Page 126 of Nothing But Air

He nodded once, then started climbing.

The route was straightforward—good holds, nothing technical. But every foot he gained took him farther from Eden, left her more vulnerable with Kyle and his gun.

Trust the Rock.

The words echoed in his head unbidden. Then Eden’s accusation.

You talk about putting your trust in God. But do you? Because to me, it looks like the only one you put faith in is Teague.

His hand slipped slightly on the rock. He steadied himself.

She’d been right. All this time, he’d talked about trusting God, but in his actions, it was clear he was only trusting himself. Jumping gaps alone. Making decisions alone. Carrying Chip’s death as if the world had asked him to shoulder it.

He pulled himself onto the top of the spire—a flat area maybe ten feet across. The alcove was there, carved by wind and water long before humans even knew the canyon existed.

And inside it?—

The chest.

A steel box, worn and weathered by the years. The same fifty-year-old military-grade construction as the other two. Just waiting for someone to find it.

“Well?” Kyle’s voice drifted up. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

“It’s here,” Teague yelled as he wrestled with the latch. The hinges protested—rusty metal groaning. Gold bars, dull under the gray sky. Twenty of them, just like the others. And a velvet pouch.

He dumped the contents of the pouch into his palm. A key. Unique. Heavy. With writing on the side not in English.

Maybe Marcus’s father had been right about the safety deposit box key after all.

He pocketed the key and lifted a bar. And carried it to the edge where Kyle could see it.

“Twenty bars,” he called down. “Congratulations. You’re about to be a very wealthy murderer.”

“I prefer ‘entrepreneur.’” Kyle’s smile was visible even from forty feet. “Now bring it down. Slowly. And remember—any sudden moves, and Eden suffers.”

Teague’s mind raced.

Once Kyle had the gold, he and Eden became liabilities. Witnesses who could identify him. Climbing down was signing their death warrants.

“I said bring it down.” Kyle’s voice hardened. “Now. Or do I need to motivate you?”

The gun pressed harder against Eden’s back. She winced—a small sound that carried up on the evening air.

“You’ve got five minutes.”

“There’s a lot of weight here. I need Eden to help carry?—”

“Nice try. Don’t pretend to be weak now, Mr. I-Can-Do-It-Alone.”

The truth of Kyle’s words stung. That was how he’d been acting. But he refused to let Kyle see he’d rattled him. “You’ve been paying attention.”

“I pay attention to everything. Three and a half minutes.”

Teague studied the landscape from his vantage point. Behind Kyle—maybe twenty feet back—the ground sloped into a steeper descent. Smooth limestone carved into a dome by a long history of water runoff.

The kind of rock that would be slick when wet.

Dark clouds rumbled overhead again. The storm couldn’t come fast enough.