And he was sick of it. “You know you’re going to get caught, right, March?”
“You, along with me, pal.”
Oh yeah, March didn’t yet know—
“He’s FBI, March. He can get us all out of this.” Darryl had turned, his gaze hard on Rio before he glanced to March. “He could be our hostage.”
What the—? “Clearly, you want to die, Darryl,” Rio snapped, his fury taking over. “Because you go back into prison without my protection, and Buttles is going to find you!”
“Not if I don’t testify against him!” Darryl had stopped, his hand clutching his arm. “You don’t know Buttles. He won’t just kill me, but my whole family.”
“We’ll get him first,” Rio said, but he stopped when March’s gun hit the back of his spine.
Rio raised his arms. Shoot.
“No, you won’t. You’ll never get Buttles. He’s—he’s lived through everything. Numerous assassination attempts. One of the rival gangs got a hold of him and carved up his face, and he still got away. Went back and murdered every single one of them. Didn’t even bother to get plastic surgery—he just wears this wicked scar on his face to remind everybody that he can’t be killed.”
March clamped a hand on Rio’s shoulder. “FBI. I should have guessed. There was just something about you, from the first. A real do-gooder.”
“You hurt Skye and I’ll show you just how bad I can be.”
March leaned forward, his feral breath on Rio’s face. “Oh, Skye and I have a beautiful future ahead.”
Rio jerked his head back, hoping to hit March, but March pushed him away. “I should drop you right here.”
Rio rounded on him. “Do it!”
And maybe March would have if Skye hadn’t screamed, hadn’t stepped up behind Rio and locked her arms around him, wedging herself between him and the gun, just like he’d done for her on the mountain.
“Don’t—just—I’ll go with you. Leave him alone!”
Rio grabbed her arms, wanting to tear her away from him, but she had the grip of a warrior—probably all those hours fighting fires, swinging a Pulaski. “Let him be, and I’ll go with you.”
No, Skye!
But if March killed him now, Rio had no doubt the man would make good on his words about Skye. Rio kept his mouth shut.
Let the smile drift across March's face with impunity.
“Let me go, Skye. He’s not going to kill me.” Yet.
Skye loosened her hold, and Rio turned in her arms. He pressed a hard kiss on Skye’s head, his hands on her shoulders.
Skye gave his hand a squeeze, then let go and marched past Archer, who stood at the side of the trail.
Rio glared at Darryl, who swallowed and stepped out in front of Skye. Rio really should stop hoping the guy bled to death. March walked behind them all.
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Funny that part of the psalm flickered into his mind as they tromped in silence through the forest, following the scant deer trail. But maybe…
What if he was here not just to bring down Buttles but to save Skye?
God, I know I haven’t done much to honor You… I’ve let the darkness inside, justified it. Told myself that it didn’t matter. But…if You brought me here to save Skye, then please…help me.
Rio didn’t know if God could even hear him anymore, but he was leaning hard into hope.
The air began to cool as they descended into a valley, along a ridge, and he made out the hush of running water in the distance. Rio pushed away the shaggy brush of a pine tree and quickened his pace, nearly up to Skye.
“When I tell you—”
“No.” She glanced over her shoulder, her aqua-gray eyes hard. “Not without you.”
He drew a breath. Nice. Now she had it in her head that she was actually keeping her word to March.
Hardly.
“I have a plan—”
“I know.” She offered him a smile, so much faith in it he felt ill. “But it’d better not include me running without you.”
His mouth tightened into a line.
They descended the ridge, and the river came into view. A frothy, fast-running swath of mountain runoff maybe fifteen feet wide that carved out the canyon. Deep enough that he couldn’t see the bottom and littered with boulders and jammed logs. Walls of granite cordoned it on both sides.
In the distance, a wooden hanging bridge—made of cable and sturdy slats, most likely the handiwork of the Forest Service—spanned the two sides.
They crossed a well-trod, wide path, and it occurred to Rio that they were nearing civilization, a constructed hiking trail. Maybe a campground.
Darryl emerged from the forest and stepped out onto the bridge. It wobbled under his feet, but he gripped the rail and started across.
Skye hesitated, watching. “Get going!” March said and pushed past Rio.
He’d taken off his orange prisoner shirt, leaving only the T-shirt underneath. He put a hand to Skye’s back. “Go!”
“Leave me alone!”
Rio started for her, but Archer grabbed his arm.
Rio rounded on him but froze at the look on Archer’s face.
Archer nodded toward Skye. “When I tell you…run.”
What? Really? Rio’s mouth opened just a fraction, and Archer met his expression.
Clearly Rio wasn’t the only one with secrets.
Or maybe God was closer than he thought, in the most unlikely of places.
Rio nodded, turned back, and followed March out onto the bridge.
The shot came from the ridge, ripping through the morning air, scattering birds into the brushes.
March swore, grabbed Skye, and pushed her to the other end of the bridge. She screamed, and Rio wanted to also when March shoved the gun against her temple. But Archer had Rio by the collar, pushing him off the bridge and into the trees.
Archer hooked an arm around Rio’s neck, his voice close to his ear.
“Give it a second—then we’ll take him together.”
Rio didn’t stop to sort out the words, to piece together Archer’s motives. He just yanked Archer’s arm off him—“No—!”—and raced toward March.
He grabbed March’s arm and forced the gun away from Skye, pushing her hard.
The gun reported—thank God, into the sky—but March rounded and slammed the gun, like brass knuckles into Rio’s face.
Rio went down, the blow just in the right place to turn his vision gray and splotchy. The world careened at sharp angles and he shook his head, fighting to clear it before March could get another shot off.
Then someone roared behind him, and he just barely fit together the image of Archer tackling March. They hit the rocky dirt, fighting for the gun.
Rio found his feet, his hands on the ground, still woozy when he felt Skye’s hands on him. “Rio!”
He gripped her shoulders, his vision clearing. Skye. “Are you okay?”
She nodded.
And shoot, but this was it. His gut clenched with the swift, brutal realization that just maybe God had answered his fleeting prayer.
“Tell me you can swim!”
Realization came fast in her eyes. “Yeah!”
He ignored Archer and March grappling and pulled her to the river. She nodded—oh no, she thought he was jumping with her—
“Sorry, Skye.” And he put everything he had into his eyes, one flash of a moment. The rush of hope, the flicker of light, the sense that she’d truly seen him and not flinched.
In a different time and place, he could fall in love Skye Doyle.
Maybe already had. Please live.
He wanted to kiss her, but Archer just might be dying behind him, and Darryl had fled, so—
“I’m sorry!”
Then, with a hard shove that would ensure she cleared the rocks below, he pushed her into the river.
Rio had pushed her in the river. The freezing rapids.
Alone.
Skye had
even see the idea form in his eyes—had agreed. But that was when she’d thought Rio would jump in with her.
She surfaced, gulping, the spray blinding her, the water a thousand needles tearing into her skin. Her feet scraped bottom, but the current jerked her away from the bridge, slamming her against a boulder, spinning her, thrusting her into the foamy maw of the river.
She could swim. She’d even worked as a lifeguard at summer camp.
But this river was hungry. The rapids grabbed her, thrust her against a tumble of rocks, the current dragging her feet out from under her. She caught the edge of a rock, her fingers tearing against the rough surface, but enough to slow her down, turn her toward the bridge.
Just in time to see March kick Rio full in the face. Archer had March by the throat, but March had used the leverage to send Rio spinning into the ground.
She screamed. A high pitch eruption of horror that the river quickly gobbled.
Rio was going to die—she saw the look in March’s eyes when she’d stepped in front of Rio on the path. Had never seen such evil.
Rio wasn’t getting up.
She had to get back to him. But the river ripped her from her perch, slammed her back into the roil, her feet above her.
She was going to hit her head on one of these rocks and die.
Rolling over, she threw her arm up just before she slammed into a downed tree, stripped and skeletal in the water, the branches lethal. But it slowed her down, and she used it to leverage herself onto a nearby boulder.
The river had cast her a good forty feet away from the bridge. The cold found her bones, racking her body with shivers.
“Skye!”
She heard her name lifting above the roar, but it drifted away, and she couldn’t take her eyes off the horror on shore. March and Archer, grappling.
Rio still on the ground, now pushing to his hands and feet.
Get up!
“Skye!” Her name again, and this time she searched the river. Saw a figure in the water, fighting the rapids. Stared at it, the realization like fire through her body.
Tucker.
Tucker!
Not dead, but he would be if he didn’t get out of the water.
Which he must have jumped into to save her.
Of course. So, that must have been him back at the cabin, just like Darryl said.
“Stay there!”
Yes. But movement on the bridge made her look past him.
A woman—the US marshal had edged out on the far side. Yes—
Except, March had Archer by the neck, the gun against his temple—where was Rio?—shouting at the woman. She held a gun too, was probably yelling at March to put his down.
But she didn’t know March like Skye did. March was desperate.
He wasn’t giving up.
Maybe Tucker knew it too because he shouted at the woman. “Stevie!”
The US marshal looked at Tucker, panic on her face, as if she didn’t expect to see him in the river.
Neither, apparently, did March, who turned the gun on Tucker.
“No!” Skye screamed just as the gun reported.
Tucker launched off the boulder, into the drink.
No. No—
He struggled and headed her direction in the current, the water dunking him for so long Skye nearly went in after him.
He surfaced just feet away from her, and she had one chance at this. She scrambled out on the boulder, holding the tree for leverage, reached out—
And caught his wrist as he sailed by her. She held on with everything inside her.
Her grip slowed him down enough for his feet to come around, scratch bottom. His other hand found a sliver in the boulder, and he used everything he had to pull himself in.
She hooked him around the arm, her other hand on his belt, and reeled him onto the rock.
Tucker was breathing hard, his dark brown hair curly and plastered to his face, and he collapsed on the rock, gasping, coughing.
“You okay?”
He lifted his head, nodded. Then found his knees, looking upriver. “Where’d they go?”
What? She turned to look. Everyone—Archer, March, Stevie, and even…even Rio. Gone. “I don’t know—I don’t—”
He winced, shivering just as hard as she was.
“Tucker, c’mon! We need to get out of the river!” She grabbed his shirt, using the tree for balance as they struggled out.
The river had cast them to the opposite shore, against a wall of granite. They’d have to climb.
Where was Rio? The thought of him bleeding, of March shooting him, propelled her up the cliff. At the top, she reached down to help Tucker, but he ignored her hand.
Fine. He was probably furious with her for getting herself in this mess. And maybe he was right—she’d been so determined to do her job, to prove herself…
If she hadn’t demanded to sit lookout, hadn’t run down to the fugitives, thinking they were her team leaving her behind…
Tucker sat hard on the shore and stared upriver, his expression stripped.
Yeah, she felt the same way.
Or maybe he felt worse, because he rolled over to his hands and knees, as if he might retch.
Now she felt sick too. Because who knew what had happened back at the cabin. And maybe her words came out more frustrated than she meant, but, “Tucker, what are you doing here?”
He raised his head. Stared at her. “What am I—I’m rescuing you.”
What? “You’re nearly getting me killed is what you’re doing.”
And oh, she didn’t mean that, either, because clearly he was ragged and hollowed out, given the red-eyed look he was giving her. “What are you talking about—”
“There’s more to the story, is what I’m saying. And now you only made it worse!”
Because Rio had a plan, and…and…
And now she couldn’t be there to stand between March and his hatred for Rio...and maybe she was crazy, but she’d thought, for just a bit there, they were a team.
That’s my girl.
She ground her jaw against panicked tears.
Without her there, March would kill Rio.
Tucker climbed to his feet, ignoring her hand again, but letting out a groan. How hurt was he?
“Have you lost your mind?”
Okay, apparently not that hurt. She recoiled.
“March is a murderer and a rapist—”
“I know, okay? I know. But…” But see, Rio…
Why hadn’t Rio jumped in after her? He’d sacrificed himself, and…and…
No. Because suddenly the conversation she’d been spinning through her mind over the past two hours, the description of Buttles given by Darryl, slipped into place.
Congealed.
He just wears this wicked scar on his face to remind everybody that he can’t be killed.
Buttles had been at the Midnight Sun Saloon two days ago. Probably hunting for Darryl.
Or his pregnant wife.
“Let’s just get going. We have to catch up to them.”
Tucker gave her a way-too familiar look. “You’re not going anywhere—”
That was just it. “And you’re not the boss of me!”
Silence. Because well, that sounded silly. Of course he was.
Or maybe not here, so far from the fire line.
“Actually, I’m exactly that. Your boss. And you’re going to do exactly what I tell you to do.”
Oh. She gritted her jaw, running her hands up her arms, unable to hold back a shiver.
He must have thought he’d hurt her because he touched her shoulder, his own hand like ice. “Sorry, Skye. I’m just…”
“Scared?” She met his eyes, not sure where that came from. Maybe because he’d spent the past twenty-four hours chasing her down, thinking the worst…
Okay, she could cut him some slack. Especially when, “Yeah, okay? I’m…I’m…yeah. Fine. Scared. Stevie could be hurt—even dead for all I know, and…”
He clut
ched his hand behind his neck and turned away from her. “I can’t believe how royally I screwed this up. I was supposed to get everybody home in one piece. That’s all Jed asked of me, and now…”
He screwed this up? Huh. She lifted her hand to touch his back, then dropped it, but kept her voice soft. “Tucker. You can’t stop bad things from happening. And you don’t need to save everyone.”
“Just for once, I’d like God to be on my side, okay?”
What—? “And why are you assuming that He’s not?”
He rounded on her. “Have you not been paying attention over the past twenty-four hours?”
She recoiled. “Actually, I have. Very much so, and—”
“I just don’t get why God has it out for me.”
Oh boy. Clearly something had happened out there in the forest. “Why do you think this has anything to do with you?”
“Because I was put in charge!” He stalked away from her, rambling about doing things right and not being trouble anymore, and it took a second for her to realize he was leaving her there.
Some rescue.
“Where are you going?” She ran after him.
“I dropped my pack up the trail—I’ve got a blanket, matches—we gotta get warm.”
“Fine—good, but—” She grabbed his arm. “Tucker. Stop. Listen. Why are you assuming that just because bad things happen that God isn’t on your side?”
Tucker rounded on her. “Because if He was on my side, then…”
“Then life would be perfect?” And her own words found soil. Because she sometimes wondered the same thing. Wondered if God cared at all about her mistakes and rescuing her. Wondered if, when she was in over her head, if He would show up.
Except…Rio.
And his voice in her head. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me.
“Fine,” Tucker said. “Okay. I get that things happen. But it feels very personal.”
Yes, yes it did. “Trouble always feels personal. But it doesn’t mean that God doesn’t care about you. That He’s out to get you. In fact, the opposite is true. God deliberately put Himself in the way of the ultimate tragedy to save you. That’s what grace is…and frankly, He uses trouble to show you Himself.”
The Heat is On_Christian romantic suspense Page 9