But as they walked, she forgot to worry about losing her way. The sun was a white flash of light, and though it was still shy of 9:00 a.m., the air was warm. She liked the way the light hit the red walls of the canyon and deepened the colors. The path inclined upward, narrow, pebbled with loose stones. She heard people laugh, and the sound carried so cleanly over the air, they might have been standing beside her.

Green became sparser as they climbed. What she saw now was scrubby bushes, dusty and faded, that forced their way out of thin ribbons of dirt in the rock. Curious, she broke off a spray of leaves. Their scent was strong, tangy and fresh. Then she found she had to dash to catch up with Hunter. It had been his idea to hike, but he didn’t appear to be enjoying it. More, he looked like a man who had some urgent, unpleasant appointment to keep.

It might be a good time, Lee considered, to start a casual conversation that could lead to the kind of personal information she was shooting for. As the path became steadily steeper, she decided she’d better talk while she had the breath to do it. The sweatshirt had been a mistake, too. Her back was damp again, this time from sweat.

“Have you always preferred the outdoors?”

“For hiking.”

Undaunted, she scowled at his back. “I suppose you were a Boy Scout.”

“No.”

“Your interest in camping and hiking is fairly new, then.”

“No.”

She had to grit her teeth to hold back a groan. “Did you go off and pitch a tent in the woods with your father when you were a boy?”

She’d have been interested in the amused expression on his face if she could have seen it. “No.”

“You lived in the city, then.”

She was clever, Hunter reflected. And persistent. He shrugged. “Yes.”

At last, Lee thought. “What city?”

“L.A.”

She tripped over a rock and nearly stumbled headlong into his back. Hunter never slackened his pace. “L.A.?” she repeated. “You live in Los Angeles and still manage to bury yourself so that no one knows you’re there?”

“I grew up in L.A.,” he said mildly. “In a part of the city you’d have little occasion for visiting. Socially, Lenore Radcliffe, formerly of Palm Springs, wouldn’t even know such neighborhoods existed.”

That pulled her up short. Again, she had to dash to catch him, but this time she grabbed his arm and made him stop. “How do you know I came from Palm Springs?”

He watched her with the tolerant amusement she found both infuriating and irresistible. “I did my research. You graduated from U.C.L.A. with honors, after three years in a very classy Swiss boarding school. Your engagement to Jonathan Willoby, up-and-coming plastic surgeon, was broken when you accepted a position in Celebrity’s Los Angeles office.”