by Jenna Kernan
“Now step away,” said Dylan.
If he had any doubt about Meadow’s innocence in this, this attack had banished it. She was a victim here. At worst, she was a pawn.
“You going to kill us, son?” asked the older one. “No, I don’t think so. You’re the golden boy. Clean service record. Always making the right moves, even on the basketball court. Always following orders.” He took a step closer. “Thing is, in all that time in the service, you never did have to shoot anyone. Look them in the eye and take their life. Because that would be wrong. And you don’t do wrong.”
“Stop,” Dylan ordered.
“You aren’t a killer. Give me the gun, son.” He extended his hand and Dylan knew the man had badly underestimated him. Just because he had not did not mean he would not. He would—to protect Meadow, he knew he would do anything.
“I promised to protect her.”
“She’s not worth your time, son. Black eye to the whole family. Never held a job and she’s got more men than a stray dog got fleas. You’d be the flavor of the month. And that’s just not you.”
Another step and his target would be close enough to take the shotgun barrel. Dylan knew a shot at this range would take his life and he knew the scatter pattern of shot from the years shooting on the rez. So, when he pulled the trigger, he aimed low and wide. The outside edge of the shot scatter struck his opponent in the leg and he went down howling like a wolf.
Dylan ordered the other man to lie face down beside his commander. Then he checked Meadow and found a pulse. He couldn’t control the need to see her safe anymore than he could leave her here to die.
Flavor of the month? Maybe, but at least he’d be walking out of here.
The younger one was crying. Dylan took his pistol, phone and sunglasses.
“Pass code,” said Dylan.
The crying man gave it to him. Dylan used the phone to call Jack but got flipped over to voice mail. That meant Jack was out of range. Dylan held the phone out, wondering how long the recording lasted.
“Your name,” said Dylan.
“Vic Heil.”
“Why are you two here?”
“Retrieve Meadow Wrangler.”
“Who are you working for?”
“Wrangler. That’s all I know. I swear.”
The injured man howled and cursed at Vic. The only intelligible words were “Shut up.”
“Did you two set the blast that started the fire?”
No answer.
Dylan pressed the pistol to Heil’s temple.
“Did you?”
“Yes!”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Take out the snitch. That’s what the captain said.”
“What snitch?”
“Shut up,” shrieked his commander. Dylan stepped on his bleeding thigh, and the man howled again.
“Williams,” said Heil. “He’s a snitch. Blabbing to someone. That’s all I know. I swear.”
“Blabbing to whom?”
“Don’t know, I said.”
“You don’t know or they don’t know?”
“I don’t know.”
Dylan removed the barrel from the man’s head.
“Shut up!” yelled the captain, clutching his leg and rolling side to side on his back.
“Come on, man,” said Heil to Dylan. “He’s bleeding all over the place.”
“Why do you want the girl?” asked Dylan.
“Just find her, is all.”
Dylan lifted the phone and checked. The call had disconnected. He found the microphone app and pressed Record.
“What’s the captain’s name?”
“Rubins.”
“First name?”
“Don’t know.”
Captain Rubins rolled from side to side as his leg oozed blood from the many punctures.
“Say it again,” Dylan ordered. He held out the phone.
Vic started talking, telling what he knew, which wasn’t much with the captain yelling at him that they’d just signed their own death warrants. Vic did admit to setting the fire and told him where they’d set the charges. He said he didn’t know who they worked for and Dylan believed him. When he ordered him up, Vic pissed himself, but Dylan still sent him walking down the ridge. Dylan knew that Vic expected the second shotgun blast to hit him in the back. Dylan just wanted him far enough away to give him time to get Meadow out of here.
He turned to Rubins.
“You want to fill in the blanks?”
“Yeah,” he said through gritted teeth, “you’re a dead man. They won’t stop.”
“Why does her father want her dead?” asked Dylan.
The man’s smile was a snarl. “Run, Bobcat. The BEARs are coming.”
They knew he was called Bobcat. What else did they know?
Dylan took the man’s phone and the pistol strapped to his bleeding thigh.
“I’ll send help,” he said as he climbed into the Humvee.
Rubins snarled. “You’ll need it more than me.”
Dylan commandeered their vehicle.
He needed to find the Turquoise Canyon Hotshots. Jack had given him their position, but he had doubts he could reach them on the main road. The Hummer gave him some leeway on the route. If there was any area of back burn, he might get Meadow through. But where to then? He didn’t know. He only knew that they couldn’t stay here.
They wound down the road that led toward the line of smoke billowing skyward. How many acres had already burned?
Halfway around they saw Heil still walking in wet pants. He watched them drive past and then reversed course. Dylan used the Humvee’s satellite link to call 911 and report the injured man. He said the man had been injured by the discharge of a shotgun and gave the location. He had a feeling that Rubins was too stubborn to die. If Heil slowed the bleeding and the shot pellets had missed the femoral artery, Rubins would likely survive.
Dylan pulled to a stop to check Meadow. Other than the two marks on her back from the Taser, she seemed fine. Her heartbeat was normal and so was her breathing. He used some of the water in the Humvee to wet her face. Her eyes fluttered open and she groaned.
“What happened?”
He told her.
She rubbed her jaw. “Feels like someone punched me.” Her hand moved to her head. “Worst hangover ever.”
“Drink some water.” He offered the bottle to her and she drank.
“They Tasered me?” she asked.
“In the back.”
She rubbed her forehead. “I should have listened to you. I’m sorry, Dylan.”
“They hit you when you tried to warn me.”
She glanced away.
“That was dangerous,” he said.
“Yeah, well, reckless is what I’m good at. Remember?”
“That wasn’t reckless. It was selfless.”
Her artifice dropped with her smile and she gave him a serious look. “I didn’t want anything to happen to you.”
Now he was the one who had lost his mask. He didn’t know what to say. He had never expected this woman—this woman he thought to be a spoiled little rich girl—to show such courage. Just like everyone else, he’d underestimated her.
“How’d you get us away?”
He gave her the short version.
“What were they going to do with me?”
“Nothing good. Those guys set the fire.”
She groaned. “Help me to the front seat.”
He lifted her easily, then settled her into the passenger seat and buckled her in.
“How do you know they set it?”
Dylan wondered if he should tell her about the recording he had gotten. After a mental debate, he revealed
he had Heil’s confession.
“It implicates my father,” she said.
He nodded.
She glanced away. “I can’t believe this. I thought... I believed he loved me.”
“Maybe he loves the cause more.”
She said nothing to that.
Dylan called home and got his grandpa again after seven rings. His grandpa wasn’t fast. But he was a wonderful fisherman and had also turned his turquoise claim over to Dylan. His older sisters Rita and Gianna didn’t want it, but did want occasional nodules of the bright blue stone.
“Where are we going?” asked Meadow.
He told her his plan to find a break in the fire line, one as close to his home team of hotshots as possible.
She glanced ahead. “The fire line again?”
“We have to get through it. The crews will be on site. They’ll have a break somewhere.” He hoped.
There was only one road, so he followed it as far as he could. She turned to look at the place where the hull of her car sat. The ground was scorched now, black and stinking of smoke. He drove toward the fire, hoping he would get a signal but knowing the smoke would interfere with reception.
Dylan got them as far as the ridge of smoke, looking for a break or a crew at work. The last thing he wanted was to get himself into another spot where they would be trapped. He couldn’t tell if the smoke was worse or if it was only because the winds had shifted. It grew so thick he needed the headlights to keep going. Meadow pointed to the sky.
“Look!”
He glanced up at the helicopter flying with the red collapsible bucket beneath. A moment later it released the load and red fire suppressant spilled from the sky. The compound was sticky and slimy, but it worked. He headed for the spot the chopper had dropped the payload. A few minutes later he saw the place where the ground was coated with the viscous red fluid. Then he saw the men behind it making a line.
The phone Dylan had taken from Rubins rang and he lifted it, not recognizing the number. He picked up.
“Yeah,” he said.
“You got them?”
“Yeah.”
“Where the hell are you?”
“Heading for the fire line.”
“Fire line? You’re supposed to call for a chopper.”
“Send it.”
“Who the hell is this?” There was cursing. Then the line went dead.
“Well, that didn’t work.”
“You don’t speak like them.”
“I was trying.”
“Your speech pattern is more lilting, like a song.”
Dylan didn’t know if he liked that.
“Can we get through the fire line?” she asked.
“Jack says so. He also says the main road is open, but it will be covered with highway patrol. We don’t want that.”
“Won’t they help us?”
He came from a place where the police were not often helpful. He supposed her parents had told her to look for a policeman if she were in trouble.
“You and I are wanted for starting this fire,” he reminded her.
“But we didn’t do it.”
He thought that was irrelevant.
“We just have to explain.”
“Meadow, a man was killed up here. Your father sent killers to finish you. He won’t help you and, without your father’s money, you will be represented by an attorney appointed by the court. You could be in jail a very long time while they investigate the case—that is, if someone doesn’t get to you while you are locked up. Do you have anything to prove your innocence?”
“You can’t prove you didn’t do something.”
“Exactly.”
“I was with you.”
“You were in position to film the explosion. You had an opportunity to set the charges. I did, too. Plus, if those men are to be believed, your father not only set you up to die in this fire, he sent men to be certain you didn’t reappear with a different story. He might try again.”
“I could go to my sisters or brothers.”
He didn’t know them and so didn’t trust them.
“If you like.”
“They might be with him.” She sank into her seat. “I have no one. That’s what you’re saying.”
“You have me.”
“All right, Bobcat. What do we do?”
“Find out who set the fire. Clear our names. Bring the guilty to justice.”
“And how do we do all that?”
“Working on it.”
Chapter Eleven
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Meadow said as she glanced out the window.
Dylan had. Many times in many states, he realized as he left the main road to weave through the charred remains of standing trees. The odor of smoke seeped in through the vents.
“Hard to believe now, but the vegetation will come back.”
“Ruined the view from the valley. I suppose that was the point.”
That seemed very likely. Dylan followed the helicopters, judging where they had been and choosing his route from that. When they reached the area that had received a coating of the red fire retardant slurry, the first crew he met was out of Flagstaff. They directed him to the Apache crew, but that turned out to be the Navajo boys out of Fort Defiance. They knew where the Turquoise Canyon crew was working and Dylan found them, making a line with their axes, their motions smooth and efficient. He paused a moment to see how well they were managing without their former crew chief.
Ray Strong left the line to speak to him. His face was streaked with sweat and soot, making his teeth appear especially bright. Even without trying, there was a kind of perpetual devilment in his twinkling eyes and mischievous smile. Ray had been in and out of trouble most of his life, owing to a reckless nature coupled with a stubborn streak. But he was one man Dylan knew he could rely on. In his current situation, he needed a friend who didn’t care very much for rules or laws.
Dylan left the vehicle to greet his friend, with Meadow close behind him.
Ray hugged him, and Dylan accepted a thump on the back.
“We’ve been looking for you all night,” said Ray. “News reported you both dead. I see Jack was right, again. Man, you gave me a scare.” Ray broke away and gave Meadow a long look. Dylan tried to tamp down his possessiveness as Ray moved closer, and failed. He objected to the way Ray smiled at her and gripped her hand during the introduction. He held on a little too long, in Dylan’s opinion.
“How’s Morgan?” asked Dylan.
Ray was now a married man with an instant family, since Morgan had a daughter from a previous relationship.
Ray seemed to be holding back a laugh as he regarded Dylan. “Just fine. Worried about you, too. Let’s get you two back to base. It’s not too far.”
Ray rode with them. The base was just a grouping of tents, a temporary shower area and a food drop. Ray left them to return to the line, as Dylan and Meadow shared a ready-made meal. They were still eating when Ray reappeared.
“Highway boys are here. They’re looking for you two. They already have your Humvee.”
Dylan was on his feet looking for an escape route. He needed a vehicle.
“Your truck here?”
Ray shook his head. “Came in by bus.”
They were trapped.
“Hide in plain sight,” said Ray, holding up two fire helmets.
Dylan wrapped Meadow’s blue hair in a bandana then adjusted a helmet to fit her head. In short order, Dylan was dressed in familiar attire, borrowed from Ray, and Ray had a quick version of all that had happened since Dylan and Meadow had been forced into the fire shelter. Well, not everything. He’d left out what had happened in the shower and what had been happening to him since. If they surv
ived this, he’d like to take her out.
The voice of reason scoffed. Where? Where in the wild world would an Apache hotshot take a celebrity heiress? The impossibility of a relationship weighed on him as much as the fear of pursuit.
“We need to get you into protection. Like Carter. Until then, you two hide on the line.”
Meadow slipped into a pair of battered boots that Ray offered. She could keep them on if she laced them tight.
“Jack said Forrest is here somewhere. The feds are out here looking for you, too. We need to be sure that Jack finds you first.”
“Our crew chief is right up here,” said one of his men, a little too loudly as he came up the hill in their direction. “Captain?” he hollered. “There are two detectives from the Highway Patrol wanting to see you.”
Ray waved Dylan and Meadow away and they retreated in the opposite direction.
“Mr. Strong, we need the location of the two fugitives that arrived in a Hummer.”
Dylan heard Ray speaking to one officer.
“Where’s the other one?” he whispered to Meadow.
“What?”
“Ray’s man said there were two. Where’s the other one?”
The male voice came from behind him. “Right here.”
Dylan had a weapon. Two, actually, but he would not draw on a law enforcement officer. He raised his hands. Meadow did the same.
“Facedown on the ground. Both of you.”
Dylan stretched out. Meadow hesitated.
“Meadow, do as he says,” said Dylan.
The officer took out his Taser and Meadow dropped down beside Dylan. In a moment they had their hands zip-tied behind their back, they were frisked, read their rights and were then hustled into the back of an Arizona Highway Patrol vehicle.
He saw Ray make an attempt to get to them. They were both members of Tribal Thunder, and he knew Ray would do whatever it took to get him out.
Ray called out to Dylan in Tonto Apache.
“I will call help. Do not worry, Brother Bobcat.”
Dylan replied in Tonto, “Hurry, my brother. Her father wants her dead.”
The last he saw of Ray was his worried face as he drew out his radio. Then they were gone, driving past the staging area and away from the fire.
