Hannah feels suddenly very defensive. She was shy yesterday, but on the job, she has the utmost confidence. “Yes,” she snaps. “I report the news.” She points to the paper. “That is news, whether you like it or not.”

  “This is no one’s business,” he says. “You don’t understand what you’ve done.”

  “Help me understand,” she says. “Tell me.”

  “Why? So you can put it in the fucking paper?”

  Hannah doesn’t respond. The two of them are standing in the grass outside of the building. The air is chilly, and the gray sky creates a melancholy ambience. This isn’t how she wanted their next meeting to go.

  Logan takes a deep breath. It seems like much of his anger has drained from him. He’s still upset, but the anger has turned to something else. Resignation. Helplessness.

  “I tried to call you,” Hannah says. “You didn’t answer.”

  “Would it have made a difference?” Logan says. “If you’d reached me and I’d asked you not to run the story?”

  “Probably not.”

  There’s a bench in the grass for people to sit and read the paper. Logan flops onto it and holds his head in his hands.

  “Look,” Hannah says, sitting next to him. “I’m sorry, but this is a good story. ‘A hero passerby saves a young girl from drowning.’ People complain all the time that newspapers only report the bad news. Here is a feel-good story—someone doing something good, something heroic. I’m sorry you don’t like it, but I’m glad I wrote it.”

  She wants him to see that he did a good thing and that people should know about it. This is the kind of news people like to read about, not the wars and murders and government corruption that always dominate headlines.

  She tries to place her hand on his shoulder, but he jerks away. She has a sick, sinking feeling in her stomach. Yesterday, they were practically ready to make out. Today, she can’t even lay a comforting hand on his shoulder without him flinching. It hits her then: they’re never going to go out on a date. They’ll probably never even be friends. Her chances of any kind of relationship with him have vanished like a ripple on a pond.

  “Aren’t I entitled to my privacy?” Logan says.

  She shrugs. “You did something in a public place where there were witnesses. You’re entitled to say no to an interview, but if there are other people I can interview, then there’s nothing you can do to stop me from talking to them and reporting on what they say.”

  “Is there ever a time when you wouldn’t report something you thought was newsworthy?”

  “No.”

  Logan takes a deep breath and seems to relax a little with the exhalation.

  “How is the girl, by the way?” he asks.

  Now Hannah beams again—a big, genuine, heartfelt smile. “She’s doing great.”

  Hannah explains that the little girl’s name is Patricia—everyone calls her Patty—and that her father, a doctor from San Francisco, had rented the cabin for a few weeks to spend time with his two girls.

  “He said he’d happily pay you a reward for saving her,” Hannah adds. “It’s the least he could do.”

  Logan dismisses the idea with a wave of his hand.

  “You know,” he says, looking down at the picture of himself, “I don’t even remember you taking that picture.”

  Hannah opens her mouth to speak, and he cuts her off.

  “I’m sorry I got so mad,” he says, “but I’m a private person. I don’t like a lot of attention.”

  “Well,” Hannah says, reluctantly, “I’ve got some bad news for you.”

  Logan stares at her, waiting.

  “There’s more than just a picture,” she says. “I actually took a whole video. It’s up on our website right now. It’s gotten a lot of hits. It’s gone viral, actually.”

  Logan squints at her. “What does that mean?”

  “It means news channels all over the country are showing it.”

  “Goddamn it!” Logan says, bolting to his feet, his anger back in full force, like a smoldering campfire reignited by a sudden gust of wind.

  “It’s a great video,” Hannah says. “Very moving. Very inspiring.”

  Logan begins to stomp off and then turns back. “Do me a favor, Hannah. Just leave me the fuck alone.”

  “There’s something else,” she says, but he’s already halfway across the parking lot.

  She isn’t able to tell him that someone claiming to be an old friend stopped by the paper that morning asking about him.

  Chapter 8

  I hardly sleep, and when I get up, it’s still dark outside. I sit on my deck and look out over the lake, waiting for the sun to rise. I can’t decide whether I should skip town or stick around.

  If that video is being played on national news programs, there’s a chance Marco will see it and come looking for me. The safe play would be to leave Lake Tahoe and never look back. But I’m probably just being paranoid again. How many dozens of videos like that go viral each week, earning a thirty-second spot on some national broadcast before they’re forgotten again? The odds of Marco seeing it are slim at best.

  As the sun rises and the sky turns from black to blue, I think about the life I’ve made here. I have no close friends, no girlfriend—yet. But it’s a new life, very different from the one before. Living in Los Angeles, plotting jobs with Marco. There was always the fear of getting caught. Or being betrayed.

  I feel like a new person now. I left that life only two years ago, and Lake Tahoe is only about four hundred fifty miles from LA. But that world seems like it was a lifetime ago. Those memories seem like something that happened to another person, on another planet entirely.

  If I run, I’ll feel like I never left that life at all, like I’ve been playing pretend the last two years. But if I stay, keep putting down roots, maybe this life will continue to feel more and more like my life.

  Yesterday’s clouds have broken up. Sunlight reflects like golden scales off the water. It looks like it’s going to be a nice day to go hiking. I go back inside and begin to get my gear together. One thing is for sure: regardless of whether I decide to stay or go, I need to hike up to Lake Aloha.

  That’s where I’ve hidden the diamonds. I was heading to their hiding spot two days ago before Hannah spotted the girl in the water.

  When I first moved here, it seemed like a good idea. I’d broken away from all my contacts in LA, so I didn’t have a fence who could sell the diamonds. I would only ever be able to sell one or two at a time without drawing attention to myself, which was fine for me since I wanted to make the money last the rest of my life anyway.

  But I needed a place to keep them. Hiding them in my house seemed like a bad idea, no matter how well hidden they were. If anyone ever investigated me—or came looking for me—I didn’t want the diamonds to be anywhere close.

  So I found the perfect hiding spot in the wilderness, and I go up there a couple of times a year to grab a few stones that I can take to Reno or Sacramento to sell.

  As fall approaches, the first snow could be only weeks away. I have to get up there and get a couple of diamonds to last me through the winter. Or if I’m going to split town, I need to grab the whole bag. Either way, the hike is a must. I’ll have eleven miles of trail to decide what to do.

  I fill up the water bladder of my daypack and throw in some granola bars, trail mix, and sunscreen. I dress in cargo shorts, a T-shirt, and a sweatshirt. I lace up my Merrell hiking shoes.

  As I’m about to leave, my phone buzzes with an incoming text. I expect it to be Hannah, and I’m prepared to delete it. But it’s not from her. It’s from Claire.

  The text reads, It’s a beautiful day. Want to go for a hike?

  I stare at the words and consider inviting her. What would it hurt to bring her along? After seeing the intensity of her workout yesterday at the gym, I know she’s not going to hold me back. And once we’re up there, it shouldn’t be difficult to slip away from her to get the diamonds.

  As much as I enjoy hiking alone, I’ve been doing that for two years now. It would be nice to have a beautiful woman to keep me company.

  I text back, Getting ready to hike to Lake Aloha. Want to come along?

  I think briefly about the possibility that I’m putting this girl in danger, but I picture her smile and her sapphire-blue eyes, and I push any concern I have out of my head.

  Chapter 9

  At the parking lot, Claire is waiting for me, sitting on the tailgate of a beat-up Toyota Tacoma. She waves and smiles as I pull up, and I feel a tingling inside. She’s wearing a pair of hiking shorts and a tank top over a sports bra, a very practical outfit that is still sexy as hell, showing off her long legs and tanned, toned arms.

  The place is busier this morning, with about a dozen cars in the parking lot and people going in and out of the general store. There are a handful of passengers loading into the water taxi. I wonder if the news coverage has caused the sudden influx of visitors. Maybe people want to see where the so-called heroism occurred.

  The same kid is piloting the taxi today, and when he spots me, he yells, “Hey, man, you want a ride? It’s on the house today!”

  I explain to Claire that the taxi can bypass four miles of the hike.

  “Nah,” she says, “we came here to hike, didn’t we?”

  My heart warms at her words. It’s obvious she’s better suited for me than Hannah ever would be.

  I tell the pilot that we’ll pass, and he says that we can always get a ride on the way back.

  “There’s a telephone at the dock at the other end,” he says. “The number is taped to the phone. Just give us a buzz and we’ll come get you.”

  For a second, I think he’s going to tell everyone in the boat who I am, but he—unlike Hannah—keeps my identity a secret, and I’m thankful for that.

  Claire and I buy a couple bottles of Gatorade at the general store, and then we head out. The miles go by in a blur as we talk nonstop. I try to ask as many questions as I can, hoping to keep her from asking me too many details about my past. When she does ask me about what I do, I don’t tell her that I have a trust fund. I’ve learned from my mistake with Hannah. Instead, I tell her that my parents died, and I’m temporarily living off the insurance money.

  “It won’t last forever,” I say. “But for now I’m just trying to figure out what’s next for me.”

  “I’m so sorry about your parents,” she says, and she puts a comforting hand on my shoulder.

  I feel a pang of guilt about pretending that I have money because of my parents’ death. My parents are dead, but there was certainly no insurance or inheritance. I can’t tell her the truth. What would I say? That I’m a retired thief living off a stash of stolen diamonds?

  The trail is flat and shaded as we walk along the two Echo Lakes. We pass the dock at the far end and spot the pay phone the pilot was talking about, then the trail ascends and begins to get rockier. We hike in the shade of red fir and lodgepole pine, but they begin to thin the higher we climb. The trail is made up of rocks that are bleached white from the sun. The temperature begins to rise and soon we are both slick with sweat like the day before in the spinning class.

  We hike for hours. When we get close to the lake, the landscape is made up almost entirely of granite, with the trail interweaving around boulders bigger than cars. The trees that do survive this high are twisted and gnarled by the wind and winter snow.

  When we arrive at the lake, Claire says it’s gorgeous, which makes me like her even more. Lake Aloha isn’t beautiful in any traditional sense; it’s stunning because its appearance is so unusual. When you imagine a mountain lake, you might think of a bowl of water that’s more or less circular, its banks lined with pine trees and patches of green meadow. Lake Aloha is a misshapen body of water lying in a desolate granite valley, with strings of rock islands rising up out of the clear water. There are hardly any trees, barely any vegetation at all. The elevation is so high that dirty snow patches cling to the mountain peaks around us. The blue water seems to glow against the backdrop of barren rocky slopes.

  I tell Claire I know a good place to stop, and I lead her to a granite-sloped bank about halfway around the lake.

  Claire dips her hands into the lake and splashes water on her face. She gasps and says, “Holy crap, that’s cold.”

  “You want to go for a swim?” I ask.

  “Seriously?” she says. “That water’s like ice.”

  “You mind if I take a dip?”

  She stares at me as if I’ve just suggested something truly outrageous.

  I kick off my shoes and pull my T-shirt over my head.

  Her eyes drop to my bare chest and then she says, “Before you go getting all wet, there’s something I want you to do.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Kiss me,” she says.

  She puts her hands—still wet and cold from the lake water—on my shoulders and pulls me down to kiss her. She opens her mouth, and our tongues touch. I wrap my arms around her and pull her body into mine.

  It’s in this moment that I realize there is no way I’m skipping town now.

  Consequences be damned.

  Chapter 10

  After we’ve made out, and then eaten lunch, and then made out some more, I realize that I still need to get to the diamonds. It’s midafternoon, and we should probably head back soon. I can’t put it off any longer.

  “I’m going to take that dip now,” I say.

  “Maybe I’ll go with you,” she says.

  I’m worried for a moment, but I don’t think she’ll actually go through with it. The lake is pure snowmelt. Even in the warmest summer months, the water probably never gets above seventy degrees.

  Claire kicks off her shoes, and we wade out into the water together. Cold engulfs my feet, and pain crawls up my legs, as if the chill is a living thing creeping through my bloodstream.

  Claire inhales sharply and makes it as far as her knees, and then she splashes out of the water and back up onto the bank.

  “No way,” she says, hopping up and down. “That’s impossible.”

  Her legs are red up to her knees, as if she stepped into boiling hot water instead of cold.

  “You’re crazy,” she adds.

  “I’m just more acclimated than you are,” I say.

  With that, I turn and dive forward under the water. I swim for about twenty yards and come to a rock island about the size of a Volkswagen Beetle. I climb up on top to rest, but the air against my skin is even colder than the water. I wave at Claire and then dive off the other side.

  The lake is as clear as drinking water. Sunbeams shine down through the water as I swim over and around boulders.

  I bypass a couple small islands and finally arrive at an island a hundred yards from shore. It’s rounded and about the size of a small backyard, rising up like the back of a white whale. I recognize it because of one gnarled tree that’s growing out of the rock like the twisted, arthritic hand of a skeleton, beckoning me to my buried treasure.

  The stone bank angles into the water, and I crawl up on the rock and lie on my back. My chest heaves. My body feels like it’s glowing. After a minute, I rise, my limbs trembling. I wave at Claire, who is sitting on the bank.

  I walk across the island, my wet feet slapping the granite. I find the crack I recognize, a point where two slabs of rock come together, and follow it to the edge of the water. There is a sheer drop-off on this side of the island.

  I take a deep breath and dive straight down. The water is colder the deeper I get, like ice packed around my body. I keep my eyes open, and the cold seeps into my sockets. My ears ache from the depth.

  A few feet from the bottom, there is a seam where two veins of rock come together. I run my hands along it and find the spot: a crevice about six inches wide. I reach my arm inside the crack, nearly to my shoulder. I pull out a small cloth satchel, then swim to the surface and catch my breath.

  There’s an underwater shelf about a foot wide that I can balance on, where the arc of the island keeps me hidden from Claire. I untie the satchel and pull out a plastic sandwich bag, packed full of diamonds. Even through the plastic bag, they glint in the sunlight.

  I take three diamonds about the size of peas and shove them down into the pocket of my cargo shorts. I think about it and then grab a couple smaller ones. The smaller they are, the easier to sell. I zip up the bag and hesitate again. I pull out several more—a combination of big ones and little ones.

  “Okay,” I say aloud, “that’s enough.”

  After I dive back under and replace the bag, I swim back toward shore. My arms and legs feel like they’re strapped to twenty-pound weights. My lungs strain to pull in enough air.

  At the bank, I flop down on top of the sun-warmed granite and try to get my breathing under control. Claire sits next to me and gives me her brightest, most beautiful smile.

  “You disappeared there for a minute,” she says. “What happened?”

  “I was looking for sunken treasure,” I say.

  “Find any?”

  “Nope,” I say. “It was back here waiting for me all along.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” I say, and I pull her down to kiss me.

  When we’re finished making out for the third time today, we sit up and stare out at the lake, enjoying the view one last time. The sun is starting to sink in the sky, and I tell Claire that we probably ought to take the water taxi back.

  “We don’t want to get caught out here in the dark,” I say. “Besides, I’m pooped from that swim.”

  “That’s too bad,” she says, giving me a flirtatious smile. “I was hoping you’d still have some energy when we got back to town.”

  “Oh,” I say. “Don’t worry. I’ll get my second wind.”

  I begin to lace up my hiking shoes. My eyes wander back out to the lake. The island where the rest of the diamonds are hidden is easy to spot. The tree’s skeletal hand marks the location like an X on a treasure map. Or a grave marker.

  I feel a twinge of fear, like I’m making the wrong choice. The smart thing would have been to tuck the whole bag into the pocket of my cargo shorts and then leave town first thing in the morning.

 

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