One Step Too Far(Frankie Elkin #2)(16)

Except then it will be morning.

There’s always morning.

And he will want to keep holding me, because he’s that kind of man. A solver of riddles, a fixer of broken things.

But I’m not really a riddle and I am definitely not broken.

I’m just . . . me.

Nemeth is waiting in the lit parking lot. He has two packs at his feet—the giant yellow one that belongs to Josh and a smaller, hopefully lighter-weight one that I’m guessing is now mine.

“How’s Josh?” Luciana asks first.

“Detoxing. Others are back, prepping for tomorrow.”

Nemeth picks up the two backpacks, hands them both over to me.

“Organize your supplies. Know how to find what you need. Vans will be here at six a.m. Don’t be late.”

Then that’s it. He’s gone. Bob retires to his room. I follow Luciana into hers, where Daisy greets us with body-wriggling delight.

And I have nine hours to learn everything I don’t know about spending a week lost in the woods.





CHAPTER 6





Luciana claims the bathroom first.

“Last hot shower for a week,” she announces, grabbing a small bag of toiletry supplies. “Don’t wait up.”

I hadn’t even thought about that. Now I’m desperate for a hot shower, too. Instead, I take a seat on the floor with my personal bags to one side and the two hiking packs on the other. Daisy gazes at the closed bathroom door with longing, then sighs heavily and collapses next to me.

“Do you know anything about camping supplies?” I ask her.

She thumps her tail but offers no advice.

I start by emptying out Josh’s pack, making a pile out of the food, usable clothes, and miscellaneous camping supplies. I add my own meager collection of belongings to the mix and optimistically stuff everything back into the bag. Except it rapidly becomes impossible to zip. Who knew that a woman who can fit her entire life into one suitcase would suddenly have too much stuff?

I make a second attempt at paring down to bare essentials. Trim my six shirts to four. Likewise with the rest of my clothing.

I’m still debating pants options when Luciana emerges from the bathroom. She runs a comb through her wet hair as she eyes my project.

“Those are your clothes? All of your clothes?”

“I travel light.”

“No, I mean, no hiking pants, quick-dry shirts, wicking tank tops?”

“There are wicking tank tops?”

She sighs heavily, looks me up and down. “You’re smaller than me, but not by much.”

Height-wise, maybe. But build-wise, the Colombian beauty has curves I’ve spent my entire life pining for and haven’t managed to grow yet.

Now she crosses to her own gear, piled near the closet. “First up, don’t bother with the jeans,” she informs me. “Denim gets too heavy, leads to chafing.”

“Chafing?” I eye my jeans warily, having had no idea of their hidden dangers.

“Try these.” She throws me a pair of olive-colored pants. They are incredibly lightweight, with a drawstring waist, a multitude of pockets, and zippers that encircle both pant legs. To turn the pants into shorts, I realize. I’m already impressed. Talk about a clothing item designed for the minimalist on the go.

Next, Luciana throws me two tank tops and one button-up baby blue shirt. The fabrics are lighter and silkier than anything I own, clearly some kind of quick-dry blend. I finger each piece in admiration as Luciana heads back to my hiking bag and yanks out everything I’ve managed to wedge in thus far.

“But,” I protest, “Nemeth approved these items. I swear it. We already reviewed them!”

She ignores me completely, continuing with her inspection. “All right, Josh might be a drunk, but at least he knew what he was doing. Notice you have redundancy. Waterproof matches plus a butane lighter, first aid kit plus moleskin, headlamp plus a flashlight. Hope for the best but plan for the worst, as the saying goes.”

“Sure.”

“Now, you want to spread out what you’re carrying. Say, stash the matches in your pack, put the butane lighter in your pocket. That way if you and your pack are ever separated, you still have the power to make fire.”

“Nemeth told me to strap the knife to my person.” I unsheathe the tactical blade, holding it up for her inspection.

“Holy shit. I carry a basic wilderness knife, but it’s half this size and not nearly so serious.” She takes Josh’s knife, the overhead light of the motel room winking off the wicked-looking serrated edge. “I’d put this up there with an assault weapon. Something a special ops team might carry.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“I don’t know. Guess it means Josh has serious tastes in knives.”

There’s something in her voice, however, a slight hesitation, that leaves me unsettled. In my line of work, it’s not what people tell you but what they don’t that is often more important.

“Okay, back to Wilderness One-oh-one.” Luciana returns her attention to my pile of gear. “When it comes to basic survival, you want to remember the rule of threes: You can go three minutes without air, three hours without shelter, three days without water, and three weeks without food. Prioritize accordingly.”