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.”
“You saw Buttles?” Stevie shook her head. “How?”
And that would be a story. So, “I’ll tell you, but…I think Rio is walking into an ambush. I know where they’re going, but we have to get to him before Buttles does. Please.”
Stevie just stood there, considering her.
And Skye was standing there with a fire torch, dripping fire everywhere, not sure what to do. The frustration pushed tears into her eyes, and she reached for the only thing she had. “If you don’t help me, I’ll go alone.”
Stevie glanced at her father, now being loaded into the SUV, Blake and the medic climbing in after him.
Tucker’s jaw hardened. “No, you won’t, Skye.”
And Skye got it—she really did. Stevie—and probably Tucker—didn’t want anything else to happen to someone on the team. And she was hardly equipped to stop someone like Buttles.
But she meant it. She wasn’t going to run away or stand still or let the fear of disaster keep her from doing something. The right thing.
“Yeah, I will. Just like you chose Stevie over the fire line, I need to choose Rio.”
Tucker’
s mouth tightened. He looked at Stevie. “It wasn’t a choice.”
Skye’s eyes narrowed. She didn’t have a choice either. Fine. “I’ll go alone then.”
But Stevie had turned to Tucker. “Alone is not best. So, I guess you haven’t gotten rid of me yet, hotshot.”
Her words swooped out Skye’s breath. “Really?”
“Yeah. Although I’m not sure why I should trust Rio—”
“Because he’s FBI.”
Oh. She hadn’t meant to tell them—Rio had been so determined to stay undercover to protect her. But…well, they were just as likely to shoot him, weren’t they? Maybe it was time for her to protect him.
Stevie just stared at her. “What?”
“Yeah. He’s been protecting Darryl and trying to gain his trust so he’ll testify against Buttles. He’s driving Darryl to his house to see his wife, Alicia before she goes into labor. They live not far from here.”
Stevie nodded. “Okay. But we need weapons and backup and a vehicle. Which means we need to catch that ride to the clinic. We’ll figure it out on the way.”
Skye wanted to weep with relief. She looked at Tucker, who answered with a tight line of disapproval.
Yeah well, if he could follow his heart, she could too.
Eight
Rio wasn’t a fugitive, and he didn’t want to get shot for being mistaken as one.
Even though, technically, he did steal a car.
Still, the last thing he needed was to get pulled over and have some trigger-happy deputy decide he needed to be a hero.
Rio unbuttoned his bright orange shirt and shoved it under the seat. He glanced at Darryl, who looked rough in the passenger side of the Jeep. Like he might pass out. Or hurl.
“How far is your house?”
Darryl leaned his head back. “About a mile from here. Just off the highway. Keep driving.”
They’d only traveled a few miles from the campground toward Copper Mountain, the wilderness thickening as they headed south along the highway.
In the side mirror, Rio could make out the dangerous black plume that clawed the sky, evidence that the fire they’d thought they’d beat had roared back to life.
Not unlike this little adventure, because the closer they got to civilization, the closer Rio came to someone mistaking him as a real fugitive and shooting him on sight.
No way. Because the only thing on his brain the minute they’d gotten some wheels—after the idea of nabbing Buttles—was tracking down Skye and telling her…
What?
That he loved her? No…but…maybe that she’d ignited something inside him he’d thought cold. He could call it hope, and it simmered a heat through him that he didn’t want to die. So, maybe…maybe they could figure out what that meant.
He was tired of living his life behind bars, lying, pretending to be a criminal.
He wanted…well, maybe what his parents had before the nightmare.
A family, a home. Someone who helped keep fed the warm hum in his chest.
Someone he could so very easily love.
“Turn here,” Darryl said and pointed to a cutout in the road, more of a dirt path than a road, but many homes up here were simply scrabbled out of the wilderness. He slowed and turned east off the highway, low branches suggesting the driveway needed a trim.
The smoke billowed out to the northeast, and even Darryl saw it now and sat up. “That looks bad.”
Right. And Skye might be heading back into it. The thought put a fist around his chest, and Rio clenched his jaw against the rush to dump Darryl at his house and follow his heart back to the fire.
But Skye was smart and strong, and she knew what she was doing.
I’m in way over my head, Rio. I live in terror that I’ll get it wrong.
Another prayer—this time easier, given the last answered plea—rose from inside him. Please, God, help her not to freeze. Give her everything she needs.
The rutted dirt road—barely accessible—wound back at least a mile before daylight opened into a yard and an A-frame with a wide porch off the front. Flowers in washtubs and wooden containers lined the porch and the wide steps, welcoming and fresh. To the left, an open shed held a snowmobile, a four-wheeler, and stacked firewood. Beyond the house, a trail led to a tiny lake, backdropped by a mountainside.
Seriously. Darryl had a little piece of paradise carved out here.
And then the door opened.
A pretty brunette, her hair pulled back, waddled out. But instead of holding her amazingly huge belly, she gripped a rifle and stood on the porch with a growl on her face.
Rio pulled up, stopped the car. “Listen, I’m serious—”
“I’ll tell you everything,” Darryl said and nearly ran out of the car. “Alicia!”
Rio got out slowly, watching as Darryl ran up the steps and swept her up. She dropped the rifle and cried out with joy.
Life was so unfair. Rio spent his time alone, putting away jerks who went home to women who loved them.
He wanted a woman who loved him. Who took his face in her hands and kissed him without hesitation, regardless of his crimes or the fact that he wore dried blood and the remnants of a brutal escape on his face and body.
Rio retrieved the gun—just in case—and waited for the reunion to end, looking out at the lake and beyond, to the undulating black and gray smoke. He couldn’t see flames from here, but the fire must have tripled in size.
“What are you doing here?” Alicia leaned away from Darryl, glanced briefly at Rio, then back.
“I had to see you,” Darryl said. “I was worried about you. And the baby.” He leaned down, kissed her belly.
Rio just stood there, stymied. Except, he was tired of lying. “We broke out of prison.”
Darryl shot him a glare, and appropriately so because Alicia gasped. “What—Darryl!”
He took her hands. “I had to see you, babe.”
“You’re hurt.” She looked at his arm.
“I’m fine. Just a nick.”
Rio rolled his eyes.
Her nod indicated Rio. “So, he’s a prisoner too?” Fear flashed over her face.
“Yeah—”
“No.” Rio was sick of lying. “I’m not. I’m with the FBI. And we’re only here because Darryl has agreed to testify against Wayne Buttles.”
Her eyes widened. “But you—you promised that—”
“Alicia.” Darryl pressed his forehead into hers. “It’s going to be okay. FBI here is going to get Buttles, stop him, and you and the baby will be safe.”
He looked at Rio then, daring his words to be wrong, but Rio just nodded.
That was the plan, at least.
“I don’t—oh!” Alicia grabbed the railing, her hand on her belly, leaning over and breathing out long and hard.
Darryl freaked out. “What—is it the baby—are you okay?” He grabbed her arms, eased her over to an Adirondack chair. Knelt next to her. “Are you in labor?”
Rio expected her to shake her head, because no—they couldn’t be showing up just in time for her to have a baby. But, “I have been since yesterday, I think. I called Larke Kingston—she’s on her way.”
“Is Larke a midwife?” Darryl asked.
“No, she’s a bush medic and yeah, she can deliver babies, but…I didn’t want to go to a regular doctor and…well, you told me to hide, so…?” She leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes. Breathed. After a moment, “That was a bigger one.”
“When is Larke supposed to get here?”
“I don’t know. I radioed her a bit ago, but…” Her eyes widened. “I think we need to get to the Denali Clinic.”
Oh, perfect. Just what Rio needed—to go somewhere public where the police might find them and arrest him—maybe shoot him.
Except, Alicia closed her eyes again, and by the set of her jaw, yeah, they didn’t have time to wait for some backwoods doc to show up on horseback.
“Let’s go,” Rio said.
“I need to leave La
rke a note—tell her where I went.”
Darryl helped her up and made to follow her into the house, but Rio grabbed his arm. “I do this…and you keep your word.” Whatever good his promise was.
“Yeah, man. Yes. Let’s just get her to the hospital.”
“Then you need to get cleaned up, and we need to change out of these clothes.”
He followed Darryl into the house, holding the rifle loosely, not putting it down until Darryl had changed into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and was helping Alicia into the back seat of the Jeep.
Darryl had given him a change of clothes also, and Rio pulled on a fresh T-shirt, a flannel shirt, and a baseball cap. Then he climbed into the driver’s seat.
Alicia had pinned a note to her front door.
“Hurry,” Darryl said, climbing in next to her in the back seat.
Alicia groaned.
Rio backed out, the smoke billowing in his rearview mirror as he took off down the road. And maybe now was the time to get a little down payment on Darryl’s promises.
“The key to your safety is us finding Buttles. So…tell me where you would meet him.”
“It’s at a truck stop north of the Canadian border. I don’t know how they get…the cargo…across.”
The cargo. “You mean the trafficked girls?”
Alicia drew in a breath, and Rio glanced into the rear-view mirror. She was staring at Darryl with a sort of horror on her face. “What—what is he talking about?”
Huh. And Rio probably shouldn’t have enjoyed Darryl’s deep swallow, the way he looked at his wife.
Rio filled in the gap. “Darryl has been trafficking girls across the border, down into the Lower 48—”
“I only drove the truck!”
“That’s like saying, I only watched a little porn. Everything, anything you do to support this industry is enslaving these women.” He glanced at Alicia, then at her unborn child. “What if you have a daughter? Think that through for one moment. Imagine someone kidnapping her and taking her—to do whatever he or she wants with her.” He shook the image of Aggie from his mind, his voice cutting low so he didn’t do something crazy.
Emotional.
Stupid.
Darryl looked away from him. “I know. I…” He took a breath. “I kept thinking that maybe if I didn’t think about it, or told myself I was just doing a job…” He looked at Alicia. “I’m sorry. I justified what I did for…for us. But—”
The Heat is On: Christian romantic suspense (Summer of the Burning Sky Book 2) Page 11