by Dawn Brown
Damn it, a woman! The last thing he needed was another life to safeguard, another innocent snared in this macabre scenario.
With surprising strength, the woman used a wrestler’s move to flip him to the ground and pin him under her.
Lightning-hot pain slashed down his arm and up his neck. An agonized cry tore from him, and spots flashed before his eyes.
The smokejumper gazed down at him, winded, her breath hitting his face in gentle puffs. Under other circumstances, the position would be a turn-on. The woman wasn’t bad looking, even with dirt smudges on her cheeks and leaves in her hair.
Jackson squeezed the sleeves of her yellow fire shirt and snarled, “In case you haven’t noticed, there’s a maniac shooting at us!”
“I’m well aware of that!” she growled back. “I’m trying to save your sorry ass!”
Jackson blinked. Scowled. “You’re saving my—”
Another bullet pocked the earth by his head.
“Shit!” With a hard tug on her arm, he twisted toward a cluster of barbed bushes.
The woman moved with him, and together they rolled into the briars. From their hiding place, she stretched her arm out and groped in the blanket of fallen leaves and pine needles. After a moment, she dug out the revolver she’d dropped and dragged it into the brush with them.
“Can you shoot?” he asked.
She cut her eyes to his, hesitated. “I can shoot. What I hit is another matter.”
“Then I suggest you save your rounds until your target’s at closer range.”
She gave him another how-stupid-do-I-look look. Shifting to lie on her belly, she gazed out across the clearing again. “And just who is my target? Why is he shooting at us?”
Jackson rubbed his throbbing shoulder. Sighed. Where did he begin? “Suffice to say, he’s merciless and will stop at nothing to protect his interests.”
“What interests? C’mon, pal, you’re not making a lot of sense!”
“Mike!” a thundering voice shouted from across the open field.
The woman’s breath caught as another smokejumper staggered out of the woods across from them, dragging his right leg and clutching tree trunks for support.
She snatched the radio from her hip and jabbed the button.
“Boomer, get down! I’m all right. Oh God! Just stay outta sight. I’m on my way,” she said in a low rushed voice and started scrunching forward, out from under their cover.
Jackson grabbed for her wrist, a thorn gouging his arm in the process. “Hey, whoa!”
She tried to shake loose of his grasp, but he clung to her hand. “You can’t go out there. There’s no cover. Rick’ll pick you off like a fish in a barrel.”
“Rick? You know the guy that’s shooting at us?” She glanced back to her friend, and they watched Boomer slide to the ground and roll into cover behind a large pine.
“Not the way you mean.” Jackson struggled for a breath through the searing ache in his shoulder. “Look, he’s got a rifle with a scope. And a hell of a lot of other weapons in the van. He freaked when he saw you and your buddies jump from the plane. He doesn’t want anyone seeing him or reporting a van or—”
“The plane!” She raised her small handheld radio again. “Jump 49, this is Michaels. Do you read me?” When she got no response, she repeated her call to the aircraft. “We have a man down! Do you read me?”
Static crackled in the cramped space under the brambles. No one answered her call.
“Damn it,” she growled. “The repeater must still be out. They can’t hear me.”
The woman, Michaels she’d called herself on the radio, heaved a deep sigh and dropped her forehead to the walkie-talkie in her hand. “Please, God. Please.”
Jackson tried to shift, wanting a better view of the terrain. The movement shot pain through his arm again. He rubbed his shoulder, grimacing. “Geez-zus!”
The woman scooted toward him. “You’re hurt. Were you shot?”
He drew a ragged breath through clenched teeth. “No. It’s an old football injury from college. I aggravated it a couple days ago when Rick and his henchmen slammed me on the floor one time too many.”
Her dirt-smudged brow furrowed. “Come again? Slammed you on the floor?”
“Mike!” the same deep voice called across the clearing.
She jerked her attention back to the injured man across the clearing, concern creasing her face.
“Hang on, Boom. I’m coming. Where are Birdman and Riley? Who’s that in the clearing?” she said into her radio. Eyes closed, she waited for a response.
Jackson studied her. She seemed young, yet in control of her situation, her emotions. Even without makeup she had a fragile femininity about her, an appearance incongruous with the tough, take-charge smokejumper he’d witnessed so far. She glanced at him. “What’s your story? Why are you up here?”
Jackson tried to steady his breathing then summarized the past two days as succinctly as he could.
Her eyes widened, and she shook her head then frowned skeptically. “How do I know I can trust you?”
“You don’t. All you have is my word.”
She turned away, lifted the walkie-talkie again. “Boomer, it’s Mike. Do you copy?”
Nothing.
“Damn.” She huffed. “Listen…” Grabbing the front of Jackson’s Yale T-shirt, she shoved her face inches from his. Her green eyes blazed. “My partner is hurt,” she said, through gritted teeth. “Another man’s down over there, not moving.” Her voice broke, and the first flash of grief or fear flashed over her face.
She sucked in a deep breath, her nostrils flaring as if in defiance of the emotions. Once again composed, she grated, “I have to get over to them. Now!”
He knew the fire and determination that lit her eyes well. Intimately. Janine had had the same passion, the same grit.
“Ah, hell,” he muttered, holding her gaze. The energy and conviction in her eyes pulled him in, sucked him deep into their magnetic lure. Never again.
She averted her eyes and shoved him away. As she inched out from their hiding place, Jackson bit out a curse and followed.
“Wait! Go the long way around.” He pulled himself along the ground with one arm. “Stay in the cover of the trees and skirt the edge of the clearing. Keep out of sight.”
She glowered at him. “Anything else, Your Highness?”
He ignored her sarcasm. “Yeah. Lose the yellow shirt. You’re too visible.”
Still frowning at him, she climbed to her feet, staying in a squat, and looked down at her bright clothing. “Damn it, you’re right. Help me get this thing off.”
He crawled out and rose to his knees as she peeled the fire shirt down her arms. The T-shirt she wore under it was soaked in sweat and stuck to her like second skin.
Jackson’s breath lodged in his throat as he scanned her shapely body. Her arms had definition and tone that spoke of a rigorous fitness routine. Admiration tugged at him when he considered the rigors of her job and the effort involved, just staying in condition for those demands.
Jackson dragged himself to his feet, holding his left arm close to his body to minimize jostling his shoulder. “All right. Stay low or behind trees as much as you can. Let’s go.”
“You’re coming?”
“There a reason why I shouldn’t?”
“Well…you’d probably be safer under there.” She tipped her head toward the bush they’d just vacated. “Outta sight.”
“Probably. But I can’t hide forever. I want to help with your friend if I can.”
Her eyes brightened. “You’re a doctor?”
Jackson winced. “Not the kind you need.” When she frowned her confusion, he waved his hand, dismissing the comment. “Forget it. Ready?”
She glanced again across the field of wildflowers then at Jackson. “Okay. And…thanks.”
“Don’t thank me yet. We still gotta lose Rick and his trigger finger.” Without thinking about what he was doing, he reached out to tuck a c
opper wisp of her hair behind her ear. The strands curled intimately around his finger in a silky caress that shocked him back to his senses. He snatched his hand away and cleared his throat. “Then you’re gonna help me find my daughter and get her off this mountain.”
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