down the stairs, I said it was my boyfriend.”

She swallowed, remembering the pain, the humiliation. Trying to disguise how much she was hurting.

“I ran away when I was fifteen. He found me in a day and dragged me back home. Then he beat me until I couldn’t walk and tied me to my bed for nearly a week. He said if I ran away again, he’d find me and kill me. I believed him.”

There were so many other things to say, she thought. How her father was well liked by the neighbors. How he wasn’t one of those crazy men who went ballistic over unwashed dishes in the sink. That he’d never sexually abused her and didn’t keep track of whether or not she’d done her homework. That when he didn’t drink he watched sports and mowed the lawn and went to church. But when he went on a binge, he turned into the devil.

“When I was nearly seventeen, he was up on the roof, repairing some shingles. He asked me to bring him a box of nails.” She remembered that she’d felt safe because she didn’t think he was drinking. It was still early on a Saturday morning. He had plans with his friends to go to a Dodgers game later. So she knew everything was going to be all right.

She’d climbed the ladder with the nails. But as she’d reached the top, she’d seen the beer bottles next to her father. The fear had been instinctive. She hadn’t known what to do and her indecision had made her start to slip.

She remembered screaming. She remembered trying to stay on the ladder, and she remembered reaching out her hand to her father. So he could catch her.

He’d reached out, but instead of grabbing her hand or her wrist, he’d picked up his beer bottle and taken a long drink. Then she’d fallen to the ground and had landed hard on her arm. She’d both felt and heard the break.

Their neighbor across the street had seen the fall and had insisted on taking Taryn to the hospital. The woman, older and a widow, had stayed with her, claiming to be an aunt. Later, when Taryn’s arm had been put in a cast, the woman—Lena—had given Taryn five hundred dollars in cash.

This is your chance, Lena had told her. Disappear, child. Disappear before he kills you.

Taryn had stared at her. You know?

We all know. But we’re as afraid of him as you are. Go while you can. Go and never come back.

Taryn returned to the present and gave Angel the bare facts of that final day.

“I did what she said. I disappeared. I hitchhiked to San Francisco and got a series of low-paying jobs that barely supported me. Every week, I went to the library and read the paper. One day there was an article about a man who’d shot himself in the head. He was my father.”