Jackson knelt and felt for a pulse then rolled her friend over. Blank eyes stared up at them.
A bullet hole marred the center of Riley’s face.
Chapter Four
Horror punched Lauren’s gut. A violent sob choked her, and her knees buckled.
When she wobbled, Jackson caught her around the waist and supported her.
“No!” Gasping and sputtering through her tears, Lauren tried to comprehend the horror before her.
Riley was dead. Killed. No, murdered.
Trembling, she stared at her fallen friend, his gory, gaping wound.
Jackson eased to the carpet of pine needles, taking her with him. “Easy. I know. I know,” he whispered in her ear.
But he didn’t know. How could he know what it meant to lose Riley, a man who’d been like a brother to her?
“Oh God. Oh God,” she moaned and clutched her stomach. “No!”
Jackson shifted until he faced her. Still protecting his hurt shoulder, he pulled her into an embrace and stroked her back. He crooned nonsense about everything being okay. About her being all right. About him knowing how she felt.
Lies.
The contents of her stomach surged upward.
“I’m gonna be sick,” she managed to squeak, twisting out of his hold just before retching on the forest floor.
Rocking back on her butt, she wiped her mouth on the sleeve of her T-shirt and drew a shaky breath. “If my chute hadn’t hung up…if I’d landed over here—”
“No!” He seized her arm and whirled her around. “Don’t start that guilt and ‘what if’ crap. It will eat you alive.” He gave her a firm shake. “Got it?”
She stared at him through the blur of tears.
“Believe me, I know how debilitating second guessing can be.” Something haunted and compassionate in his expression overrode the gruffness of his tone. That hint of understanding beckoned to her, and she crumpled against him. Just for a minute. She just needed a moment to compose herself.
His worn T-shirt was soft beneath her fingers. His chest was firm and broad. Safe. And he smelled good. Clean like fresh laundry, like a loving home. She inhaled his scent deep into her lungs, shoving down the well of grief and shock.
She had a job to do. She was too late to help Riley, but Boomer needed help, needed her to be strong.
And Birdman. Where was he?
She savored the comforting strength of Jackson’s arms another moment before shoving away. With quick swipes, she brushed away the rest of her tears, evidence of her spontaneous and humiliating emotional outburst. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually melt down like that, but—”
“It’s okay.” He handed her the radio she’d dropped.
“It’s just that…the shock…the loss just…”
“I know.” His nostrils flared as he sucked in a deep breath, his gaze shifting away from her. The sadness that washed over his features made her think that maybe he did know. Maybe he was familiar with loss. With tragedy.
A pang of sympathy plucked at her. A small link to this stranger. A shared understanding of grief.
But he visibly shoved the hurt aside, wiping the emotion from his face and turning from her. “Let’s go. We need to take care of your friends, then get out of here before Rick finds us.”
Still shaken, Lauren fell in step behind Jackson. She gathered the edges of her composure together like a frayed blanket. She would not fall apart. She had a job to do.
They found Boomer hunched behind a large moss-covered rock and nearly unconscious. Blood soaked the leg of his jumpsuit in a garish red splotch.
“Boomer!” Lauren dropped to her knees beside him. “I’m here. What happened to your leg? Is it broken?”
“Bullet. Think it hit…th’ bone. Hurts like hell.”
“Are you hurt anywhere else?” she asked, not sure what to do for her partner. Her friend.
“No…don’t think…so.”
Boomer tried to sit up, and Jackson knelt on the other side of the fallen jumper to press Boomer back to the ground. “Stay down and don’t move.”
Boomer glared at him. “Who th’ fuck…are you? Did you…do this?”
“Easy, Boom. He’s cool.” Lauren unfastened Boomer’s jumpsuit at the neck, giving him more room to breathe.
Her partner’s attention shifted back to her, his eyes dark with emotion. “Riley’s dead. Took a bullet…through his face mask. Right…between the eyes.” Boomer’s face crumpled as he struggled with the grisly news. “Think Whitefeather’s…dead too. He’s…in the clearing. Face down. Hasn’t moved.” He filled his lungs, clearly struggling not to break down.
Lauren pretended not to notice her partner’s battle with his emotions. Doing so would only embarrass him. “I tried to call the jumpship back, but the radios are useless. Remember in the briefing, Gillcrist said the repeater up here was out?”
Boomer paled even more. “Shit! You’re right.”
She turned to McKay. “Repeaters are the devices stationed in remote areas that relay our radio signals.”
He gave her a funny little smile. “I’m familiar with the term.”
“Yeah, well, the one for this area was reported out of service. Until it’s fixed we have no commo off this mountain.”
“Sat…phone,” Boomer gasped.
Lauren shook her head. “No dice. Livingston took the only available satellite phone to the Cobalt fire this morning. We’ve got nothing until a spotter plane comes in radio range.”
Boomer’s face reflected the same sinking sense of loss and dread worming through her.
Jackson edged toward the clearing and craned his head to scan the area. “I see your friend Whitefeather. I’ll check on him. You stay with Boomer.”
Lauren bristled at his highhandedness. “Hey! He’s my responsibility. Not yours. Who said you were in charge anyway?”
Jackson scowled. “I’m just trying to deal with a bad situation. Now, do you want to argue, or do you want to help your friend?”
Lauren sobered, realizing how petty she sounded under the circumstances. “Let me check Birdman,” she said, her voice calmer. “He doesn’t know you. If he’s hurt—” She stopped abruptly when Jackson’s eyes shifted to something behind her and his expression hardened.
Somehow she knew what she’d find before she turned. But seeing the hulking man with a gun aimed at them was worse in reality than she could have imagined.
“Nice of you folks to make so much noise. Led me right to you.” Twigs snapped under the man’s feet as he stepped closer.
Jackson mumbled an expletive.
Lauren’s mouth went dry. Holy hell. She didn’t want to die. Not now. Not like this.
She eased her hand toward the side pocket of her fire pants where she’d stashed her .357 Magnum.
“Hey!” The towering gunman swung his weapon directly toward her head. “Keep your hands where I can see ’em, girlie.”
The derogatory name chafed, and she gritted her teeth. “Don’t tell me. You’re Rick.”
The man arched an eyebrow. “So the doctor’s been talking?” He smiled, but it held no humor. “Nah, Rick headed the other way, looking for McKay there. But it looks like I get the pleasure of bringing him in. Huh?”
Lauren sneered. “Lucky you. Maybe you’ll even get a raise. What do they pay asshole murderers these days, anyway?”
Rage filled the gunman’s face. “Shut up, bitch!”
Jackson eased forward. “Vince, you don’t want to do this. Leave them out of it.”
“It’s too late. As soon as Rick got itchy and shot those other parachuters, killing them all became our only choice. Can’t leave witnesses.”
“So let Rick take the fall then. You’re not a murderer. Are you, Vince?” Jackson said, still inching forward.
“Shut up! I said it’s too late!” When the man flailed his weapon toward Jackson, Lauren caught her breath.
Vince’s gaze flicked to her hip. “Toss me the radio, lady. Nice and easy. That gu
y’s too.” He nodded toward Boomer.
She didn’t move, refusing to release their only possible link to civilization, to help. She knew better than to piss off a man with a gun at her head, but cowering and capitulation wasn’t her style.
With an ugly snarl, the gunman fired at her feet.
She gasped and stumbled back a step.
“Do it…Mike,” Boomer wheezed.
She cut her gaze to her jump partner, knowing he was thinking of Riley’s and Whitefeather’s radios.
Glaring at the gunman, she tossed her radio down and gathered Boomer’s from beside him. Almost before she could step out of the way, the cretin blasted both radios to bits. He then re-aimed his gun at her. “I think you can be the first to die.”
Squaring her shoulders, Lauren braced for the bullet.
“Wait! Vince, listen. Just take me back.” Jackson stepped in the line of fire, his hand up in a placating manner. “I’ll go with you quietly. Don’t hurt them. Let ’em go.”
“No can do. My orders are to leave no witnesses.” Vince waved his gun. “Now step outta the way, McKay.”
With Jackson blocking the gunman’s view, Lauren again reached for her pocket. Slowly.
Her sweaty hand wrapped around her revolver, and she slid a finger over the trigger.
Before she could pull the gun from her pocket, a deafening crack blasted behind her. Then a second pop. And a third.
A red stain blossomed on the gunman’s chest. Human tissue splattered on the ponderosa pine behind him. A startled expression fixed on his face before he slumped to the ground.
“That’s for Riley, you motherfucker,” a voice behind her growled.
Stunned, Lauren spun around. “Birdman!”
John Whitefeather stepped out of the shadows, his own bear-defense weapon still smoking in his hand. “One down.”
Jackson sagged against the trunk of a pine, exhaling a large breath. “Four to go.”
Emily wrapped her arms around her middle, trying to muffle the rumble of her growling stomach. She took small breaths hoping no one would hear the rattling wheeze of her asthma either. The last thing she wanted was to cause a problem. Even if Cara had been nice about sticking up for her with Rick, she didn’t want to press her luck.
The guy they called Montego looked like he’d rather shoot her than deal with any trouble.
Emily’s tummy gurgled really loudly, and Cara looked over and frowned. Rising from her chair by the fireplace, Cara walked over to the bed.
Emily’s heart beat faster, and her lungs tightened.
Cara stared down at her with the same sort of worried face Dad wore a lot since Mom’s death. A kind of “Lord, what am I supposed to do now?” face.
“You hungry?” Cara asked.
She shook her head. “I’m okay.”
Cara raised one eyebrow the way adults did when they knew you were lying. “I can make you a can of soup or something.”
“Hey!” Montego said from across the room. “Don’t be using up all our food on the kid. We didn’t lay in enough supplies to feed an extra person. She’s not even supposed to be here!”
Cara jerked her head toward him. Her long dark braid, streaked with white like a skunk’s, whipped around her shoulders. “We can’t let her starve. She’s no good to us dead. You heard Rick. She’s our insurance. McKay will do anything we say to protect his daughter.”
Montego snorted. “Yeah, sure,” he said, though his tone said the opposite.
“He will. Just you wait.” Cara propped her hands on her hips, challenging Montego.
Emily held her breath, hating the fighting between her captors but also admiring Cara for having the guts to stand up to Montego. Montego’s black hair, small black eyes and mean attitude reminded Emily of the scary Doberman Pinscher that lived next door at home.
“You saw how protective he was of her. How much she obviously means to him. That’s how it is with parents and kids,” Cara continued.
Cara was right. Emily would do anything for her dad. She especially wished she could do something to help Dad not be so sad about losing Mom, but she felt helpless. She was just a kid. What did she know about taking care of her dad? She had worried a lot about what would happen to her family now that Mom was gone.
And what would happen to her now that Dad left with Rick? She huddled a little tighter into a ball, trying to make herself as tiny and unnoticeable as possible. If she didn’t give these guys any trouble, maybe they’d let her live. Maybe they wouldn’t hurt Dad anymore. Maybe they’d let her and Dad go home.
Somehow she didn’t believe any of that would happen. Emily fought her tears as a knot of hurt twisted in her chest. Crying made it harder to breathe, and her stupid asthma was already squeezing her lungs.
“Not all parents are so dedicated to their kids,” Montego grumbled and strode across the room to peer out the window.
Still hiding her face, Emily watched through the gap between her folded arms as he rested his hand on the gun tucked in the waist of his jeans.
“God, the waiting is tedious. How long do you think it’ll take ’em?”
“If they drive on through like Rick said… I’m guessing late tonight,” Cara said. “Maybe tomorrow morning.” She sighed. “Would you stop pacing? You’re making me antsy.”
Emily felt a hand on her knee, and she jolted. The rattle in her lungs made her cough. If only she had her inhaler…
“Come on.” Cara leaned closer and patted Emily’s head. “Your dad wouldn’t want you to go hungry, now would he?”
Emily peered up from where she’d buried her face. “Why are you being nice to me?”
Cara seemed startled by the question. She blinked rapidly. Opened and closed her mouth.
Emily winced. She shouldn’t have asked, no matter how much the question bugged her.
“I’m just trying to take care of you.” Despite the tension in her face, her eyes were kind.
Emily wanted to trust Cara, wanted someone so she didn’t feel so alone. But she couldn’t forget the way the men had beaten her dad. Cara was one of them, not a friend.
Dad had been bleeding, hurting. Suffering. To protect her.
Guilt and love tangled inside her.
Hold on. We’ll be all right. Warmth swelled inside her when she heard Dad’s voice in her head. She had to be brave for Dad. As brave as he was when he fought these men to protect her. As brave as Mom had been.
“Soup?” Cara tipped her head again, like she did whenever she asked a question.
Emily opened her mouth to refuse the offered food, but her stomach growled again. Loudly. “Yes, please. Guess I am hungry.”
Cara’s eyes widened. “Please?” A sad look drifted over her face. “I wish my kids had had your manners. They never did give me any respect.” She paused then stood. “So…I think we have cookies too. Do you like Oreos?”
Emily nodded, but in her chest, she felt a little catch. A quick tug. Oreos had been her mom’s favorite. Even a year and a half after Mom’s death, it was still hard to eat Oreos without crying. But she would tonight. She wouldn’t do anything to cause trouble with Cara and the men.
Jackson stared at the weeping holes on Vince’s head and chest, neat entry marks that belied the carnage the bullets would have made when exiting the man’s body. The splatter of blood and brains on the foliage where Vince had fallen told that gory story.
“Birdman, thank God!” Lauren slumped to the ground, a hand pressed to her heart. “We thought you’d been shot too!”
Shifting his attention to the newly arrived smokejumper, Jackson eyed the tall, Native American who lowered his gun before answering.
“I was.” He showed them his helmet. A large dent pocked the side. “I was headed over to help Riley when the guy shot at me. Bullet must’ve grazed me. Apparently, the blow knocked me out for a while.” His lips compressed in an angry scowl. “Riley caught a bullet square in the face. He’s…dead.”
“We know,” Lauren whispered. “I�
��m sorry.”
Birdman slammed his helmet to the ground. “Shit! What’s going on?”
“Long story.” Jackson swiped a hand over his face, a black pit of fury and guilt gnawing inside him. His work with Stabilzon had put these smokejumpers in danger. And Emily.
Birdman’s hawk-like eyes narrowed on Jackson. “Who are you?”
“His name’s Jackson. He’s okay.” Lauren crawled over to the man she called Boomer, tossing quick introductions out with a dismissive flick of her hand. “Jackson, that’s John Whitefeather, and this is Jake Randolf, better known as Birdman and Boomer. Now, can you give Boomer some help?”
The last she said to Whitefeather, who joined Lauren at Boomer’s side. Her partner was barely conscious.
Jackson scanned the woods. The scent of smoke hung heavy in the air, a chilling reminder that a wildfire raged less than a mile away. The distant roar of flames devouring the landscape drowned out subtle noises.
Like approaching footsteps.
Rick was still out there. Somewhere. Hunting him. A deadly game of cat and mouse.
Vince had said Rick went the other direction, but he had to have heard the gunshots. He’d be back this way. Soon.
Chapter Five
An uneasy itch skittered down Jackson’s spine. He had to get moving. Had to get back to Emily. Had to find a way to evade Rick and get to the cops.
Something. Anything but sitting here waiting to be captured again. Or killed.
“Boomer took a bullet in his leg,” Lauren told Birdman. “He thinks the bone shattered.”
“Help me get his suit off him.” Whitefeather turned to Boomer. “Sorry, bud. We’ll try not to jostle you too much. I gotta have a look at that leg.”
Jackson huffed restlessly, leaned his head back against the tree. His nerves danced like an excited atom.
Boomer’s injury threw a huge wrench in the operation. Jackson needed the smokejumpers’ help, hated that they’d already sustained casualties because of the macabre situation he found himself in.
Lauren looked up at Jackson while Whitefeather unfastened Boomer’s jump suit. “Birdman’s an EMT. When we finish with Boomer, he can take a look at your shoulder.”
Under Fire Page 5
