Summer of the Burning Sky

by Susan May Warren

He looked at her. “What?”

  “King David. He wrote that—it’s the Twenty-third Psalm. One of my grandmother’s favorites. She cross-stitched it—it’s in a frame in the lodge.”

  “Your dad quoted it before we headed out.”

  “Yeah, he does that a lot. He says that sheep are sort of stupid. That they’d follow the other sheep right over a cliff. And they get lost easily.”

  Riley reached up and unclicked his sling.

  “What are you doing?”

  He put his hand on the seat, palm up. “You don’t try and fix me, and I’ll try not to get you into trouble, okay?”

  She glanced at him, the quirk of his smile, the texture of his eyes, and slipped her hand into his. “Not much trouble, at least.”

  Because maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to be whole to let Riley into her life.

  Maybe he could simply help fill the broken places.

  He closed his hand around hers. “Hey, there’s a car up ahead.”

  They’d jerked and rolled their way down the dirt-tracked mile, and the road opened to the A-frame clearing. A dirty red Accord sat in the driveway.

  “Maybe that’s Darryl’s car.” She pulled the truck up next to it and reached for the door handle.

  “Stop.” He tightened his hold on her hand.

  She frowned at his knotted expression. He shot a look at the house. “Let me go in first.”

  “What are you going to do? You’re supposed to be in a sling. And I’m the one with combat training.”

  He blinked at that. Then he pulled the sling off his neck. “Just stay behind me.”

  Oh, for Pete’s sake— “The woman is in labor—”

  “And her husband is a fugitive from the law!”

  She held up her hand. “Down, boy. Fine. You go first.”

  “Thank you.” He got out and rounded the truck to meet her, then took her hand in his.

  As if she might disobey him. Good grief. But again, there went the crazy whoosh of, well, yes, relief.

  Oh, he’d gotten her all worked up, thinking danger was lurking… This was silly. “Alicia!”

  No movement, and the front door was closed. Riley led the way up the steps, then let go of her hand to knock on the door. “Alicia,” he said, “we’re here to help.”

  “She could be in the back,” Larke said and reached for the knob. It was unlocked.

  She eased the door open, glanced at Riley, and he stepped inside first.

  Only the plink of water sounded in the sink, the curtain to the back drawn, the house eerily quiet. “Alicia?”

  A wadded-up blanket lay on the sofa, an indented pillow against the arm. Riley walked over to the sofa and pressed his hand on the pillow, checking for warmth, maybe.

  She closed the door behind her.

  And that’s when a hand clamped onto the back of her neck, fingers like a vice into her flesh. “Don’t move.”

  She jerked, and across the room, Riley whirled around.

  The stark, hollow look on his face, the widening eyes were the only warning before the hard, cold tip of a gun pressed to the back of her skull.

  “Don’t even breathe, or I’ll shoot you both.”

  6

  “Darryl, I’m just here to help Alicia,” Larke said, her voice incredibly calm, considering the Glock held to the base of her skull.

  It wasn’t Darryl standing behind her—at least not from the description she’d given Riley. Red hair, overweight. That man Riley had seen on the fire line, sweaty and overwhelmed. That man took off the first chance he could with the rest of the fugitives. That man could be captured or dead right now.

  This man looked like he’d stepped off a tour bus, a lawyer on vacation from the Lower 48 for a high-end fly fishing trip on some remote Alaskan river. He wore a windbreaker, a pair of jeans, a blue Life is Good T-shirt.

  But the way he glanced at Riley turned him cold.

  They were in a movie with an assassin. At least that was the first thought that came to mind as Riley raised his hands, his shoulder limiting movement and sort of cutting short his immediate options, although he would take out his body if it meant saving Larke.

  “I’m not Darryl,” Mr. Assassin said, stating what Riley had already concluded. “Where is he?”

  “Clearly we don’t know,” Riley said. “We’re here for Alicia. Where is she?” And he kept his voice even despite the images his brain conjured as an answer.

  “She’s at the hospital,” the man said. “At least that’s what the note on the door said.”

  Riley couldn’t even guess at what happened. “Who are you?”

  “A business associate.” He pushed Larke forward, his grip still on her neck, and she winced.

  “Hey, man, go easy there,” Riley snapped.

  “Really?” Assassin Man said and threw her down on the sofa.

  She glared up at him, but the man stepped back and motioned with his weapon for Riley to join her.

  Riley gauged the man’s distance, decided against lunging at him—mostly because he still pointed his weapon at Larke and Riley couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t get a shot off before he hit the floor—and joined Larke on the sofa, his leg purposely tight against hers. It’ll be okay.

  “We’ll just wait until he gets here,” the man said.

  Something about the man niggled in the back of Riley’s mind. He looked familiar, but Riley couldn’t place him.

  “What makes you think Darryl is coming here?”

  Assassin Man shrugged. “He will. He’ll do anything for his wife—and apparently that includes a prison break.”

  Next to him, Larke stilled. And Riley nodded. So it was Darryl on the hand crew. And maybe he was on his way here, right now.

  Right into an ambush.

  Not that Riley particularly cared what went down between these two, but his gut told him that he and Larke did not want to be caught in the middle of it. Witnesses to murder never fared well.

  “Listen, man. Just let us go. We don’t know you or why you’re here—and we don’t care.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. He licked his lips, as if considering his words. “You’re probably right.”

  Riley caught his breath. Nodded.

  “Get up.”

  Larke started to rise, but the man gestured at Riley. “Just you.”

  He swallowed, stood up.

  “Get on the floor.”

  Riley hesitated, and Assassin turned his gun on Larke. Riley got down on his knees, hands up. “C’mon—”

  “All the way down, hotshot.”

  Riley lowered himself to the floor.

  “Hands behind your back.”

  “He has a bad shoulder,” Larke said, and Riley wanted to shush her even as he fought to hide his wince.

  “There’s some duct tape in the back,” he said, clearly to Larke. “Get it.”

  She was nodding, her face pale.

  “Hands up, sweetheart,” he said as she moved through the kitchen. “And just the duct tape. Nothing else.”

  Assassin put his foot on Riley’s neck, and Riley sucked in a groan as his collarbone pressed against the floor. The man was probably reopening his stitches.

  So maybe he wasn’t quite as ready as he thought to join the line. But he couldn’t sit in that hospital one more minute watching that cloud billow over the park.

  Larke returned.

  “Tie him up. I’m watching.”

  Riley heard the sound of tape stretching, and he put his wrists together, side by side to keep it loose.

  “Tighter,” the man said and then crouched beside Riley’s head. “Tighter.”

  Riley moved his hands, pressed them together, and Larke bound them. He’d stopped caring about his shoulder, his collarbone, just the fact that somehow he’d ended up on the ground, helpless.

  He closed his eyes, fought a wave of panic.

  Larke got up.

  “Your turn,” Assassin said.

  “C’mon, man. We’re no threat,” Rile
y said, but the man ignored him. He made Larke turn against the wall, her hands behind her back.

  Now. Because the man had to put the gun down to tape her and the moment he did, Riley was on his knees and charging. He hit the man hard with his good shoulder, slammed him away from Larke and onto the floor, falling on top of him.

  “Run, Larke!”

  But she didn’t run. She turned, and bless her former soldier’s heart, she reacted like she’d aced SERE school—swept up the gun and pointed it at the man now shoving Riley off him.

  Assassin kneed him in the gut, then slammed a fist into his shoulder.

  Riley howled.

  “Get off him!” Larke shot out a kick at the man.

  He grabbed her foot and Riley watched in a haze of pain and horror as Assassin yanked her down. He launched himself at Larke, and it was then Riley placed him.

  The man at the Midnight Sun who’d talked to Skye.

  What—?

  The man cuffed Larke, and Riley wanted to let out another howl. She grunted, but champion that she was, she held onto the gun.

  Riley was trying to get to his knees, gave up and simply leaned back and slammed his feet into the man’s back.

  It jostled the man, but he rolled and grabbed Larke around the throat, pressing down in a rear choke hold, the other hand banging her wrist on the ground.

  The gun went off, a sharp bark that added heat to the chaos in Riley’s head.

  He had to get his hands free. He twisted, fighting as the man pressed the air out of Larke’s lungs.

  She finally released the gun and grabbed at his hold, trying to pry his hands from her neck.

  “Let her go!” Riley yelled. “Let her go!

  The man relented, pushed her away, and grabbed up the gun, training it on both of them.

  Larke landed at Riley’s knees, breathing hard.

  He just wanted to throw his body over her and not move.

  The man grabbed Larke by the collar, yanked her to her feet, and shoved her against the wall. Turned to Riley.

  Kicked him in the shoulder.

  The room spun, turning gray. He landed on his side, drew up his legs, his teeth clenched, fighting the urge to throw up.

  “Please. Please don’t—” Larke was crying.

  “Turn around or I kill him.”

  She turned. Put her hands behind her back. And now Riley really wanted to weep as he watched the man bind her.

  You don’t try and fix me, and I’ll try not to get you into trouble, okay?

  I’m sorry, Larke.

  “Get up.”

  The man was talking to him, and with everything Riley wanted to ignore him. To collapse right there and let the pain wash over him. But Assassin had Larke by the hair, shoving her toward the door, and no way was Riley going to let her out of his sight.

  He pushed to his feet and staggered out after them, down the stairs, and out to Larke’s truck.

  The man opened the passenger door and shoved her inside, to the middle.

  “Now you, tough guy. You and your girlfriend are going for a swim.”

  Riley’s gaze tracked, just for a second, to the lake beyond the house.

  He was going to push the truck into the lake, locking them in.

  Riley met Assassin’s eyes, a final word of negotiation on his lips, but he kept his mouth shut when he saw the man’s expression.

  He was enjoying this.

  And right then, Riley knew.

  This was why his father had gone to war, over and over. Why he’d shipped their family from country to country, state to state. Why he’d redeployed with the teams after he’d made his promise to retire.

  Evil. Because it flourished when good men did nothing.

  And that was the definition of honor. Showing up even when the fight was impossible.

  “I don’t think so, man.”

  Riley brought up his knee, hard, an unfair street move that bent the man over, gasping. Riley followed with a kick to the face that knocked him back, stumbling.

  It was enough.

  Larke was already leaping from the truck—good girl—and sprinting toward a trail opposite the house, as if she knew where she might be going.

  And where she went, he went. His new vow.

  Riley took off after her, running crazily, his gait off from his bonds, but he wasn’t slowing. Wasn’t looking back.

  She was fast, and she cut into the woods, the piney trees closing around her. Riley stayed on her tail, wishing he’d gone first to deflect the branches, to warn her of roots and boulders, to keep her from tripping, but she seemed oblivious to the danger.

  A shot sounded behind them and clipped off a branch right over his head.

  “Go off-trail!” he shouted to her. The man would have a harder time completing his shot with the debris of the forest working in their favor.

  She glanced back, as if to confirm his words—

  And tripped. A thick root scarred the path, and at her speed, she launched into the air. Without her hands to stop her, she landed in a ball, with a cry of pain that took out his heart.

  Riley stumbled to a stop, standing above her, breathing hard. Glanced back at the path.

  Through the trees he spotted the man, coming up fast.

  “Larke!”

  She was gasping—maybe her breath had slammed out of her. Her eyes widened, clearly dazed.

  “Can you get up?”

  She nodded, but maybe she’d hit her head, because she looked past him, around him. Then back to him as if not quite comprehending his words.

  “Get up!”

  She just looked at him.

  He had no choice. He simply crouched over her, his body over hers.

  The man would have to shoot him to get to her.

  Footsteps thundered up the trail and Riley leaned close to her ear. “I’m sorry—”

  A grunt. Crashing through the forest. Thuds—fists against skin, the growl of angry men, a howl.

  Then another shot, one that ripped Riley’s heart clean out of his chest as he braced himself for more pain.

  Silence.

  Larke stared up at him now, her eyes clear, meeting his.

  She swallowed.

  “Please tell me you’re not hit,” Riley said on a wisp of breath.

  “No. You?”

  He shook his head, then leaned up and let her scramble out from underneath him. She looked over her shoulder and her mouth opened.

  He turned, bracing himself for anything—a kick in the face, a gun—

  Never expected to see another man trekking up the trail toward them. Brown hair cut short, a hint of a beard, the kind of frame he expected to see on a smokejumper.

  “Larke! Are you okay?” The man ran up, breathing hard, grabbing Larke’s arms.

  “Orion?”

  Riley stopped the crazy spurt of jealousy that flared through him at the smile she gave the man. In his mid-thirties, and clearly someone she knew and maybe even admired, because her eyes were shining as the man clutched her in relief.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Alicia called me—she’s in labor.” He looked at Riley. “You okay, dude?”

  Only then did Riley realize that his stitches had opened, and the front of his shirt was saturated with sticky, hot blood. “Yeah. Thanks for whatever you did back there.”

  Orion turned him, whipped out a knife from his belt, and easily cut through the tape.

  Riley peeled it off as Orion did the same to Larke.

  She threw her arms around his neck, and Riley bit back another flare of something dark and hot.

  He’d never really asked her if there might be someone else. Just taken for granted that she had room for him in her life. But maybe she’d been looking for something short-term and immediate because… Oh, who knew?

  He did know that he was the last one to kiss her. And she had fallen asleep in his arms last night. Riley at least had a fighting chance.

  And fighting was the optimal word because
now he noticed Orion sported a reddening bruise on his cheek.

  Whoever he was to Larke, Orion had saved both of them.

  “How did you find us?” Larke said, releasing him.

  Orion put the knife away, was checking her over. “I was coming to the cabin to meet you and check on Alicia, and I heard the shot. I saw this guy taking off after you and thought—well, this can’t be good. I tackled him about twenty yards back. There was a tussle.”

  A tussle?

  “Whoever he is—he’s dead.”

  Riley just stared at the man. He wore a T-shirt under an open canvas jacket, a pair of Gore-Tex pants, and boots. A tattoo poked out from the collar of his shirt up his neck, barely visible.

  “You killed him?” Larke said, her voice trembling.

  “Let’s get you guys out of here. I’ll radio the Copper Mountain sheriff’s department from my cabin, report the body.”

  But Riley wasn’t moving. “You killed him?” He had a strange sense of relief, even righteousness.

  “Well—not…exactly. The gun went off—he shot himself. But he was going to kill you.” He glanced at Riley. “You want to tell me why?”

  “I don’t know,” Riley said. “We just showed up here, and he jumped us. Happened so fast, we didn’t get any answers.”

  “I would have been here sooner, but I have a medical emergency at my cabin. Where’s Alicia?”

  “The guy—the dead guy—said she’d gone to the hospital. That he was waiting for Darryl,” Riley said.

  “Her husband?” Orion said. “I thought he was in jail. You’re bleeding pretty good there, pal. We need to get something on that.”

  “He busted out his stitches,” Larke said, turning to Riley and peeking inside his collar. “Had surgery last night for a broken collarbone.”

  “So naturally he’s out here in the woods running from a guy with a gun.” Orion raised an eyebrow.

  “I’m fine. And by the way, Darryl’s not in jail. He broke out while working on my fire.”

  Orion just looked at him, the tiniest frown crossing his face. Then, “You’re a smokejumper.”

  “Mmmhmm. And I do need to get back to that fire.” His gaze flicked to the massive black cloud over the horizon.

  He took a step, and suddenly the world spun.

  “Hokay,” Orion said. “Not quite yet, maybe. Let’s drag the body to the cabin, then take a look at your wound.” He turned to Larke. “I could use your help at my place. And your supplies, if you have them.”