by Anne Marsh
“You going to stop me?”
He eyeballed a can of peaches on the shelf. One sweet thing, even if it wasn’t a light weight, couldn’t hurt. They shouldn’t be forced to shelter in place for more than a night, but why go without if Holm here had been stockpiling? The nights got cool, so he’d take the sleeping bag, too. The little space-age silver blankets he had in his own pack were nowhere near as plush.
“This is a crime scene.” The camera clicked as she murmured something into her handheld. “Evidence. That means don’t touch, Sam. It’s not a Quickstop.”
“If there’s anything we can use in here, I want it.” He tossed three more packages into the tarp, then tentatively hefted the plastic load. His collection was heavy, but he didn’t have to carry it too far. He had in mind a spot nearby, a little uphill. He’d bet that was where her survivalist had one of his exit spots.
“You really think we’re camping out in the woods tonight?” She snapped a half-dozen more pics, then slid the camera back inside her pack. Sam figured that was his cue to get the party started again—somewhere else.
He motioned towards the bunker’s entrance. “Yeah, because I’d prefer not to die today.”
She paused in mid-step. “You think it comes to that?”
“My boys can’t get a helicopter in to us right now. The prevailing winds are still too strong.” He shrugged. “There’s only five miles between us and them, but we might as well be barefoot in the Sahara with no water. Our bird isn’t flying until conditions calm down some. Plus, it’s going to be dark soon and no one flies at night.”
“So we really are stuck.” She moved towards the bunker’s exit, but he got there first. She didn’t go out there until he’d had a look around first.
Her muttered “Sam” told him loud and clear how she felt about his protective instincts, but that was too damned bad. He finished his visual sweep of the surrounding woods. All clear. She did her job. He did his.
“Stuck?” He motioned for her to leave. “No. I’ve done this before. I’m prepared and I know these woods. We’re going to wait things out upslope in this canyon, and we’re going to be fine. I get that bringing down Holm Arthurs is important, but you’re not helping anyone if you’re dead. Let’s get you out of here, and then you can go all show-and-tell with your team.”
She pushed past him, because the bunker wasn’t built for two and he hadn’t given her much clearance. For a moment, they were thigh-to-thigh, her ass sliding against his hip. Part of him—the erect part—hoped the move had been deliberate.
“Okay then. Catch you on the other side.” She disappeared into the clearing outside.
He paused, casting a last look around the bunker.
Holm’s rack of firearms caught his eye. Sam had sworn off firearms after leaving the Marines. Sure he carried a shotgun in his truck because meeting unfriendly bears in the woods wasn’t on his list of favorite activities, but bears weren’t people and the shotgun was a last resort anyhow.
Holm had stockpiled ammo with the single-mindedness of a hoarder. Multiple boxes of shells were stacked neatly on the shelf nearest the exit. Hell, there were enough rounds there alone to outfit a small militia, and that was discounting the wall of guns. Those guns were inexpensive carries, but reliable defensives. A Bersa Thunder, a half-dozen .38 specials, and two 9mm pistols intended for concealed carry. Holm Arthurs was dangerous for a hundred different reasons. Remaining inside the bunker would be no safer than sitting on a hand grenade and pulling the pin if the fire got too close.
Hell. Sam palmed two handguns and some ammo. If Holm was lurking in the woods, preparation was key, and peaches weren’t all he would need.
The gun slid into his palm, cool and familiar. Wrapping his fingers around the grip, he pulled back the slide and chambered a round. Hopefully, he wouldn’t need the Glock, but he wasn’t taking chances, not with Livy’s safety.
When they left the bunker, Sam insisted they move fast. Unfortunately, despite her need to investigate the bunker in greater depth, Sam was right. The fire was catching up. Sparks hung in the air like fireflies. On the other side of the stream, grass wilted and turned to flame. Matchhead-sized embers popped into life, strung out over the vegetation, as the forest behind them expanded and contracted with heat. As the smoke eddied around them, she was grateful for Sam’s mask.
Sam had pulled a bandana up over his nose and mouth. With his Nomex hood pulled low over his head, he looked like a dangerous bad boy bandit. Maybe if they got through this in one piece, it would be time to indulge her cowboy fantasies. It was amazing what a woman could do with a vibrator and a stack of paperbacks.
He pointed towards the rocky upslope. “We’ll go there. I want to get us upslope where it’s going to be harder for the fire to catch us. You see those rocks? That means less fuel for the fire riding our asses.”
“You think it’s safe?”
“You blow things up.” His steady gaze met hers. “I pick up the pieces.”
He increased the pace, taking them uphill. Her breath caught and burned in her lungs, reminding her it was time to add another mile to her morning run. Sam, of course, kept right on eating up the ground with his long-legged stride. He didn’t look bothered by the steep incline or the weight he was packing. She wanted to protest when he slowed his pace to match hers, but she was too out of breath. Who knew speaking could be a luxury?
His hand cupped her ass, boosting her as her boots slipped on loose rock.
“Hey,” she protested. “Is that a park-sanctioned safety move?”
“What?” His innocent look. “It’s a long way down, honey. I’m simply lending you a hand.”
“Bet you’ve seen plenty. Out here in the park,” she clarified when he snorted. Sure enough, when she turned her head back, he had that small masculine quirk of his lips going on. He found her amusing all right.
“You get everything out here. Pot growers. Survivalists. Kids on a weekend bender gone bad. Two consenting adults banging to glory on top of a picnic table.”
“You get all the fun calls.”
He acknowledged her words with a tip of his head and was right-back-at-you. “And you don’t?”
“Point taken.” Her lips curved up in a smile.
“We do what has to be done, that’s for sure.”
Moments later, she got her first good look at Sam’s safety zone. Steep, rocky walls lined both sides of the gorge with razor-sharp formations. A dirt trail meandered along the bottom, following a thin ribbon of river.
“We’re aiming for the crest.” Sam pointed to the top of the canyon. Already, the bottom was dark. The lower areas of the canyon walls were thickly forested, with trees rapidly thinning out nearer the crest line. There was not too much smoke due to the up-canyon breeze clearing out the air.
The sunset was spectacular, the sun an angry red ball surrounded by a halo of bright light. Black and red and not much in-between. Not a romantic pink-and-gold, but boldly dramatic. She liked it.
“We’re camping at the bottom?”
He shook his head. “We stay up top. You get the right winds sweeping through a gorge like that, and you’ve got a fire tunnel. If we have to, we can duck down inside, but for now we stay put right here. This is our home sweet home for the night.”
The U.S. Forest Service had been in his things. Holm didn’t like that. He’d bet the ranger hadn’t been careful, either. When he eventually visited the bunker, he’d find one hell of a mess. The ranger shifted the makeshift bundle on his back and, from his hidey-hole upslope, Holm clearly heard cans bang against each other. Fuck. Bastard had probably taken the good stuff, too. It was damned hard to find canned goods that packed some taste, and living on Chef Boyardee wasn’t Holm’s plan.
Way to raid my pantry. He wanted to go Goldilocks and the three bears on the ranger, shouting Who’s been eating my porridge.
Instead, he pushed back the red rage. He needed to stay in control. Staying in control was how he kept one step ahead of the t
eams hunting him, which was critical as his work wasn’t done yet. So, for now, he melted back into the sagebrush. The forest ranger knew his stuff. The gorge he’d picked out was mostly right angles, with a nice stone face. If, by some miracle, the original fire made it uphill, the pair would be able to wait out the firestorm and then hike out through the burnout.
In theory.
Because there was no way Holm would let them do that.
Even though he was working independently right now, he was plugged into a larger network. He wasn’t the only man in this great country who knew the government was on the wrong track. End times were coming fast, and someone had to serve a wakeup call to the people trundling along, doing the same-old, same-old. Holm was first in line for that, and he had plans. Big, explosive plans. Civilian casualties were unfortunate, but that was war for you. Sometimes, the civvies got hurt. That pain was the price tag on getting the message across.
So they hurt and they learned, and everyone ended up better off.
The FBI lady wasn’t onboard with that plan, though, so she’d be kicking off his casualty list, followed by her right-hand man, the park ranger. Once the pair got comfortable, Holm would make his move. He got a quick visual on the fire’s progress. She was still burning steady. As long as the wind didn’t shift again, his first fire was right where she needed to be.
Right on track.
Chapter Five
Sam’s canyon served up a bird’s-eye view of the surrounding forest and a smoky slice of access road. The Humvee had to be right around the corner so, despite their hiking and climbing, they’d come full circle. After a dinner of MREs and canned peaches from Holm’s stash, she hiked up behind Sam. He stood, legs apart, right on the edge, where the stone lip turned into a thousand foot free fall. He didn’t seem to mind that empty air or the lack of handholds, but no way she’d get that close on her own. Plus, now they were here, she wasn’t sure what he wanted from her. Or if he even wanted anything.
This wasn’t the first time he’d taken her to some off-the-map place, as far from civilization as his hiking boots could carry him. She’d been a suburban kid, despite a childhood stint in the Girl Scouts. Sam, however, had shown her the joys of hiking out to a primitive campsite with just a sleeping bag and some food. There she’d spend the night on her back, staring up at the stars. He’d never pushed her. The first few nights they’d hiked out together, they’d laid out the bags side-by-side, done a little hand holding, but nothing else. Not until they’d both been ready.
She was in trouble now, because she was ready for something to happen tonight. She just wasn’t sure how to make it happen.
“That’s the last drop for tonight,” Sam said, pointing towards the air tanker doing slurry drops in the near-dark. The pilot hit the release and three thousand gallons of red went into targeted free fall, coating the vegetation below with protective moisture. “It’s too dangerous to fly at night, so they’ll head back to base, grab some sleep, and be ready to go again at dawn.”
She didn’t want to discuss wildland firefighting techniques, but at least he was talking to her, so she volleyed the question back at him. “The fire doesn’t get out of control if everyone packs it in for the night?”
Sam shrugged, like the chaotic flames made perfect sense to him and he could see exactly how this was going to play out. “Fire lies down at night. The wind’s already dropping, and the temp’s going to follow. Humidity goes up and”—he smiled wryly—“there’s your evening coffee break. As soon as the sun rises, the fire heats up, too, so the guys will sleep while they can.”
“You don’t want to go down?” The stream below was starting to look like a fine option to her.
He shook his head. “You don’t want to go in there if the fire’s coming. That’s a death trap. We stay up here on the crest.”
“Safety zone?” She said the words lightly.
“You bet.” He folded his arms across his chest, watching the fire with single-minded intensity.
“That’s my hotshot.” She leaned into him tentatively. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he tucked an arm around her shoulders and pulled her farther into his side. The gesture was a familiar one. They’d stood like this a hundred times before during that summer they’d shared. Maybe he’d done some remembering of his own, or maybe the gesture was simply habit.
“Hell.” Sam closed his eyes briefly when something flared up over in the vicinity of the access road. “I hope your boys know how to drive. The pickup’s not going to notice a few more scratches and dents, but I’d hate like hell to find the remnants in a ditch. Particularly if the military’s finest are still strapped inside.”
She seconded that feeling.
But she also knew her team. They’d worked side-by-side for over a year, hunting Holm. “They’ll be fine.”
His concern was sweet. Mayne would probably chew off his own arm if he ever caught wind of Sam’s concern, but Olivia liked it. Did Sam ever worry about himself? Granted, he wasn’t a big one for talking, but he didn’t seem concerned about the fire breathing down their necks. Maybe it was simply his boundless confidence in his ability to get himself out of whatever mess landed in his lap, or maybe he was willing to go down, knowing he’d given the job his all.
She, on the other hand, was a nervous wreck.
“Should be,” he said finally, turning away from the mouth of the canyon. “We’ll find out tomorrow.”
The possibility that there wouldn’t be a tomorrow had her focusing on the definite of tonight. Okay, so her body was onboard with that plan. It had been a long time since she’d had sex and she was lonely. She’d also had an unpleasant brush with mortality—which certainly explained the adrenaline pumping through her now—and she was having flashbacks to the hottest summer of her life.
All on their own, her fingers found the buttons on his Nomex. One button slipped free, followed by the next. How that happened, she had no idea. Her fingers appeared to be hardwired into her libido, and neither was talking to her brain. Because touching Sam was definitely a bad idea. He was six-plus feet of sex on a stick—and pure trouble.
He didn’t stop her, though. She couldn’t help but notice that.
His hand cupped her shoulder, his thumb rubbing a small, sure circle against her skin. “You feel it, too. The heat.”
She tried to push away, but he wasn’t letting go.
“No,” he said patiently. “You want to listen to me for a minute? I need to explain something here, Livy.”
“So start talking.”
He didn’t immediately speak, though. Instead, he pulled her in close, her back against his chest, his arms wrapped around her middle. Like that, Sam was toasty warm, a solid, reassuring presence. His cheek rested against top of her head. The moment was sweet, but she was still teetering between confused and needy.
“I’ve always waited for you,” he said.
She tilted her head back to get a better look at him. “I’ve been gone for ten years, Sam.”
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “And maybe part of me’s always hoped you’d come back when you were ready.”
“I came back to do a job,” she pointed out. “This isn’t a romantic rendezvous.”
“I know,” he said comfortably, “but I think we’ve still got something between us. There’s a spark.”
Spark was an understatement. Still, letting Sam get close would be a mistake if she wanted to keep her single-minded focus on her career. She’d dated a few guys in those ten years he’d mentioned, and those nights out had been fun for the most part, but there hadn’t been any chemistry either. She didn’t know what made her body go up in flames when Sam Clayton touched her, but facts were facts.
He made her melt.
“We’re not picking up where we left off.” Hell. She could hear the little note of desperation in her voice and she didn’t like it. And, yeah, she was wet. So wet and sensitive that each step she took rubbed the sensitive folds of her pussy against her panties. This need sh
e had for Sam Clayton was maddening. He’d driven her crazy all those summers ago, and she wasn’t giving him another chance now.
Problem was? That step she’d taken was towards him.
“All right.” The slow rumble of his voice as he agreed with her was more fuel for her fire. She’d always loved his voice.
“I mean it.” There. She sounded firm. Mature. Never mind that her inner hussy was howling to throw the man to the ground and climb on top of him. Wasn’t happening.
“If we have to camp out here tonight”—and, if her choices were an overnight camping trip with the man she’d lusted over for years or self-immolation, the choice was perfectly clear—“you stick to your side of the campfire.”
He shrugged. “I wasn’t planning on building a campfire, honey. You want to hold me to an imaginary line?”
She opened her mouth. Closed it. She shouldn’t find his literalness so endearing.
“Ten years.” She didn’t bother hiding the skepticism in her voice. “You really want me to believe you spent that time waiting for me?”
“Job-like patience,” he agreed cheerfully. “You going to make it up to me now?”
“Probably not.” There was no point in not being honest. “I work with bombs for a living. You put out fires. There couldn’t be two people more different.”
“I like different. Hell, I’ve never been the kind of guy who owns matching towels or even matching socks. The differences between us don’t scare me. I like our differences just fine.”
He’d been warned and she told him as much. “This doesn’t mean we’re starting over.”
“Whatever you want, honey.”
“This is just tonight. We’ll figure tomorrow out tomorrow, okay?” She was selfish. She wanted this moment. No regrets. No worrying about later.
“I’m holding you to that, honey.”
So she took what she wanted.
She reached up and slid a hand around the back of his neck. When she tugged, he came and she didn’t fool herself. There was no moving Sam once he’d made up his mind to stay put. Stubborn. Strong. The line blurred between the two with him. His familiar face came closer and she had just enough time to wonder if he’d still taste as good as he had ten years ago before he was there and there was no more guessing.
