Hitting Xtremes (Xtreme Ops Book 1)

by Em Petrova

  He traded a look with Lipton, who only cocked a brow as if asking what the captain of Xtreme Ops would do to take control of his first mission. Take along a civilian as guide through dangerous terrain on a hunt for an even more dangerous man?

  “Dammit.” He chased after her, caught her by the elbow and swung her around to face him.

  “Just tell us what is wrong on the map.” She might be tough, but he wouldn’t be bested by a hundred-twenty pound snow puff.

  She eyed him. “If you’re only heading that direction, you won’t find the hijacker.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because I know where he was going.”

  Chapter Three

  Cora’s blood pulsated with anger. That man could not disappear into the wilderness—he needed to pay. Her father lay there badly injured, fighting for his life, about to be life-flighted from the wreckage of his downed plane, also his livelihood, and all because of Ron Smith. Or Yahontov, as these men were calling him.

  The big one folded his arms across his chest, making him look bigger, broader and meaner, but she’d lived around bush people her entire life and wasn’t buying his act.

  “We are a special ops force sent here to recover this man who brought down your plane. Do you intend to withhold information from us?”

  “No, but you’ll never live through the journey. Do you know how many people disappear in the Alaskan wilderness every year?”

  “We’re trained.” His angular jaw studded with beard growth clenched.

  “And I’m knowledgeable,” she shot. “Look, I want this man caught more than anyone.” She waved toward her father, currently being lifted by two men on the backboard to place him into the chopper. “Just a minute. I want to say goodbye.” She jogged after them, and the men stopped for her to hunch over her daddy.

  Looking into his beloved eyes, her heart flexed. Would she ever see him again? There was still time for her to go with him. Her father had launched himself at the man to stop him. If Eagle couldn’t search for the bastard, she would do it for him.

  Tears burned the base of her throat. “I love you, Daddy. They’ll take good care of you.”

  “Cora…I love you, girl. More than anything.”

  She leaned in and kissed one cheek and then the other. As a child, she had kissed her parents this way, both cheeks and end in an Eskimo kiss of brushing noses.

  She rubbed her nose against her father’s before straightening. She looked to the rescuer. “Take good care of him, you hear me? Don’t make me come find you.”

  He smiled. “I love a sassy woman, so you can find me anytime. But don’t worry, he’s in good hands.”

  With a good amount of internal struggle, she stepped away. The men ran forward bearing her father and loaded him into the chopper.

  Suddenly, the big man appeared at her side.

  One of the search and rescue team turned to look at her. “Coming?”

  “Yes, she is. In just a second,” Penn called out. With her arm in his grasp, he whipped her around to face him.

  Some of the breath escaped her at seeing the scowl on his face.

  He looked prepared to kill with the lethal shards shooting from his dark eyes, and the twist of his lips could be a noose.

  Her heart rate picked up.

  “Tell me where the target”—he drew in a deep breath and started again—“the man who hijacked your plane, is headed.”

  “I’ll only share what I know if you take me. I’ve guided before on a smaller scale. I know this area like the back of my hand.”

  “What reason would you have for coming here?” He looked at the nothingness surrounding them.

  “There are plenty of places that haven’t been photographed or seen by human eyes, and it’s my goal to reach those places and show them to people. Every year I take a couple excursions into the back country. I sell my photos to science magazines.”

  Another man approached them, this one as tall as Penn but with a quick smile. “What’s your name again?” he asked her.

  “Cora Hutton.”

  While Penn continued to glare her down, the other man tapped on his satellite phone. After a few seconds, he looked up. “She’s telling the truth. She’s featured in Smithsonian.”

  Penn’s brow shot upward, into the edge of his thick hat.

  “Take me with you as your guide and I’ll help you find this man. I want him dead.” The flat tone of her voice had both men’s stares boring into her. “There’s nothing I can do to help my father now anyway. It’s in God’s hands and the doctor’s. Look, this is remote, but that man was headed to a place even more barren. Hardly any planes even fly there because it’s so far north that it messes with some older instruments. There won’t be service there, no rescue, no civilization.”

  They continued to stare at her. “Just man against nature. One wrong move and it’s death. No one would find you.”

  “And you regularly visit this place?” Penn’s low growly voice sounded with disbelief.

  She nodded. “I told you it’s a hobby. I go with a couple different groups. They’re looking to set world records of most explored tundra, but I don’t care about that. I just enjoy the thrill of finding remote areas that have yet to be explored. I also video journal it. You can find me on YouTube.”

  Penn shot a look at the other man, who again punched his screen with a gloved forefinger. “She’s got a channel, and it won’t download in this weather, but I can see it’s true, Captain. I believe…”

  Penn rounded on him, and Cora detected an undercurrent between them, some team dynamics she didn’t quite understand.

  “You want to call the shots, Lipton?”

  “No, Captain Sullivan. It’s just a recommendation.”

  “You seriously want to drag a woman along with us? Look at her. She can’t possibly have enough endurance and will be dead weight.”

  “But she says she knows the area and where Yahontov was going. We know he’s loose, on foot. We can’t let him disappear. It’s our first mission.”

  That had her own brows arching. First mission? Knowing she was dealing with a bunch of rookies didn’t make her feel easier about the situation. She still had time to board that chopper.

  But that left a man out there who could harm more of her fellow people.

  As the pair talked in heated whispers, the man called Lipton pointed to the screen.

  “…a cabin there in the background of the photo. A landmark for us to use. If we can find that location, we might not need her after all.”

  She raised her voice to be heard. “You’ll die before you get two miles in.”

  Penn stared at her for three full throbbing heartbeats before he shifted his gaze to the landscape behind her, a world she knew was rapidly being covered in a thick layer of snow. They didn’t have much time if they were going to do this.

  “Fuck,” he muttered. “We have no choice but to take her.”

  She looked him in the eyes and gave a nod. Then she ran to the plane and began digging into their supplies. Lipton came to help her, and pretty soon they’d unearthed all the food stores, some canteens and her pack. He watched as she knelt in the snow and unzipped it to rummage in the contents. It appeared she had what she needed—waterproof matches, a solar blanket to conserve warmth, a thermal bed roll to keep her off the ground while sleeping. Flare gun and flares? Check.

  She zipped the pack and started to shoulder it. Then she dropped it to the ground. “Wait. One more thing.” She dived into the twisted metal of the cockpit and found the metal cross her father always flew with as protection. With a yank, she busted the chain holding it in place on the instrument panel and pocketed the cross.

  Outside again, she faced all six members of the team. She opened her mouth to ask what supplies they carried, but the blare of the chopper blades in the air silenced her. Tipping her head to the sky, she watched the craft take off with her father.

  He’ll be all right. He’s in good hands.

  Sh
e pulled in a deep breath of icy snow and pine-scented air into her lungs and held it while she watched them fly out of sight.

  Turning to the guys again, she figured this was it. No backing out now. “I’m Cora Hutton, and I know the direction the man you’re after is headed. The snow covered his tracks by now, and I know where he’s going but not where he’s at. So that’s your job to keep a look out for him.”

  The men exchanged glances.

  “The woman thinks she’s the captain,” Penn muttered under his breath.

  She ignored him and continued, “If we’re going to get anywhere in this storm before dark, we gotta move fast. It’s imperative we build camp before the sun goes down. Now give me a list of the supplies you’re carrying.”

  They eyed each other, some wearing smirks.

  “I’m serious. How do I know if you’re equipped with the things you need to survive out here?”

  One man with bright green eyes cleared his throat. When he spoke, his drawl shouted Texas. She’d known more than one Texan who thought they could homestead in Alaska and ended up returning home after he nearly starved to death one winter.

  “We’re trained to do this, lady.”

  “Cora. Not lady.” She hefted her pack onto her shoulders and strapped it around her hips where it would distribute the weight. “Let’s go.”

  She set off, ducking beneath limbs to reach a more walkable path in the direction where she’d originally spotted Ron Smith’s tracks. Yahontov, she reminded herself.

  She might be crazy. People lost their minds in the bush—it was a known fact. One of the search and rescue team had checked her pupils for a concussion, so she couldn’t claim that as her reason for volunteering herself as guide. But the fury of what that son of a bitch did to them still burned in her blood. And she couldn’t very well allow a party of six men to get lost in the wilderness, could she?

  “Come on.” She waved to them to follow. “Daylight’s fading, and this snow isn’t going to stop.”

  The men fell into step behind her. She heard a distinct groan that could only be from the growly, grumpy captain of the Xtreme Ops, and to think she just agreed to be with him as long as it took to find the hijacker.

  “I’ve never seen anything like this snow, and I’m from Minnesota.”

  “I knew you were a Minnesota boy, Gasper,” Lipton said. “Could hear it in your voice.”

  “Born and bred on lutefisk.”

  “What the hell is lutefisk?” Beckett seemed to be one of the more outspoken of the team, Penn noted. He didn’t seem to have much of a filter, but Xtreme Ops was newly formed, and if Penn knew anything about groups of men, dynamics changed fast. He’d seen groups who got along like brothers turn on each other in a blink.

  “It’s dried cod fish soaked in lye.”

  “Jesus. Lye? Who the hell wants to eat that?” Beckett wagged his head.

  “Apparently Minnesotans.” Gasper’s rye tone gained a snicker from Lipton.

  They were spread out on the edge of a tree line, where the tree canopy caught most of the snow and made easier walking. They were all on high alert—no telling where Yahontov could be hiding. By Penn’s estimate, they were a good hour behind the fugitive and needed to haul ass to catch him.

  The guys continued to banter, offering bits about themselves and getting to know each other as they moved through the snow with rifles at the ready. Trekking in the heart of the group and directly in front of Penn, by his command, was Cora Hutton.

  Her red snow parka stuck out like a beacon, and he insisted she place his canvas jacket over it. The extra layer, rather than make her look larger or less shapely, somehow added to her allure, like a lover wearing a man’s shirt. She focused straight ahead as she walked and didn’t speak to any of the men, but he knew she’d be taking notes on all the things they discussed.

  Long ago Penn had learned he couldn’t run his mouth and observe at the same time. Cora Hutton had displayed several personalities in the time he’d known her. When she wasn’t ordering his men around or sassing search and rescue, she was irate with the hijacker and kissed her daddy goodbye, Eskimo-style.

  Jesus, if that didn’t make her an emotional basket case, he didn’t know what did.

  As they moved through the falling snow, Penn wondered what the hell could be going on in Cora’s head. He dropped his gaze, and it landed on her ass in those snow pants.

  She shouldn’t look so cute in puffy pants.

  Dammit.

  He flicked his gaze upward and stared at her wooly hat with the earflaps. Again, how could that be cute? He’d laid beside beautiful model-types in string bikinis by luxury pools in the Mediterranean, and slogging through a snowstorm behind a woman dressed like a marshmallow was the furthest thing from sexy.

  In one long stride, he stepped up next to her. “What’s your status?”

  She threw him a look, unable to quell the irritation in her blue-gray eyes. “My status?”

  “Yes. You were in a plane crash. How is your physical state? Or your mental?”

  She continued walking as if right around the next tree they’d run into Yahontov and she didn’t care about anything else. “I’m fine.”

  They paced forward for another half mile. Finally, he spoke. “You had a long day. Not many women can survive a plane crash and then hike for hours. If you need to stop, we’ll stop.”

  When she twisted her head to pierce him in her stare, he saw the fierce determination on her pretty features as well as a flash of fire. He awaited the musket ball that was sure to come.

  He wasn’t disappointed.

  “Most women or most people? Do you realize how chauvinistic you sound?”

  Lipton shot him a crooked smile, and Penn struggled to contain his own. “I meant to say most people.”

  “Right.”

  “How long have you been in Alaska?” Penn asked.

  “All my life.”

  “And your father owns the plane that crashed.”

  “Yes. He owns two, and we transport people and goods around our neck of the woods.” She had a lilt to her speech that sounded both breathy and musical. It made him want to hear more.

  “When did you get into the photography and videography?”

  “When I was in college. A few friends and I took a trip to a remote area in the northern part of the state. After that I caught the bug and went every chance I could. Then my father…” She paused, giving Penn the impression her thoughts were with her father on his travels to the nearest hospital. She picked up again, voice stronger. “He gave me a video camera for my birthday. I started my YouTube channel, which got recognition from some scientists who are interested in Alaska.”

  “Then the Smithsonian found you.” Penn studied her profile. Sunlight was fading fast, casting blue shadows over her face. And the snowflakes clinging to her eyelashes sparkled.

  She nodded. “That’s right. Your turn now. How did you find us?”

  “We were contacted that a man fitting the description of a man on our wall of fame was possibly responsible for your plane crash.”

  “And you’re going to bring him in to what? The FBI?”

  “We work for a division of Homeland Security called Operation Freedom Flag Alaskan Tundra.”

  She processed this in silence. “You guys work together all the time?”

  Reluctantly, he admitted, “This is our first mission as a unit. But collectively we have thousands of missions under our belts.”

  “None of them in Alaska,” she said.

  “No.”

  “See? You do need me as guide.”

  They started up a steep incline that skirted the edge of a hill that in some parts of the world would be known as a mountain. The snow turned to sleet, slicking the ground underfoot. They all grew quiet as they navigated the tougher terrain. He kept his gaze locked on the trees, where Yahontov could be hiding.

  After an hour more of walking, the sun hung low on the mountain range. “We need to stop and make camp,�
�� Cora declared.

  “I’ve been thinking that for the last half mile,” Gasper muttered.

  Cora shifted her shoulders. That pack must weigh a ton for a woman of her size, but she’d shouldered it without complaint, much to Penn’s surprise.

  She scoured the surroundings. “That’s the best spot—in the shelter of those trees.”

  “Make camp, men. We’ll use branches to create a wind break.” Penn took a step, and Cora backed up. Her boot slipped on the icy coating over the snow. On reflex, he shot out a hand and stopped her from falling. Through the canvas outer jacket and the puffy interior, plus whatever layers she wore beneath that, he still felt how small and fragile her arm was in his grip.

  Her head snapped up, and she met his stare. For a minute, their gazes locked, and then she twisted free of his hold. “I’m fine. I wasn’t going to fall.”

  He said nothing and continued toward the trees, on guard.

  In minutes, Penn knew his team understood the basics of survival in extreme conditions. Lipton and Broshears set to work setting up tents while Gasper used a small ax to chop limbs for the wind break. Beckett helped him weave the branches between the trunks of other trees and drape it with pine branches while Penn and Hep scoped the area to ensure they were alone and their position could be easily guarded. Or defended.

  When he returned to the camp, he found Cora had shed her pack. She or one of the guys had burrowed into the snow, creating a pocket for the fire, which she was busy building using her own supplies. She carried a small metal box containing some cotton for kindling and waterproof matches. He looked on for a second, watching her feed the small flame with cotton and when that flame grew, she added some dry leaves she seemed to have stripped from one of the branches the men cut.

  She broke the branch into several smaller pieces, which she carefully fed to the fire until it built into a stronger one. Behind the screen and with the tents surrounding it, the fire quickly projected warmth.

  She shot him a look from the corner of her eye and then stood.

  “Sit and warm yourself while you can.”

  She ignored his suggestion. “What are your tents rated to?”