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want to exhaust her before the climb, so he let her walk in front of him. This way she could set her own pace, rather than struggle to keep up.
    Her other physical attributes were just as fine as her face. She had an athletic build, taut and toned, but not skinny. She was curvy in all the right places. Her cropped jogging pants clung to her slender thighs and cute ass. She had long, graceful arms. If she climbed with as much gusto as she did everything else, they’d have no problems reaching the summit.
    Sam wasn’t looking forward to the ascent. He didn’t partner anymore. Not with men at his skill level, not with women at any level. The idea gave him hives. He didn’t want to hold Hope’s life in his hands.
    Angel Wings rose in the distance, a massive wall of pale gray granite. This angel had dirty wings, feathering high into the sky. Mighty Valhalla stood directly across from her. Both monoliths had smooth faces, ribbed with cracks and handholds, etched by ancient glaciers. It was the stuff of climbers’ dreams.
    Hope stopped and flashed a smile, more genuine than the one she’d offered earlier. “Which route did you take up Valhalla?”
    He fell into step beside her, following her gaze to the wall. There were five or six charted routes with fixed pitons. Climbers could follow a trail that had already been blazed, or strike out on their own. “North Arete.”
    The smile fell off her face. “You free-soloed North Arete?”
    “Yes.”
    “That’s impossible.”
    He didn’t argue. It was the most difficult route on Valhalla, and a challenging free solo, but hardly impossible.
    “It hasn’t been done. Not even in the daytime.”
    “I did it.”
    She squinted into the distance. “How?”
    He rotated the elastic band on his wrist, uncomfortable. A climbing feat didn’t exist without a witness, so there was nothing to brag about. Glory and record-breaking no longer appealed to him. “Never mind.”
    But clearly, she did mind. “You free-soloed a 5.12 route in the middle of the night? Are you crazy?”
    “Maybe.” Probably. Yes.
    “Next you’ll tell me you BASE-jumped off the top.”
    He smiled at her horrified expression. “That’s illegal.”
    “So is backcountry hiking without a permit,” she said, her dark eyes flashing.
    “I don’t free-BASE,” he said. Some young daredevils were combining free-solo climbing with BASE jumping. Sam wasn’t tempted. He liked the freedom of climbing without gear; the sensation of falling just made him nauseated.
    “I’d arrest you in a heartbeat if you did.”
    Oddly, this conversation thrilled him more than the risky climb. He pushed the limits because he felt dead inside. Although he still had some capacity for fear, he’d lost his sense of self-preservation.
    What he’d retained, in overabundant amounts, was concern for others. He couldn’t belay a partner without anticipating a fall. His intense anxiety interfered with his love for the sport. He didn’t want to be responsible for another climber. Often, he didn’t trust the gear. Solo-climbing had become his only solace.
    Partnering with Hope would be excruciating.
    “Why did you report the accident, instead of checking it out?” she asked.
    “What do you mean?”
    “You could have climbed up to investigate the crash.”
    “Before contacting park authorities? That’s against rescue protocol.”
    “You’re a rule-breaker. We’ve already established that.”
    He scowled, guilty as charged. “I was afraid of what I’d find.”
    “Survivors?”
    “Corpses.”
    She tilted her head to one side, deliberating. “I suppose you saw a lot of those in San Diego.”
    He didn’t want to talk about it. “Have you ever done a 5.11?”
    “Yes,” she said, moving her attention from him to the wall. “I’ve climbed this one.”
    “Which section?”
    “South Ridge.”
    “With a partner?”
    She nodded.
    “Okay. I know that route, too.”
    They checked and rechecked the gear. He gave her a pop quiz on