The Heat is On: Christian romantic suspense (Summer of the Burning Sky Book 2)

by Susan May Warren

  “Let her go, Darryl,” Rio growled.

  “Shut up, FBI,” said the voice behind him.

  Wayne Buttles. Of course.

  “Don’t move,” Darryl added. He held a small scalpel to Skye’s throat as he backed her up. He must have picked it up while the doctors were working on his wife.

  Rio simply froze, his breath cutting out. He could only stare at the line of blood pricking Skye’s neck. It ran down into the well of her throat like a tear.

  “Stop—stop, Darryl. Stop!” Rio’s voice shook.

  “On your knees, FBI. Or he slits her neck.”

  Rio wanted to kick himself for not…for being so stupid as to listen to compassion.

  You’re stupidly good. Like, inside. It’s probably going to get you killed.

  Yeah, probably. He was better off as a criminal.

  Rio held up his hands, went down to his knees, meeting Skye’s eyes with apology in them, hearing his stupid, arrogant words. Stay with me. Nothing will happen to you as long as you’re with me.

  “Found these in the lunchroom,” Buttles said and cuffed Rio’s wrist, then the other behind his back.

  He only had pleading left. “Let her go, Darryl.”

  “I’m walking out of here.”

  “Buttles will kill you.”

  Darryl bumped against the table, spilling supplies onto the linoleum floor. He backed up against the wall. “No. You promised—right?”

  Buttles pushed Rio away from the door. “Yeah, sure, Darryl. I’ve got your back. Didn’t I say I would look out for you? I went to your house to check on your wife and read your little note. Said you were here. I thought you might be in trouble, so…”

  “Darryl, he’s lying to you.” Rio kept his voice low, even. “You know Buttles will kill you. He doesn’t want you to talk. You come with me, and I’ll keep my promise.”

  “No FBI keeps their promise,” Darryl said. He jerked Skye against him.

  Skye used the movement to lower her head, tucked her chin inside his arm.

  “I do. I keep my promises.”

  “Right. You are the biggest liar of all.”

  Yeah, well.

  “I told you to shut up,” Buttles said and cuffed him across the back of the head.

  Rio wished he’d gotten a good look at the man—just Skye’s intake of breath, the flicker of recognition on her face warned him that indeed, he’d found them.

  Just as she’d said he would. Because Skye took the time to figure things out. She didn’t rush into things blindly, emotions first.

  “Look at my actions, not my words, Darryl,” Rio said. If he could just keep them talking, maybe Stevie would wonder what was keeping them, come back. “I kept you safe, I got your wife to the hospital. You can trust me.”

  Skye met his eyes, solid in his, and he heard her words to him. There’s still light inside you, Rio. I see it.

  Oh, Skye. But yes. She’d helped him see it.

  Just because he looked like a criminal on the outside didn’t mean he didn’t have light and hope and—and forgiveness on the inside.

  And God on his side, in the valley of the shadow.

  “I’m going to keep my promise to you, Darryl. I’m going to take you to your wife. But Buttles only tracked you down here to kill you.”

  “Naw,” Buttles said. “Darryl’s my friend. He knows that’s why he didn’t die in prison.”

  Darryl nodded. “That’s right.” Still, he seemed to be considering Rio’s words. Until he looked at Buttles. “You shoot him, and we’ll take her with us. Just in case. There’s a chopper on the way—we could take that.”

  Rio went cold.

  “That’s my boy. Always about the transportation. But shooting him will create too much attention. I have something better.”

  Buttles grabbed the blood pressure cuff off the nearby wall unit and Velcroed it around Rio’s throat. Started to pump.

  Oh no.

  Darryl smiled. “Nice. So, while you choke, I’m going to just walk out of here with your girl.”

  And then Darryl kissed Skye’s neck.

  Rio let out something feral and dark, but the hold on the blood pressure cuff had tightened, cutting off the blood supply to his brain.

  He wasn’t going to last long.

  Rio’s gaze flickered to Skye’s just for a second, and…what?

  Skye had stepped to Darryl’s side and only then did Rio realize that…she’d listened to him. Back at the cabin, when he’d told her how to get out of a choke hold. Except, well, even then he’d been hoping that she wouldn’t need the information.

  Yes. Except—no. Because even if she got away from Darryl, Buttles would shoot her.

  There was no stopping her, however, because her hand balled into a tight fist.

  Right in the soft parts, honey. Make it hurt.

  His air had left him, the room going hazy.

  He met her eyes and she looked at him with the expression she’d had in the woods one moment before she kissed him. Deliberate.

  Brave. Strong.

  He renews my strength.

  Rio reacted just as she swung her arm back. Heard Darryl cry out as Rio rolled, landed on his back, and slammed his foot into Buttles’s knee. Heard a crack, but didn’t wait for Buttles to fall, just kicked hard up, connecting with his chin.

  Buttles slammed back into the wall.

  The gun dropped to the floor.

  Rio wanted to scrabble for it, but his vision had started to splotch, big gray, black swatches.

  He heard grunts and saw Buttles struggling up.

  With everything he had, he flung his foot at Buttles’s face.

  The man howled, blood spurting.

  Behind him, Skye screamed.

  Skye!

  The blackness closed in, and he flexed his neck, gulping, a fish without air.

  Oh—oh—

  God gives us everything we need…so we’ll have peace. So we won’t panic…

  He closed his eyes. Maybe that’s what grace is—peaceful streams in the middle of danger.

  Somewhere inside, he heard his voice, a pleading. God, save us. Only You can bring justice. I give it to You—

  He heard a door slam, voices, but they fell away, far from him.

  Then, Velcro ripping, and in a second, the rush of glorious air swept into his lungs. He gulped hard, opened his eyes, expecting to see Stevie—

  Skye looked down at him, her hands unwinding the cuff, crying so hard she couldn’t speak.

  “Shh,” he sort of managed, then pushed himself from the floor, still sucking in sweet air. “Shh, I’m okay—” He wanted to grab her, calm her down, but she just wrapped her arms around his neck, buried her face in his shoulder, and held on.

  Okay, this worked too. He turned his head, kissed her cheek. “Skye—it’s okay.”

  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.

  Continue the epic adventure with: Some Like it Hot

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  Excerpt from SOME LIKE IT HOT

  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. Dove 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 as 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 Tucke
r’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 light 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 gun shot 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.