Super. Just what she needed. But they’d never worked with prisoners before. And they were in prison for a reason, right?
So yeah, she wouldn’t mind some protection.
Although, they hadn’t tied anyone up like it might be the Old West, and the US marshal looked like she planned on sitting up for the night, so maybe everyone would be just fine.
As long as the fire didn’t waken over the ridge.
Skye got up, considered for a moment, then grabbed the other protein bar and walked over to Rio.
He looked up at her.
Those eyes. Yeah, something about him, the way he looked at her. She only saw it for a second, a sort of hunger that he quickly swallowed back and hooded, but it shook her.
He said nothing, so, “Hey.” She crouched next to him. Held out the protein bar. “Thanks for what you did today.”
He stared at the proffered treat, then back at her. And for a second, the hunger flashed back, stuck around a little longer. “Really?”
“I figured that maybe you don’t get a lot of…well, treats where…you…”
Oh great. She hadn’t exactly thought this through.
“In prison, you mean?”
“Mmmhmm,” she said.
“No.” But he still didn’t take the protein bar. She lowered her hand. “Tucker is…he’s a good guy. And he was in trouble and you did something. I’m grateful.”
His mouth tweaked up on one side, almost a rueful smile, and it did something to his face. Turned him almost sweet.
Nope. She wouldn’t go all soft for some stranger on a hillside. A prisoner, no less.
Still, he was a human being, who’d worked hard all day and…
She offered the protein bar again and this time he took it. “Thanks.”
“Yep,” she said.
He set down his coffee, then tore open the package. He had long fingers, strong-looking hands. And when he took a bite of the chocolate, his eyes actually closed.
Oh. My.
She was getting up when his eyes opened.
“Hey—uh. Sit?”
Oh. But with Seth a few feet away and Romeo glancing her direction now and then…okay. She sat cross-legged, not too close, but enough for him not to have to raise his voice. “It’s Skye, by the way. Skye Doyle.”
He met her eyes. “Rio. Parker.” He opened his mouth as if he wanted to say more, then closed it. Took another bite.
“Nice to meet you, Rio.”
His mouth twitched. “It’s pretty unusual to see a woman on a team like this. Congratulations.”
Huh. “Yeah. It’s…it’s hard work to get on the team. I had to put in three years as a hotshot first, and then Tucker gave me a chance—actually, not Tucker so much as Jed, our jump boss.”
“I haven’t met him.”
“No, he’s down in Montana. His wife is having a baby.”
Rio took another bite. A small one, as if he might be savoring each morsel.
Skye felt a little guilty for gobbling hers down so quickly.
“So, you’re out of Montana?” he asked.
“A little town in the northwest corner called Ember.”
He smiled at that.
“I know. The town is fire crazy. They train hotshots and smokejumpers there—have for about fifty years. Everything in town is named after fire. The local barbecue place is called the Hotline Saloon and Grill.”
He chuckled, and the noise came out low and rumbled next to her skin.
She should leave. Except he smiled at her then, a full-out grin, and it transformed his face, turned him from dark and mysterious to gentle, sweet.
And shoot, if she wasn’t turning into her father, easily seduced by danger.
“Is that where you grew up?” Rio asked. He took another bite.
“Close. We lived in Missoula, south of there a bit. But I grew up backpacking and skiing and loving the wilderness. I spend the winters working with the ski patrol.”
“And summers fighting fires.”
“It’s better than waiting tables.”
He gave a tiny huff, a nod. “I grew up in Chicago. All concrete wilderness there.”
She didn’t want to speculate how that might have led to his incarceration. Still, Alaska was a long way from Chicago. “How did you… I mean, Alaska is…”
“How did I end up in a prison in the middle of nowhere?” He took his last bite, chewed as if contemplating his answer. Glanced at her with those amber eyes. “It’s a long story, with a sad beginning and…well, a not great ending.”
She let out a terrible laugh, something of a nervous twitter, and wanted to cringe.
“Yeah. I guess that’s an understatement, huh?”
“Oh, I didn’t mean—” Shoot. “Listen. I don’t need to know why you’re here. I just… I know that things aren’t always as they appear.” And no, she didn’t know what possessed her to say that, so, “My dad was in prison, see and he…he was a good guy. Just got in over his head.”
Good grief, Skye. Really? But something about the man made her want to…maybe make it less painful for him.
He looked away from her. “Yeah. Well, don’t go thinking that about any of us, okay?” He glanced at her, a sharpness to his gaze. “You stay away from…” He swallowed. “You just keep your distance from us, okay?”
Oh. She nodded.
Then he did it again, smiled at her as he handed over his wrapper. She took it, his fingers brushing hers, his eyes holding her captive, just long enough to completely confuse her.
He fisted his hands and tucked them under his folded arms. Leaned his head back against the tree, again looking at the horizon. “It’s beautiful enough out here to make you want to just…lose yourself.”
As in escape?
No. She was just jumping to conclusions. Stereotypes. But her gaze drifted to the horizon.
The trickle of smoke.
Really, someone should be keeping an eye on the fire, too, just to make sure it didn’t escape.
“Get some sleep,” she said to Rio.
He gave a half chuckle that she didn’t know to interpret. Then his voice fell. “Remember what I said, Skye.” He closed his eyes.
She walked back to her pack and tucked the wrapper into her pack-out bag.
“So? Is he a murderer?” Romeo said, leaning close to her.
She glared at him. “I don’t think so…no.”
“How do you know?”
“He has…he has nice eyes.”
Romeo rolled his.
“Okay, listen, I’m going to go stand watch.” She zipped up her bag and walked over to Tucker.
“Hey, boss, can I talk to you?”
“Hey, Skye,” Tucker said.
He leaned up against the woman marshal, and if Skye wasn’t dreaming it, it looked like he’d been holding her hand.
Interesting. But she crouched in front of him and dove right in. “I was thinking… I just sat up on that hill all day. I’m not tired at all. Not like you guys. I’ll stand watch tonight, let you get some sleep.”
She could have predicted the way he sat up, his eyes sparking. “Skye—”
“Tucker, listen. I want to do my part here. And if you don’t want me on the line, then let me at least keep watch.” She smiled. “Firefighting rule number five, right?”
She had him because he sighed. “Post lookouts when there is possible danger. Fine.”
Perfect. Because the last thing she wanted to do was sleep.
Not when her conversation with Rio only stirred up the regrets.
The what-ifs.
“I’m going to hike up to the ridge, get a view of the fire, and I’ll radio you should anything change.” She stood up and glanced again at the woman.
She wanted to do something territorial, like tell her to not get him into any more fights. But really, it wasn’t any of her business. Instead, she offered a smile that suggested she knew exactly what might be going on in this corner of the forest.
Then she turned
and hiked up the hill into the golden spray of the Alaskan midnight, where hopefully the memories wouldn’t chase her.
Because she knew bad boys too well. Knew her weakness for them, the lure to hunt for the good inside.
The pull to believe she could find it and fix them.
Most of all, she knew that if she let it, Rio Parker’s haunted expression could call her back, despite his warning.
And then she’d really be in over her head.
Four
Rio’s entire body had turned to fire. And yes, it might be due to the backbreaking hours of digging, of folding earth over onto itself, choking back ash and smoke and working so hard his muscles turned molten.
Or, it could be the simple touch of kindness. The way Skye Doyle had let her fingertips brush his, a human touch not given in violence or control or even malice.
A fleeting second, but one that had nearly undone him, set his body to a warm hum.
He leaned his head against the tree, staring out into the shadows that hovered over the blackened meadow. The cutout of black mountains against a burnt crimson sky. The Alaskan midnight.
And Skye was out there, watching it, also. She had hiked up the ridge and disappeared down the other side and now sat in lonely vigil as the sun settled into coals on the mountainside.
Rio, meanwhile had turned sentry over the professor, suspected murderer Clancy Smythe-slash-Eugene March, who was probably feigning sleep ten feet away, curled into a ball under his camp blanket. Why the US marshal hadn’t cuffed him while she waited for tomorrow’s transport confounded him—he could only imagine she harbored the same thought everyone else did…where would he run out here?
Perhaps she also believed that she might be able to stop him. Because every time Rio glanced her direction, she too had her eyes glued to March.
Although, the redolence of the pseudo campfire smoke mixed with the dusty shadows conspired against his best intentions. His eyes drifted shut, at least twice.
Rio woke with a start, glanced at March.
Still there, unmoving. Another glance at the US marshal. She had her arms folded, staring into the night. Tucker slouched against her, dead to the world.
That’s all it took for Rio’s mind to return to Skye. He closed his eyes, just to let her sit there a moment. He had wanted to reach out and touch her braid, run his fingers over the thick grooves of it. His name on her lips whispered through his memory, ignited a trail of heat. Nice to meet you, Rio. Beautiful aqua-gray eyes—he could stare at them all day, following the variegated lines of deep blue and silver. And the way she wrinkled her nose when she smiled or was embarrassed…
He hadn’t meant to embarrass her, but he hadn’t exactly known what to say to her question about how he ended up in Alaska. It’s a long story, with a sad beginning and…well, a not great ending.
All truth, really, but not the one she suspected. His started with a normal family, a kid brother, a beautiful baby sister. Two parents who loved them all.
Then, the unthinkable had happened. Sometimes he was right back in the past, the cold whistling through the door as the police stood on the porch, his mother’s screams echoing into the night. Then the sirens, the rank odors of Cook County Hospital.
For a moment Rio had very much wished he could tell Skye the truth.
See how she’d look at him if she knew he wasn’t a criminal.
Although, even to his own eyes, the line between right and wrong, criminal and hero seemed thinly drawn.
Rio took a breath and opened his eyes. Stared out at the glimmering sun starting to rise in the northeast, the folds of gold that pressed against a dark fiery mantle, the jagged white-capped peaks glinting in splendor.
His last day of pseudo freedom.
He glanced over at March and stilled.
What—?
Gone.
The grasses matted, but the space he’d occupied was empty.
Rio bounced to his feet, looked around, and just barely glimpsed a figure darting through the scant forest, disappearing into the eastern shadows.
He glanced at the marshal—the woman’s eyes were closed, her head drooped. But if he woke her, March would be long gone, because all bets were off that that woman would let Rio dash off after him.
Hello, prison escape.
Yes, if he woke the marshal, Rio could very easily end up with a bullet in his back.
Rio took off, a full-out run, his footfalls soft on the piney loam as he tore through the dusky forest, his focus on where he’d seen March vanish.
Rio wasn’t in terrible shape. And sure, his body hurt, but the adrenaline burned through him, lit him on fire, and March came into view, the man not quite as quick and agile.
Rio ran him down, letting branches clip him, his feet landing hard on downed logs, tearing through brush. He leaped on March, grabbing his collar and yanking him back. March let out a grunt as he hit the ground.
Rio landed, his knee on the man’s sternum and it was enough to whuff the breath out of the guy. “Not so fast, Clancy,” Rio said. “Or should I say—Eugene March?”
A flicker of realization flashed in March’s eyes. He swung at Rio, but Rio batted his hand away, grabbed March’s wrist, and pinned it to the ground. “Thought you could run, huh, buddy?”
“Get off me!” March writhed in the dirt, bringing his feet up, but Rio had landed on his other arm, pinning him.
“Not a chance. You’re going back to camp and back to prison, dude.”
“I don’t think so.” The voice came from behind Rio, and he jerked. Soft spoken, but with enough edge that Rio stiffened. Braced himself. Darryl?
He tried not to jerk when he heard a hammer click into place.
He glanced over his shoulder. Yep, Darryl stood there, breathing hard, sweat tracking through the dirt of his pudgy, now-whiskered face.
“Darryl, what are you doing?” Rio hissed. And where had he gotten a gun?
The weapon shook just a little. “Seeing my wife. She’s having a baby—get off him.”
Rio held his hands up, eased off March. “C’mon, Darryl. Don’t do this. It’s not worth it—”
“It is worth it. If I’m going away for years, I want to see my son.” His jaw clamped tight, his hand shaking.
Beside him, March hit his feet. He walked over to Rio, grabbed his shirt, and slapped him.
Rio recoiled, more shocked than hurt, but before he could respond, March had pushed him away, walked over to Darryl, and grabbed the gun from his hand.
Pointed it at Rio, walking right over to press it against his head.
Ho-kay. Rio kept his hands up. “Listen, March. Let’s not—I was just trying to keep you from making a mistake.”
“I saw you mix it up with Boneyard a couple days ago. I don’t know who made you the new warden, but I’m not going back there. So, if I need to drop you right here—”
“And wake up that marshal back there?” The voice emerged soft from the shadows, and Rio had nothing when Archer Mills jogged up. He bent over, gripping his knees. “You guys run too fast for an old man.”
Rio stared at him. What—?
Maybe Archer had heard his unspoken question—or better yet, read their expressions because, “I heard you two last night and thought I’d better come along and keep you out of trouble.” Archer indicated Darryl and March and how had Rio missed that conversation?
“We don’t need you, old man,” March snapped.
Archer straightened. “You might. Because I used to live around here. I know these forests. And which way to go to find the road.”
“We’re not going to the road. I have a campsite south of here about seven miles. A truck, supplies, everything I need to get lost.”
“The Troublesome campground, right?” Archer said, almost a sigh to his voice.
An affirmative slid across March’s face. “How’d you know?”
“I told you—I lived around here. You sure you know how to get there? Lots of forest between here and there.”
What was Archer’s game? Because either Rio was a lousy judge of character or Archer had something up his sleeve. Of all of them, Archer was the one guy who might help Rio apprehend March.
And then, just when Rio thought it couldn’t get worse, the three stooges arrived—the drunk and disorderlies. They looked like brothers, all with the same dark hair, lanky build.
Right behind them strode the quiet, stealthy form of the prisoner named Thorne.
Something like dismay flickered in Archer’s eyes as they ran up. “Don’t leave without us,” said one of the men.
Thorne looked like he’d rather join a pack of hungry wolves, his eyes wary. Rio could care less if the man bolted—his worry was Darryl.
“Did you wake up everyone in camp?” March snarled at Darryl.
“This isn’t my fault. I didn’t invite them. Or him—” Archer. “Or—him.” He pointed at Rio.
“We should all go back to camp before someone gets hurt,” Rio said. “Because you know they’ll send marshals after us. And we’ll be fugitives, so guess what—they’ll shoot us.”
“Maybe I should shoot you first,” March snapped.
“Hey!” Rio snapped back. “I’m just trying to keep you from getting killed.”
“Maybe I just go back to camp and kill everybody there. Then no one will know we’re missing.”
And that shut down the group. Rio’s pulse jacked to high, and he swallowed back the image of a group of dead smokejumpers. Ho-kay, maybe letting March run was the best option. Get him away from the unarmed, unsuspecting firefighters, let him wear himself out on the run, and then…then Rio would figure out a way to apprehend him.
Maybe even get Archer on his side.
“Okay, we already have a head start. Let’s just go.” Rio glanced at Archer. “You know how to get to the road, or this campground, right?”
Archer met his eyes, nodded. “Yep.”
“Nope,” March said in a quiet, lethal tone. “Not with you. Get on your knees.”
Rio swallowed. “C’mon, man—”
“Did you see the way he took down Boneyard? We might need him, man.” This from one of the D & Ds who clearly didn’t see the look in March’s eyes.
Yeah, Rio would bet that every one of those rape and murder charges were true, and then some.
The Heat is On_Christian romantic suspense Page 5