Passion to Protect

by Colleen Thompson

  Though Cody could be unconscious, he knew the chances were at least as good that this mission was no longer a rescue but a body recovery. The thought that he might be looking for a small, charred form slashed through him like a reaper’s scythe. In all the years that he’d fought fire, he had found the dead before, usually animals, small and large, who were unable to escape the fire’s path. But in one case, forever seared into his memory, he had nearly tripped over the partially incinerated remains of a missing college student, a pretty twenty-year-old who’d gone on a day hike with her dog. Burnt and blackened as she had been, she barely appeared human, but he would never forget the photos his crew had been shown before they’d gone out—pictures of a healthy, vibrant brunette with her family’s Labrador retriever. Or the contrast of those images with the body he’d found curled beside an old stump, as if, even to the last, she’d been fighting to hide from the flames that had consumed her. Her dog had died huddled at her side, loyal to the bitter end.

  Dog. Loyal. Of course. Why hadn’t he been thinking about Misty?

  Instead of calling Cody, Jake began shouting the shepherd’s name, hoping the animal was still alive and able to respond. Staggering beneath the burning canopy, he pushed himself to continue, though his own breathing had grown painful and fits of coughing racked his body. But he saw nothing except the glowing fire and the black wall of thick smoke. The only sounds he heard were the crackling of the hungry flames and the hiss of boiling sap, and then, suddenly...was that barking?

  Jake hesitated, unsure of where the sound was coming from. “Misty?” he yelled, then tried to whistle before electric white dots blazed a sizzling path across his vision and another fit of coughing drove him to his knees.

  Though dizziness pressed down on him, he knew he needed to get back up. Needed to get the hell out before he, too, became a victim. The flare of phantom pain reminded him that a ruined leg could be replaced. But there was no prosthetic that would ever mend his Liane’s broken heart if he left her son out here to die.

  * * *

  Sheriff Wallace tapped at the door, then entered, his badge gleaming on his chest and his hat in hand. With his gray hair mussed and coffee spatters marring his khaki uniform shirt, he looked as exhausted as Liane herself felt.

  “How’s the little one?” he asked.

  Liane ignored the question and rose from her chair to confront him. “You wouldn’t help me last night. You told me I should go to bed and my family would be fine.”

  “Liane,” Em interjected, reaching for her, then pausing to eye the sheriff critically. “Is that true? You blew her off when she called you?”

  Looking a decade older than usual, the sheriff shook his head and sighed, his gray eyes suspiciously damp behind his glasses. “Yeah, I guess it’s fair to say I did. I’ve always figured Deke could handle just about anything the backcountry threw at him. I couldn’t believe there was real trouble.”

  Liane turned away and rubbed her aching temples. So far she’d refused to allow the doctors to give her more than a quick once-over or do anything that would take her away from her daughter for even a minute.

  “I was wrong, Liane,” Sheriff Wallace admitted. “And you have no idea how torn up I am about it. You know Deke is—he was the best friend I have. But there was something I didn’t know then. Something I have to tell you.”

  “About Mac, you mean?”

  “So you know?” he asked.

  “I saw him with my own eyes.”

  He nodded, his gaze sliding toward Kenzie. “Is she going to be all right?”

  Liane managed a tight nod. “The doctors think so. But they’ll keep her overnight, at least, to monitor any swelling in her airways.”

  “The doctors here’re real good,” he hastened to assure her. “But right now, we need to talk. Just the two of us, in private, where we won’t disturb her.”

  She stiffened, alarm blasting through her system. “You haven’t come to tell me Cody—that he’s—”

  “I swear I don’t have any news other than we’ve got people in the air and on the ground—and best of all, you’ve got Jake Whittaker out there looking for him. If anybody can get your son home safely, I’d put my money on it being him.”

  “You aren’t just saying that to make me feel better?”

  “I figure nothing can make you feel better right now, short of having both your kids safe in your arms. But there are things we need to talk about, things that can’t wait. So could you come with me for a few minutes, just down the hall here?”

  “I can’t.” She squeezed her daughter’s hand.

  “Go ahead, Li,” Em said. “I’ll stay with her as long as you need. And I promise, I’ll come find you if anything changes.”

  Head aching, Liane gave in and followed Sheriff Wallace down the corridor and around a corner, to a door marked Family Room. Staring at the sign, she froze, remembering another room just like this, where she and her father had been taken years before when her mother had died of her injuries following a one-car accident. Liane hadn’t been much older than Cody when it had happened.

  “What’s the matter?” the sheriff asked her.

  “This is where they take people to give them the worst kind of news.”

  He opened the door and gestured toward a space not much different from a living room, with an overstuffed sofa, a few chairs and a patterned rug. There was even a small TV. “Not right now it isn’t,” he said, his voice grandfatherly. “Right now it’s just a quiet place for us to talk. I promise. Now, why don’t you have a seat? Make yourself comfortable.”

  As she sank down on the sofa, she felt an icy flutter in her stomach. She managed a few sips of coffee, but the warm liquid couldn’t touch the coldness spreading through her.

  The sheriff took a wingback chair and leaned forward to say, “I need you to tell me everything, starting with what happened with your daddy.”

  Her breath hitched. “The rescuers found him?”

  His mouth pressed in a somber line, Harry Wallace nodded. For nearly forty years the two men had met for breakfast every Wednesday. It had been a ritual both of them held sacred.

  “His body was recovered.” His voice softened. “Now tell me, Liane, what do you know about how he died?”

  She shook her head, hot moisture burning her eyes. “Jake—Jake found him, but he did his best to keep me from seeing. All I can say for sure is...there was so much blood, and I couldn’t find my children. I called and I called them, but—”

  “Let’s start from the beginning, shall we? Tell me everything that happened after our conversation last night.”

  For the next twenty minutes Liane spoke woodenly, as if she were recounting a movie she’d seen last week, a story that had nothing to do with the children who were her life, the father who had been her refuge, and Jake Whittaker, her first love and a man who owed her nothing, yet had risked everything to help her. She knew from past experience that the numbness wouldn’t last, that eventually she would be forced to deal with the rage, the grief, the devastation—that all of it would send her crashing to the bottom of the well she’d spent years crawling out of.

  Except that this time she couldn’t imagine finding the strength to climb out on her own.

  * * *

  Panting with exertion and slick with ash-streaked sweat, Jake fought his way toward Misty’s barking. As he pushed through thick brush, some thorny horror snagged his artificial leg and sent him sprawling, the prosthesis twisting painfully below his natural knee.

  As he struggled to reposition the leg and get up, it sank in that he’d been deluding himself, imagining he could rehab and retrain to the point where he could once more lead his team into the backcountry. It was a goal he’d shared with no one, one so daunting that he barely allowed himself to consciously consider the possibility. Up until today, he’d thought he w
as making progress, getting to the point where he could do the work he had been born for instead of being sentenced to spend the rest of his life consulting Russian dictionaries for his dry-as-dust translations.

  But his disappointment at this reality check was nothing compared to the knowledge that his limitations could cost Liane her son’s life.

  “Like hell,” Jake grunted as he strained his muscles to push himself upright. Wincing each time he put weight on the bruised stump, he forced his way through a ravine so smoke-charged, he hacked until he saw stars.

  If Cody was down here, he realized, he had to be dead already, but when he choked out Misty’s name, her barking led him up the other side and out, where he finally spotted her standing atop a rock. Her head was low and her shaggy gray hair singed in several places, but she wagged her tail and licked at the air when she saw him.

  “Cody?” he called, but there was no answer, and he saw no sign of the missing boy. His gut clenched with the thought that the boy might have gotten separated from the dog—or that she’d abandoned his small body, her instinct leading her to the relative safety of this rocky knob.

  “Come on, girl. Come here,” he called, voice breaking. But the big shepherd only whined and spun in circles, forcing him to climb.

  He had nearly reached her when he spotted what appeared at first to be a pile of rags partly tucked beneath a ledge.

  “Cody!” Jake shouted, his eyes stinging as he hobbled over and knelt, ignoring the pain, to shake the boy’s shoulder. “Cody, I’m here now. Everything will be okay.”

  Though Cody didn’t respond, his flesh was warm, thank God, and he was breathing.

  “We’re getting you out of here,” Jake promised, grimacing as he picked up the eight-year-old...

  And wondered how he would ever manage, with the added burden of the boy’s weight, to make it to the ridge.

  * * *

  “They were supposed to warn me,” Liane insisted. “They promised they would call me if he were ever released—and especially if he escaped. He’s found ways to threaten me from prison. He’s obsessed with the fact that I testified against him—as if I was going to keep my mouth shut after he kicked in a door and shot me. That’s why I finally gave up my job and moved back home last fall.”

  The sheriff cleared his throat, his gaze troubled. “Have you changed your number recently?”

  She shook her head, then stopped, eyes widening. “I did get rid of my old landline when we came here, but they had my cell, too. Do you think this is my fault? That if I’d updated their records, my father would still be—”

  “There’s blame enough to go around,” he admitted with a deep frown. “The Victims Services people faxed my office. But there was a mix-up and the fax got lost. I’m so sorry.”

  “You’re sorry?” She rose from the sofa, knocking over the cold dregs of her coffee as she glared into his face. “Mac murdered my father. And for all I know my son and Jake could both be...”

  Though she couldn’t force the word out, her mind screamed it. Dead!

  “God help me, I know, Liane, and I’m not here to make excuses. But it didn’t help that the Nevada people had it wrong, too. They have solid forensic evidence that McCleary was with the others when they killed an elderly homeowner not far from the prison, and they were tracking the use of the victim’s credit cards and cell phone. I’m sure they’ll want your statement—and probably Jake’s and the kids’, too—for confirmation, because everything pointed to the fact that all four men were heading south together, probably for the border.”

  She shook her head. “They’re looking in the wrong place if they think Mac went anywhere near Mexico. He’s here—probably still in Elk Creek Canyon. I hope—I hope that murdering lunatic burns to ashes.”

  Stifling a moan, she clapped her hand over her mouth, the thought of Mac’s fate an all too visceral reminder that her son was still out there, too. “What if—” she asked, her voice strained with terror, “what if Mac finds Cody before Jake does?”

  Harry reached for her, but she turned away from his touch. He sighed, then said, “Jake will keep him safe if anybody can.”

  “What if no one can?” She shook her head. “My father couldn’t. I couldn’t. What if—”

  “Stop, Liane. This isn’t helping.”

  She speared him with a desperate look. “Nothing’s helping.”

  “Maybe not,” he conceded, “but whatever happens, your daughter needs you right now. She needs you to stay strong.”

  She nodded, wishing there was someone, anyone, left to tell her how.

  “There’s something else you should know,” said the sheriff. “Last night I stopped by the ranch. The power was out from the storm, but everything else looked just fine. Except for the old bunkhouse—the place was torn to pieces.”

  “Jake’s place? That doesn’t make sense. Mac’s never even met Jake. I can’t imagine he even knows his name.” Certainly she’d never brought up her old boyfriend to her husband, had barely allowed herself to think of the love she’d left behind. “Besides, how could Mac have broken into Jake’s cabin? He was in the canyon at the same time we were.”

  “You’re right. He couldn’t have. Which means that more than likely he’s brought along at least one of his fellow escapees. Somebody must have stayed behind to do the damage.”

  “But why wreck Jake’s place?” Confusion spun through her mind, but try as she might, she couldn’t pluck the strands of logic from the maelstrom. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Usually, when places are tossed the way this one was, someone’s looking for something. Drugs. Or money.”

  “Jake’s no addict. I’d swear to it. And I can’t imagine him having a lot of cash lying around. Besides, if that’s what they were after, why not break into the big house?”

  Harry Wallace shrugged. “Could be the alarm deterred ’em. Or maybe they were interrupted.”

  “I still don’t understand it.”

  Harry’s gaze was deeply troubled. “I can’t explain it, either. But I swear to you, Liane, I’ll figure this out.”

  Before she could respond, someone rapped at the door so insistently that they both jumped to their feet. In a moment Em stepped inside, her face flushed.

  “Is it Kenzie? Is she all right?” Liane asked.

  “She’s fine, just resting. It’s Cody—he’s been found. They’re airlifting him straight here.”

  “Oh, thank God. But—” Liane could barely force the questions out, she was so frightened of the answers. “Is he alive? Hurt? And what about Jake?”

  Em shook her head. “All I heard is they’re administering first aid on the copter. And first aid means you’re alive, right? They wouldn’t give Cody first aid if he were—”

  “Let me go find out,” the sheriff said as he hurried to the door. “I’ll be back as soon as I’ve got something to report.”

  Knees shaking too hard to support her, Liane sank back down on the sofa and prayed that whatever news he brought her would be something she could bear.

  Chapter 7

  Jerking awake, Jake instinctively reached down, his mind catapulted back to the horror of regaining consciousness to find his lower left leg gone. Pain pinched at his right arm. Opening his right eye—the left was swollen shut—he saw that he was connected to an IV hanging just beside his bed. Bed? How had he gotten to the hospital so quickly, and what the hell was strapped over his face?

  He thought back, struggling to put together what had happened. His memories were a jumble of fragmented images of fire and smoke and throbbing pain in his knee.

  When and how had he been found? Had Micah come after him, digging him out from beneath the tree? And what about his men? Had someone gotten them out safely?

  No, that part was all wrong. That had happened last year. Today he h
ad been searching for Liane’s son, for Cody, that unmoving, huddled shape he remembered shaking to no avail. Dead, Jake thought, though the details remained hazy.

  And where was he? How had he gotten here?

  He tried to curse but only coughed. Once he started, he couldn’t stop, so he was grateful when someone—a nurse?—hurried in, elevated his bed and held a glass of water for him.

  “Here, let me lift your oxygen mask a minute, so you can take a few sips.”

  As she made the adjustment and put the straw to his lips, he turned his head to see her out of his good eye, and took in the unraveling brown braid over her shoulder and the swollen blue eyes. Liane’s eyes, sore from weeping, yet here she was, by his side, helping him despite her losses.

  Unable to speak, he sipped the water. As his coughing subsided, a raging thirst rose up, prompting him to drink deeply.

  “Not too fast or you’ll be sick,” she cautioned him gently as she pulled the cup away. When she tried to reposition the mask, he pushed her hand aside.

  “I’m so sorry,” he croaked, his voice sounding like the scraping of dried twigs over gravel. “So sorry—I tried. But I couldn’t—”

  He remembered struggling forward, pushing past endurance, until he’d found... And he’d done it for Liane, the woman he now realized he had never entirely stopped loving. The woman he had failed, just as he’d failed his men.

  “Don’t, Jake. Please don’t apologize,” she answered, fresh tears streaming down her face. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. You could have been killed out there.”

  “But Cody...”

  Her face was smudged and tearstained, and she stank of smoke as badly as he did, but her smile was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “Don’t you remember? Cody’s going to be fine—because of you. The search and rescue people say you even managed to get Misty back to the ridge before you collapsed. She’s at the vet clinic right now.”

  “They’re both—I found them?” Even as he asked the question, the jigsaw images snapped together. He remembered, as if from a dream, how Misty’s barking had finally led him to find Cody, how the boy had finally responded to his efforts to revive him.