This trip had definitely put her in the wrong place at the worst possible time.

“I can’t predict the future.”

“We need to talk about this, Brynn. I can’t have my wife risking her neck—”

“I’m not your wife,” she snapped.

“No. Not yet but—”

“I’m not going to be your wife, Liam.” She softened her tone but not the strength behind the words. They were absolutely true. She didn’t have any doubts about her decision.

He lay silent.

“I’m sorry, Liam. I’ve told you before I don’t want to marry you. And now…things have been so wrong between us for so long. I can’t give up what I do. And you shouldn’t ask it of me. I feel like—”

“I love you, Brynn.”

Her heart stopped midbeat. Not fair. “I love you too, Liam, but not the way I should.”

“How do you mean?”

He knew the answer. She heard it in his voice, but he’d asked the question anyway. She was finished with this conversation.

“I want you to move the rest of your things from the house, Liam. You know as well as I that we’ve been finished for a long time. You’re not coming back.”

His arm sank heavily on her side as she heard him exhale and felt him press his face into her hair. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling moisture prick at her lids.

He was silent for a long minute, not moving. His breathing heavy but even.

Brynn waited.

“OK,” he spoke slowly. “But first let’s get Tyrone out of these damned woods.”

Frustration welled up in her throat. He’d said “OK” to mollify her and simply put the inevitable off. Again.

Why doesn’t he understand?

Kiana barked, and Brynn jolted out of Liam’s arms, propping herself up on one arm to see the door. Ryan and Jim stood abruptly, weapons drawn, moving in the direction of the entry. Ryan was having problems focusing, and he moved slower than Jim. He shouldn’t be holding a gun.

“Jim? It’s Alex. We’re coming in.”

Brynn’s arm buckled and she collapsed to the floor on her back, bringing her hands up to press on her eyes. “Thank God. Oh, thank God. He’s OK.”

Beside her, Liam sucked in a sharp breath at her words.

A chorus of greetings rose around Kiana’s enthusiastic barks. Shaking off Liam’s restraining hand, Brynn pushed up from the cargo area and stood, leaning one hand on the wall for balance.

A snowy figure pulled open the door. Steel-gray eyes locked with hers.

Every cell in her body smiled along with her lips. The moisture that had pricked at her eyes earlier spilled over, and she wiped awkwardly at her cheeks, her gaze never leaving his. The men slapped Alex on the back. Brynn saw Jim take a hard look in her direction. She didn’t care. Let him think whatever the hell he wanted.

Thomas stepped in behind Alex, and she gasped as a third snowy figure appeared behind Thomas. Her heart stopped as she saw Jim and Ryan whip their weapons back out.

Alex threw up his arms, blocking their view of the other man. “Hang on! It’s OK!”

Alex turned, gestured the other man in, and put an arm around his shoulders as he addressed the team. “He’s got more protein bars.”

They all cheered.

Staring out the window of the county’s RV, Sheriff Patrick Collins couldn’t stop thinking about his earlier phone call from Kinton. Once he’d gotten over the relief and shock of finally hearing from his team, new concerns set in. Should he share the information with the deputies who’d been running the base camp for four days?

The accusation was too sensitive. What if Kinton was wrong?

Guilt was already sitting heavily on his shoulders about keeping his men in the dark about the new status of the team and airplane. He felt like he was the protective patriarch of a huge family, firmly keeping the closet doors closed. He’d already talked privately with the families whose men were on that plane. They’d deserved to know the truth as soon as he’d found out.

For now, he’d have to keep his mouth shut around any other law enforcement.

Especially Paul Whittenhall.

It was just a matter of sitting tight until the weather cleared and he could get some air support into the woods. According to Kinton, at least one man would need to be airlifted out. Tyrone Gentry. One good thing had come out of this clusterfuck. Patrick should’ve known the indestructible Gentry boys would land on their feet. He let a broad smile cross his face, drawing a startled look from the deputy manning the radio in the RV. Who other than the Gentrys would survive a helicopter crash in the damned wilderness?

Now Patrick knew where the plane was. Kinton had passed on what the team had agreed were accurate GPS readings. Patrick studied the map on the wall of the base camp’s RV. Physical comforts had improved since the initial days of the search, but the number of people was still increasing. A lot of the people were gawkers, not press members and not law enforcement. Just people coming out of the woodwork because of the television coverage. They wanted to be where the action was. Patrick hoped they were getting a good dose of boredom and frozen toes. Nothing exciting about this rescue. Simply the waiting and waiting game. Media numbers were still going up. One of his men had told him the story had gone international.

Especially when the marshals had publicly confirmed Darrin Besand’s name.

Patrick placed a finger on the forest service map hanging on his wall, touching the team’s location and feeling like he was hiding a classified secret. He studied the surrounding terrain. They weren’t camped too far from another river. The water worked its way down the mountain in a serpentine fashion, just like the one the team had originally crossed. The mountain rivers were at their fullest. There’d been flooding in the valleys as the heavy rains and melting snow flowed into the mountain streams and the streams emptied into the valley’s wider rivers. He’d heard the governor was surveying via helicopter parts of the flat coastal counties that’d been hit hard with the flooding.