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 b
een 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 clutched 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.”
Your rod and your staff protect and comfort me.
She didn’t know why the rest of the verse rose to the surface, but…yes. Rio had been a force of protection and comfort.
Helping her stay calm, not panic.
God had shown up to protect her. She looked at Tucker. “You gotta get out of the mind-set that God doesn’t want to help you and start believing that ‘goodness and mercy will pursue you all the days of your life.’ Pursue. As in not give up tracking you down. As in relentlessly showing up in your life whether you are a good guy or not.”
He stared at her, almost confused, even as she let the word sink in. Pursue.
Oh, please, really? Except not everyone had the luxury of knowing God’s words. “Psalm twenty-three, New Living Translation. It’s the one I learned at Bible camp. Look it up.”
She curled her arms around herself, picturing March, and even Buttles. “Listen. People are evil. And bodies are frail, and fires happen. Lightning strikes—it just falls from the sky, and yet in the middle of the fire, in the middle of the darkness, God is there. Pursuing us. Because He loves us. Because He wants to rescue us. Because He is a rescuer by His very nature.”
A rescuer. She smiled. “Sorta like a guy I know.”
And maybe she could be one back. Tucker still hadn’t moved, so she touched his arm, met his eyes. “You will never be enough to fight your fires on your own, Tucker. That’s why we have a team. And God is on your team.”
He drew in a breath, but the words filled her, like heat to her bones.
God was on her team.
“C’mon. Let’s get that pack,” Skye said. “I’m freezing.”
He nodded and started up the trail.
Good. Because as soon as they warmed up, she was going after Rio in hot pursuit.
Before Buttles found him.
7
Rio forced his legs to keep running. Because everything inside him wanted to turn around, flee back to the river, and dive in after Skye.
He couldn’t pry her scream out of his head.
Of course, at the time he’d been face down in the dirt, the world spinning, his jaw burning, wondering how he’d get up.
Her scream had relit the fire inside him.
His head still rang. The inopportune kick from March just as Rio had been lunging in to help Archer had probably cracked his jaw, maybe even given him a concussion, especially when added to the blow March had given him to his head.
Yes, but for the scream he might still be in the dirt. High-pitched and terrified, it galvanized him off the ground, and he went to his knees, searching for Skye.
He spotted her perched on a boulder in the river, out of the water.
Safe.
Downstream.
And then, “US marshals!”
The voice came from the bridge, and he’d whirled around to see Stevie, the overzealous marshal, pointing a gun at March. Finally, the right target.
“You’re surrounded! Let him go!”
Rio glanced again at Skye, and in a dark flash he realized—Darryl had made a run for it, and if Rio got apprehended, it would be hours, maybe days before they sorted out Rio’s identity.
And Darryl would be in the wind—Buttles along with him.
Another quick look at Skye—she was perched safely on the rock—and Rio turned his back on Skye and sprinted down the path where he’d seen Darryl disappear.
It wasn’t hard to find him. The man still bled. Dark red blood splotched the path, and sure, Rio’s head hurt so bad he thought he might retch, but he kept running and caught up to Darryl less than a half mile away.
Darryl spotted him with a look of horror over his shoulder, and Rio didn’t slow. Just ran him down, grabbing the back of his shirt and yanking him to a hard stop.
Then, because he was breathing hard and didn’t want Darryl to nick him again with a stone or an elbow or something that could finally take him down, he shoved Darryl into a nearby birch tree, twisting his arm behind his back in a submission hold.
Got his face up close to Darryl’s ear. “Going somewhere?”
“You said I could find my wife!”
Really? Wow. “You gave me up to March. I think our deal is off!”
“Then I’m not testifying. You get nothin’ from me.” As if for emphasis, he spat at Rio’s feet.
&
nbsp; Rio fought to keep the world from spinning—and from letting go of the desperate grip on his self-control.
Because more than anything, he wanted to take out his fury on this jerk who trafficked women, who had hit him, and sold him out to March—
And yeah, he knew his frustration had a lot more to do with the fact Skye was probably hypothermic right now, but he hadn’t known what else to do.
In short, he’d panicked.
Led with his emotions, again.
“Oh, you’re going to talk,” Rio said darkly. “Maybe not testify, but I promise, I will find out what I want to know from you.”
Yeah, any doubt that Rio might not be a criminal died with his tone, the way his voice turned to steel. “I’m going to do to you exactly what you do to every girl who you transport. Tie you up, lock you in a cage, and never let you go.”
Darryl went silent. Then, quietly, his shoulders began to tremble, his breaths washboarding out.
What—? Was he crying?
Rio held in a dark word, then eased off the man. Stepped back, keen to any fast movements.
“I just want to see my wife. I—” Darryl turned, and for Pete’s sake, tears cut down the man’s face. “I’m an idiot—I know it. The first time I drove for Buttles, it was television sets and stolen stuff, and I just…I thought…I needed the money. I wasn’t trying to hurt anybody. I just…I love Alicia and I wanted to take care of her. I didn’t know I was transporting girls until…” He closed his eyes. “I heard them crying when I stopped at a truck stop. I’d been told never to open the truck, but I did, and they were all lined up in crates, most of them drugged, but a few of them were really sick and…I didn’t know what to do.”
“You call the cops.”
“I called Buttles.” Darryl’s expression turned wretched, and Rio steeled himself against it. “I thought maybe he didn’t know, but…” He shook his head. “Aw, I’m stupid.”
“Yeah, man, you are.”
“He threatened my wife.”
And Rio really didn’t want to have any compassion for Darryl, but when he looked down into Darryl’s reddened eyes, Rio heard Skye’s voice in his head. Just enough not to push Darryl up against the tree with a hand to his neck. Desperation causes us to do stupid things.
Summer of the Burning Sky Page 22