by Lara Lacombe
Alex shrugged, the tips of his ears going pink. “It’s okay,” he replied, his voice gentle. “I don’t blame you for that. I just hate that I hurt you.”
She shook her head. “You didn’t. Tony did. I took the anger I felt for him and directed it at you. I realize now why you told me when you did, and I shouldn’t have punished you for it.”
“I’m just glad you’re talking to me now. I was scared you wouldn’t want to see me again.”
“Why were you here tonight? Not that I’m upset—you definitely saved the day. But what made you find me at work?”
He ducked his head, looking unaccountably shy. “I’ve been trying to reach you for the past several days, but you were never home. I wanted to tell you that the FBI and police were looking for Tony so he could be charged for Jason’s death, among other things.”
Tears sprang to her eyes and she blinked, forcing them back. “Good. I’m glad he’ll finally pay for what he did to Jason.”
Alex nodded. “He’ll never hurt you again.”
“Or you,” she replied, rising to her tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his mouth.
He sighed her name; a whisper of sound. “Jillian.”
“Do you still want me?” she asked quietly. She placed her hand against her stomach to quell the nervous fluttering, but it didn’t help. So she settled for holding her breath, waiting for his response.
His dark blue eyes glowed in the light of the streetlamps, and she flashed back to their first encounter, when he was a big, dark, mysterious stranger. He was still physically powerful, but she knew now he wasn’t dark or sinister. He was hers, and she wanted desperately to be his.
If he would still have her.
“You know I do.”
Excitement bubbled up into her chest, making her feel like she’d just swallowed a huge gulp of champagne. “Then I need you to do something for me,” she said, trying to tamp down the giddy lightness that threatened to carry her away.
One dark brow rose as he considered her. “What’s that?”
Jillian laid her hand against his chest, over his heart. It thumped reassuringly against her palm, grounding her in this moment. “Promise me you’ll try to forgive yourself for the things you’ve had to do.”
He looked down, shaking his head. “It’s not that easy,” he murmured.
“I didn’t say it would be. But I’m asking you to try.”
Alex took a deep breath and then nodded. “Okay. I can do that.”
“Good.” She stretched up to kiss him again.
“Will you do something for me?”
“Anything,” she replied automatically.
“Love me?”
It was such a simple request, and she could tell he was trying to appear strong while he waited for her answer. But vulnerability shone in his eyes, along with something else. Hope.
Jillian pulled him close, snuggling against him as the boom of New Year’s firecrackers echoed in the cold night air. “You couldn’t stop me if you tried.”
* * * * *
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Prologue
Smoke jumper Amy Robinson squinted out the window of the Twin Otter jump ship at the massive smoke column billowing skyward from the forest below. A yellow-gray haze blanketed the Idaho mountain range. The fire was huge, a gobbler.
Anticipation spiked in her blood. Reaching into a pocket of her jumpsuit, she fingered the key to her father’s old Mustang convertible. Stella. She walked her fingers up the key to the locket ornament on the key chain. One side of the locket held a picture of her father, taken two months before he died, and the other side was inscribed, Carpe diem. Seize the day. A bit trite, she admitted, but only a short motto would fit in the tiny locket, and the words were enough to remind her not to let her past define her or hold her back. The sentiment had kept her going as she worked to become the only female smoke jumper on her squad and only one of a handful of women smoke jumpers in the United States.
“All right, first stick, get in the door!” the spotter shouted.
Amy tucked the locket back in her pocket, scooped her shoulder-length dark blond hair into her helmet and waddled with her jump partner, Jim “Bear” Berolli, to the open side door of the Twin Otter. The roar of the 110-mile-per-hour slipstream was almost deafening, and the scent of wood smoke poured into the small aircraft. Her body hummed, her senses on full alert. She signaled thumbs-up. Ready.
Johnson, the spotter, chucked the last set of drift streamers out the door. Amy watched them unfurl in a swirl of red, yellow and blue, dancing and spinning as they caught every ripple and current in the air, blazing the trail before Amy battled the same winds.
“Looks like about three hundred yards of drift to the north. But things will get tricky down low. Lot of shifting winds and updrafts,” Johnson shouted over the engine noise and rushing slipstream.
“Roger that.” Bear gave his parachute strap a firm double-check tug.
“Right.” Amy flipped down the screen mask of her helmet.
“Take us to three thousand!” Johnson called to the pilot.
Amy’s heart drummed an eager cadence against her ribs as the jump ship circled. Climbed.
She braced in the open door. Waiting. Focused. Confident.
“Get ready!”
She tensed. Felt the slap on her shoulder. And launched herself out.
She savored the thrill as she careened through the air in a free fall for precious few seconds before going through her count. Jump thousand. Look thousand. Reach thousand. Wait thousand. Pull!
Amy checked her canopy. A perfect red-and-white rectangular canopy flew above her. Adrenaline-laced excitement swelled in her chest. “Woo-hoo!”
“Hoo-yah!” Bear answered, descending smoothly beside her.
Amy drew air into her lungs as deeply as she could with the straps of her gear cinched around her chest. She concentrated on her descent, finding the jump spot and toggling toward it.
Orange flames shot from the treetops. A crown fire. They had a big job ahead of them. She surveyed the landscape for the best place to lay a waterline to the nearby creek. The head of the fire had burned—
A sudden updraft interrupted her analysis and jerked her canopy, slinging her hard to the right. She adjusted, only to have another wind gust snatch her another direction.
Tricky, Johnson had said.
Amy scoffed as the wind shifted again and pulled her farther off target. Tricky ain’t the half of it.
She lost elevation quickly and fought to get back to the jump spot. Damn it, she was headed for the trees!
Knowing she couldn’t make her intended target anymore, Amy searched for a viable option. Anything but the trees!
She chose a rocky clearing about a hundred feet south of the jump spot. She’d have to play dodge the boulders, but the rocks still seemed her best option. And her choices were rapidly dwindling. She was coming in too fast.
Another sharp updraft jerked her off course, then spun her around. Now, rather than heading toward the rocks, she was dropping straight into the trees. Burning trees! A vile curse flickered in her brain even as her
heart rate skyrocketed. If she crashed into the lodgepole pines and aspens, so be it. But landing behind the fire line was deadly.
She tried to toggle away from the crown fire. Nothing happened. She cut a sharp glance at her canopy and found one of her risers had got tangled in the last updraft.
“Robinson!” Bear’s panicked shout reached her over the roar of flames and exploding trees. Her partner knew as well as she did she was on a lethal course.
She had precious few seconds to do something to avoid disaster. She tugged hard on the riser, praying she could dislodge it from the snag. She drifted closer to the trees, felt the searing waves of heat. Flames danced from the treetops like the tongues of demons waiting to gobble her up.
She refused to give up and simply drift into that cauldron of smoke and flame. She wasn’t ready to die. Not today!
After she gave the riser another strong jerk, the tangle released. Choking on thick smoke, she cut hard and yanked the toggle for all she was worth. Another swirling wind current swept past, catching her canopy and carrying her hard to the east with a tooth-rattling snap. Her parachute straps knocked the breath from her. Before she could recalculate her location, thick, spiky branches swallowed her. Pine limbs snapped and clawed at her as she crashed through the lattice of branches. Her Kevlar-lined jumpsuit and face shield protected her from the smaller limbs as the trees grabbed at her chute. The canopy caught briefly in the upper branches, bringing her to a jarring halt.
Amy cast a wary glance—around, up and to the ground far below. She was hung up, but the trees nearest her were not burning. Yet. She could see the fire line approximately fifty to sixty feet west of her. That last gust of wind had saved her from getting cooked, but she wasn’t out of danger yet. She still had to get out of this tree and—
With a loud crack, the branch her parachute had caught on broke. She plummeted again. The lower branches were larger than the ones at the top. As she crashed past these limbs her body was bumped and battered. She clipped one of the thick branches, and sharp pain ripped through her left ankle. She yelped, but the breath carrying the cry was slammed from her throat as her chest straps jerked taut a second time. Her canopy had snagged again but could tear loose anytime. Free-falling the final thirty or so feet to the ground would be fatal. She had to get busy, tying off to the tree and unhooking her parachute so she could rappel down the tree on her own terms, rather than gravity’s.
Hands shaking, she dug out the rope in her jumpsuit leg pocket. The movement made her swing and her foot hit the trunk of the fat pine she was snarled in. Fresh waves of agony slithered up her leg from her ankle. Amy’s heart sank.
For a smoke jumper, an injury to the feet or legs could be career-ending.
“Robinson?” Bear called.
She fought to calm the anxiety and disappointment skittering through her before she answered. “Over here.”
“You all right?”
“I’m alive. Hung up, but not French fried thanks to a last-minute reprieve.” She began her letdown procedure, one she’d practiced until she could do it in her sleep.
“That was some fancy maneuvering you did to get away from the burn zone. Congratulations.”
“Thanks, I—” Another fiery pang ripped up from her ankle. She muffled a hiss of pain as Bear trotted up to her.
“Amy, are you hurt?”
“No. Just winded,” she lied. No sense making a big deal of her injury until she knew for sure whether she could stand to walk on it or not. But the instant she reached the ground and tried to stand, gut-churning pain screamed in her ankle. The truth was evident.
Her smoke-jumping season was over.
Copyright © 2014 by Beth Cornelison
ISBN-13: 9781460343937
Lethal Lies
Copyright © 2014 by Lara Kingeter
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