by Nora Roberts
But his eyes, she thought as she pushed, pushed, pushed herself on. Clear, focused, determined. Eyes that didn’t lie, she thought. Eyes she could trust.
Did trust.
They’d make it.
Something exploded behind them.
Breath snagging, she looked back to see an orange column of smoke climb toward the sky. Even as she watched, it brightened.
“Gull.”
He only nodded. He’d seen it as well.
No time to talk, to plan, even to think. The ground shook; the wind whipped. With its roaring breath, the fire blew brands, coals, burning pinecones that burst like grenades.
Blue-orange flames clawed up on their left, hissing like snakes. A snag burst in its coils, showered them with embers. The smoke thickened like cotton with the firefly swirl of sparks flooding through it.
A fountain of yellow flame spewed up in front of them, forcing them to angle away from the ferocious heat. Gull grunted when a burning branch hit his back, but didn’t break stride as they flung themselves up an incline.
Rocks avalanched under their boots, and still the hellhound fire pursued. Came the roar, that long, throaty war cry, as the blowup thundered toward them.
A fire devil swirled out of the smoke to dance.
Nowhere to run.
“Shake and bake.” Gull yanked the bandanna around Rowan’s throat over her mouth, did the same with his own.
It screamed, Rowan thought as she tore the protective case off her fire shelter, shook it out. Or Matt screamed, but a madman with a gun had become the least of their problems.
She stepped on the bottom corners of the foil, grabbed the tops to stretch it over her back. Mirroring her moves, Gull sent her a last look and shot her a grin that seared straight into her heart.
“See you later,” he said.
“See you later.”
They flopped forward, cocooned.
Working quickly, Rowan dug a hole for her face, down to the cooler air. Eyes shut, she took short, shallow breaths into the bandanna. Even one breath of the super-heated gases that blew outside her shelter would scorch her lungs, poison her.
The fire hit, a freight train of sound, a tidal wave of heat. Wind tore at the shelter, tried to lift and launch it like a sail. Sparks shimmered around her, but she kept her eyes closed.
And saw her father, frying fish over a campfire, the flames dancing in his eyes as he laughed with her. Saw herself spreading her arms under his on her first tandem jump. Saw him open his as she ran to him after he’d come back from a fire.
Saw him, his face lit now by an inner flame as he told her about Ella.
See you later, she thought as the impossible heat built.
She saw Gull, cocky grin and swagger, pouring a helmet of water over her head. Saw him tip back a beer, cool as you please, then fight off a pack of bullies as ferocious as a fire devil.
Felt him yank her into his arms. Turn to her in the dark. Fight with her in the light. Run with her. Run to her.
He’d come through fire for her.
The fear speared into her belly. She’d been afraid before, but she realized most of it was because she damn well wasn’t ready to die. Now she feared for him.
So close, she thought while the fire screamed, crashed, burst. And yet completely separate. Nothing to do for each other now but wait. Wait.
See you later.
She held on. Thought of Yangtree, of Jim. Of Matt.
Cards—God, Cards. Had Matt killed him, too?
She wanted to see him again, see all of them again. She wanted to tell her father she loved him, just one more time. To tell Ella she was glad her father had found someone to make him happy.
She wanted to joke with Trigger, rag on Cards, sit in the kitchen with Marg. To be with all of them, her family.
But more, she realized, even more, she wanted to look into Gull’s eyes again, and watch that grin flash over his face.
She wanted to tell him . . . everything.
Why the hell hadn’t she? Why had she been so stubborn or stupid or—face it—afraid?
If he didn’t make it through this so she could, she’d kick his ass.
Dizzy, she realized, sick. Too much heat. Can’t pass out. Won’t pass out. As she regulated her breathing again, she realized something else.
Quiet.
She heard the fire, but the distant snarl and song. The ground held steady under her body, and the jet-plane thunder had passed.
She was alive. Still alive.
She reached out, laid a hand on her shelter. Still hot to the touch, she thought. But she could wait. She could be patient.
And if she lived, he’d damn well better live, too.
“Rowan.”
Tears smarted her already stinging eyes at his voice, rough and ragged. “Still here.”
“How’s it going there?”
“Five-by-five. You?”
“The same. It’s cooling down a little.”
“Don’t get out yet, rook.”
“I know the drill. I’m calling base. Anything you want me to pass on?”
“Have L.B. tell my dad I’m A-OK. I don’t know about Cards. There was blood. They need to look for him. And for Matt.”
She closed her eyes again, let herself drift, passing the next hour thinking of swimming in a moonlit lagoon, drinking straight from a garden hose, making snow angels—naked snow angels, with Gull.
“Cards made it back,” he called out. “They had to medevac him. He lost a lot of blood.”
“He’s alive.”
Alone in her shelter, she allowed herself tears.
When her shelter cooled to the touch, she called to Gull. “Coming out.”
She eased her head out into the smoky air, looked over at Gull. She imagined they both looked like a couple of sweaty, parboiled turtles climbing out of their shells.
“Hello, gorgeous.”
She laughed. It hurt her throat, but she laughed. “Hey, handsome.”
They crawled to each other over the blackened, ash-covered ground. She found his lips with hers, her belly quivering with a wrecked combination of laughter and tears.
“I was going to be so pissed off at you if you died.”
“Glad we avoided that.” He touched her face. “Heck of a ride.”
“Oh, yeah.” She lowered her forehead to his. “He might still be alive.”
“I know. We’d better figure out where we are, then we’ll worry about where he is.”
She took out her compass, checking their bearings as she drank what water she had left in her bottle. “If we head east, we’ll backtrack over some of the area, plus it’s the best course for the camp. We need water.”
“I’ll call it in.”
Though her legs still weren’t steady, Rowan got to her feet to examine the shelters.
“Inner skin’s melted,” she told Gull. “We hit over sixteen hundred degrees. I’d say we topped a good one-eighty inside.”
“My candy bar’s melted, and that’s a crying shame.” He reached for her hand. “Want to take a walk in the woods?”
“Love to.”
They walked through the black with ash still swirling. Training outweighed exhaustion, and had them smothering smoldering spots.
“You came for me.”
Gull glanced up. “Sure I did. You’d have done the same.”
“I would have. But I thought I was dead—not going down easy, but dead all the same. And you came for me. It counts. A lot.”
“Is there a scoreboard? Am I winning?”
“Gull.” She didn’t laugh this time, not when everything she felt rose up in her raw throat. “I need to tell you—” She broke off, grabbed his arm. “I heard something.” She closed her eyes, concentrated. Pointed.
She looked in his eyes again. Toward or away? He nodded, and they moved toward the sound.
They found him, curled behind a huddle of rocks. They’d protected him a little. But not nearly enough.
His eyes
, filled with blood, stared up from his ruined face. She thought of her dream of Jim, of his brother. The fire had turned them into mirror images.
He moaned again, tried to speak. His body shook violently as his breath came in rapid pants. Raw, blistered burns scored the left side of his body, the most exposed, where the fire had scorched the protective clothing away.
He’d nearly made it out, Rowan noted. Another fifty yards, and he might’ve been clear. Had he thought he could make it, left his life to fate rather than shake out his shelter?
Gull handed her the radio. “Call it in,” he told her, then crouched. He took one of Matt’s ruined hands carefully in his.
He had that in him, Rowan thought. He had that compassion for a man suffering toward death, even though the man was a murderer.
“Base, this is Swede. We found Matt.”
His eyes tracked to hers when she said his name. Could he still think? she wondered. Could he still reason?
For an instant she saw sorrow in them. Then they fixed as the panting breaths cut off.
“He didn’t make it,” she said, steady as she handed the radio back to Gull.
Steady until she sat on the ground beside a man who’d been a friend, and wept for him.
SHE WANTED TO STAY and fight, termed it a matter of pride and honor to be in on the kill. She rehydrated, refueled, replaced lost and damaged equipment. Then complained all the way when ordered to copter out.
“We’re not injured,” she pointed out.
“You sound like a frog,” Gull observed as he took his seat in the chopper. “A sexy one, but a frog.”
“So we ate some smoke. So what?”
“You lost most of your eyebrows.”
Stunned, she pressed her fingers above her eyes. “Shit! Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s a look. They’ve got it on the run,” he added, scanning down as they lifted off.
“That’s the point. That bitch tried to kill us. We should be in on the takedown.”
“Don’t worry, babe.” He reached over to pat her knee. “There’ll be other fires that try to kill us.”
“Don’t try to smooth it over. L.B.’s letting the cops push us around. What the hell difference does it make when we give them a statement? Matt’s dead.” She turned her face, stared out at the sky. “I guess most of him, the best of him, died last year when Jim did. You held his hand so he didn’t die alone.”
Though Gull said nothing, she clearly felt his discomfort so turned to him again. “That counts a lot, too. You’re really racking them up today.”
“People have a choice when life takes a slice out of them. He made the wrong one. A lot of wrong ones.”
“You didn’t. We didn’t,” Rowan corrected. “Good for us.”
“Don’t cry anymore. It kills me.”
“My eyes are watering, that’s all. From all the smoke.”
He figured it couldn’t hurt for both of them to pretend that was it. But he took her hand. “I want a beer. I want a giant, ice-cold bottle of beer. And shower sex.”
The idea made her smile. “I want eyebrows.”
“Well, you’re not getting mine.” He tipped his head back, closed his eyes.
She watched out the window, the roll of land, the rise of mountain. Home—she was going home. But the meaning had changed, deepened. Time to man up and tell him.
“I need to say some things to you,” she began. “I don’t know how you’re going to feel about it, but it is what it is. So . . .”
She shifted back, narrowed her eyes.
No point baring her soul to a man who was sound asleep.
It could wait, she decided, and watched the sun lower toward the western peaks.
SHE SAW HER FATHER running toward the pad, and L.B., and the flying tangle of Ella’s hair as she rushed after them.
Marg sprinting out of the cookhouse. Lynn stopping to bury her face in her apron. Mechanics, jumpers not cleared for the list pouring out of hangars, the tower, the barracks.
The cop and the fed standing together in their snappy suits just outside Ops.
She gave Gull an elbow poke. “We’ve got a welcoming committee.”
She climbed out the second the chopper touched ground, then ran hunched over under the blades to jump into her father’s arms.
“There’s my baby. There’s my girl.”
“A-OK.” She breathed him in, squeezed hard. And, seeing Ella over his shoulder, seeing the roll of tears, held out a hand. “It’s nice to see you.”
Ella gripped her hand, pressed it to her cheek, then wrapped her arms as best she could around both Lucas and Rowan.
“Don’t go anywhere,” Lucas murmured, then, setting Rowan down, walked over to Gull. “You took care of our girl.”
“That’s the job. But mostly she took care of herself.”
Lucas pulled him into a bear hug. “Keep it up.”
They both looked over when Rowan let out a shout, broke from Marg and ran toward the man slowly walking toward the pad.
“I told that son of a bitch he could only check out of the hospital if he stayed in bed.” L.B. shook his head at Cards.
“Yangtree?” Gull asked.
“Fifty-fifty. They didn’t expect him to make it this far, so I’m putting my money on him. Got a cold one for you.”
“Let’s not keep it waiting.”
“Do you want me to tell the cops to back off until you and Rowan settle in?”
“We might as well get it done and over. She needs it finished. I guess I do, too.”
“He just started talking crazy,” Cards told Rowan. “About me letting Jim die, about Dolly. And he said . . . he said Dolly called Vicki, and told her we’d been screwing around. Hinted to her the baby was mine, for God’s sake. That it was his idea.”
“You can fix it with her.”
“I’m going to try. But . . . Ro, he came at me. Jesus.” He touched his shoulder where the pick had dug in. “Matt came at me. I knocked him back, or down. I told the cops it’s like this crazy reel inside my head. I ran. He was coming after me. I think he was, then he wasn’t. I just kept running. Got all screwed around until I found the saw line. I followed it.”
“Good thinking.”
“I don’t know how he could’ve done what he did, Ro. I worked right beside him. All of us did. Yangtree . . .” His eyes watered up. “Then to come after you, to die like he did. I can’t get my head around it.”
“You’re worn out. Go on and lie down. I’ll come in and see you later.”
“I loved the fucker.”
“We all did,” Rowan said, as Cards walked back into the barracks.
Gull stepped up. “Unless you want to do it otherwise, we can talk with the cops now. Marg’s throwing on some steaks.”
“There is a God.”
“We can get it done while we eat.”
They took seats at one of the picnic tables.
“First, I want to say it’s good to see both of you back here, safe.” Quinniock folded his hands on the table. “It doesn’t do much good, but you should know after some digging, a little pressure, Agent DiCicco learned earlier today that Matthew Brayner ended his engagement a short time ago, cut off communication with his fiancée. Also, that he quit his job.”
“I also learned a few days ago that he has a number of trophies and awards. Marksmanship. There are several people in your unit who have sharpshooter experience.”
Rowan nodded at DiCicco. “You’ve been investigating all of us.”
“That’s my job. We arrived here to question him about the same time he assaulted your associate,” DiCicco continued. “We were able to convince Mr. Little Bear to let us search Brayner’s quarters. He kept a journal. It’s all there. What he did, how, why.”
“He was grieving,” Rowan said.
“Yes.”
She looked at Quinniock. “He blamed himself, at the bottom of it, for what happened to Jim. For being weak, sleeping with Dolly, for fighting with his brother
before that jump. He couldn’t live with that, so he had to blame Cards, Dolly, all of us.”
“Very likely.”
“But it was more.” She looked at Gull now. “He fell in love with the fire. Found a kind of purpose in it, and that justified the rest. He said he left it up to fate, but he lied to himself. He gave it all to the fire, turning what he loved and had trained to do into a punishment. Maybe he thought he could burn away the guilt and the grief, but he never did. He died, grieving for everything he’d lost.”
“It would help,” DiCicco told her, “if you could tell us exactly what happened, what was said and done.”
“Yeah, I can do that. Then I’m never talking about it again, because he paid for all of it. There’s nothing more to wring out of him, and no changing anything that happened.”
She went through it like a fire report. Precisely, briefly, pausing only to lean into Marg’s side when the cook set down still sizzling steaks.
She ate while Gull did the same from his perspective.
“You knew it was Matt when you caught up with me,” Rowan interrupted.
“Cards has had nothing but shit for luck all season. Cards was Jim’s spotter. You have to respect the streak, good or bad, but when you break it down it seemed like maybe it wasn’t a matter of bad luck. Then Matt couldn’t bring himself to look at Yangtree once we got him down.
“You were too busy to notice,” he added, “but Matt was the only one who couldn’t. When Janis said none of the three of you answered the radio, it was point A to B.”
He looked back over at DiCicco. “That’s it. There’s nothing more to tell you.”
“I’ll do whatever I can to close this without bothering you again,” DiCicco said to Rowan. “And I’m pulling for your friend, for Yangtree.”
“Thanks. What happens with Leo Brakeman?”
“He’s cleared of the murders, and as Brayner detailed the shooting at the base in his journal, how he had the combination for the safe—from Jim through Dolly—he’s clear of those charges. Regardless, he jumped bail, but given the circumstances, we’re recommending leniency there.”
“Matt didn’t kill him,” Rowan murmured, “but he shattered his life. He did it so he could get the baby for his mother.”
Quinniock rose. “A smart man would head to Nebraska and work to put his life back together. That’ll be up to Brakeman. Despite the circumstances, it was a pleasure meeting both of you. Thank you for your service.”
