“Jackson, look out! There’s a car—!”
Before she could finish, Rick encountered the other vehicle. Swung right. The other car jerked out of the way.
Jackson’s Jeep fishtailed as he avoided a head on.
Watching the near miss from above, Lauren bit down on her lip until she tasted blood. Adrenaline pumped through her veins.
“Jackson?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Lauren, I have an idea. It’s risky but—”
“No! Don’t do anything crazy, Jackson. Please!”
“Everything that’s happened is blood on my hands. I have to end this nightmare somehow. I have to stop Rick from hurting anyone else.”
Lauren didn’t like the grave tone of determination in Jackson’s voice.
“No! Let the cops deal with him. The FBI. Jackson, don’t—”
“It’s the other option, Lauren. To the bridge keeper puzzle. There is a solution that could work.”
Her gut somersaulted remembering the tragic query he’d put to her the night they camped on the mountain.
Choose! Your son or fifty strangers? Who dies?
“The bridge keeper can save everyone if he sacrifices himself to force the bus off the road before it reaches the bridge,” Jackson said.
Her pulse scrambled.
I’m that bridge keeper, Lauren.
“Jackson, what…what are you planning?” Her words rasped from her throat as fear strangled her.
“Whatever it takes.”
“Jackson—”
“I have to go. I can’t talk and drive any more,” Jackson said.
“Wait!” She clutched the cell phone tighter. “Don’t hang up. Please.” Crazy as it sounded she felt better having the verbal connection to him, even if she could do little to help him.
“Okay, I’ll put the phone on the other seat.”
“Jackson, I—”
The blue Jeep rocketed forward, catching up to the silver truck quickly, and she knew Jackson wasn’t on the line any more. I love you. She prayed silently that she’d have the chance to tell him. A chance to give their rollercoaster relationship another shot.
The Jeep raced along the twisting ribbon of asphalt, gaining on Rick’s truck. Jackson pulled into the left lane, started to pass. Rick swerved and bumped the Jeep. Jackson wavered but kept his speed.
Another car came around a curve in the highway.
Lauren clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling the scream of terror and the surge of sour fear in her throat. She shook from head to foot, helpless to either help Jackson or stop him from his reckless pursuit.
Somehow Jackson dodged the oncoming car.
“Jackson!” she cried into the phone. “Jackson, stop! You’re gonna get killed!”
Her plea went unanswered.
The Jeep pulled forward again. Alongside the silver truck.
From her bird’s-eye seat, Lauren watched with a growing horror as the two raced down the narrow road. Through the rolling hills. Along the rocky river.
Tears closed her throat. “Jackson, please don’t do this!”
Mile after mile Jackson swapped paint with Rick, scraped the guardrail.
Her pilot bit out a curse when Jackson nearly lost control of his SUV then raced forward again to catch Rick. “This can’t end well.”
He raised the radio to his mouth again and called for an ambulance.
A chill snaked down Lauren’s back.
I’m scared to death of losing you! Is that what you want to hear?
Seeing Jackson locked in this deadly duel with Rick brought home to her the kind of gut-wrenching horror Jackson must have known losing his wife to her high-risk career. The helplessness, the fear, the sick sense of inevitable doom.
Tears prickled her eyes as a new appreciation of his fear for Emily’s safety and his concern over the dangers of smokejumping settled deep into her marrow. His desire to control and manage situations was rooted in a deep, abiding love. Right or wrong, his fathomless love for his daughter, for his wife, was behind his fear of loss.
And his love for her had brought him to Boise, motivated his over-zealous interference with her job.
“Oh, Jackson.” She tried the phone again. “Jackson, please! Stop before it’s too late!”
She had so much to tell him. They had so many things to live for, a future she wanted to explore at his side.
After another near miss with an approaching vehicle, she heard Jackson’s voice filter through the phone line from a distance. “This has to end before someone innocent gets hurt.”
Lauren held her breath, praying he meant he was giving up the death-defying chase.
Instead Jackson pulled beside Rick one more time, slamming Rick’s truck hard then pulling slightly ahead.
Tears blurred Lauren’s vision as she screamed into the phone. “No, Jackson! Stop!”
But he didn’t.
Sweat stung Whitefeather’s eyes as he snapped out a pocket knife to saw through the duct tape holding the small canister to the rest of the bomb components. He didn’t want to think what could happen if his hand slipped, if he cut the wrong thing, bumped the detonator…
His hand shook, and he paused long enough to take a deep breath.
Richardson met his gaze. “You can do this, Birdman.”
1:53…
Whitefeather put the blade to the tape and gently sawed. The first strip fell away, and he moved to the next. “When I get this off, someone take it and stow it somewhere safe. Somewhere it won’t get jostled. We’ll keep the tank on board with us. Take it back for the experts to deal with.”
He glanced at the other men who nodded.
“We should wait until the thing’s almost ready to blow before we toss it. Better that it detonate in the air than at ground level,” Richardson said.
Whitefeather cut through another strip of tape. “Roger that.”
1:19…
Birdman sliced the last strip of tape. The silver canister came free. Whitefeather exhaled hard and passed the small tank to one of the other smokejumpers.
1:03…
“Get in the door!” Richardson called to Whitefeather.
The jump door was opened again, and the jumpers moved out of his way.
“Someone hold onto Emily!”
Hank Pullman, the jumper nearest Jackson’s daughter, pulled the girl to the floor and covered her with his body.
0:49…
“Give us full throttle!” Whitefeather yelled to the pilot.
“Roger!”
Whitefeather watched the clock tick down.
0:44, 0:43, 0:42…
Below them he could see the billowing black and yellow smoke column of the fire the other jumpers had been headed to.
Without warning the jumpship lurched, bounced through a pocket of turbulence.
Whitefeather grabbed for the static line to keep from falling. As the plane lurched and dipped, the home-rigged device slid from his hands, skittered behind the cargo boxes.
“Shit!” Richardson shouted, cringing.
“It went behind that cargo box!” Pullman yelled, pointing. He crawled away from Emily and groped behind the boxes. “I can’t reach it!”
Another jumper tried as well. Without luck.
The timer started flashing when it reached 0:30.
“We need someone small enough to get behind this box!” Pullman called.
The assembly of men turned as one toward Emily.
The girl’s face reflected raw fear.
“Can you do it, little one?” Whitefeather called to her. “We need you.”
Trembling and wide-eyed, she stared back at the men without answering.
“Emily,” Birdman said, holding her gaze. “You are stronger than you know. Courage means conquering your fears, doing what must be done. We need you. Now, little one. Hurry!”
With her harness still hooked to the main static line, Emily scrambled toward the cargo boxes. She wiggled behind the last one. Whitefeather held his breath.
“I…got it!”
Pullman lassoed her waist with his arm and hauled Emily out. She held the bomb gingerly and shoved the device toward Birdman.
“Good work, little one.”
0:11, 0:10…
“Brace yourselves! It’s blowing in nine, eight—” Birdman heaved the bomb out the jump door. “Seven…Emily, get down!”
Whitefeather yanked on the door, shoved it closed.
“Six, five…” Richardson took up the count.
The smokejumpers lined the sides of the jumpship. Braced.
Whitefeather snagged Emily and rolled her under his body.
Three, two…
A boom roared over the din of the engines.
Shockwaves from the explosion rocked the jumpship.
“Birdman!” Emily cried.
“It’s okay, little one.” He raised his head to peer out the window at the cloud of smoke and fire left in the wake of the explosion. He shuddered as unspent adrenaline poured through his blood. Pulling Emily close, he hugged her trembling body and chafed her arms. “It’s okay now. It’s over.” He grinned. “Little one, you’re my hero.”
Jackson pulled even with the silver truck. His sweaty hands slipped on the steering wheel. He cut a quick glance at Rick. His opponent glared back, steely determination in his eyes.
Rick would never give up, Jackson realized. The man had nothing to live for, everything to lose if he allowed himself to be caught now.
As if reading Jackson’s thoughts, Rick raised his gun. And aimed for Jackson’s head.
Squeezing the wheel, Jackson swerved into the truck again. Sparks flew as the truck scraped along the guardrail. Rick dropped the gun. Jerked his wheel. Pushed Jackson toward the left side of the road. Toward the jagged rock wall.
Fighting for control of his Jeep, Jackson stomped his gas pedal. Inched forward.
With a deafening crack, Jackson’s windshield shattered. Rick was shooting.
Jackson scanned the road ahead, weighing his options.
Whatever it takes.
“Jackson!” Lauren’s voice called from the cell phone beside him.
His heart clenched, thinking of Emily losing another parent. But he had no doubt Lauren would take care of his daughter, would raise her to be strong and brave like Emily’s mother had been.
There was a bridge keeper who took his son to work one day…
He had to do this. Before Rick hurt anyone else.
End it.
Jackson yanked the wheel hard to the right. Slammed on his brakes.
Tires squealed. Rick slammed into the Jeep.
Both vehicles spun toward the river. Through the guardrail.
Down.
His airbag popped out. He lurched forward. Then back.
Jackson heard metal crunch. Heard glass break. Heard Lauren scream.
He lost perspective as his car flipped. Jolted. Threw him against the side door.
Pain. A horn blaring. Images swam.
“Jackson!” Lauren cried.
He glanced toward the sound. The phone on the roof. Below him. He tried to reach for it. For Lauren. Had to tell her…
“Oh God, no!” she sobbed. “Jackson!”
More pain. A fiery brand ripped through his skull.
I love…you.
Had he said the words or just thought them?
He felt himself drift. Waver. Then darkness swallowed him.
Jackson woke with a jolt.
He sensed the presence beside him seconds before a warm hand covered his cheek. A sense of peace flooded through him, calming his jangling nerves.
He turned his head, blinking to bring the blurry image of a woman into focus.
“Jackson,” Lauren said on a sigh. “Thank God. I’ve been so worried.”
Pain pulsed in his temples. Throbbed in his shoulder. Streaked through his chest.
But he was alive. And Lauren was beside him.
Emily.
His pulse kicked up, sending a rush of pounding blood past his eardrums. “Em’ly?”
“She’s fine. She’s down in the cafeteria with Birdman. As soon as your doctor assured us you’d be all right, they went to get a snack.”
“The…bomb?” His throat felt parched and dry. Talking took effort. But he had to know. “Ri-Rick?”
“Rick went into surgery a while ago for internal bleeding. They’ve got him under police guard. He’s not going anywhere but prison when he’s released.” Lauren squeezed his hand. “Meantime, the ATF searched the whole NIFC complex. Found nothing. But a device was found on one of the jumpships and was safely detonated. Thanks to your daughter.”
He blinked. “What?”
Lauren grinned, and her green eyes sparkled with mirth. He smelled the sweet scent of fruit in her hair when she leaned close. “I’ll let her tell you. She’s pretty proud of herself. And she has every right to be according to Birdman.”
The corner of his mouth twitched, and he felt the tug of stitches in his face, a stab of pain. But the warmth that filled his chest knowing Emily and Lauren were safe, that the nightmare was over, made up for the aches throughout his body.
Or was it over? He could still lose Lauren. He’d made a real mess of things with her and had no idea where to begin making up for his mistakes. Uncertainty pinched his heart.
“Hey, you know who else is here?” she asked. “In this hospital. As a patient. A grumpy patient who’s itching to get back in action.”
The combination of painkillers and the gentle stroke of Lauren’s fingers at his wrist muddled his thoughts. But the joy in Lauren’s voice spread a glimmer of hope through his chest. Maybe she’d forgiven him, maybe…
“Boomer,” she supplied when he didn’t answer. “They transferred him here from Idaho Falls this morning. He’s got a huge brace on his leg, and he’ll have to have a lot of physical therapy, but there’s a chance he’ll be able to jump again. Isn’t that great?”
Jackson grinned, as much because of the happiness radiating from Lauren’s face as his relief hearing Boomer would be all right. “Yeah. It’s great.”
Lauren’s gaze shifted to his forehead, and she carefully touched the bandage there. Her eyes grew dark and serious. “You scared the hell out of me, Jackson. You could have been killed. I thought for a while that you were dead.”
Tears burgeoned in her eyes, and she sniffed.
“I’m…sorry,” he murmured. “I had to…do something. I had to stop him.”
“No. The only thing you have to do is be there for your little girl. I didn’t help you rescue her so that you could get yourself killed and leave her an orphan.” Grief, or maybe fear, gave her scolding tone a soft edge.
Lauren shifted forward and laid her head on the pillow beside his. “Losing you would hurt us far worse than anything Rick could ever do,” she whispered.
His head buzzed with a pleasant lethargy just having her close. A few beats passed before her words registered. “Us?”
“Emily and me.”
“Then…you forgive me?”
“For what? Getting me bumped from the jump list or for risking your life to stop Rick?”
“Either. Both.”
She sighed, and her breath caressed his cheek, stirred his soul. He wanted her beside him like this forever.
“You’re forgiven, if…you’ll forgive me.”
“You?”
“For not understanding why you were acting like a caveman.”
She propped on an elbow and peered at him with an impish grin.
“A caveman?”
Lauren thumped her chest and furrowed her brow. “Me protect my woman. Get her taken off jump list,” she growled, her voice pitched low.
Jackson sighed. “Am I that bad?”
“Sometimes. But…when I saw your Jeep flip, I understood. I’d have done anything right then to save you. Because I—” She paused, and her eyes darted up to meet his. She licked her lips, and his pulse tripped. “Because I love you, Jackson.”
<
br /> A tingling warmth spread through him, a balm of bliss that numbed him to his physical aches.
“I’m a long way from perfect. I thought you said you wouldn’t settle.”
She shrugged. “No one is perfect, Jackson. But I think you might be perfect for me. Even if you act like a lunkhead sometimes, I know it’s because of your deep love. I want to be loved that way.”
He raised his hand to her cheek and brushed his thumb along her jaw. “You’ve got it, babe. This caveman…loves you one hundred percent.”
“And in time, even a caveman can evolve.” A teasing light lit her eyes. “So…the fire season will be over soon. I was thinking I could spend some time this winter in Missoula. With you and Emily. To see if our relationship has the same sparks when adrenaline’s not involved.”
He tugged up the corner of his mouth. “That might be tough to do.”
She gave him a puzzled frown. “Why?”
“Because my blood races just being near you. And I have a feeling life with a smokejumper…is never dull.”
Her eyes widened. “Then you’re okay with me jumping fires?”
He snorted. “Hell no. It’ll still drive me crazy…knowing the danger involved in your job.” He paused to gather his strength, kiss her fingers. “But I know the world needs people like you…to do your job. You’re a good smokejumper—”
“No, I’m a great smokejumper,” she amended with an endearingly cocky grin.
“You’re an awesome smokejumper…for the same reasons you’re an amazing woman. I’d never want to change that.”
“For a caveman, you’re a pretty smart guy.”
“No, I’m a brilliant guy.”
She laughed and nestled close. “Speaking of brilliant…I’ve been thinking.”
“Hmm?”
“What if that bridge keeper of yours received help?”
He hesitated, held her gaze. “As in…a smart, sexy smokejumper who drops from the sky like the answer to a prayer?”
“Yeah. Like that. And then they work as a team to make sure everyone came through the crisis all right, because they wouldn’t accept anything less.”
He nodded and tears pricked his eyes. “I like that solution. A lot.”
About the Author
Georgia native, Beth Cornelison received her bachelor's degree in public relations from the University of Georgia. After working in public relations for more than a year, she moved with her husband to Louisiana, where she decided to pursue her love of writing fiction.
Under Fire Page 29