“Everything that ever happened to me that was important happened in the desert.”

—Michael Ondaatje, The English Patient

 

“Maybe there is a beast… maybe it’s only us.”

—William Golding, Lord of the Flies

 

 

Chapter 1

As dawn crept across Death Valley’s Badwater Basin, the first rays of sun caught the crystalline salt flats like the reflection of a knife blade.

Casey Thornton sat alone on the worn steps of the observatory on a ridge above the basin, one knee pulled up to her chest, watching light spill over the lowest point in North America. The vast salt pan stretched below her like a twisted mirror, its surface fractured into endless geometric patterns. In the growing light, the salt crystals sparkled and shadows pooled in the fractures.

It was quiet and still.

No birdsong, no rustling leaves. No burble of gentle water streaming over the rocks. None of the familiar sounds she’d grown up with in England’s green and rainy southwest hills. Just the whisper of her breathing and the occasional soft ping of the observatory’s metal walls expanding in the rapidly warming air.

Casey came here every morning to savor these moments of perfect solitude when the desert belonged to no one, where she could imagine a past before humans walked here, and a future with nothing left but desert.

The emptiness gave her perspective. In the face of such majesty, she was nothing upon the face of the earth. Her past mistakes, however terrible, were so slight as to be insignificant. She could make it through one more day.

She took a deep breath.

It was late spring and, while the air was still cool, by mid-morning the heat would be brutal, especially out there on the salt flats. Her water bottle, slick with condensation, dripped onto the step beside her and Casey was aware of every precious drop of moisture. Back home, the English complained incessantly about the rain, but after living in Death Valley for even a brief few months, she would never take the cool damp weather for granted again.

A shadow passed overhead, and Casey tilted her face up, squinting against the strengthening sunlight.

A golden eagle rode the morning thermal, its wingspan casting a dark cross against the sky, now streaked with shades of pink and coral. She tracked the bird’s lazy circles as it caught another updraft, soaring higher without apparent effort.

It was free. Untethered. With no regrets over what it had killed.

If only she could channel that strength.

The eagle banked sharply, angling toward the deep shadows of Coffin Peak. Casey watched until it disappeared, just another speck of life making its way in this harshest of environments.

She looked across the salt flats to where the pastel bands of mineral deposits painted the foothills in streaks of rust red, sulfur yellow, and a pale green that shifted into almost psychedelic shades under a certain light. So different to the Mendip Hills near her home, where everything was a muted variation of emerald and moss, or slate gray and earthy brown.

To the east, the Amargosa Range caught the full force of sunrise, its peaks glowing amber against a sky that deepened from pearl to turquoise with each passing minute.

Closer in, by the edge of the salt pan, a stand of creosote bushes dotted the alluvial fan, their leaves gleaming with oil that filled the warming air with a sharp, clean scent. The bushes were scattered far apart, each one claiming its territory of precious water, unlike the crowded hedgerows and tangled woodland back home.

Everything about this landscape was different to England — its scale, its severity, its sublime indifference to human presence. Primeval forces had shaped the ground beneath her feet, with the movement of ancient lake beds, tectonic upheaval, and millions of years of wind and sun and salt.

In Somerset, centuries of human habitation had shaped every hill and dale, softened by sheep grazing and crisscrossed by ancient stone walls. But here, despite generations of humans struggling to tame it, Death Valley remained terrifyingly wild.

The perfect escape.

Casey inhaled deeply, tasting dust and minerals on her tongue. Out here, she could push away the memories more easily, and the echoing screams in that cave back in Somerset felt distant, almost unreal. The constricting stone walls that pressed in, stealing the air from her lungs, had no power in this vast, open space. Here, the horizon stretched on forever, and the sky was an endless canopy of light. Here, she could breathe.

The wind stirred, hot already, though the sun had barely cleared the mountains. It whispered across the salt pan, raising tiny dust devils that danced briefly before dissolving. Casey watched them spin themselves into nothing, remembering her grandmother’s warning about spirits of the wild places. About how they wouldn’t recognize her. She was not of this land.

She had called Casey mad for taking this job, for leaving behind everything familiar to work in a godforsaken desert with a terrifying promise in its name.

But that was exactly why Casey had come.

To find a place so vast and empty that its immensity would dwarf her ghosts. A place where she could rebuild herself in the stark light of day, far from the underground darkness that still haunted her dreams, and the people of the small Somerset village who still saw her as she had been in those dark days after the accident.

The wind gusted stronger, carrying the mineral scents of salt and sunbaked rock and something herbal — sage, maybe, from the scrubland below. Natural smells, clean and sharp, so different from the damp earth and moss she’d grown up with.

Casey glanced at her watch.

It was almost time to transform into the capable adventure guide, projecting confidence and competence and always wearing a friendly smile. Americans loved a British accent, and she loved the advantage it gave her, especially with the wealthy guests who came out here to experience a taste of the wilderness, even as they were protected from its dangers in every way.

Casey turned and looked down the other side of the ridge at the award-winning Desert Sanctuary complex below, its sweeping curves of glass and reclaimed wood artfully mirroring the undulating lines of the dunes, shaped by the relentless wind and the baking heat of the sun.

While the desert stretched vast and unforgiving in every direction, the Sanctuary offered an oasis of almost impossible luxury, certified as ecologically net zero to assuage any lingering guilt over its extravagance.

Private villas and suites dotted the property, some with infinity pools that seemed to merge with the desert beyond. The water sparkled in the morning light, so much precious moisture left to evaporate under the desert sun. But tasteful excess was all part of the expectation of the guests — and the latest batch would soon be arriving.

Desert style gardens surrounded the villas, giving the guests a sense of privacy while also making them feel as if they were actually out in the wild. Tall Joshua trees stood like sentries along curved pathways, while beds of desert marigolds and purple verbena added splashes of color that nature would never have allowed to congregate so densely. An intricate drip irrigation system kept the plants alive, all to maintain the illusion of perfectly controlled wilderness.

At the heart of it all rose the main Sanctuary building, crowned by its architecturally award-winning glass dome. The grand dining room and bar — on a raised level within — offered panoramic views of the desert, allowing guests to observe the harsh landscape while enjoying climate-controlled comfort.

All too soon the space would be filled with the murmur of voices and the pop of champagne corks. But for now, the dome caught the morning light — a giant lens focusing the sun’s growing strength.

Casey looked out toward the line of dune buggies parked at the front of the adventure garage, its wide door open to the morning breeze. She’d already checked that all were cleaned and fueled for the day ahead before driving one of them up the ridge to the observatory.

She ran through her mental checklist: Emergency supplies in each vehicle. Satellite phones charged, GPS units programmed with safe routes and danger zones clearly marked. The desert didn’t forgive mistakes, and she refused to let anything happen to her charges, no matter how reckless they might be with their own safety.

She’d learned that the hard way.

One moment of distraction, one failure to double-check equipment, and—

The drone of aircraft engines shattered the morning stillness and forced her out of the spiral into darker thoughts.

Casey looked to the horizon and spotted the small plane, a white speck against the now vast blue canvas of sky, making its final approach across the salt pans towards the Sanctuary.

There would be several planes arriving this morning with the guests for the week ahead, each expecting the highest standards of service as well as memorable experiences they couldn’t get anywhere else.

Casey pushed herself up from the observatory steps, brushing dust from her cargo pants. Time to become the professional they all expected.

She ran her fingers through her short dark hair, cropped close to her neck — a practical style, so different from the long waves she’d worn back in England. The desert encouraged her to strip away anything unnecessary, and she had wanted to transform, to be almost unrecognizable to those who knew her back home. She worked out in the hotel’s gym as often as she could, and she kept her calorie intake to the minimum.

Some might say she punished her body for its betrayal, but Casey only wanted to become someone different. Someone harder.

Just in case.

She did a quick inventory of her gear as she strode toward the dune buggy, its reinforced roll cage gleaming in the strengthening sun.

Radio clipped to her belt, fully charged. First aid kit secured behind the passenger seat, more comprehensive than even the resort required. Supplies for snake bites, heat exhaustion, and the countless other ways the desert could kill. Emergency water cached in insulated containers. Satellite phone. Rescue blankets. Flare gun. Things she hoped she would never need.

Casey swung into the driver’s seat, adjusted her sunglasses, and buckled the five-point harness. The engine roared to life with a satisfying growl that echoed off the cliff face.

She took a moment to check the gauges. Fuel, oil pressure, temperature. All optimal. Casey eased the buggy into gear and began the descent along the narrow track that switch-backed down the cliff face.

The path was treacherous, loose scree shifting under the tires as she navigated the hairpin turns. One mistake, one moment of inattention, and gravity would claim them both. But Casey knew every inch of this trail and let the buggy’s weight work with her rather than fighting it, enjoying the last minutes of alone time.

The small plane drew closer, heading toward the private airstrip at one side of the hotel.

Several of the welcome staff had already driven golf carts to the edge of the runway, ready to take the bags and drive the guests into the shade.

As the plane descended, Casey could almost feel the weight of expectation pressing down. The demands, the secrets, the complications that always came with guests wealthy enough to afford this luxurious paradise.

The morning’s peace retreated like a mirage, leaving behind the stark reality of what the Sanctuary truly was: A stage set where the ultra-rich could play at adventure. A desert experience with none of the danger of this brutal landscape. A carefully crafted illusion created by Casey and her fellow workers. It was time to maintain that illusion for the next set of guests.

 

 

Chapter 2

Casey steered the dune buggy into its designated spot as the morning’s gentle warmth evolved into the fierce heat that Death Valley was infamous for. She could feel it radiating from the asphalt of the parking area and see it shimmering above the dark surface like invisible flames.

The staff entrance was marked only by a discreet keypad, its brushed metal housing already hot to the touch. Casey punched in her code and pulled open the heavy door, bracing herself for the transition.

The artificial cold hit her like a physical wall, shocking her desert-warmed skin and making her catch her breath. Goosebumps rose on her arms as she walked into the carefully manufactured environment of the Sanctuary.

Time to put on her game face.

She straightened her shoulders, adjusted her name badge, checked her reflection in the brushed steel wall. The woman who looked back was a professional, someone who knew what she was doing. Someone who could be trusted with the lives of others.

“Buenos días, Casey.” Manuel from maintenance nodded as he passed, pushing a cart of tools. “AC’s running high today. Ms. Jensen’s orders. Guests coming in from the heat. You know how it is.”

“Thanks for the warning.” She managed a smile, though she never understood the American obsession with arctic indoor temperatures. Yet another artificial extreme in this place of natural ones.

She quickened her pace and hurried through the high-ceilinged corridors and into the grand atrium.

The space opened up before her, a soaring cathedral of glass and steel that brought the desert inside while keeping its deadly touch at bay. Morning light poured through the vast windows, creating shifting patterns on the polished stone floor.

The walls on either side featured artwork created by local Timbisha Shoshone artists, installations that told stories of the valley.

The largest piece dominated the wall behind the reception desk, a striking mixed-media work that depicted the desert’s seasons of feast and famine. Coyote featured prominently, as he did in many Timbisha tales, his figure simultaneously playful and menacing. The piece incorporated real desert sand and minerals, their colors shifting as the morning light played across the surface.

Beneath the artwork, a small plaque carried the words of the artist: ‘The desert does not care for your wealth or status. It will transform you, or it will destroy you. The choice is not yours to make.’

Casey knew the words by heart, having read them every morning for the few months she’d been here, finding in them a hope for her own transformation.

The other pieces were equally powerful. Beadwork that captured the shimmer of heat waves over salt flats, woven sculptures that traced the path of flash floods through narrow canyons, and painted stories of those who had wandered into the valley unprepared and never returned. Beauty and danger, the desert’s ever-present dichotomy.

The plane taxied to a halt outside, and the staff assembled in their usual formation, a carefully choreographed arrangement designed to project both efficiency and welcome. Everyone had been briefed on the guests to serve them better in the days ahead and make their experience an extraordinary one.

Casey headed over to the gathering staff and took her position among the other adventure guides.

Security chief Jack Abrams stood slightly apart from the group, in a place where he could survey both the entrance and the bank of security monitors partially hidden behind a decorative screen.

Even in the resort’s sand-toned uniform, Jack radiated military precision. His shirt was pressed knife-sharp, his boots gleaming despite the desert dust that coated everything by day’s end. A radio earpiece curled around his right ear, and his eyes strayed to the tactical watch on his wrist, checking the time with mechanical regularity. Casey had seen him do the same thing during staff meetings, counting the seconds, probably calculating escape routes and response times in his head.

His gaze flicked up to the monitors now, tracking movement with predatory focus. A maintenance golf cart crossing the grounds. A housekeeper restocking towels by the central pool. A lizard skittering across one of the external cameras. He cataloged each detail, his expression unchanging except for the slight narrowing of his eyes when he noticed Casey watching him.

“Eyes front,” he muttered, just loud enough for her to hear. “Try to look professional for once.”

Casey bit back a retort. No point engaging.

She and Jack were like matter and antimatter, their worldviews so opposed that any contact only led to explosion. She’d learned that the hard way in her first staff meeting, when his rant about survival of the fittest had nearly driven her to violence.

The click of heels on marble announced Tara Jensen’s arrival before she appeared.

The owner of the Sanctuary moved like royalty, her slim figure draped in a sand-colored silk dress that somehow remained unwrinkled. Her dark skin seemed to glow in the morning light, and her perfectly styled hair defied both gravity and the humidity-destroying air conditioning.

Her usual subtle makeup concealed any hint of fatigue, but Casey knew Tara would have been up since dawn, reviewing staff reports, double-checking the most luxurious suites, and ensuring her domain ran with clockwork precision. While other resort owners might trust such details to their employees, Tara controlled every inch of the Desert Sanctuary.

“Places, everyone.” Tara’s voice carried without her having to raise it. She moved down the line of staff, adjusting a name badge here, straightening a collar there.

She reached Casey, pausing to assess her appearance.

Casey fought the urge to smooth her hair again. Next to Tara’s perfection, everyone else looked slightly disheveled.

Tara smiled. “Play up your British accent with Mr. Carver-Scott, won’t you? He has a weakness for Downton Abbey.”

Casey stifled an eye roll at the stereotype and nodded. “Of course.”

The main doors whispered open, bringing a blast of desert heat and the sound of voices as staff accompanied the guests inside.

Celebrity chef Rafael Ortiz entered first, his trademark red bandana bright against his tanned skin. He was smaller in person than he appeared in his YouTube videos, but he carried himself with the confident swagger of someone used to being watched. A two-person camera crew trailed behind him, capturing shots from different angles.

“Welcome to the Sanctuary.” Tara glided forward, hand extended. “We’re honored to have you with us.”

“The honor’s all mine.” Rafael gestured to his cameramen. “Mind if we get some B-roll? The lighting in here is incredible.”

“Of course.” Tara’s smile didn’t waver, though Casey saw her stiffen slightly. “But please respect our other guests’ privacy and keep them out of shot.”

Rafael was already wandering toward the artwork, his crew tracking his movement. “This place is wild, guys,” he addressed the camera, his on-screen persona clicking into place like a mask. “Check out this indigenous art. These local people are the real heart of the desert and we’ll be eating just like them soon enough.”

Casey had watched a couple of Rafael’s videos, all machismo and bloodlust as he slaughtered endangered species for views in exotic locations around the world.

Jack shifted position, moving to keep Rafael and his cameras in clear view. The chef’s reputation for outrageous stunts clearly hadn’t escaped the security chief’s notice.

Casey recalled the incident that had made Rafael headline news. He’d broken into a protected wildlife sanctuary to hunt and eat a critically endangered bird. The video had gone viral, earning him millions of views and a hefty fine that he’d laughed off as a business expense.

“The private kitchen is ready for Rafael’s special requirements,” Tara murmured to her staff. “He’ll be preparing the centerpiece for the banquet, so please, make no comment on his activities. We’re here to facilitate, not judge.”

Casey glanced over at the resort’s ecological sustainability pledge emblazoned on a plaque behind reception. How much of it would survive contact with Rafael’s brand of shock entertainment?

She kept her face neutral, professional. After all, wasn’t she also playing a part? The capable guide, dependable and trustworthy, with no hint of her past mistakes showing through the facade.

The next guest through the door was more subdued. Barclay Turner slipped through like someone used to going unnoticed, his leather messenger bag clutched against his chest like a shield.

The bag was expensive but well-worn, with scratches and scuffs, and he had the slightly unkempt look of someone who forgot to check his appearance in mirrors. He scanned the atrium, taking in every detail with a hungry gaze that Casey recognized from other writers who’d stayed at the Sanctuary. They were always searching for material to turn reality into fiction and transform people into characters. Magpies of a kind, looking for the next shiny object to use in their work.

Barclay paused in front of the Timbisha artwork, his head tilted to one side.

“Mr. Turner” — Tara approached him with a practiced smile — “we’re delighted to have you with us. I understand you’re researching the area for a new book?”

“Yes, yes.” He barely looked at her, still lost in the painting. “Fascinating region. So many lost stories. So many… buried secrets.”

A ripple of movement drew Casey’s attention to the doors as Grace Lin entered.

The social media influencer was known for her designer fashion and luxury travel videos, but her accounts had been quiet recently. Today she wore loose hemp clothing in natural beige, her face bare of makeup. She carried a canvas tote bag emblazoned with environmental slogans, and her phone remained out of sight.

Perhaps she was trying something new, but clearly, the influencer side of her could not be contained. As Grace accepted a welcome glass of champagne, she assessed the angles of the space, the way the light fell, and her fingers kept darting to her shoulder bag, actively resisting the urge to pull out a phone. Casey suspected it wouldn’t stay hidden for long. This place was designed to be shareable and provoke social media envy.

“Welcome, Ms. Lin.” Tara’s tone was smooth as ever. “I understand your father is interested in learning more about our sustainability initiatives.”

“Is he?” Grace’s voice was cool. “Funny, since his companies are responsible for half the luxury developments currently destroying the Mojave desert ecosystem.”

Tara’s smile didn’t waver, but Casey noticed a slight tightening around her eyes. Before she could respond, the doors opened again.

Maxwell Carver-Scott entered like he owned the place — which, given the size of his reservation deposit, he practically did.

The tech billionaire moved with the contained energy of someone used to bending the world to his will. His silver hair was expertly styled to look casually tousled, and his linen suit probably cost more than Casey made in a month.

“Welcome to the Desert Sanctuary.” Tara stepped forward, but Maxwell was already scanning the staff line-up with the air of a man reviewing troops.

Behind him came his wife Simone, one hand resting protectively on their daughter Isla’s shoulder. Simone was stunning in that seemingly effortless way that only the very wealthy could maintain. Every hair perfectly in place, her makeup flawless, and her coral silk dress cut with the kind of precision that announced its cost without needing a label.

Isla bounced beside her, all long limbs and barely contained energy, her eyes wide with excitement at a new place.

Casey saw the exact moment Simone noticed Jack.

Her step faltered, and something flickered across her perfect features. Recognition, surprise, and something else. Fear? Desire? It was gone too quickly to read.

Jack’s reaction was more controlled, but there was a sudden tension in his shoulders and he clenched one fist.

Their eyes met for a fraction of a second before both looked away, their faces settling into careful masks of indifference.

But Casey could see the taut control remain in Jack’s posture and the razor-sharp anger he kept barely hidden under security protocol. She had felt the keen edge of it in last week’s staff meeting.

Casey had been arguing for additional safety precautions on the hiking trails, especially for younger guests like Isla.

“They’re paying for an authentic desert experience.” Jack’s tone dripped with contempt. “They’re not to be coddled by your European bleeding-heart safety standards.”

“They’re paying to survive their authentic desert experience,” Casey shot back. “Or did you skip the chapter on duty of care in your security manual?”

“Survival isn’t a team sport, Thornton. The desert doesn’t care about your socialist ideals of protecting the weak. Out here, it’s adapt or die.”

“Right, because letting children get heat stroke is great for business. Do you actually believe this macho prepper bullshit, or is it just your personality substitute?”

The argument had ended with both of them called into Tara’s office for a lecture on professional behavior. But watching Jack now, the way he tracked Simone’s movement across the atrium, Casey wondered what secrets their head of security kept hidden behind his survival-of-the-fittest facade.

Staff circulated with trays of fresh juice and champagne.

Oblivious to the tensions, Maxwell chose a green smoothie, while Simone’s hand trembled slightly as she lifted a champagne flute to her perfectly lipsticked mouth.

Grace had left her champagne, untouched, on a low table, her attention fixed on the desert visible through the high windows.

Rafael grabbed glasses of juice and champagne from a staff member, swigging both as he played to his cameras with exaggerated appreciation.

Tara assembled the guests in the center of the atrium, where the morning sun created a natural spotlight on the reclaimed wooden steps.

Her welcome speech was a masterpiece of subtle flattery and exclusive promise, each word carefully chosen to stroke egos while establishing the resort’s prestige.

“You are among the select few to experience the Desert Sanctuary, and I know you will uniquely appreciate all we offer here. Not just luxury, but communion with one of the world’s most extraordinary landscapes.”

Rafael’s camera crew adjusted their angles to catch both him and Tara in the same frame, while Grace’s studied indifference couldn’t quite hide her influencer’s instinct to document everything. Barclay retreated to the periphery, scribbling in a notebook.

As Tara concluded her speech, the staff members responsible for various aspects of the resort stepped forward to introduce themselves and offer options for both relaxation and entertainment.

When her turn came, Casey smiled in welcome. “I’m Casey Thornton, head of the adventure team. I’ll be taking a tour of the property by dune buggy. It’s the best way to appreciate the scale and beauty of our little corner of Death Valley. If any of you are keen, please meet me by the adventure garage in the parking lot in thirty minutes.”

Isla’s face lit up. “Can we, Mom? Please? I’ve never been in a dune buggy!”

Casey saw a flash of concern cross Simone’s features, as Maxwell frowned slightly. “Perhaps after you’ve rested, darling. The flight was—”

“I’ll go,” Grace interrupted. “I’ve always wanted to see how these luxury resorts handle their carbon footprint up close.”

“It’ll be perfect for my channel.” Rafael turned to his team. “You stay here, get some B-roll of the place, and I’ll take the drone with me.”

As Isla continued to plead with her mother, Casey walked over to Simone. “The buggies are very safe, and we’ll stay close to the resort for this first tour.”

“Oh, let her go,” Maxwell said, his attention already shifting to his phone. “Just don’t get dirty, angel, and don’t touch anything out there.”

Arrangements made, the guests dispersed briefly to prepare as Casey slipped out a side door and headed out to ready the buggies for adventure.

 

 

Chapter 3

Casey’s boots crunched on the sand-dusted concrete of the Sanctuary’s garage area.

Desert-adapted equipment filled the staging section: high-end dune buggies in a line out front, their roll cages gleaming in the morning sun. Mountain bikes hung on racks, their specialized tires designed for the harsh terrain. Climbing gear, ropes, carabiners, and harnesses all waited in neat rows.

Casey methodically checked the safety equipment once again, her fingers moving with practiced efficiency over the emergency supplies. Satellite phones, first aid kits, water reserves. Each item carefully maintained and obsessively checked for every trip.

Casey turned at the sound of heavy boots on concrete behind her. Jack walked toward her from the main building, his eyes narrowing at the line of buggies positioned to take guests out on tours.

“These need to be cleared out later,” he said without preamble, his voice carrying that edge of assumed command that set Casey’s teeth on edge. “Park them somewhere else. I’ve got a pickup scheduled.”

Casey continued her equipment check. “I can probably get it clear by two.”

“Make it earlier.” Jack took a step closer.

The garage suddenly felt smaller, more confined. Casey forced herself to stand her ground.

She looked up at him, unmoving. “What kind of pickup?”

“Above your pay grade. Just make sure it’s clear.”

Light footsteps at the garage entrance made Jack step away as Grace Lin entered the structure and stood silhouetted against the desert light. Rafael Ortiz followed close behind, his trademark red bandana already perfectly positioned for maximum camera appeal.

“The social media princess and the wannabe hunter.” Jack shook his head and his voice dropped lower, meant for Casey’s ears only. “Rather you than me.”

High-pitched laughter echoed from the resort. Isla’s youthful voice carried on the morning air, full of excitement about the upcoming adventure.

Jack’s expression shifted as something dark passed over it. “And the billionaire’s brat. What a bunch.” He stepped back, already turning away. “Try not to kill anyone out there.”

Casey felt a chill down her spine at his words, and her face flushed as he walked away. He must know. Of course, he knew. He would have read her file. Now the bastard would hold it over her.

The morning light shifted as Jack strode toward the exit, his silhouette casting a shadow against the adventure center’s back wall. As he moved, his shadow merged with another — the sharp spike of a climbing axe that hung from the equipment rack. For a moment, the shadows created the illusion of the metal spike piercing Jack’s chest, dark against darker.

Then he walked on and the illusion dissolved as Jack stepped into the full desert sun and seemed to disappear, swallowed by the intensity of the light.

Grace ignored the security chief as she positioned herself for the best angle, taking some selfies with the buggy against the backdrop of the desert.

Rafael turned in place, his phone on a revolving gimbal that would keep the images level, even in a moving vehicle.

“This is going to be epic,” he announced to his invisible audience. “Real desert survival, guys. Like our ancestors did it!”

Casey bit back a comment about the difference between surviving in the desert and touring it in a luxury vehicle equipped with satellite phones and emergency supplies.

* * *

Simone tried to catch Isla’s hand as they entered the adventure garage. Her daughter practically vibrated with excitement beside her, the girl’s energy a stark contrast to Simone’s measured steps in her designer sandals.

“Mom, look! They have real climbing gear!” Isla pointed toward the rack of harnesses. “Like the ones in my National Geographic magazines!”

Simone squeezed her daughter’s hand, savoring these moments when Isla was simply herself, not the carefully groomed heiress Maxwell was determined to shape her into. “Maybe you can do that next time, sweetheart. Let’s start with the buggy ride today.”

The adventure guide Casey stood by the lead vehicle, checking something under the hood. Her practical clothing and competent movements stirred something in Simone. A memory of freedom, perhaps, from a time before she had chosen the life she lived now.

“Good morning!” Casey straightened from the buggy’s engine, wiping her hands on a rag. Her British accent carried clearly in the desert air. “Ready for an adventure?”

Isla ran forward and reached up for the buggy’s roll cage. “Can I sit in the front? Please?”

Simone stepped a little closer to Casey. “Will you please take care of her? Keep her safe?”

She caught the flash of something in Casey’s eyes. Understanding, perhaps, or recognition of the fear that lurked within every mother’s heart.

“Of course.” Casey’s tone was gentle but confident. “I’ve got all the safety equipment, plus we won’t be gone long. This is just an introductory tour and there’s plenty of time during your stay to have another ride.”

Simone looked over at Isla, who was now up in the buggy, examining the instruments with fierce concentration. “She needs this. Room to breathe. To explore.”

To be something other than Maxwell’s perfect daughter.

Casey nodded. “I’m sure she’ll enjoy it out there. The desert has a way of showing us who we really are.”

Simone gazed out of the garage door, out into the desert, and Casey clearly noticed.

“You could come, too. There’s room for one more.”

For a moment, Simone imagined what it would be like. The wind in her hair, sun on her skin, speeding away from the hotel onto the salt flats. The open space, the kind of freedom she used to have, before she traded it for Maxwell and his wealth, and what she thought was security.

The thought of him made her catch her breath.

He would hate the thought of his wife bouncing around in a dune buggy like some common tourist. She couldn’t risk letting her guard down. At least not for now.

“Thank you, but no.” Simone smoothed down her silk dress, an unconscious gesture of submission. “Maybe another time.”

Casey’s expression softened. “The desert’s not going anywhere. It will be out there when you’re ready.”

Soon, Simone thought, sooner than Casey knew. If everything went to plan.

“I’ll leave my daughter in your more than capable hands.” Simone turned to Isla, who was fidgeting with impatience up in the buggy. “Be good for Casey, darling. Listen to her instructions.”

“I will!” Isla leaned out to plant a quick kiss on her mother’s cheek.

The spontaneous gesture made Simone’s throat tighten. How much longer would her daughter offer such unguarded affection?

She turned away, leaving Isla to enjoy her adventure, even as she steeled herself for what she must do.

* * *

The dune buggy’s engine roared, the sound echoing off the rocky outcrops. Casey eased it into gear, feeling the familiar vibration through the steering wheel as she guided the small group away from the Sanctuary’s manicured paths and out into the wilderness beyond.

The morning sun was a molten presence overhead, casting harsh shadows that turned every rock and scrub bush into potential shelter for the desert’s more lethal residents.

In her side mirror, Casey watched Grace Lin arrange herself in the back seat as if posing for a magazine shoot. The influencer’s perfectly manicured hands kept rising to smooth her hair, fighting a losing battle against the hot wind that whipped through the open-air vehicle. Her phone was already out, angled for maximum effect against the backdrop of the Amargosa Range.

“Wait, wait. Stop here. The light’s fantastic,” Grace called out in the particular tone of someone used to being obeyed. “I want to catch the mountains behind me.”

Casey pretended not to hear and pressed the accelerator instead.

They were far too close to the resort to get any good footage. Grace would forget her annoyance soon enough once she saw what was ahead.

Rafael sat with a rifle across his lap. His hands moved over the weapon, adjusting his grip, impatient for violence.

“See that ridgeline?” He pointed. “Bet there’s bighorn sheep up there. You ready to watch some authentic survival skills?”

“You mean watch you murder for clicks?” Grace’s voice dripped with disdain. “Those sheep are protected, anyway.”

“Protected?” Rafael laughed. “By who? City people who’ve never had to hunt their own food? This is nature. Kill or be killed.”

Casey’s fingers tightened on the wheel. The desert was lethal enough without adding human predators to the mix.

She had researched Death Valley’s flora and fauna extensively before taking this job, learning habits and patterns, and strategies for survival in this harshest of environments. Each creature and plant played its role in a delicate balance that had evolved over millennia, and this man would destroy it in an instant for entertainment. She bit back all the words she wanted to say.

“Look! What’s that?” Isla shouted, twisting in her seat, pointing at a flash of movement among the creosote bushes.

Casey slowed the buggy and let the engine idle. “I think it was a desert kit fox,” she explained, grateful for the distraction. “Did you see how small it was? Those huge ears help them stay cool and hear prey underground.”

“It was so cute!” Isla bounced in her seat, her energy seemingly unaffected by the growing heat. “What else lives out here? Are there snakes? What about those big crow things I saw earlier?”

“Those were ravens,” Casey said, easing the buggy on. “They’re incredibly intelligent. The local Timbisha Shoshone people believe they’re messengers between our world and the spirit world.”

She glanced at Rafael, who was now sighting with his rifle into the bushes, clearly hoping for a glimpse of the fox. “They’re also protected by law, like all creatures here.”

Rafael lowered his weapon with a snort. “Everything’s protected these days. But out here? Who’s going to know?”

“I’ll know,” Casey said quietly, her words lost in the wind.

She spotted a patch of yellow flowers, a chance to change the focus of the tour. “Look there. See that patch of desert marigolds? They only bloom after the rain, so we’re lucky to see them.”

Isla grinned. “They’re so pretty!”

“Let me show you somewhere even prettier.” Casey steered the buggy toward Artists Palette and soon the multi-colored rocks loomed ahead, their bands of color stark against the pale sky in shades of rust, dusky pink, acid green, and royal purple.

“The colors come from different minerals in the rock,” Casey explained. “The red and pink are from iron, the purple from manganese, and the green is from decomposed, tuff-derived mica.”

The words were familiar, grounding the tour in repetition.

“Nature is the greatest artist,” Grace said, her voice softer now she was happy catching the beauty of the landscape on her phone. “This light is incredible. The way it catches the minerals.”

Casey nodded. “The colors change throughout the day as the sun moves. They’re most vibrant at sunset. I’ll park up ahead and you can all explore a little.”

As they rounded a bend, a dark opening appeared in the rock face up on the cliffs to their left.

“Are there caves?” Isla asked excitedly, pointing at the shadowy void. “Can we go in them?”

“No!” The word burst from Casey’s lips like a gunshot.

Too sharp. Too loud.