Chasing Fire

by Нора Робертс

  She took the clothes back, pushed them into his hands. “Hurry up and get dressed before I start gnawing on my own hand.”

  “Hurry up and get undressed, hurry up and get dressed. Orders, orders.” He sent her an exaggerated smoldering look. “Dominant females make me hot.”

  “I’ll see if I can find my whip and chain later.”

  “Ah, a brand-new fantasy to explore.”

  “Don’t forget to call me ‘Mistress.’ ”

  “If you promise to be gentle. By the way, I like the tat.”

  “Good-luck charm,” she told him. “If I wear the dragon, the dragon doesn’t wear me. How about yours?” She walked around to tap the letters scrolled over his left shoulder blade. “Teine,” she said.

  “It’s pronounced ‘teen,’ not ‘The-ine.’ Old Irish for fire. I guess if I wear the fire, it doesn’t wear me.”

  “It just gets to try us both on from time to time. How’d you get that one?” she asked, gesturing to the scar along his left ribs.

  “Bar fight in New Orleans.”

  “No, seriously.”

  “Well, it was, technically, outside the bar. I went down for Mardi Gras one year. Have you ever been?”

  “No.”

  “Not to be missed.” His hair, still damp from the shower, curled at the collar of the shirt he pulled on. “I was in college, went down with some friends. After the revelry, we hit a bar. This asshole went after this girl. Sort of like the asshole who hassled you, but this one was drunker and meaner, and she didn’t have your style.”

  “Few do,” she said with a grin.

  “No argument. So, when I suggested he cease and desist, he objected. One thing led to another. Apparently he didn’t like the fact I was kicking his ass in front of witnesses, so he pulled a knife.”

  The grin changed to openmouthed shock. “Well, sweet baby Jesus, he stabbed you?”

  “Not exactly. The knife sort of skimmed along my ribs.” Gull motioned a careless finger over the spot. “He didn’t get much of me, and I had the pleasure of breaking his jaw. The girl was really grateful, so a night well spent.”

  He tied his sneakers. “I have a spotted and unruly past.”

  “You’re a puzzler.”

  “Okay.” He held out a hand. “How about I buy you dinner and a couple of cold beers?”

  “I say since meals come with the job, that makes you a cheapskate, but what the hell.”

  Later, after Gull proved he did indeed work well horizontally, Rowan gave him a sleepy nudge. “Go home.”

  “Nope.” He simply tucked her in against his side.

  “Gull, neither of us is what you’d call petite, and this bed isn’t exactly built for two.” Besides, sleeping with a guy was different from sex.

  “It worked pretty well so far. We’ll manage. Besides, you saw the jump list. We’re first and second man, first stick. If we get a call, all we have to do is put on the clothes currently strewn all over the floor, and hit it. It’s efficient.”

  “So you always sleep with your jump partner for the sake of efficiency.”

  “I’m trying it out with you first. Who knows, if it saves enough time, it might become regulation. If we’re clear, do you want to take a run in the morning?”

  His hand, trailing lightly up and down her back, felt good—soothing. It was late anyway, she thought, she could make an exception on the sleeping rule this one time. Except she’d already made an exception on the sex, and now...

  “Are we going to keep doing this?” she wondered.

  “Okay, but you’re going to have to give me about twenty minutes.”

  “Not tonight. I think we’ve rung the bell on that.”

  “Oh, you mean as a continuing series.” He gave her ass a light, friendly pat. “Definitely.”

  “If we continue the series, there’s a rule.”

  “Of course there is.”

  “If I sleep with a guy, I don’t sleep with other guys, or sleep with that guy if he’s banging anyone else. If either of us decide someone else looks good, that’s fine. Series over. That one’s firm. No exceptions.”

  “That’s fair. One question. Why would I want anybody else when I get to take showers with you?”

  “Because people tend to want what they don’t have.”

  “I like what I’ve got.” He gave her an easy squeeze. “Ergo, I’m happy to abide by your rule on this matter.”

  “Ergo.” She chuckled, closed her eyes. “You’re something else, Gulliver.”

  Right then, tucked up with Rowan in bed, an owl hooting dourly in the night and the moon shafting through the window, Gull figured he was exactly who, and where, he wanted to be.

  It took less time to burn a body than a forest. An uglier business, but quicker. Still, collateral damage couldn’t be avoided, and probably served as an advantage. She didn’t weigh much, considering, so carrying her up the trail, through the lodgepole pines, wasn’t as hard as it might have been.

  The shimmer of moonlight helped light the way—like a sign—and the music of night creatures soothed.

  The trail forked, steepened, but the climb wasn’t altogether unpleasant in the cool, pine-scented air.

  Better not to think of the unpleasant, of the horror. Better to think of moonlight and cool air and night birds.

  In the distance, a coyote called out, high and bright. A wild sound, a hungry sound. Burning her would be humane. Better than leaving her for the animals.

  They’d probably come far enough.

  The task didn’t take much effort or require too many tools. Just hacking away some dried brush and twigs, soaking them, her clothes. Her.

  Don’t think.

  Soaking it all with gas from the spare can.

  Try not to look at her face, try not to think of what she’d said and done. What had happened. Stick to what had to be done now.

  Light the fire. Feel the heat. See the color and shape. Hear the crackle and snap. Then the whoosh of air and flame as that fire began to breathe.

  A thing of beauty. Dazzling, dangerous, destructive.

  So beautiful and fierce, and personal, when started with your own hands. Never realized, never knew.

  It would purge. Erase her. Send her to hell. She belonged there. The animals wouldn’t get her, tear at her as the dogs had torn at Jezebel. But she’d earned hell.

  No more harm, no more threat. No more. In the fire, she would cease to be.

  Watching it take her brought a horrible thrill, a bright tingle of unexpected excitement. Power tasted. No tears, no regrets—not anymore.

  That thrill, and the rising voice of the fire, followed down the trail while smoke began to climb toward the shimmering moon.

  14

  For the second time Rowan woke curled up to Gull with her head on his shoulder. This time she wondered how the hell he could sleep with her weight pressing on him.

  Then she wondered, since she was shoehorned into the narrow bed with him, why the hell she wasn’t taking advantage of it. She bit his earlobe as her hand trailed down his chest. As she’d expected, she found him already primed.

  “I’d’ve put money on it,” she murmured.

  “I like your hand on it better.”

  “Now this...” She swung a leg over him, taking him in slowly. Slowly until she sheathed him in the warm and the wet. “This is what I call efficient.”

  Thinking there was no finer way to greet the morning, he got a firm grip on her hips. “A plus.”

  When she bowed back, the sun slanting light and shadow over her body, casting diamonds through her crown of hair, a snippet of Tennyson flitted through his mind.

  A daughter of the gods, divinely tall, and most divinely fair.

  She was that, in that moment, and in that moment took command of his romantic heart.

  His grip gentled to a caress. And she began to move, undulating over him in a slow, fluid rhythm. Sensation spooled through him, unwinding a lovely, lazy delight.

  Her eyes closed, h
er hands stroked up her own body, inciting them both.

  Through the bars of light, the building beauty, he reached for her. He thought they could drift like this, leisurely awakening body, blood, heart, forever.

  The siren screamed.

  “Shit!” Her eyes popped open.

  “Give me a fucking break.” He held on to her for one frustrating moment, then they broke apart to scramble for clothes.

  “You did this,” she accused him. “You called it last night with that damn efficiency crack.”

  “Ten minutes more, it would’ve been worth it.”

  Instead, in ten minutes they suited up in the ready room.

  “Spotted smoke at first light.” L.B. gave the outline. “Lolo National Forest, between Grave Creek and Lolo Pass. It’s fully active on the south slope above Lolo Creek. Conditions dry. Rowan, I want you in as fire boss; Gibbons, you’re on the line.”

  The ground thundered as the tanker began to roll with the first load of mud.

  The minute she boarded the jump ship, Rowan pulled out the egg sandwich and Coke she’d stuck in pockets. She ate and drank while she coordinated with the pilot, the spotter.

  “There she is.” She pressed her face to the window. “And, damn, she’s frisky this morning.”

  A hundred acres, maybe a hundred and twenty, she estimated, already fully active in some of the most primitive and pristine areas of Lolo. Lewis and Clark had traveled there, and now the fire wanted it for breakfast.

  Here we come, she thought, and guarded her reserves as wind rushed in through the open door.

  She felt fresh and fueled and ready—and couldn’t deny the ride down was beautiful. She checked on Gull, shot him a huge grin. “It’s not sex, but it doesn’t suck,” she shouted.

  She heard his laugh, understood exactly what ran through him. It ran through her, free and strong into the sky, the smoke, and down to the soft landing on a sweet little meadow.

  Once the unit and the paracargo hit the ground, she strategized with Gibbons. She decided to do a recon up the right flank while the crew headed in to start the line.

  She traveled at a trot, gauging the area, the wind, and keeping twenty yards off the flank as the fire burned hot. She heard the head calling in that grumbling, greedy roar as it tossed spot fires into the unburned majesty of forest.

  Not going to have it, she thought, using her Pulaski and her bladder pump to smother the spots as she went. It wants to run, wants to feed. She smelled the sharp resin as trees burned, heard their crackling cries, felt the air tremble with the power already unleashed. Smoke spiraled up where spitting embers met dry ground.

  She yanked out her radio. “She wants to run, and she’s fast, L.B. She’s fast. We need another load of mud on the head, and another down the right flank. She’s throwing a lot of spots along that line.”

  “Copy that. Are you clear?”

  “I will be.” She kept moving, away from a spot that ate ground the size of a tennis court. “We need to contain these spots now, L.B. We’re at critical. Gibbons is on the line, southwest, and I’m doubling back.”

  “Stay clear. We’ve got another load of jumpers on alert. Say the word and we’ll send them in.”

  “Copy that. Let me finish this recon, check in with Gibbons.”

  “Tankers on the way. Don’t get slimed, Swede.”

  “I’m clear,” she repeated. “And I’m out.”

  She ran, charging her way down as she checked in with Gibbons, making for the trail where Lewis and Clark had once traveled. At the roar behind her, she cursed, ran through the falling embers, the missiles of burning pinecones hurled by the blasting wind of a blowup. When the ground shook under her feet, she charged through the heart of the fire.

  Safer inside it, she thought while smoke gushed through the lick of orange flames.

  In the black she took a moment to pull out her compass and get her bearings, to plot the next moves. Gibbons would have sent the crew up the ridge on attack, she thought, and then—

  She nearly ran over it. Instinct and atavistic horror stumbled her back three paces from the charred and blackened remains of what had been human. It lay, the crisp bones of its arms and legs curled in. Contracted by the heat, she knew that, but in that terrible moment it seemed as if the dead or dying had tried to tuck into a ball the fire might overlook.

  Her fingers felt numb when she pulled out her radio. “Base.”

  “Base here, come back, Swede.”

  “I’ve got a body.”

  “Say again?”

  “I’m maybe ten yards from the Lobo Trail, near the southeast switchback, in the black. There’s a body, L.B.” She blew out a breath. “It’s crisp.”

  “Ah, Christ. Copy that. Are you safe there?”

  “Yeah. I’m in the black. I’m clear.”

  “Hold there. I’ll contact the Forest Service, then get back to you.”

  “L.B.” She rubbed her fingers between her eyebrows. “I can’t tell for sure, but the ground under and around the remains, the pattern of the burn... Hell, I think maybe somebody lit him—her—up. And there’s... I don’t know, but the angle of the head. It looks like the neck’s broken.”

  “Sweet Jesus. Don’t touch anything. Do you copy, Rowan? Don’t touch anything.”

  “Believe me, I won’t. I’ll radio Gibbons, give him a SITREP. Jesus, L.B., I think it’s a woman or a kid. The size...”

  “Hang in, Rowan. I’ll come back.”

  “Copy that. Out.”

  She steeled herself. She’d seen burned bodies before. She’d seen Jim, she thought, when they’d finally recovered his remains. But she’d never stumbled over one, alone, in the middle of an operation.

  So she took a breath, then radioed Gibbons.

  It took her more than an hour and a half to get back to her crew, after holding her position, and guiding two rangers in. She welcomed the heat, the smoke, the battle after her vigil with the dead.

  As she’d expected, Gibbons had the crew up the ridge, and the line held.

  “Holy shit, Ro.” Gibbons swiped a forearm over his blackened face. “You okay?”

  The time, the vigil, the hard reality of giving a statement hadn’t completely settled the raw sickness in her belly. “I’m a lot better than whoever’s back there. The rangers are down there now, and a Special Agent Somebody’s coming in. And an arson guy.”

  “Arson.”

  “It might be this fire was deliberately set, to cover up murder.” Because it felt as if it squeezed her skull, she shifted her helmet—but it did nothing to relieve the steady throbbing.

  “They don’t know yet,” she told him as he cursed. “Maybe it was some dumb kid messing around, but it looked to me like that could’ve been the point of origin. Putting the fire down’s first priority. The feds’ll handle the other. Where do you want me?”

  “You know you can pack out, Ro. Nobody’ll blame you.”

  “Let’s finish this.”

  She worked the saw line, while another part of the crew reinforced the scratch lines riding up toward the head. A fresher crew of jumpers attacked the other flank, down toward the tail.

  Countless times during the hours on the line, she pulled off to radio the other crew for progress, updated base, consulted with Gibbons.

  A few more hours to finish her off and mop up, she thought, and the crew would sleep in beds tonight.

  “What’s up?” Gull stopped by her side. “There are rumors up and down the line something is, and you’re the source.”

  She started to brush him off, but he looked her dead in the eye.

  “You can tell me now or tell me later. You might as well get it done.”

  She’d shared her body with him, she reminded herself, and her bed. “We’ve got her caged. If Gibbons can spare you, you can come with me to scout out smokes.”

  Cleared, they moved away from the line. Rowan beat out a spot the size of a basketball, moved on.

  And told him.

  “You th
ink the person was murdered, and whoever did it started the fire to try to cover it up?”

  “I can’t know.” But her gut, roiling still, told her differently.

  “Smarter to bury it.” His matter-of-fact tone slowed the churning. “A fire like this brings attention. Obviously.”

  “I’ve never done it, but it seems to me killing somebody might impair logic. Or maybe the fire added to it. Plenty of people get off starting fires.”

  “They spotted this one at first light. From the progress it made by the time we jumped, it must’ve started late last night, early this morning. It was burning damn hot, had at least a hundred acres involved when we jumped at, what, about eight?”

  Odd, she realized, that talking it through, picking out the practical, calmed the jitters. “Yeah.”

  “The campground’s not that far west, but with that burned-out area between where you found the body and the campground, the fire sniffed east. Lucky for the campers.”

  The drumming inside her skull backed off, a little. Thinking was doing, she decided. Up until now she’d done too much reacting, not enough doing.

  “Maybe they were from the camp,” she speculated. “And came out on the trail, got into a fight. By accident or design, he kills her.”

  “Her?”

  “The size of the body. I think it was a woman or a kid, and since I don’t want to think it was a kid, I’m going with woman. He’d drag or carry her off the trail. Maybe he thinks about burying her, and went back to get tools. Fire’s quicker and takes less effort. Dry conditions, some brush.”

  “If you started it around two, three in the morning,” Gull calculated, “it would get a pretty good blaze up by dawn, and buy you a few hours.”

  Yes, she thought. Sure. Survival had to be the first priority.

  “Pack it up, and you’re way gone by dawn.” She nodded, steadied by working it as a problem to be solved. “It’ll take time to identify her, so that buys you more yet. And the fact is, if I hadn’t taken that route back to the line, maybe it’s hours more, even days, before she’s found. I wasn’t going that route, but the blowup sent me in and over.”