It had lurched into his throat, settled there, threatening to spill out. Would have, had Archer not talked temporary calm into March.
They’d finally happened upon a hunting cabin, a two-room shack that seemed recently used, but currently—thank You, God—uninhabited. A pair of graying antlers hung over the unlocked door.
Archer must have rooted through the cupboards, because he’d found a couple MREs and brought them out to the porch where Skye and Rio sat.
Skye shook her head to the offered supper, and Rio didn’t blame her. His guts were in a knot too.
March gulped one down, while sending Darryl and Thorne to coax to life a dirty red-striped Bronco stalled in the yard. Across the yard, a shed protected a drying rack of antlers and a bear skin. Rio’s gaze settled briefly on a four-wheeler that sat in the shadows, but he dismissed it. It probably wouldn’t even start.
The place looked like a hideout where a fugitive like March might hole up, and Rio thought he might be considering it, if Darryl wasn’t so determined to get the Bronco running.
“Listen. I need to talk to you. March is dangerous. And the next time I tell you to run, do not come back. No matter what you hear. You are not to rescue me.”
She looked at him, a little stripped. “But—”
“No buts. And if he grabs you around the neck again, I want you to tuck your head down, protect your neck. And then make a fist and swing your free hand back right into the, um, soft tissue.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Ow.”
“That’s the point. He’ll freak out, let go, and you run. And don’t look back.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
He glanced at March. Shook his head. “Just because.”
A few strands of hair had fallen from her braid, now disheveled and dirty. “I can’t believe we’ve been on the run for a whole day and no one has found us.”
“They will, Skye.”
“You sound almost like you hope the US marshals will swarm in—”
He looked away. Gave a tiny nod. “As long as no one gets hurt.” He drew in a breath. “I’m sorry…I’m sorry my plan didn’t work.”
“Darryl nearly broke your nose.”
He lifted a shoulder.
“Okay, what’s with you—you’re the one who suggested I would be a great hostage.”
He cut his gaze to her then because the word became a fist in his chest. “I was trying to keep you alive.”
She frowned at him. “Thanks. I think.” She drew in her breath. “Are you sure you’re really a criminal?”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. “Yeah. I’m definitely a criminal, Skye.”
Her mouth tightened, and she pushed her hands between her knees. Looked at the ground. “Part of that long, sad story?”
He considered her, the tan that spread across her face, the red that touched her nose. She’d been a trooper today and frankly, braver than he expected. But she was a smokejumper, and that took real courage, so maybe she wasn’t quite as delicate as…
He swallowed, turned away. She still couldn’t defend herself against a rapist like March. And Rio knew in his gut, in the way March kept looking at Skye, something dark and cruel in his eyes, that Rio couldn’t let him near her. Not again.
“Well, whatever you’re in for…you’re not him.” She glanced at March, now yelling at Darryl.
Rio wanted to smile at that. She was trying, but oh, she didn’t have a clue. He looked away, shaking his head. “Actually, I was him. Desperate, angry, doing stupid things.”
Sirens. “I’m sorry to tell you, ma’am—”
Skye touched his arm, jerking him out of the memory. “Everybody makes a mistake.”
He glanced at her, and now his mouth rocked up on one side. “Oh, I knew what I was doing, Skye. I knew exactly what I was doing when I killed the man who murdered my sister.”
Her eyes widened and she pulled her hand away. Oh, he shouldn’t have said it like that. But he didn’t want her suddenly thinking she should ever come back for him again. That he was somehow redeemable. Worth risking her life for.
Still, she swallowed as if slapped, and he felt like a jerk, so, “In my defense, I was seventeen, my dad had just suffered a stroke, and my life was falling apart before my eyes.”
And he really shouldn’t have said that because her expression softened. She touched his arm again. Found his eyes, and he could wince with the compassion in them. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” He stared at her hand on his arm. Funny, he’d held her hand all day, but this touch sank heat into his skin, found his bones. Like last night’s fleeting finger brush.
“She was sixteen and went out with friends to a rave. Hooked up with a guy and left with him. They found her body a day later, raped and strangled.” He closed his eyes against a sudden burn, probably fatigue, but he leaned his head against the house, so bone exhausted, he just wanted to curl into a ball.
Instead, he heard the sirens again, the ring of the doorbell in memory. “The police came to the door, stood on the porch, and told my parents that their only daughter had been murdered. Didn’t even come in. The cops thought she was some runaway at first—asked my parents how long she’d been living on the streets.”
He opened his eyes. The sun had started to weep red and orange across the sky, long shadows darkening the woods around the house. If the marshals were out there, this might be exactly the right time to invade and capture.
“We found out later that whoever killed her had drugged her up good. She was probably high when she was killed.”
Her hand slid down into his. He didn’t grip it, didn’t move, but his gaze fell on her fingers, curling around his thumb. Yeah, this was a bad idea, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
“I should have let the cops handle it, but I was…they were so…they acted like my sister was a…” He shook his head. “A prostitute. And I just knew that they weren’t going to find the killer. Or if they did…well, maybe I just wasn’t satisfied with the idea of some guy serving petty time for destroying my family.”
Skye’s thumb ran over his hand, and Rio couldn’t stop himself from closing his hand around hers. Something about holding onto her made the words run easier. “I had murder on my mind when I tracked down the guy who left with her. He told me he’d gotten her high and hooked her up with a couple guys. I think they were going to traffic her, but…well, she fought them. Which was why they beat her, strangled her.” He swallowed. “Raped her.”
Silence, and he thought he saw movement by the woodpile, stared hard in the direction of the gathering shadows, but nothing materialized.
“You found them.”
“I did.” He sighed. “And I was young and stupid and angry, and there were three of them. I had a baseball bat, but… Well, the short of it was that I ended up in the hospital, fighting for my life. But one of the guys I’d hit died, so after I lived, they shipped me off to juvie. I had a lenient judge who took in my mental state, but I did a year there.”
He met her eyes then, waiting for judgment, but hers had turned glossy.
Shoot. This was why he didn’t let the past out to roam because…well, it made him feel human and breakable and sometimes even…well, that he might deserve a woman like Skye in his life.
And of course, she said exactly the wrong thing. “I’m so sorry, Rio.”
He tightened his jaw, nodded.
“But you’re still not him.” She gestured to March, relentlessly pacing in front of the Bronco. “And desperation causes us to do stupid things. I told you my dad was in prison, right?”
He nodded, his gaze half on her, half on March by the Bronco. Something—
“He was actually an FBI informant for a drug smuggling ring out of this bar he visited, but…he got caught up in the sting and went to prison anyway.”
Rio’s gaze landed on her then. “What—?”
“Yeah. There were a lot of broken promises. And mistakes. He trusted the wrong people.”
<
br /> Skye, you can trust me—the words were gathering when out of the corner of his eye he spotted a flash of light, maybe the glint of a gun barrel.
He glanced at Archer, who was finishing off the other MRE, sitting on a stump. He reminded Rio a little of the detective who’d spoken up for him at the trial. No nonsense, but compassionate.
Especially when Archer looked up and met Rio’s eyes, then glanced at Skye. He tilted his head to the side, as if suggesting…
Yes. If there was ever a time to run, it was now, deep into the shadows of the woods, with night descending. March would be torn between the truck and his captives.
He’d noticed that Thorne might be thinking the same thing, because he had leaned away from the Bronco, an eye on March.
Rio’s gut pinpointed the man as former military.
Which meant he could take care of himself. As could Archer. As for Darryl, well—Rio’s face still hurt where the man hit him.
Rio’s hand tightened on Skye’s, quick. “We’re going to run.”
She shot him a look, something of fear in it.
“Stay with me. Nothing will happen to you as long as you’re with me.”
March glanced their direction, and Rio let her hand go.
Behind him, fire lit a trail through the twilight as a torch arched into the night, almost in slow motion. It spit out flames as it landed in the piney loam beyond the Bronco, the resin fueling a quick inferno.
The torch had come from the woodpile. March guessed the same and leveled his gun at the firewood.
Rio grabbed Skye, yanking her to her feet. “Now!”
Except that’s when the US marshal leaped from a trio of birch some twenty feet away from the pile, double gripping her gun. “March. Put the gun down.”
Stevie?
March whirled around and sent a shot at the woman.
She dove into the earth.
Skye screamed.
And Rio wasn’t sticking around.
He launched himself off the porch, Skye’s hand in his grip, and skidded away from the house, opposite the truck. Skye kept up, nearly passing him.
Good girl.
The marshal might have screamed at him to stop, but Rio didn’t even slow. He plunged into the woods, running hard, slapping away brush, branches, nearly tripping over downed, rotted trees.
Behind him, more shots reported.
He could care less about Darryl. Sorry, but—
“Rio—stop. Stop!”
Skye yanked him hard, and he stopped, whirling around.
“We gotta go!”
“I think that’s Tucker back there. I heard his name!”
He just stared at her. “No—no. Listen—no. March is a murderer and a rapist. And…I’m not letting what happened to Aggie happen to you.”
“Aggie. Your sister.”
“Yeah. And March is just like the guys who killed her. He’s a…he’s an animal, Skye. And I’d die before I’d let him touch you.”
Her eyes widened. And in the midnight sunlit forest, they turned rich and shiny and found the way to his bones, turning them to fire. “Who are you?” she whispered.
He shook his head, half an answer, half a warning, because he saw her intentions—probably relief, maybe a little gratitude, plenty of undeserved hero worship—gather on her face a second before she stepped up and kissed him. A full-on, solid kiss that turned him stock-still. His breath caught, just his heart beating—no, thundering—in his chest.
She held his face in her hands, her lips sweet against his, and he just stood there like an idiot.
Until she moved away, still holding his face, her thumbs drawing down over his beard.
He searched her eyes. “What was that for?”
She bit her lower lip, a sudden flash of fear in her eyes. Well, good. The woman shouldn’t be kissing…well, anyone. But especially not him.
Except, he hadn’t done anything to stop her, had he?
“I don’t know,” she said. “It just…it just felt right.”
Oh boy. Because yes. Yes it did.
She gave a tentative smile.
And he couldn’t stop himself. Really, they should keep running, full out, but his brain simply shut down on that smile. With a groan he wrapped his arms around her waist and his mouth came down on hers, almost fierce in his possession of her. She tasted of the outdoors, of smoke and fire, and she looped her arms around his neck, her body drawn against his.
Skye.
He had lost his mind, but he let impulses take over, not caring. Blissfully not caring for once in his miserable life. He backed her against a tree, pulling her up onto the roots, and it leveraged her face even with his, allowed him to deepen his kiss, to taste her, and forget, just for a moment, that he was a criminal and she was…well, yes, his hostage, if he were to go back to the beginning of the day.
But in truth, she could take him captive, right here, and he’d go willingly.
He broke away from her, breathing hard. “Skye—I…” And there it was again. The truth, scrabbling to be set free. He took a breath. “I’m not who I said I was.”
“A kidnapper? I didn’t think so.”
He touched his forehead to hers. “No, I—”
“Parker, help! Help me!”
Rio jerked away from her as Darryl ran toward him. Blood flowed down his arm where he held a hand over a wound.
“What the—” Rio caught Darryl just as the man stumbled.
“I’m shot.” Darryl sank onto the ground, breathing hard, clearly in pain. “You gotta help me, man.”
“Yeah, uh. Why—so you can take another whack at me, finish the job? I…don’t think so, pal.” Rio wasn’t sure if he’d meant it or not, frankly. Front in his mind was getting Skye away and back to safety as fast as he could.
He turned to do just that, but Darryl grabbed him by the cuff of his pants. “I know who you are, man. I know you’re supposed to keep me safe, okay? You get me out of here, and I’ll do it.”
Rio stared down at Darryl, his pale face stark against his red hair. Blood oozed between his fingers, dissecting his words. He knew…what—?
But Rio cut to the chase. “What will you do?”
“I’ll tell you where to find Buttles. And I’ll testify against him. Just like you want.”
His mouth opened. He glanced at Skye, who was frowning at Darryl.
“C’mon, man. I know you were sent in to get me to talk. I know you’re FBI.”
“You’re…you’re an FBI agent?”
Skye stared down at the bleeding man, then back to Rio, the stricken but fierce expression of half anger, half determination on his face and…yes. Of course he was. It all made sense—the way he’d warned her to stay away from him and the rest of the prisoners. His courage when he stepped in front of March’s gun. His crazy escape attempt in the woods, and even…even the fact that he hadn’t kissed her—not right away.
And even her own brain had been firing warning shots because what on earth had possessed her to kiss a man she barely knew? A criminal, for that matter—except, yes…see, deep in her gut she knew he was different.
Especially when, as she kissed him, he seemed to step out of the tight fist he held around himself and just let himself go. Kissed her like he needed her, as if she might be a drink of water to a dying man. And the way he’d pinned her against the tree, held her there—talk about hostage. But she’d never felt safer in her life.
More, she’d never been kissed like that before.
Her entire body still simmered from his touch.
Yes, he was a dangerous, very dangerous…good guy?
She backed away from him, her arms around herself.
“What—would you rather I be a prisoner?”
“No! Of course not. I’m…relieved. I’m just…” FBI. “You lied to me.”
Rio reached for her, but she held up her hand.
“I was undercover.” Then his expression softened. “Okay, yes, I heard what you said about your dad. And we wil
l talk about that, and how sorry I am that…well, whatever happened. But I knew that if March knew I was FBI he’ll kill me on the spot. And I couldn’t risk what he then might do to you.”
She drew in a breath.
“I’m sorry, Skye. Really. I didn’t want to lie to you, but…” He looked at her, and the expression of regret tempered her anger. “I thought it was safer. I still think it’s safer if everyone thinks I’m one of the bad guys. But we can argue about it later. Right now, I have to figure out how badly Darryl is hurt. And if it’s safe to go back to the camp—”
“It’s not,” Darryl said. “The marshal is there—with that fire boss, Tucker. I don’t know if they have March or not. He freaked out. I saw him hit that smokejumper pretty hard. He was down—he might be dead. And then—and then March strangled the US marshal.”
Skye couldn’t move. He might be dead.
Her body went liquid, but Rio was right there, grabbing her shoulders, holding her up. “Skye—listen. We don’t know that Tucker’s dead.”
Right. Right. She clenched her jaw, trying to scrabble up through the scream forming inside.
“Stay with me. We’re going to get out of this, I promise.”
Nothing will happen to you as long as you’re with me.
His words at the cabin surged through her. She met his eyes turning molten in the setting sun. Nodded.
“That’s my girl.” He let her go and crouched next to Darryl. “Yes, you will testify.” He moved Darryl’s hand away from his wound. “Let’s take a look.”
That’s my girl. She didn’t know what to do with those words. However, she did know what to do about Darryl.
“I have first aid training,” she said as she knelt next to Rio and examined the wound. “We need to get his shirt off.” She opened Darryl’s shirt and eased it over and off his wounded arm. The blood poured through a tiny hole in the front of his arm. She moved around to the back and found a jagged tear also seeping blood. “There’s an exit wound here. I’m not sure if there are any broken bones, but we need pressure to stop the bleeding, or at least slow it down.”
Rio took the arm of Darryl’s shirt and ripped it right off from the shoulder.
“That’ll work,” she said. “Hold his arm out while I wrap it.”
The Heat is On_Christian romantic suspense Page 7