Mount Veil. At just over fifteen thousand feet, it wasn’t the tallest or the most popular climb in Alaska. But the “fourteener”—any mountain over fourteen thousand feet—was worthy of any peak bagger’s list, especially those with the guts to go into the Veil. No camera crew had ever gone up Mount Veil. It would be worth seeing…and worth filming.

A chill of dread ran down his spine, the kind that only happened when a redhead was involved. He knew who he’d see before even opening the folder. Sure enough, a familiar face peered up at him, in the most professional headshot any of his clients had ever sent before a climb.

Son of a…sandwich eater.

Of course, it was River Lane.

Chapter 3

If Jessie didn’t stop snoring, River was going to throttle him with his seat belt.

She’d do it nice and slow too.

River wasn’t above sleeping in a car. She’d spent six months living in hers after the money she’d taken to LA had run out. Back then, she’d been too ashamed to tell her family how broke she’d become. There was something circuitous about ending up back in a car tonight, at the start of a new career that so far was not going to plan.

Parked in an employee overflow parking lot on the far end of the Moose Springs Resort’s property, River figured they’d have to move the next night. Someone would eventually notice they were parked out there instead of in the main lot with the rest of the guests, even if the closely encroaching forest made them harder to see from the road. The benefit was the sheer amount of wildlife moving around the parking lot, as if it weren’t a big deal for deer to nibble grasses a few feet away from their vehicle or a raccoon to spend all night trying to get into the bear-proof trash bin across the lot.

Their B-roll was getting better by the minute.

As uncomfortable as the car was, at least it was a roof over their heads. They’d moved the bulk of the equipment to the floorboards and strapped the suitcases to the top of the vehicle, giving Bree and Jessie each a seat to stretch out on to sleep. Since River had gotten them into this mess, she’d offered to sleep in the back, wedged between a tripod and the rear door.

River had grown up sleeping on a bedroll beneath the stars, three days’ ride from home and surrounded by cowboys. She was no stranger to annoying nocturnal guttural noises: snores, snorts, or worse. But there was something particularly awful about the combination of Jessie’s ear-shattering version of sleep apnea and Bree changing positions with a car-wobbling dramatic flop. Every. Single. Minute.