The Heat is On: Christian romantic suspense (Summer of the Burning Sky Book 2)

by Susan May Warren

  Your rod and your staff protect and comfort me.

  She didn’t know why the rest of the verse rose to the surface, but…yes. Rio had been a force of protection and comfort.

  Helping her stay calm, not panic.

  God had shown up to protect her. She looked at Tucker. “You gotta get out of the mind-set that God doesn’t want to help you and start believing that ‘goodness and mercy will pursue you all the days of your life.’ Pursue. As in not give up tracking you down. As in relentlessly showing up in your life whether you are a good guy or not.”

  He stared at her, almost confused, even as she let the word sink in. Pursue.

  Oh, please, really? Except not everyone had the luxury of knowing God’s words. “Psalm twenty-three, New Living Translation. It’s the one I learned at Bible camp. Look it up.”

  She curled her arms around herself, picturing March, and even Buttles. “Listen. People are evil. And bodies are frail, and fires happen. Lightning strikes—it just falls from the sky, and yet in the middle of the fire, in the middle of the darkness, God is there. Pursuing us. Because He loves us. Because He wants to rescue us. Because He is a rescuer by His very nature.”

  A rescuer. She smiled. “Sorta like a guy I know.”

  And maybe she could be one back. Tucker still hadn’t moved, so she touched his arm, met his eyes. “You will never be enough to fight your fires on your own, Tucker. That’s why we have a team. And God is on your team.”

  He drew in a breath, but the words filled her, like heat to her bones.

  God was on her team.

  “C’mon. Let’s get that pack,” Skye said. “I’m freezing.”

  He nodded and started up the trail.

  Good. Because as soon as they warmed up, she was going after Rio in hot pursuit.

  Before Buttles found him.

  Seven

  Rio forced his legs to keep running. Because everything inside him wanted to turn around, flee back to the river, and dive in after Skye.

  He couldn’t pry her scream out of his head.

  Of course, at the time he’d been face down in the dirt, the world spinning, his jaw burning, wondering how he’d get up.

  Her scream had relit the fire inside him.

  His head still rang. The inopportune kick from March just as Rio had been lunging in to help Archer had probably cracked his jaw, maybe even given him a concussion, especially when added to the blow March had given him to his head.

  Yes, but for the scream he might still be in the dirt. High-pitched and terrified, it galvanized him off the ground, and he went to his knees, searching for Skye.

  He spotted her perched on a boulder in the river, out of the water.

  Safe.

  Downstream.

  And then, “US marshals!”

  The voice came from the bridge, and he’d whirled around to see Stevie, the overzealous marshal, pointing a gun at March. Finally, the right target.

  “You’re surrounded! Let him go!”

  Rio glanced again at Skye, and in a dark flash he realized—Darryl had made a run for it, and if Rio got apprehended, it would be hours, maybe days before they sorted out Rio’s identity.

  And Darryl would be in the wind—Buttles along with him.

  Another quick look at Skye—she was perched safely on the rock—and Rio turned his back on Skye and sprinted down the path where he’d seen Darryl disappear.

  It wasn’t hard to find him. The man still bled. Dark red blood splotched the path, and sure, Rio’s head hurt so bad he thought he might retch, but he kept running and caught up to Darryl less than a half mile away.

  Darryl spotted him with a look of horror over his shoulder, and Rio didn’t slow. Just ran him down, grabbing the back of his shirt and yanking him to a hard stop.

  Then, because he was breathing hard and didn’t want Darryl to nick him again with a stone or an elbow or something that could finally take him down, he shoved Darryl into a nearby birch tree, twisting his arm behind his back in a submission hold.

  Got his face up close to Darryl’s ear. “Going somewhere?”

  “You said I could find my wife!”

  Really? Wow. “You gave me up to March. I think our deal is off!”

  “Then I’m not testifying. You get nothin’ from me.” As if for emphasis, he spat at Rio’s feet.

  Rio fought to keep the world from spinning—and from letting go of the desperate grip on his self-control.

  Because more than anything, he wanted to take out his fury on this jerk who trafficked women, who had hit him, and sold him out to March—

  And yeah, he knew his frustration had a lot more to do with the fact Skye was probably hypothermic right now, but he hadn’t known what else to do.

  In short, he’d panicked.

  Led with his emotions, again.

  “Oh, you’re going to talk,” Rio said darkly. “Maybe not testify, but I promise, I will find out what I want to know from you.”

  Yeah, any doubt that Rio might not be a criminal died with his tone, the way his voice turned to steel. “I’m going to do to you exactly what you do to every girl who you transport. Tie you up, lock you in a cage, and never let you go.”

  Darryl went silent. Then, quietly, his shoulders began to tremble, his breaths washboarding out.

  What—? Was he crying?

  Rio held in a dark word, then eased off the man. Stepped back, keen to any fast movements.

  “I just want to see my wife. I—” Darryl turned, and for Pete’s sake, tears cut down the man’s face. “I’m an idiot—I know it. The first time I drove for Buttles, it was television sets and stolen stuff, and I just…I thought…I needed the money. I wasn’t trying to hurt anybody. I just…I love Alicia and I wanted to take care of her. I didn’t know I was transporting girls until…” He closed his eyes. “I heard them crying when I stopped at a truck stop. I’d been told never to open the truck, but I did, and they were all lined up in crates, most of them drugged, but a few of them were really sick and…I didn’t know what to do.”

  “You call the cops.”

  “I called Buttles.” Darryl’s expression turned wretched, and Rio steeled himself against it. “I thought maybe he didn’t know, but…” He shook his head. “Aw, I’m stupid.”

  “Yeah, man, you are.”

  “He threatened my wife.”

  And Rio really didn’t want to have any compassion for Darryl, but when he looked down into Darryl’s reddened eyes, Rio heard Skye’s voice in his head. Just enough not to push Darryl up against the tree with a hand to his neck. Desperation causes us to do stupid things.

  Rio knew that kind of desperation. At least the kind that got people in over their heads.

  Still—no excuse, and Darryl deserved to go to jail for a very long time.

  Which meant that no, he wouldn’t see his son or daughter grow up. And shoot, but Rio got that.

  He’d missed a year of his kid brother’s life.

  And frankly, a whole lot more since he’d gone into undercover work.

  “Where is your wife?”

  “She lives in our A-frame, just a couple miles from here.”

  Rio wanted to put his fist into the birch tree behind Darryl. He could probably do this—bring Darryl to his wife.

  Because of Aggie.

  “I just want to say goodbye. Tell her I love her.”

  Rio’s jaw tightened, hearing Skye’s words in Darryl’s.

  He should have told Skye how he felt.

  The thought shook him right through to his bones. Because yeah, if love peeled back the darkness to find the sliver of hope and light inside…he was on his way to falling hard for Skye Doyle.

  And it was enough to listen to the compassion she’d wanted to show Darryl.

  “You swear to me that you will testify against Buttles. No going back on your word. Because if you do, man, I promise you—”

  Darryl lifted his hands in protection, or maybe surrender. “Yeah, I do—I do—”

 
; Sheesh. He’d really taken a blow to the head. Rio grabbed the man by the collar. “C’mon.”

  They started down the path—the only way he could think to go, because it had to lead somewhere, given the wide, Forest Service maintained trail. The path was well trod, shaggy trees cut back, wood chips dropped on soggy soil. The river faded out, leaving only their footfalls against the packed loam.

  Rio let go of Darryl.

  His head throbbed, a hammer slamming into his frontal cortex. Yeah, he probably had a concussion, but he couldn’t stop now.

  He kept Darryl in front of him, in reach of his hand.

  “Sorry I gave you up to March,” Darryl said, maybe as a peace offering.

  “How did you know?”

  “I wasn’t sure until you stood up for that kid in the chow hall. There’s something about you. You’re not like…well, I thought you were a crow until you actually took a beating for him. Then, I couldn’t figure why the superintendent sent me out here—I’m not the guy for the job. But I’m not stupid, either, and when you showed up, I started to wonder if maybe she sent you out here. For your own good.”

  Rio nodded. Oh, that was a bad idea.

  “Which left me connecting the fact the feds kept offering me protection if I ratted out Buttles. And I figured that if they’d actually transferred me to Copper County to be near my wife, what else would they do to keep me safe? And then I remembered how you told me you were watching my back.”

  “You aren’t making it easy.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t know who to trust. And you weren’t exactly blending in. You think you can, but you don’t. You’re…different. You’re stupidly good. Like, inside. It’s probably going to get you killed.”

  Rio narrowed his eyes, half expecting Darryl to turn on him, try something.

  But the man just kept walking.

  Then Skye’s voice was back, hurting his heart with her words. There’s still light inside you, Rio. Nothing can separate you from the love of God.

  Maybe. Oh, he hoped so.

  Darryl said nothing more, and they walked in silence until they emerged into a large campground. A dirt drive circled the area, filled with RVs, pop-ups, and tents. Despite the burning sky that bathed the area with light, the place was quiet.

  Rio grabbed Darryl’s arm. “Let’s find transportation.” He scooted around the campsite, looking in trucks and SUVs for keys, and found an open-shell Jeep with the keys dangling in the ignition. A lonely blue two-man tent sat a few feet away, one pair of boots sitting outside the tent.

  Rio grabbed a fleece jacket and T-shirt lying on the picnic table.

  Sorry, dude.

  Darryl climbed in the passenger side of the Jeep.

  Rio slid behind the wheel, took a breath, then fired it up, stuck the gear in reverse, and peeled out.

  They kicked up dirt along the road as they headed out of the campground.

  Darryl glanced over at him, grinning way too widely for a man who was an accessory to grand theft. “Maybe you are a criminal after all.”

  Rio’s mouth closed in a tight line. Maybe.

  The fire on the mountain had blown up in the wee morning hours. A black plume of smoke darkened the sky to the north, and Skye heard Tucker on the radio, checking in with Seth, hearing the grim status report. Not only had the winds shifted and the fire jumped the water line to the east, but Riley had gotten hurt.

  They were now three firefighters short.

  And Tucker was pacing. He’d given her a black T-shirt from his PG pack, along with a pair of dry socks—he was a fanatic about dry feet. She pulled her hair back into a sodden ponytail and crouched before the campfire, listening to him finish his call.

  “We’ll be back as soon as we can,” Tucker said. “But first, we gotta do something.” He looked up at Skye.

  Really?

  She nodded at him, not a little stunned that he’d even heard her words as they’d hiked back to the place where he’d jumped into the water to rescue her.

  He’d filled her in on their pursuit of the convicts, the story of how he and Stevie, the US marshal, had followed the group all the way to the cabin. And yes, they’d started a fire as a diversion, trying to overtake March.

  Tucker was limping, the result of a fall, or maybe his tussle with March. And he was just as worried about Stevie, who’d disappeared after they’d been swept downstream, as Skye was about Rio.

  Interesting.

  Tucker signed off with a “Don’t do anything stupid, Seth,” and Skye couldn’t help but wonder if going after a fugitive like March wasn’t exactly that.

  According to Seth, a couple US marshals had reached the cabin and were hiking to the river on foot.

  Maybe she and Tucker should head back and do their jobs. Especially since Rio had risked his life to get her away from March.

  Except…well, her heart told her that Rio was in big trouble.

  He was taking Darryl to his wife.

  And no doubt, Buttles was waiting there to ambush them.

  Tucker was lacing up his boots, so Skye grabbed his pack.

  “Skye—”

  “Stop. Let me do something. I know you think you have to shield me, but I made this team just like everyone else. I can carry a PG pack and keep up with you, boss.”

  He looked like he wanted to argue with her—even himself, his face grim. “I don’t have to tell you that March is dangerous—”

  “Listen. Like I said, there’s more going on here than you realize, and I have to find Rio and warn him about something I heard. He’s in real danger.”

  “Yeah, from getting apprehended. Skye, he’s a criminal!”

  She cinched the waist strap down. “Let’s go.” She hiked down the trail she’d taken earlier, almost hearing Rio’s voice in her ear… When I tell you…

  She’d so thought his escape plan included him, them, together.

  Had thought him kissing her—twice—had meant something.

  She gritted her jaw, forcing down the rush of regret. She hadn’t said goodbye. Or told him how she felt or—

  How she felt? She’d only known him for twenty-four hours…and most of that under duress. She had simply fallen for the hero, the adrenaline ramping up her feelings.

  Except, those emotions felt big and unescapable and impossibly right despite the craziness of it all.

  So yes, maybe she was following her heart. But she didn’t know what else to do.

  She crossed the bridge a second time, not looking at the rapids, and nearly ran down the path, Tucker behind her. He was grunting a little, and maybe she shouldn’t have set such a brutal pace. But he didn’t complain and all she could think was how much March wanted to kill Rio.

  And how much trouble Rio might be in if he lived and walked into an ambush at Darryl’s house.

  “Do you know where March was taking you?” Tucker said.

  “I heard him talking with Archer. He said he had a campsite and a truck we could take.”

  Tucker glanced over his shoulder. She was keeping up, hardly breaking a sweat.

  “Did anyone ever mention that Archer was a…cop?”

  A cop? “No.” Seriously?

  “Was he in on the escape?”

  “I don’t know. He was on March like glue, though. So maybe.”

  Except, he had stepped in at least twice when March had a gun to Rio’s head, so…

  And it occurred to her then that maybe March had caught up to Rio—that Rio was already dead.

  She refused to let the thought take hold of her, freeze her on the spot.

  The path widened and angled away from the river. Blue through the thinning trees suggested a lake, shiny under the morning sunlight. The wind from the mountains eased the sweat from her neck.

  Please let them be running the right direction.

  Tucker slowed to a walk when they reached a campground. A dirt road circled the camp, and tucked into berths were orange and blue tents, pop-ups, a few RVs. An early morning quiet had descended on
the place. Tucker caught up to Skye and grabbed her arm.

  “Wait.”

  What? She listened, but nothing—

  A shot fractured the morning air.

  Tucker took off running.

  She sprinted after him and nearly plowed him over when he stopped short. Standing across the road, Stevie held up her hands, edging toward…March. He stood in front of an old truck parked next to a dilapidated trailer and held Archer by the collar. Archer was pale, breathing hard, as if in pain.

  No sign of Rio.

  Tucker grabbed the pack strap and dragged her over to the forest, pulling her down beside a bushy spruce tree.

  “You stay here,” he whispered. “I’m going to try and get behind March and tackle him.”

  Had he lost his mind? “Don’t die!”

  He gave her the strangest look. Then, “Right. Radio in to Seth, tell him our position so the marshals can get here.”

  Oh, uh… she had nothing but a nod for him as he suddenly sprinted out behind the trailer.

  “Throw the keys!” March shouted, and Skye put it together.

  Stevie had gotten here before March and taken the keys out of his truck. Preventing his escape.

  Where was Rio?

  She spotted Tucker edging out from behind the truck, as if to sneak up on March, who pointed his revolver at Stevie.

  Shoot—she should do something, not just sit here—

  Stevie tossed the keys to March.

  No!

  Archer shouted and launched himself at Stevie.

  A shot, and Archer fell hard on Stevie.

  Somehow she got free, but March grabbed Stevie, hauled her to her feet.

  Hit her.

  Oh—no, no—

  When he hit her again, Skye leaped to her feet.

  Tucker was already there, tackling March.

  Skye ducked her head and fled to the cover of the truck. Stevie crawled over to Archer, begging him not to die.

  Skye paused behind the truck, breathing hard. She couldn’t see the fight, but she heard the grunts—too reminiscent of Rio’s own fight with March. She eased around the truck to help Stevie.