Page 40 of Nothing But Air

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

“Would it matter if I was?” The question was quiet. Almost tentative.

Eden’s heart stuttered. Yes. It would matter. It would matter a lot.

But she wasn’t ready to say that. Not yet.

“Kyle and Landon were best friends.” She kept her voice steady. “Of course he’s protective.”

“Maybe.” Teague’s eyes searched hers. “Just be careful around him, okay?”

She wanted his warning to be jealousy—that would keep things simple. But nothing was simple now. Not team assignments. Not old friendships. Not the way hope kept nudging her forward. “I’ll be careful.”

He nodded, shouldering his pack. “Training climb at six a.m. Get some rest.”

He paused at the door. Turned back. “And Eden?”

“Yeah?”

“For the record”—a half smile tugged at his mouth—“I’m definitely jealous.”

He left before she could respond.

Eden stood alone in the conference room, lingering scent of old coffee in the air, midday light slanting through dusty windows.

I’m definitely jealous.

Her pulse was still racing. But beneath the flutter, unease settled in her chest.

Teague was probably overreacting about Kyle. Kyle was protective, sure. Maybe intense after two years. But that was just his personality. How he’d always been—looking out for her, checking on her.

Except…

She’d chosen to keep him on the other team. Made that decision quickly, instinctively, before she’d really thought it through.

Why?

Eden gathered her notes, trying to shake the feeling that she was missing something. Something about the way Kyle’s eyes tracked her movements. The way his hand kept finding reasons to touch her.

Tomorrow, training. Then head into the backcountry with the rise of the sun on Saturday. Two teams. Eight climbers. One cache hidden somewhere in miles of vertical wilderness.

And she couldn’t shake her concern about Marcus.

Or Teague’s warning about Kyle.

She just hoped they were both wrong.

Five

This was supposed to be the easy part.

The following morning, Teague stared up the sixty-foot climb, fingers curling around sandstone that was rough under his hands. The rock still held last night’s chill, but the first sun rays cresting the ridge were already warming his shoulders. Behind him, boots scuffed gravel. Gear clinked. The low murmur of seven climbers preparing for what should have been a simple training exercise.

Should have been.

“I’ll wave from the anchors, Hamilton.” Kyle Morrison’s voice echoed off the sandstone walls, his grin wide and challenging. The guy stood near the base of Team Two’s route, chalking his hands as if he were preparing for Olympic trials instead of a communication drill. “Try to keep up.”

Teague adjusted his harness. “That’s cute, Morrison. You bring a stopwatch, or should I just use the hour hand to track how long it takes you?”