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the crowd, but they appeared to be having a real argument, not a staged one.
    “Oh, God,” a voice said from behind him. “She’s in trouble. For real. I can feel it.”
    Cade turned to see Remy a few steps away, a digital camcorder in her hand. He looked from her to the tower. It took him less than a second to realize she was right. Instead of the graceful descent Jessie had been making a moment earlier, she was now floundering, her descent rope wrapped around one calf, her fingers grasping and regrasping the rope as if it were greased. She made a desperate grab for one of the knobby, molded plastic handholds and her fingers slipped from it like butter.
    “Oh, shit,” he swore. “Shiloh, stay here. I mean it.
    “Hey,” he said, approaching the trio of stuntmen. “Your friend is in trouble. What are you going to do about it?”
    The guy who had been running beside Jessie earlier—the one who looked least like a stuntman—groaned fatalistically. He looked upward, his face showing a full gamut of emotions Cade didn’t completely understand. Fear, for certain. But something else, too. Regret? “Didn’t I tell you something was going to happen? Why wouldn’t she listen to me? She thinks she’s freakin’ invincible, but she isn’t. Tell her I’m sorry. I gotta go.”
    He turned and took off running. The blond surfer dude started after him, but the other man stopped him. “Let him go, Eerik. Jessie needs us.” He looked to Cade for direction. Obviously, these guys either followed a script or waited for a director to tell them what to do.
    Cade looked at Jessie. She’d grabbed the second rope and appeared to be stable for the moment. From the corner of his eye, he spotted the rustic wood building that housed the Sentinel Pass Volunteer Fire Department. There had to be someone on duty, he thought. “Go get some help. A ladder. A fire truck. Something. And call 9-1-1 while you’re at it.”
    “No way,” the younger guy protested. “We can get her down safely. All we have to do is lower the tower.”
    The dark-haired one looked at Cade for confirmation.
    Cade threw up his hands. “So, where’s the operator? There must be a key, right?”
    The young one let out a low groan coupled with a colorful string of cusswords. “I forgot. He told me he’d seen this kind of thing a hundred times and was going into Rapid with friends. He won’t be back here until three.”
    “Let’s try the fire department. Come on.” The dark-haired guy took off like a sprinter.
    As he surveyed the situation, Cade heard murmurs of doubt and concern coming from the audience. Were they finally starting to understand this wasn’t part of the show?
    Then another sound came to him. A cry of pain—muted, but unmistakable. He stepped directly below where Jessie was hanging. The rope that had at one time been her salvation was now knotted around her ankle. She’d managed to grab on to a bright purple knob a couple of feet to her right, but he could see her fingers desperately working to maintain her grip. A second later, she lost hold and swung, pendulum-like, in the opposite direction, the back of her head connecting with at least two of the climbing knobs.
    His stomach turned over. No wonder she’d been so adamant about Shiloh climbing with protective gear. This was even more dangerous than he’d imagined.
    “Jessie,” he called out. “Your friends went for help. What can I do?”
    The minute she stopped thrashing, her body dropped like a plumb bob on the end of a string. Her ankle, the part visible above her shoe, had turned an ugly shade of purple. He could see on her face how much pain she was in. “A knife. Somebody get me a knife.”
    His hand automatically went to the small leather holster at his waist. “Could you catch it, if I tossed you one?”
    With what he knew had to be a Herculean effort, she wrapped her right leg around the rope and arched her back to look down. “I’ll try.”
    Cade heard others approaching.