“You found Jesus?”
He nodded. “I started thinking that maybe I could do some good in the world, you know? I joined the military and did some time in Afghanistan. When I got home, I…well, there were still the same gangs doing the same thing to girls like Aggie, so I joined the FBI. They liked that I had experience working in the penal system, and we began to use that. I’d insert into a prison, get close to the person I needed to get information from, and we started unraveling organized crime. But…”
He took a breath. “Prison life is…brutal. And I started to wonder if the lines I was crossing still made me the good guy.”
Oh, Rio. She wanted to stop him right there, to pull him close. To tell him that she saw the good inside him—had seen it from the first. “There’s still light inside you, Rio. I see it. Nothing can separate you from the love of God. Not trials. Not circumstances—”
“I don’t know, Skye. I’ve done a lot of bad things in the name of good. Fights. Lies…” He looked at her with a rueful smile.
She shook her head. “Not even that.”
They’d come up to a ridge where the trail ducked down between a fall of rocks and granite cut out from the forest. Darryl tripped, and Rio grabbed his arm.
Darryl sank down right there, on the path.
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Skye said, crouching next to him and touching her fingers to his jugular. “His pulse is fast and a little thready. Let’s get him into some shade and let him rest for a bit.”
Rio grabbed his good arm and muscled him into the woods on the edge of the ridge, propping him under a trio of birch. Darryl leaned his head back against a trunk and closed his eyes.
Skye turned, watching the smoke from the cabin above the tree line. It seemed to be dissipating. “It’s going out, which means that someone is fighting it.” Tucker. Please let it be Tucker.
A darkness hovered over the land, the sun now concealed behind the far black mountains.
“You okay?” Rio said, coming up to her. He was a strong presence and she wanted to lean into him. But whatever had sparked between them, maybe doing that wasn’t the smartest thing.
She’d been impulsive. And grateful. And smitten. Way too smitten.
But, despite her brain telling her to stay away from the bad boy, her heart had decided to have a mind of its own when it came to Agent Rio Parker.
“Yeah,” she said in answer to his question. She walked over to a boulder, sat on the ground and leaned against it.
She didn’t mind terribly when he joined her. Because the wind had started to kick up from the mountain and he had a warm shoulder.
“Why smokejumping?” he asked.
She frowned. “Really?”
“It’s so…well, dangerous, for one.”
She nodded. “Actually, yeah, it is. I didn’t think about that part when I went to rookie camp. I was just…well, my dad was a smokejumper here in Alaska in the eighties, and…I mentioned that I never said goodbye, right? I guess I joined because I thought it might make me understand him more.” She lifted a shoulder. “But I’m…I’m in over my head. I mean, most of the time, I’m fine. I can do my job, but…” She picked up a rock, rolled it in her hand. “A few days ago, the drip torch I was holding sort of exploded, and I just…I froze. I was holding onto it, trying to turn it off, and starting fires all over the place, and Riley…” She closed her eyes as a terrible fist slammed into her chest. “Riley, one of my teammates, grabbed it and threw it away from me.” She took a deep breath and opened her eyes. “I can’t believe I froze. I always thought I was the bravest, toughest girl in the bunch.”
“You are.”
She shook her head. “No. I’m in way over my head, Rio. I live in terror that I’ll get it wrong. I saw my dad do stupid things over and over—we lived in our car for about two weeks when I was five years old because he’d gambled away all our mortgage money. And I vowed I wouldn’t do things that hurt people. But I…I still do. And it shuts me down. I’m afraid I’ll screw up and destroy lives—like my dad.” She blew out a breath. “So I just stand there and look at all my options…and don’t move. I’m terrified that I’m going to get somebody killed.”
Her words rebounded on her and her eyes filled, her voice turning choppy. “Someone like Riley. Or…Tucker.”
And just like that, Rio had his arms around her, pulling her to his chest. “Shh.” His lips touched her forehead and she hated how much she just wanted to stay right here.
She wasn’t tough. Or brave.
She was scared.
“I learned a verse at a church wilderness camp I worked at about four years ago. Heard it again just recently. ‘The Lord is my shepherd; I have all that I need. He lets me rest in green meadows; he leads me beside peaceful streams.’”
Rio lips moved against her skin. “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me.”
She pushed away and looked up at Rio. “You know the Twenty-third Psalm?”
He nodded, those amber eyes warm. “The chaplain made me memorize it. It’s pretty much the only set of verses I know, but…they help, right? Peaceful streams sound pretty good right now.”
She nodded.
He smelled of the forest, and she couldn’t push him away. Not yet.
“Maybe that’s the point of the verse,” he said softly. “That God gives us everything we need…so we’ll have peace. So we won’t panic. He knows the options and picks the right one.”
Rio touched her face with his fingertips, the gentleness warming her entire body. “Maybe that’s what grace is—peaceful streams in the middle of danger. I forget that, too. The heat of the moment sort of takes over and suddenly I find myself doing things…well, I get in over my head. I wish for once I would freeze and just…think. Let my head take over. Or better, let God take over. But it’s like I can’t stop myself. I see trouble and I turn off my brain. Maybe if I’d stopped to think instead of just feeling my way through life, I wouldn’t have ended up in juvie.”
“And wouldn’t have had the experience to do what you do now. To save people. To be a hero.”
“Oh, Skye. I’m not a hero.” He shook his head, his eyes darkening. “You need to know that.”
“Yes, you are, Rio. What you do is important, even if it’s…yeah. I hate thinking of you in prison, doing the things that you have to in order to stay alive.” Her finger traced the scar on his chin.
“Well, sometimes I break out,” he said and cupped his hand to her face, drawing it toward his.
And she didn’t have the strength or even the good sense to stop him. In fact, she was painfully in over her head.
But she didn’t freeze. She knew exactly what to do when he touched his lips to hers, gently, sweetly, exploring her mouth, nothing of darkness in his touch. She wove her fingers into his hand over her shoulder, arching toward him, and let herself surrender to the taste of him, the smell of the forest on him, the feel of his body, warm and bold against hers.
She couldn’t escape the feeling that in his arms, yes, she would be safe. Because he was a hero, despite what he said.
Nothing will happen to you as long as you’re with me.
She wasn’t going anywhere, then.
“I’ll have a little of that when you’re done, Parker.”
Rio’s arms around her stiffened. His breath caught even as he moved away from her. And she didn’t have to see the horror in his eyes to know that Eugene March had found them.
6
Rio knew the only thing that saved them was the fact that March hadn’t seen him run. The man thought he and Archer, who had also escaped capture, had caught up with them.
Rio slowly raised his hands, letting go of Skye, March’s words a cold tongue through him.
I’ll have a little of that when you’re done, Parker.
Rio would kill March before he let him touch Skye.
Even if it meant him dying, too.
But he had to play
it cool. Easy. He got up, stepping in front of Skye, his gaze on the revolver that March held, now pointed at Rio’s chest. “Hey, March. I thought—”
“Yeah, I’ll bet,” March said, his eyes narrowed. Blood dried on the corner of his mouth, and he sported a bruise on his jaw. “No help from you.”
So Tucker had gotten in a few licks before March took him down. Good man.
Rio lifted a shoulder. Behind him, Skye pressed a hand to his back.
Archer had crouched next to Darryl, taken a look at his wound. “He’s good to go—let’s get out of here,” Archer said. He helped Darryl to his feet, his hand on Darryl’s collar. Darryl looked haggard, but he clenched his jaw and stumbled forward down the deer path.
The sun had started to rise to the east, lifting the shadows from the forest, the heavens aflame. The smoke arching above the treetops dissipated against the clutter, only a haze remaining.
“How many were there?” Rio asked, now putting his hands down.
“Two,” March said. “I should have killed them both.”
“Did you—” Skye stepped out from behind him, her voice thin. “Did you kill one of them?”
Oh, Skye, please don’t talk to him.
March looked at her, and a smile tweaked his face. “I hope so.”
Rio caught her arm, squeezed.
March saw the action. “I think I’ll hold onto her, Parker.”
Skye made a little noise as March pulled her to him and Rio moved.
“Let it be,” Archer said. He put his hand on Rio’s shoulder and shot him a warning look.
No, sorry, Rio didn’t think so. “Let go of her, March.”
March smiled.
Archer’s hand tightened on Rio. And maybe a good thing because right then, Rio saw through March to his intentions.
No one would live through this escape if March had his way.
Fine. Rio met his eyes, unmoving. Let’s go, March. He put the words into his eyes. I’m ready.
Except, he wasn’t, not really. Because yes, he’d give his life willingly for Skye, had been prepared, theoretically, to let it go when he agreed to this job.
But in truth, Skye’s words had dug inside him. There’s still light inside you, Rio. Nothing can separate you from the love of God.
He’d heard that before, knew it in his head, but he wasn’t blind to the choices he’d made. The darkness he’d let inside. So much darkness.
Whatever light Skye had seen, Rio couldn’t see it. Couldn’t feel it.
Separated from God. He’d never felt the gulf more acutely than when March met his eyes, his hand bruising Skye’s arm.
“She stays near me,” March said, but he let her go.
Only then did Rio feel Archer’s hand slip away from him.
Skye held out her hand as if it belonged to Rio, and he grabbed it, held tight. And just the look in her eyes, so much relief—maybe that was all the light he needed.
For the moment.
But as he pushed her out in front of him down the trail, as the light began to dew the forest, his own words to Skye pushed up through him. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me.
But how could God be close to someone who willingly carried darkness, willingly stepped into the skin of…well, frankly, it had stopped feeling like a skin a long time ago.
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 civilizati
on, 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.
Summer of the Burning Sky Page 21