Incident Command gave the go-ahead for the rescue—with the stipulation that they would be called back at a moment’s notice if the wind worsened, or at the first sign of lightning. Lightning would stop everything cold, as the guys up on the top, out in the open with the gear, would be in the direct line of danger.

Not that it would stop Aidan, if it came to getting Lily off the face.

From the top of the cliff to the outcropping was a good forty feet. And down to the river was a hundred feet more. The Zodiac couldn’t get in close due to the huge boulders at the river’s shore, but they’d stick around in the event anyone hit the water.

With the crew setting up the rigging, Aidan and Mitch pulled on their full-body harnesses in preparation to go over. They checked each other’s gear and checked the rigging setup to make sure the anchor points—in this case three tall, sturdy cedars—were strong enough for the three ropes they needed.

Aidan was in a huge hurry to get down there, but he still took the extra minute to double-and triple-check that all of the knots were properly tied and everything was correctly attached and tightened. Then he peered over the edge again, unable to take his sights off the all-too-still figure curled forty feet below, not moving. The distance was just enough to not be able to see clearly enough to identify or even catalog injuries, and that was the worst part. His heart kicked hard, and though he was trained to stay calm and alert and steady, his training threatened to go out the window.

Given the go-ahead, Aidan and Mitch went over the edge together, Mitch on the left of the climber and Aidan on the right. They made excellent time descending, aided by the blistering wind trying to tear them from the mountain.

They each landed lithely on their feet in the very small space on either side of their stuck climber, who was still curled up on her side. Aidan immediately crouched low, put a hand on her shoulder and she rolled to her back and opened her eyes.

Only it wasn’t a she at all. He was a kid, maybe twenty years old, lean and lanky.

Mitch, crouched on the other side of the kid, met Aidan’s gaze.

Not Lily. Not even close.

“Easy,” Aidan said when the kid jerked in shock in the very tight space. “We’ve got you, but no sudden movements. What’s your name?”

“Aaron Roberts.”

Mitch grabbed his radio. “Victim is Aaron Roberts, male, early twenties—”

“Nineteen,” Aaron said.

“Nineteen,” Mitch corrected. “No visible injuries.”

“Copy that,” came the reply from the incident commander.

“What happened?” Mitch asked Aaron.