"But you could," Rose said, "and you would if you had to."

"Maybe. You Camerons, though. Whenever I think about relocating here permanently, I don't know. I don't think I'd ever measure up, never mind fit in."

"Make a place for yourself and don't worry about the rest."

Ranger moved to the edge of the rocks and barked. Brett looked slightly panicked. "Careful. There's a cliff there. It's hard to see. The Neals will want to avoid this section when they're here for winter fest."

Rose knew the spot well. She felt a breeze blowing through the trees, down the mountain. "The Neals?"

"Aren't they coming to winter fest?"

"They are, but I don't know that they have plans to hike up to the falls again."

"Oh. I thought you would know."

"Do you know their plans, Brett?"

"I'm hoping to be their guide. Actually, I was up here when they hiked up to the falls a couple of weeks ago. Marissa Neal in particular loved it. It's so quiet this time of year."

"It is," Rose said, edging closer to Ranger.

Brett was shivering. Every other time she'd run into him, he'd been dressed for the conditions. It was no secret she'd been headed in this direction. Had he rushed to get here ahead of her?

"Jo Harper will be here for winter fest?" he asked.

"I would think so."

"Marissa Neal must be forever in Jo's debt for saving her from that fire when she was camping last fall. You heard about that, right?"

Rose nodded. "It wasn't widely reported, though. You must be tuned in to the Neals. Did Robert or Derek mention them?"

"Yeah, probably. I don't remember. There's been a lot of talk about them because of Jo and their trip up here." Brett dug a glove out of the snow and gave a self-deprecating laugh. "I didn't bring dry gloves. Another rookie mistake. And here I'm supposed to be a wilder ness expert."

Wilderness expert? "I thought you were a ski instructor and photographer."

"I am." His eyes narrowed. "What's on your mind, Rose? You look nervous. That's not like you. I don't scare you, do I?"

She'd maneuvered herself to where he'd fallen. There was no spring under the snow. No ice. She gave Ranger a subtle hand signal, and he immediately jumped up. "Ranger's onto something," she said. It wasn't true but she wanted to get back down to the road. "I'll see what he's up to. Catch your breath."

"Aren't you going to help me?"

She moved to the edge of the cliff. "If you need help, give a shout. I'm right here."

He stared at her. She saw he didn't believe her. He and Robert were of a similar build. Had it been Brett in the ski mask, Brett who'd shoved Dominique into the cabin and left her to die? Brett who'd killed Robert-and Derek?

And Jasper Vanderhorn. Was Brett Griffin the clever, elusive arsonist the California investigator had been hunting?

"Rose."

She heard Brett's undertone of intimidation and anger.

"It's okay. I understand," he said, getting to his feet, wobbling slightly. "You're afraid given all that's happened."

She had to act. She had no choice. She could stand there and be killed or take her chances and jump. Get away from him. Ranger was already charging down through the trees toward the road. Nick would be there by now. Elijah and Jo would be right behind him.

Rose pretended to slip and threw her arms up as if trying to regain her balance. She stepped off the edge of the cliff, doing her best to control her half dive, half roll in the deep snow.

She came to a hard, sharp stop against a tree.

Under ordinary conditions, she would focus on staying warm and wait for help, not take on the elements, but Brett Griffin would come find her.

Alive, he could pretend she'd been hysterical and he was innocent.

Dead, she wasn't a problem at all.

Twenty-Six.

North of Los Angeles, Southern California G rit entered a large, square room at a remote training site for elite smoke jumpers. Sean Cameron was with him. They approached a good-looking, fair-haired man sitting alone at a cafeteria-style table.

"Trent Stevens?" Grit asked.

The man turned sharply. He looked scruffier than in the picture. "No. Don't call me that. Who the h.e.l.l are you?"

"My name's Ryan Taylor."

Two minutes ago, as Grit and Sean had arrived at the training area, Charlie Neal had called with a message that his sister Marissa had finally admitted she'd sneaked off to California last fall to see her ex-boyfriend.

Trent wasn't happy about having company. "d.a.m.n. You've pulled me out of the zone. I'm immersing myself in this world."

Sean gritted his teeth visibly. This was his world. He knew the ground, the people, the stakes of the work done here. "You went to see Nick Martini last fall, didn't you? To ask him how you could go about doing research for a screenplay you're writing."

"Nick? Yeah, sure. I looked him up." As if they were best friends. "How is he?"

"Nick's fine," Sean said, barely containing his irritation.

Grit pointed to Sean and said to Trent, "This here is Sean Cameron."

"Nick's partner? No kidding. Wow." Trent laughed in amazement. "Incredible. Sorry I was abrupt. I get into what I'm doing. What can I do for you?"

"Even your family doesn't know where you are," Grit said.

Trent shrugged. "No one does. That's the whole idea. It's the only way for this to really work."

"The police don't know where you are, either," Sean said. "They've been looking for you. Don't you read the papers, listen to the news?"

"Some but-the police?" Trent frowned, sitting up straight. "What do they want with me?"

"I found your friend Portia dead the other day," Grit said.

"Portia? Dead?" Color drained from the actor's face. He seemed genuinely shocked. "What happened?"

Grit didn't spare him. "She was electrocuted while she was mopping floors at your apartment."

Trent turned ashen, clearly horrified. "She was fine last time I saw her."

"When was that?" Sean asked.

"Two weeks ago. I got into this smoke jumping thing. I've been up and down California, learning the ground, immersing myself in this life. I didn't want anyone to know the difference between a real smoke jumper and me. Portia was staying at my place. I swear, she was fine when I saw her."

Grit believed him. "Have you been in touch with her since you started playing smoke jumper?"

Trent didn't like that. "Playing? That's insulting. This is research. Actually, it's more than research."

Sean looked ready to throttle the guy. Grit said, "Since you started more-than-researching smoke jumping, then."

"No. I haven't been in touch with Portia at all. That would have taken me out of the zone." Trent shuddered. "I can't believe she's dead. Electrocuted? That's nuts."

"The Secret Service wants to talk to you, too," Sean said.

"Why? Because of Marissa Neal? I haven't seen her in months."

Grit thought Trent was on the verge of panic. "Did you talk to her about this smoke jumping thing when she slipped off to see you in October?"

"You know about that? No. I got her the h.e.l.l out of my life. Think I wanted to get in trouble with the Secret Service?"

"Who else knew about her visit?"

"Portia. That's it. I swore her to secrecy."

"What about Jasper Vanderhorn?"

"The arson investigator? People talk about him with reverence here, and frustration, because of how he died." Trent rallied, stretching out his legs. "I'm tuned into everything I hear, see, smell, do. It's all fodder for the script I'm writing."

"Fodder," Sean said, toneless.

Trent was oblivious. "Yeah. I got the idea because of Marissa, actually. When I saw her, she was still jumpy about the fire at the camp in the Shenandoahs. You know about that, right? She was grateful to Jo Harper for saving her, but then Jo had to deal with the prank Charlie played on her. Marissa felt guilty because of what her brother did. Little jacka.s.s that he is."

Grit redirected Trent before he could go too far off course. "So Marissa Neal got you interested in fires?"

"Yeah, sort of. I broke up with her before the election. Once I got a taste of the Secret Service, I was out of there. I couldn't function. I know I broke Marissa's heart, but it's what had to be. I couldn't do it. I couldn't pretend I could, not with Secret Service agents crawling all over us. I was honest."

"What was your next step?" Sean asked. "Once you decided to learn more about fires?"

"Actually, I'd decided before Marissa broke free for a day. I'd read about her close call. Then I ran into a wilderness buff who works as a consultant on sets. I figured it was meant to be. Portia introduced us, actually."

Grit felt a coolness run through him. "Did this wilderness buff point you in the right direction with smoke jumping?"

"Yeah. He knew about me and Marissa. He told me about Jo Harper and how she was from this little town in Vermont and a guy she grew up with is a smoke jumper out here." Trent's color deepened as he glanced at Sean. "I went to your offices. You weren't there. Nick was, but I didn't get to talk to him."

"Does your script have anything to do with arson?" Grit asked.

"No. It's a tragic love story. Deep."

The guy was full of himself, Grit gave him that. "What's this wilderness buff's name? Where's he from?"

"I don't know where he's from. Here, I thought. His name's Feehan. Robert Feehan."

"And he sought you out," Sean said.

Trent nodded. "That's right."

"When did you see him last?" Grit asked.

"It's been a while." The actor and would-be screenwriter didn't miss a beat. "I've been up here living the life."

Grit didn't let up. "And Portia Martinez? When did you talk to her last? Did you call her, email-"

"I called her on Monday or Tuesday. I don't remember which. She said Feehan was there and had asked about me and smoke jumping, if I'd ever talked to Sean Cameron or Nick Martini."

"What did she tell him?"

"That she didn't know where I was. Which she didn't. Portia's impulsive. I can just see her showing up here-" He stopped himself, going pale again. "I can't believe she's dead."

Grit figured Trent's grief wouldn't last long. "What else did you tell her?"

"Nothing."

"Nah, come on, Trent," Grit said. "There's more."

He squirmed in his seat. "I told her I'd heard Nick was on his way East. Other smoke jumpers mentioned it." Trent's color quickly returned and he shrugged, proud. In the know. "Everyone here's tuned in to what went on in Vermont with the bombs and fires and stuff." He glanced up at Sean. "They know what you did."

Sean had lost any patience with Trent Stevens. Grit said, "This guy probably killed Portia that night. You're lucky he didn't know where you were and come up here kill you, too."

"He's not a movie set consultant?"

Grit shook his head. "Nope. Not a movie set consultant. Would you recognize him if you saw him again?"

"Probably."

Sean produced color printouts of photos Nick had sent him of Derek Cutshaw and Robert Feehan. He handed them to Trent.