Summer of the Burning Sky

by Susan May Warren

  Across the room he spotted Darryl, slumped to the floor, writhing, wearing the pale-gray look of a man taken down by a glory shot. One of the marshals ran over to him, turning him over.

  “Skye? You did that?”

  She leaned back, her eyes red. Glanced at Darryl. “I just—I just reacted.” She looked back at him. “It’s your fault. You’re the one who said I was smart, brave, and tough. I just decided to believe you.”

  “You should. I always tell the truth. Grab the gun.”

  She reached for it.

  Stevie was standing over Buttles, pushing him to the ground.

  The third marshal—the big one—produced keys. He took the gun from Skye and turned Rio around to uncuff him. “Sorry.”

  But Rio wasn’t listening. Because Skye had him by the collar, kissing him, so much emotion in her kiss—well, he simply let her be in charge.

  When his hands were free, he wrapped them around her arms and eased her away.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled, looking away.

  “Nothing to apologize for.” He winked at her. Because frankly, he was right there with her.

  But they had an audience.

  Her boss, for one, pacing out in the hallway.

  Stevie hauled Buttles from the floor. She handed him off to the big marshal, while the other one pushed a still moaning Darryl from the room.

  “I want to see my wife!” he yelled.

  Rio shook his head. “He should have thought that through a little better.”

  Stevie followed them into the hallway. Tucker rushed over to Skye. “You’re killing me,” he said. “You okay?”

  She nodded.

  He blew out a breath. Glanced at Rio. Let a smile tug up his face as he held out his hand. “I should give you a T-shirt or something. Honorary member of the Jude County Smoke Jumpers for all the times you saved our backsides.”

  “Oh no, that was all Skye. She has great instincts.”

  Tucker looked at her, smiled. “Mmmhmm.”

  Stevie folded her arms over her chest. Looked at Rio. “I admit, you aren't who you seem, Agent Parker. This is a big fish.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s a bigger one out there. Buttles’s connection to the Lower 48. Darryl cooperated just enough to give me a description. Blond hair, viking type. Built. Good looking.”

  Skye blinked at him, then looked at Stevie. “That’s the guy.”

  “What guy?”

  Skye turned back to him. “A guy matching that description tried to pick me up the other night at the bar. He was with Buttles. He called him Pope.”

  Rio stilled. Purposely ignored the “tried to pick me up” part and focused on—“Alexander Pope?”

  “He just said Pope.”

  “Who is Alexander Pope?” Stevie asked.

  Outside, the thunder of a chopper beat the air.

  Aw. Rio tightened his hold on Skye. “Alexander Popovich. They call him Pope. He’s American, but the head of the Russian mob in Alaska. And impossible to find.”

  “How did Buttles find you?” Tucker asked.

  “He went to Darryl’s house,” Skye said slowly. “Evidently, Alicia left a note on the door, telling where she is.”

  “For who?”

  “Larke, I think, but it wasn’t addressed to anyone,” Rio said quietly.

  “Which means that Pope could be thinking he’s waiting for Darryl while Buttles finishes off Alicia,” Stevie said darkly.

  Tucker glanced out at the chopper, just landing on the pad. “And if you’re right, Riley and Larke are in big trouble. We gotta get back to Alicia’s house—now.”

  “Not so fast, Marshal Mills.”

  Rio followed Stevie’s glance over to the voice. The big marshal came over. His favorite one.

  “What is it, Blake?”

  “We have one more prisoner on the run—Logan Thorne. Got picked up for vehicle theft in Copper Mountain, came in as a John Doe. Called himself Logan Thorne. His prints didn’t register in the system, which could mean he was a first offender, but when we expanded our search, we found a Logan Thorne with his prints listed as KIA, in Afghanistan three years ago. We tapped into Interpol and found this.” He handed her his phone, and Skye tried to grab a peek. By the tightening of Stevie’s mouth, it wasn’t good.

  “What?” Tucker asked.

  She sighed. Showed them a picture of the man Rio had spent two days on the run with. “He’s on the Interpol watch list, wanted in connection with the assassination of an Afghani diplomat. Has a few aliases. Thorne is probably the one he used to get stateside.” She handed the phone back.

  Sighed. Turned to Rio. “When’s the last time you saw Thorne?”

  “The hunting cabin. He took off when you guys firebombed the place.”

  Tucker looked at Stevie. “We gotta go. The chopper’s waiting. My guy is out there—and so is Pope.”

  She nodded, turned to Blake. “Get back to the cabin, see if you can pick up Thorne’s trail. I’ll call you when we find Pope.”

  “But—”

  She took off for the door, Tucker on her tail.

  Skye caught Rio’s eyes, and he saw the questions in hers.

  But he had no questions. No choices. He wasn’t saying goodbye—not yet. So he did what he did best.

  Rio followed his heart right outside and got on the chopper.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Want more?

  Thank you for reading!

  Meet the Marshall Family!

  Also by Susan May Warren

  1

  He knew he didn’t deserve it, but Riley McCord wasn’t going to turn down Larke’s smile. Not when she looked at him with those sweet, pale blue-green eyes, grinning at him like he might be a bona fide hero.

  Fate seemed to like him tonight. Maybe because he’d paid a few dues when he’d saved his fellow smokejumper’s hide on the line a couple days ago. When he thrown himself into the fire to grab Skye Doyle when her drip torch malfunctioned and trapped her in a ring of death.

  So, yeah, he let himself be called a hero, and he leaned into Larke Kingston’s laughter, just barely suppressing the urge to wind an arm around her waist and pull her closer.

  Later, maybe. When he could sneak her back to Sky King ranch where he and the rest of the Jude County Smoke Jumpers were bunking—her ranch, actually—but he planned on finding a nice spot to watch the sunset, or whatever passed for that up here in Alaska, and…well, he had a few things on his mind.

  Namely, trying to forget the date. July 12. The day that always seemed to sneak up on him and leave him hollow.

  Not tonight.

  He leaned on the bar, ignoring the pain in his shoulder as he finished his story about escaping a fire his first summer as a jumper. “The team’s plane had gone down in this ravine—”

  “Looks like there’s trouble brewing.” Larke glanced over his shoulder to the front of the Midnight Sun Saloon.

  Riley turned, his gaze traveling over his team of still slightly grimy firefighters seated at a long table in the middle of the room, drinking beers, eating wings, and yelling at a rerun football game on the flatscreen overhead, and landing on seasoned jump veteran, Tucker Newman.

  Tucker had gotten off his stool in the crowded bar and was standing up to some bulky, flannel-clad local who wore a less-than-welcoming look on his face.

  Perfect. But he had Tucker’s back. They’d survived their rookie summer together—one that involved an arsonist with a vendetta against the team—and Tucker was one of the few who put up with Riley’s demons.

  So Riley moved forward, past the booth where Skye sat alone, nursing a Coke, past Seth and Romeo, jumpers from Minnesota, past Hanes and Eric, former Zulies out of Missoula, and stood just outside the rim of trouble,
under a stuffed moose head.

  The place screamed Northern Exposure, with its out-of-season Christmas lights looped around rough-hewn beams overhead, the smell of greasy fries and spicy wings emanating from the kitchen.

  A few grizzly locals had stirred from their booths.

  And of course, it was about a girl. Because Tucker had a soft spot for ladies who needed rescuing. Had been just a few short steps from running into the fire after Skye, all the while screaming instructions at her to shut off the torch.

  Riley had solved that hiccup by grabbing the defective torch and hurling it into the oncoming fire.

  But Tucker was the guy who made sure that a drunk girl got home, tucked her safely into her bed, left her keys on the kitchen table, and locked the door behind her. Tucker was the good guy, the one who followed the rules.

  So, his standing up to Flannel wasn’t a huge surprise, given the pretty, petite brunette glaring at the big guy.

  And Flannel was a big guy, had let’s throw down written in his glare as Tucker held up his hand, maybe trying to deflect the inevitable. “Don’t—”

  Tucker glanced at the girl and responded with, “I just want to make sure—”

  “Nate—!” The brunette shouted just as Nate made his decision.

  Riley’s instincts cha-chinged as Nate’s punch spun Tucker around and into the bar.

  Riley was already moving. Because he’d seen the guy to Tucker’s left coming out of a nearby booth, a moose of a man who had the smokejumper in his sights.

  And well, a fight might fill the hollow spaces inside Riley just as well as what might happen with Larke.

  Behind him, the table of lit smokejumpers ignited with a roar.

  Riley tackled Moose Man around the waist, the girth not unlike Rueben’s, their sawyer who had unfortunately already walked out the door with his girlfriend, Gilly, their jump pilot. He landed on top of the man and relished the way the big guy’s breath whooshed out.

  But when Riley reared back, the man’s fist caught him on his shoulder, and with a blinding flash of heat, pain splintered through him.

  He might have landed a bit hard on that stupid shoulder when he’d tackled Skye. Now, the pain shot gray into his eyes.

  Turned him woozy.

  Long enough for the moose to land another punch cracking across his face, this time snapping his head back.

  Oh, no, he was not ending this night on the floor, bleeding from the mouth. He spun off the moose, bringing his foot around and hard into the man’s jaw.

  That’s right—

  The sound of the gunshot jerked through him, and for a second, the old man’s voice was in his head. Keep your head in the game. Focus. It’s the only way to stay on target.

  Yeah, well, he’d long ago forgotten what the target even was.

  “Stop it!” The brunette stood with her gun raised, like she might be in a movie.

  Then the bartender, a solid blonde woman who scared even Riley, put together an incredible string of blue words that had him just a little in awe. She followed by dragging up one of the skinny flannels from the floor and throwing him aside like he might be trash. “Every one of you, get out!” It seemed she looked right at Riley when she added, “Unless you’re willing to behave yourself.”

  He wanted to raise his hand, offer himself in tribute. Him. He would behave himself. Or at least he’d give it a good try.

  It never quite panned out that way.

  “Let it go, guys,” Tucker said.

  Riley glanced at the moose, who seemed willing to have another go, break a few rules. But Riley had a pretty girl waiting, thank you.

  And his shoulder really burned.

  He turned, spotted Skye standing outside her booth, as if she might dive into the fray. Oh yeah, Tucker would have been thrilled about that. But she had guts—Riley had to give her that.

  Seth, Romeo and the other guys picked up chairs, offered a few apologies.

  Riley caught Larke’s gaze on him, an unreadable expression on her face. He offered a smile, and she raised an eyebrow, reaching for a napkin as he walked over.

  “You have a little blood there, tough guy.” She pressed it against the side of his mouth, and his hand caught hers.

  “It’s nothing.” Except he could use a little ice for his shoulder, maybe.

  “You took a pretty hard shot there,” she said, reaching for his shoulder. “Want me to take a look at it?”

  He shrugged, despite the fire churning through the muscle. “Naw. Just a war wound. It’ll be fine.” He winked.

  A shadow fell through her eyes, a flicker that had him frowning. Then she gave a little giggle that sounded completely fake, and nodded.

  Huh.

  It stabbed inside him another spur of unease. Because the second he had met Larke ten days ago, he’d wanted to see nothing but her smile, the way she flirted with him before they deployed, the suggestion that she’d be at the ranch waiting—for what, he wasn’t sure, but yes, he had a few hopes.

  In truth, Riley wanted Larke to be the kind of girl he might easily forget, someone to ease away the ache of today, the last week—honestly, this entire lousy year.

  Problem was, he could hardly get her off his brain the entire deployment—the first sign of disaster—and now that he was back, with Larke looking up at him with a smile he just wanted to devour, wearing a black tank top that showed off all her curves, with her fingers looped into the beltloops of his jeans, yeah, he was on his way to making a serious, delicious memory.

  Except…the shadow. The fact that he’d glimpsed something inside that suggested Larke had her own hollow spaces.

  And shoot, if it didn’t ignite all the protective, run-into-danger instincts that only got him into trouble.

  Riley could very easily get his heart broken if he didn’t keep this night easy, fun, and his heart at arm’s length.

  To his great relief, Larke blinked away the shadow and grinned up at him, stepping closer. “Play us a song.”

  No problem. She let him go, and he headed over to the jukebox. They had nothing in this century on the ancient music machine, but he found something he recognized and popped it on.

  Redbone. “Come and Get Your Love.” Thank you, Guardians of the Galaxy.

  He waggled his finger at her, and she sauntered over to the dance floor, put her arms around his neck. “I love this song.”

  And probably she was telling the truth because the tiny Alaskan town of Copper Mountain had the sum of one decent bar and grill, and he had no doubt she’d spun on this dance floor a few times.

  A girl with her long, white-blonde hair and laughter certainly couldn’t have been hard up for attention with all the wildlife around here.

  A couple of his cronies joined them on the dance floor, and he spotted a man—some tourist with blond hair cut behind his ears—saunter over to Skye’s table with intentions on his face. And okay, maybe Riley had a little Tucker in him because he tried not to, but did size the guy up, watching as he talked to Skye.

  Let his breath out just a smidgen when another guy dragged him away from her booth and out the door.

  Romeo took his place, reaching for her chili fries, and Riley let it go. She was safe with the rookie.

  “Dancing Queen” had come on, and he felt a little silly, so he took Larke’s hand and dragged her back to the bar. He noticed his guys leaving and glanced at her.

  “We can take my bike home,” she said, winking.

  He had to like a girl who drove a motorcycle.

  “You sure you don’t want me to look at that shoulder? You’re favoring it.”

  He was?

  “I was a medic in the army. I can spot an injured soldier who’s trying to be tough.”

  “I—” He made a face. “I fell on it a couple days ago, and I think I might have knocked it out of joint.”

  “C’mon. Let’s go back to the ranch and we’ll get some ice on it.”

  He stepped in closer. “Or, heat?”

  She laug
hed, pressed a hand to his chest, right over his heart. “Heat is only going to inflame it. It might make it feel better, but it’ll only make it worse.”

  Indeed.

  He really didn’t want to care.

  But, as she took his hand and led him from the bar to the parking lot, as she kicked her bike free, handed him an extra helmet, and climbed on the bike, he couldn’t escape the idea that she was right.

  No matter how good it might make him feel, the heat would probably only make it worse.

  He settled his hands on her hips, holding on as she motored him into the burning sunset.

  Apparently, tonight was not the night Larke turned the page, put the demons in the past, and became the girl who lived in the moment.

  But her plan was doomed from the start. Who knew what she was thinking really? She’d never been the type to zero in on a man and decide to hand herself over into his arms.

  Although if ever she wanted to hold onto someone, just long enough to forget, it would be Riley McCord with his soft brown eyes, tousled golden brown hair, matching ten-day beard growth long enough to run her fingertips through. He wore the build of a man used to hard work—broad, ropy shoulders, lean, strong legs, and forearms threaded with muscle. Okay, yes, she’d noticed him when he’d unloaded gear that first day he’d arrived at Sky King ranch.

  Watched the way he joked with his buddies, and it stirred inside her a flicker of forbidden interest.

  He was Lt. Freeman Stone all over again. And maybe that was the problem.

  No, it was definitely the problem, because she clearly had a type.

  Confirmed by the way Riley dove into a fight even before it started. She’d stood there, watching, blinking back memories, and doing an adequate job of acting just fine until he had to mention war wounds.

  Her face must have betrayed a momentary panic. Right then he’d frowned, as if seeing past her smile, her flirting, right down to her core.