Summer of the Burning Sky

by Susan May Warren

  Rio knew that kind of desperation. At least the kind that got people in over their heads.

  Still—no excuse, and Darryl deserved to go to jail for a very long time.

  Which meant that no, he wouldn’t see his son or daughter grow up. And shoot, but Rio got that.

  He’d missed a year of his kid brother’s life.

  And frankly, a whole lot more since he’d gone into undercover work.

  “Where is your wife?”

  “She lives in our A-frame, just a couple miles from here.”

  Rio wanted to put his fist into the birch tree behind Darryl. He could probably do this—bring Darryl to his wife.

  Because of Aggie.

  “I just want to say goodbye. Tell her I love her.”

  Rio’s jaw tightened, hearing Skye’s words in Darryl’s.

  He should have told Skye how he felt.

  The thought shook him right through to his bones. Because yeah, if love peeled back the darkness to find the sliver of hope and light inside…he was on his way to falling hard for Skye Doyle.

  And it was enough to listen to the compassion she’d wanted to show Darryl.

  “You swear to me that you will testify against Buttles. No going back on your word. Because if you do, man, I promise you—”

  Darryl lifted his hands in protection, or maybe surrender. “Yeah, I do—I do—”

  Sheesh. He’d really taken a blow to the head. Rio grabbed the man by the collar. “C’mon.”

  They started down the path—the only way he could think to go, because it had to lead somewhere, given the wide, Forest Service maintained trail. The path was well trod, shaggy trees cut back, wood chips dropped on soggy soil. The river faded out, leaving only their footfalls against the packed loam.

  Rio let go of Darryl.

  His head throbbed, a hammer slamming into his frontal cortex. Yeah, he probably had a concussion, but he couldn’t stop now.

  He kept Darryl in front of him, in reach of his hand.

  “Sorry I gave you up to March,” Darryl said, maybe as a peace offering.

  “How did you know?”

  “I wasn’t sure until you stood up for that kid in the chow hall. There’s something about you. You’re not like…well, I thought you were a crow until you actually took a beating for him. Then, I couldn’t figure why the superintendent sent me out here—I’m not the guy for the job. But I’m not stupid, either, and when you showed up, I started to wonder if maybe she sent you out here. For your own good.”

  Rio nodded. Oh, that was a bad idea.

  “Which left me connecting the fact the feds kept offering me protection if I ratted out Buttles. And I figured that if they’d actually transferred me to Copper County to be near my wife, what else would they do to keep me safe? And then I remembered how you told me you were watching my back.”

  “You aren’t making it easy.”

  “Yeah, well, I didn’t know who to trust. And you weren’t exactly blending in. You think you can, but you don’t. You’re…different. You’re stupidly good. Like, inside. It’s probably going to get you killed.”

  Rio narrowed his eyes, half expecting Darryl to turn on him, try something.

  But the man just kept walking.

  Then Skye’s voice was back, hurting his heart with her words. There’s still light inside you, Rio. Nothing can separate you from the love of God.

  Maybe. Oh, he hoped so.

  Darryl said nothing more, and they walked in silence until they emerged into a large campground. A dirt drive circled the area, filled with RVs, pop-ups, and tents. Despite the burning sky that bathed the area with light, the place was quiet.

  Rio grabbed Darryl’s arm. “Let’s find transportation.” He scooted around the campsite, looking in trucks and SUVs for keys, and found an open-shell Jeep with the keys dangling in the ignition. A lonely blue two-man tent sat a few feet away, one pair of boots sitting outside the tent.

  Rio grabbed a fleece jacket and T-shirt lying on the picnic table.

  Sorry, dude.

  Darryl climbed in the passenger side of the Jeep.

  Rio slid behind the wheel, took a breath, then fired it up, stuck the gear in reverse, and peeled out.

  They kicked up dirt along the road as they headed out of the campground.

  Darryl glanced over at him, grinning way too widely for a man who was an accessory to grand theft. “Maybe you are a criminal after all.”

  Rio’s mouth closed in a tight line. Maybe.

  The fire on the mountain had blown up in the wee morning hours. A black plume of smoke darkened the sky to the north, and Skye heard Tucker on the radio, checking in with Seth, hearing the grim status report. Not only had the winds shifted and the fire jumped the water line to the east, but Riley had gotten hurt.

  They were now three firefighters short.

  And Tucker was pacing. He’d given her a black T-shirt from his PG pack, along with a pair of dry socks—he was a fanatic about dry feet. She pulled her hair back into a sodden ponytail and crouched before the campfire, listening to him finish his call.

  “We’ll be back as soon as we can,” Tucker said. “But first, we gotta do something.” He looked up at Skye.

  Really?

  She nodded at him, not a little stunned that he’d even heard her words as they’d hiked back to the place where he’d jumped into the water to rescue her.

  He’d filled her in on their pursuit of the convicts, the story of how he and Stevie, the US marshal, had followed the group all the way to the cabin. And yes, they’d started a fire as a diversion, trying to overtake March.

  Tucker was limping, the result of a fall, or maybe his tussle with March. And he was just as worried about Stevie, who’d disappeared after they’d been swept downstream, as Skye was about Rio.

  Interesting.

  Tucker signed off with a “Don’t do anything stupid, Seth,” and Skye couldn’t help but wonder if going after a fugitive like March wasn’t exactly that.

  According to Seth, a couple US marshals had reached the cabin and were hiking to the river on foot.

  Maybe she and Tucker should head back and do their jobs. Especially since Rio had risked his life to get her away from March.

  Except…well, her heart told her that Rio was in big trouble.

  He was taking Darryl to his wife.

  And no doubt, Buttles was waiting there to ambush them.

  Tucker was lacing up his boots, so Skye grabbed his pack.

  “Skye—”

  “Stop. Let me do something. I know you think you have to shield me, but I made this team just like everyone else. I can carry a PG pack and keep up with you, boss.”

  He looked like he wanted to argue with her—even himself, his face grim. “I don’t have to tell you that March is dangerous—”

  “Listen. Like I said, there’s more going on here than you realize, and I have to find Rio and warn him about something I heard. He’s in real danger.”

  “Yeah, from getting apprehended. Skye, he’s a criminal!”

  She cinched the waist strap down. “Let’s go.” She hiked down the trail she’d taken earlier, almost hearing Rio’s voice in her ear… When I tell you…

  She’d so thought his escape plan included him, them, together.

  Had thought him kissing her—twice—had meant something.

  She gritted her jaw, forcing down the rush of regret. She hadn’t said goodbye. Or told him how she felt or—

  How she felt? She’d only known him for twenty-four hours…and most of that under duress. She had simply fallen for the hero, the adrenaline ramping up her feelings.

  Except, those emotions felt big and unescapable and impossibly right despite the craziness of it all.

  So yes, maybe she was following her heart. But she didn’t know what else to do.

  She crossed the bridge a second time, not looking at the rapids, and nearly ran down the path, Tucker behind her. He was grunting a little, and maybe she shouldn’t have set suc
h a brutal pace. But he didn’t complain and all she could think was how much March wanted to kill Rio.

  And how much trouble Rio might be in if he lived and walked into an ambush at Darryl’s house.

  “Do you know where March was taking you?” Tucker said.

  “I heard him talking with Archer. He said he had a campsite and a truck we could take.”

  Tucker glanced over his shoulder. She was keeping up, hardly breaking a sweat.

  “Did anyone ever mention that Archer was a…cop?”

  A cop? “No.” Seriously?

  “Was he in on the escape?”

  “I don’t know. He was on March like glue, though. So maybe.”

  Except, he had stepped in at least twice when March had a gun to Rio’s head, so…

  And it occurred to her then that maybe March had caught up to Rio—that Rio was already dead.

  She refused to let the thought take hold of her, freeze her on the spot.

  The path widened and angled away from the river. Blue through the thinning trees suggested a lake, shiny under the morning sunlight. The wind from the mountains eased the sweat from her neck.

  Please let them be running the right direction.

  Tucker slowed to a walk when they reached a campground. A dirt road circled the camp, and tucked into berths were orange and blue tents, pop-ups, a few RVs. An early morning quiet had descended on the place. Tucker caught up to Skye and grabbed her arm.

  “Wait.”

  What? She listened, but nothing—

  A shot fractured the morning air.

  Tucker took off running.

  She sprinted after him and nearly plowed him over when he stopped short. Standing across the road, Stevie held up her hands, edging toward…March. He stood in front of an old truck parked next to a dilapidated trailer and held Archer by the collar. Archer was pale, breathing hard, as if in pain.

  No sign of Rio.

  Tucker grabbed the pack strap and dragged her over to the forest, pulling her down beside a bushy spruce tree.

  “You stay here,” he whispered. “I’m going to try and get behind March and tackle him.”

  Had he lost his mind? “Don’t die!”

  He gave her the strangest look. Then, “Right. Radio in to Seth, tell him our position so the marshals can get here.”

  Oh, uh… she had nothing but a nod for him as he suddenly sprinted out behind the trailer.

  “Throw the keys!” March shouted, and Skye put it together.

  Stevie had gotten here before March and taken the keys out of his truck. Preventing his escape.

  Where was Rio?

  She spotted Tucker edging out from behind the truck, as if to sneak up on March, who pointed his revolver at Stevie.

  Shoot—she should do something, not just sit here—

  Stevie tossed the keys to March.

  No!

  Archer shouted and launched himself at Stevie.

  A shot, and Archer fell hard on Stevie.

  Somehow she got free, but March grabbed Stevie, hauled her to her feet.

  Hit her.

  Oh—no, no—

  When he hit her again, Skye leaped to her feet.

  Tucker was already there, tackling March.

  Skye ducked her head and fled to the cover of the truck. Stevie crawled over to Archer, begging him not to die.

  Skye paused behind the truck, breathing hard. She couldn’t see the fight, but she heard the grunts—too reminiscent of Rio’s own fight with March. She eased around the truck to help Stevie.

  The fighters came back into view. March had crawled on top of Tucker, pinning him to the ground with his knee. March raised a tire iron above his head—

  “No!”

  Skye’s scream ignited Stevie, who turned and ran straight for March.

  Thank You, God—Stevie caught March’s arm. Pushed him off Tucker and clamped her hands around March’s neck.

  Skye ran to Archer. He was bleeding from a wound in his gut, blood pooling on the ground as he tried to press a coat over his injury.

  A cry of pain, and March had thrown Stevie off him, rolled over to strangle her.

  Stop him.

  Skye heard the words but couldn’t move her hands off Archer, off the coat saturated with blood.

  Stop him!

  Tucker lunged toward March, jerking him away from Stevie, trapping him in a choke hold. “You’re done, March! You’re done!”

  Please.

  “Call for help!” Stevie was rolling to her knees, seeing Skye maybe for the first time.

  Right—help!

  Except March had gotten ahold of the tire iron again. And as Skye screamed, he used the sharp end to stab Tucker.

  Tucker gasped, jerked back, and March rounded on him, swinging the iron back like a baseball bat.

  Aiming for Tucker’s head.

  “No! No—!” Skye bounced to her feet.

  A shot cracked the air, jerking Skye to a halt.

  March dropped hard, sprawled in the dirt, jerking, gasping. Blood oozed from his chest.

  Stevie had shot him.

  Tucker pushed away from him, scrambling back.

  Skye fell to her knees, wanting to weep.

  Tucker ran to Stevie who was still holding the gun.

  Beside Skye, Archer groaned. She turned, saw him trying to get up.

  “What are you doing?”

  “My daughter—is she okay?”

  Skye just stared at him. Then she followed his gaze. Stevie. Was his daughter? “Yeah. I think she killed March.”

  “Hey!” A voice echoed from down the road and she looked up, saw two men in blue jackets running down the gravel, their guns out. US marshals.

  It was about freakin’ time. Bouncing to her feet, she waved her arms. “Over here!”

  One ran up to her, breathing hard. Mid-thirties, brown hair, he wore the panic of someone who’d gotten to the scene too late. “Ma’am, are you hurt?”

  “No…but he is.” She pointed to Archer.

  The other man ran straight to Stevie and Tucker.

  “Marshal Kennedy,” the first man said, and pulled out his radio. “Keep pressure on his wound.”

  She pressed on the jacket, met Archer’s eyes. “Tucker said you were a cop.”

  He nodded. “Sorry you got involved. I was just trying to keep my daughter safe. I knew she’d go after March, and the only way I could think of to keep her safe was to go with him.”

  Oh. Like Rio had done for Skye, maybe. “Where’s Rio?”

  Archer shook his head. “I don’t know. We never found him after the bridge.”

  The other marshal came over and started taking his vitals.

  “Sorry,” he said to Archer as he moved him to check on his wound. “It’s a through and through.”

  “I’m fine,” Archer said, groaning.

  “Don’t be stupid, Dad,” Stevie said, coming up behind Skye. “You’re shot.”

  “Yeah, but you’re alive.” He smiled up at her. “That’s all that matters.”

  Stevie knelt next to him, her hand on the jacket. Skye eased away as Stevie bent close to her father.

  She watched from a distance as Archer pulled the marshal down and kissed her forehead.

  Sweet. And crazy tears burned Skye’s eyes.

  She stood on the outskirts as a man pulled up in an SUV, one of the campers. He got out and ran over to them, carrying a first aid kit. Blond, solidly built, his hair nearly shaved off. “I’m a navy medic. I’m on leave—but maybe I can help.”

  He assessed Archer, and from what Skye heard, he might live. They began to get him ready to load into the SUV. Apparently, they wanted to take him to a nearby clinic and meet an ambulance there.

  Her gaze went to Tucker, who now stood with Stevie, his hands on her shoulders.

  Skye could nearly feel Rio’s hand in hers.

  And then Tucker kissed Stevie. Sweetly, as if she really meant something to him—and of course she did, because Tucker always followed
the rules, always did the right thing.

  The right thing. Following Rio wasn’t just about following her heart. It was about doing the right thing, about justice.

  Tucker eased away from Stevie and grinned. “Fun date. Let’s do it again.”

  Really, boss?

  “Maybe without the shooting?” Stevie said. “The runaway prisoners?”

  Skye would have liked to have known what exactly had happened between them over the past twenty-four hours. But they had no time. “Speaking of prisoners…” She came up to them, not caring that she might be interrupting their clench.

  “They’re still out there.” Skye glanced at the other two marshals, then back to Stevie. “Rio and Darryl and Thorne. They’re out there, and…well, Rio is in big trouble.”

  “Yeah, because he’s on the run,” Stevie said. “Our guys will find him.”

  No—no. And suddenly she realized Rio had bigger problems than she thought. Because the marshals had no idea he was one of the good guys. She shook her head. “I know—that’s the problem. He’s not who he says he is. And he’s in big, big trouble.”

  Stevie might as well have rolled her eyes for the way she looked at Skye.

  And sorry, but she wasn’t going to walk away. Or do nothing.

  Not when the man she loved—okay, maybe not loved, but she probably could love Rio Parker. Wanted to love Rio Parker.

  Oh, who was she kidding? He made her feel bold and strong and not afraid of doing something that might end up with her in over her head. So she cut her voice low, stepping closer. “Somebody is trying to kill him—a guy named Wayne Buttles.”

  That name clearly rang a bell because Stevie paled. “Wayne Buttles?” She glanced at Tucker, then back to Skye. “Buttles is on our Ten Most Wanted Fugitives list. He’s…yeah, he makes March look like a small-town hood. Human trafficking, weapons, drugs—he’s a real prize. Why is he trying to kill Rio?”

  Oh shoot. Because if she thought Buttles might be dangerous from Rio’s—and Darryl’s—description of him, hearing about him from Stevie turned Skye cold. She swallowed and, because they were running out of time, tried to find the simplest answer. “Because Rio—and this guy Darryl—can testify against him.”

  Stevie raised an eyebrow.

  “Listen,” Skye said. “Rio saved my life a number of times. And I trust him. Worse…I think I saw the guy he’s running from.”