Summer of the Burning Sky

by Susan May Warren

  “What?” Tucker frowned.

  “To win. I haven’t gotten a win for a long time.” And he didn’t know why he said that, but it just…well, yeah. Weirdly, he wanted this guy to like him. See beyond the prison garb, the obvious. Or maybe Rio simply wanted to be seen for the guy he was. Not who he pretended to be.

  Who he was starting to feel like. Until this moment.

  “I know you’re up there, and I just want you to know that if you try anything, I’m a federal marshal.”

  Rio stilled.

  What—?

  But old habits—or maybe instincts—made him put his hands up.

  A woman ran up the scree toward them, a revolver in her grip, something fierce and protective in her eyes. Her sable hair tied back in a pony tail, she wore a blue jacket that rippled in the wind.

  “Stevie?” Tucker said. “What are you doing here?”

  Oh good, so she wasn’t here to shoot him. Yet. Because she locked eyes with Rio and he held his breath. No danger here, ma’am. A heartbeat, then two.

  Thankfully, Tucker confirmed it with, “He’s not a threat.”

  She seemed to consider those words. Then, finally, “You can put your hands down. I’m not going to shoot you.”

  “I appreciate that.” Rio’s jaw tightened.

  Beside him, Tucker grunted as he got to his feet. “I don’t understand—what’s going on?”

  She tucked her gun away in her belt and closed the distance up the hill. “You have a murderer among your fire crew recruits. I’m here to bring him back.”

  And then, in what felt like an actual fist to the gut, Tucker glanced at Rio.

  Thanks, man. “It’s not me, dude.”

  “It’s Eugene March, the guy I told you about last night,” US Marshal Stevie said.

  “Uh, there’s no one here named Eugene.”

  Stevie frowned, and she seemed to be sorting through that information until, “Right— He’s going by Clancy Smythe.”

  “The professor?”

  She frowned at that. “Yeah. He’s murdered three people, along with a few other charges. Like rape.”

  Rio froze, her words landing like hands around his neck. Murderer. Rapist.

  What had Perkins got them into?

  “Let’s keep March’s list of charges on the d-low,” Tucker said. “I don’t want to freak out the team. But how soon can you get him off my line?”

  “As soon as I can get a chopper in here.”

  Rio cast a look at the sky, at the smoke and clouds hovering, and his heart sank. It might be a long night.

  Tucker might have come to the same conclusion because his mouth tightened to a grim line. He used his Pulaski to help him hike down to the fire line, the blaze still fighting for life.

  Rio stayed close enough to help him, although he’d probably just get himself into trouble if he did. He’d clearly been put back in criminal category.

  “How’d you get here?” Tucker asked the marshal.

  “I rode my dirt bike.”

  They knew each other somehow, although Rio didn’t pick up from where, and then it didn’t matter because Archer ran up to him, fisted his collar. “Where’d you go?”

  Rio caught Archer’s wrist. “Let. Go.” He was just a little tired of being manhandled by authority types. Especially when he was the only one here who was actually authority.

  Except perhaps Miss US Marshal over there, who was eying Professor Smythe like she might have to draw her weapon.

  Which, by the way, needed an upgrade. Why wasn’t she armed with something that actually might have a little say-so, like a Glock?

  And she’d driven in on a dirt bike? Yeah, somebody wasn’t telling the whole truth, and it wasn’t just him.

  “He was in trouble. I helped,” Rio said. Archer let him go and Rio picked up his shovel.

  The fire had coughed out, gray smoke peeling in layers from the burned front. Over the ridge, the main fire still consumed the forested area, but had died out along the line of water dropped by the chopper.

  It looked like they might be safely back in their cells by midnight.

  “Let’s start mopping up!” Tucker said, casting a look at Rio. He couldn’t read it, and maybe he didn’t want to. “Turn over the soil along the line and make sure the fire’s out.”

  Rio dug in.

  And that’s when he heard the voice behind him. Bright, panicked, passionate, it made him turn and watch.

  “Tucker! I’m so glad you’re okay!”

  A woman launched herself into Tucker’s arms.

  Well, not exactly in his arms, because he didn’t exactly hug her back, but she latched on around his neck and didn’t let go.

  If a woman like that threw herself in his arms, you bet he wouldn’t just stand there or lamely wrap one arm around her.

  Young. Pretty, with a long blonde braid snaking down her back. Clearly a smokejumper by her uniform—yellow shirt, green pants, helmet—although no soot streaked her face, and she bore a hint of a sunburn on her nose. Beautiful aqua-gray eyes that closed briefly in relief just before Tucker grabbed her upper arms and put her away from him.

  Maybe five foot five. Shapely, even in her work clothes, and—shoot. He was staring as if he hadn’t seen a woman in decades.

  Okay, so maybe not one who made him wish he could take a shower, clean up, introduce himself properly. Rio Parker, FBI, ma’am.

  He turned away.

  “I’m okay, Skye. Thanks to Rio.”

  Tucker’s voice made Rio look over, and at that moment, the woman’s gaze connected with his. A tiny smile tipped her lips, as if reaching out to him, as if…as if he’d done something good and right and—

  Oh. Of course. He’d saved her boyfriend.

  But his throat still filled with the heat that flared through him.

  So maybe it was worth it, just for that smile.

  Rio was turning back to his work when he caught it—the expression on Clancy’s—or Eugene’s—face. He’d stopped also, leaning on his shovel, his gray-eyed gaze raking over Skye, something almost hungry in his expression.

  And just like that, the heat inside Rio dissipated, behind it running a streak of cold.

  “Let’s get moving,” Rio shouted to Archer. Because yes, the faster they got back to the prison, the better.

  Skye wanted to believe there was good in everyone, no matter how deep she had to search.

  But a person had to look pretty deep to find it in the form of the prisoner named Rio. He sat with his back to a tree in a copse of forest, eating dinner from his MRE.

  From the outside, she could admit he possessed looks that could stun a girl—short, wavy black hair, the scrub of whiskers on his chin, deep amber brown eyes. He stood over six feet, with broad shoulders, a lean body, as if he hadn’t spent a lifetime behind bars but working out in some gym, maybe playing a little football on the side. And he dug line like he might have a dog in this fight instead of being forced to work like a member of a chain gang.

  Yes, she’d watched, mesmerized for a dangerous moment by the ripple of muscles in his arms, the lean length of his legs, the way his lats tensed every time he tossed dirt.

  The heat was clearly going to her head because any resemblance to a clean-nosed college jock ended with the scar across his jaw, as if he’d been nicked by a knife in a street fight. And the bad boy aura just thickened with the tattoo on the back of his neck—some kind of tribal tattoo that started on his forearms and wound all the way up, under his shirt sleeves to circle his neck and dip back down under his collar. He wore a now-grimy white T-shirt under his orange prison shirt, which he’d stripped off, and all she saw were deft hands that scraped out a can of tuna. She couldn’t stop wondering if he knew how to turn a plastic spoon into a weapon.

  Oh, brother. She’d seen too many movies.

  He said nothing as he ate, but those amber brown eyes seemed to be watching them all, the expression on his face a little raw, a little broken, very wary.

 
And call her a sucker for the lost, but it was the expression that convinced her that maybe, just maybe, there was more to Rio’s story.

  Especially since he’d saved Tucker’s life.

  Huh.

  She stood with Romeo, eating her cold MRE bag of chicken à la king, listening to Riley tell the story of how he looked up to see Rio—that’s what Tucker had called him—running into the fire. Without fire gear, without a shelter, just straight into the flames and smoke. Riley had shouted at him, not sure what to do, when Rio had disappeared over the ridge, right into the flames.

  Here, Skye filled in her side of the story—watching Rio grab up Tucker and drag him to safety.

  Clearly, there were blank spots—including how a US marshal had joined them. “She’s the one from the bar last night,” Skye said, taking the last bite of her dinner-slash-mush. “The one Tucker was fighting over.”

  “I thought she looked familiar.” Seth had finished his dinner of beef stroganoff and now stirred coffee grounds into his sierra cup of water. “Didn’t figure on her being a cop.”

  “She’s probably here to make sure no one escapes,” Riley said. “I was wondering why they sent the team in without a guard.”

  “I think he’s in charge of the prisoners,” Romeo said, rolling up his MRE bag. He gestured to the middle-aged man who seemed to be watching the crew with hawk eyes.

  Yeah, she would agree.

  “Archer,” Skye said, remembering his name. “He keeps looking at the marshal, though, so I’m not sure he’s not thinking about making a dash for it.”

  “To where?” Riley rolled up his trash and stuck it in a plastic storage bag, shoving it back into his pack. “There’s nothing but wilderness in every direction.”

  Maybe. But yes, she’d sat up on top of the mountain long enough to get the lay of the wilderness. They were miles from civilization.

  Seth picked up his sleeping bag and set it down next to Skye’s, then pulled his PG bag over and began to unpack it.

  She looked at him as he hunkered down. “Babysitting?”

  “There’s a better view from here.”

  She shook her head. But yeah, she might feel better with the big sawyer near her. Seth had the girth of a moose but the demeanor of a golden retriever.

  He unloaded a few items—toilet paper, signal mirror, bug dope, and a small Ruger revolver. Her gaze cast on it, and he put his big hand over it. “Rueben told me to carry. He said I just had to land next to a grizzly once to figure out why.”

  “Right.” She was putting her garbage away in her own PG bag when her hand landed on the protein bars she’d stuck in her pack. Two of them. She pulled one out and opened it. Chocolate peanut butter.

  Rio had leaned his head back against the tree, one knee up, holding a cup of coffee, and had turned his gaze to the horizon. And why not—the sun, not quite setting, had cast ribbons of gold, peach, and lavender across the mottled sky. Denali rose to the west, the sun threading fingers of light into the dark valleys, turning the grasses to flames of deep red and amber.

  The fire still smoked to the north, more of a smudge against the sky. The thick humidity of the night would probably knock it down, and by morning they could mop up.

  She glanced around at her team—Riley took his bag a few feet from camp. The two Zulies set up their sleeping bags a little further away also. Tucker and the brunette leaned up against a boulder, far enough away for her to not hear the conversation. Whatever happened in the bar, they’d made friends now.

  Romeo had hunkered down on the other side of Skye, apparently feeding his inner protector.

  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?”