Rescued by the Marine

by Julie Miller

  But this wasn’t the time or place for smiling. He was in trouble already if he was flashing back to Kilkut or thinking she was pretty. This whole op was about getting the job done and easing his conscience. Saving a life in exchange for the one he hadn’t. “I’ll get you whatever you need once we’re off this mountain. Laptop. Pen and paper. Warm clothes.”

  “A hot shower?”

  “Done.” He hardened his expression so she’d stop that smiling thing that was getting under his skin and derailing his focus on the mission, then dismissed her with a curt nod. “Stay on my path.”

  He turned up the mountain and doubled his pace, climbing over rocky crags and around thinning trees until he reached the edge of the relatively flat alpine clearing that had been carved out of the granite eons ago. Relief was far from what he felt when he spotted Marty’s red-and-white search and rescue chopper sitting in the middle of the treeless expanse.

  “Why didn’t you answer me?” he speculated out loud.

  Jason paused at the edge of the trees, hanging back in the last bit of cover to assess the situation before he headed out over open ground. Although the rotor was now still, a lot of snow had been stirred up by the chopper blades when Marty had landed, exposing bits of high-mountain grass and glacier lilies peeking up through the ground to reach the sunshine. It was impossible to tell if there were footprints showing he’d left the bird, or that anyone else had approached it. With the tail of the chopper facing him, he couldn’t see the cockpit to know if Marty was even on board. Maybe his pal had done something as innocent as walking into the woods to take a leak.

  Jason closed his eyes, listening for any sound the young man might make. But the only noises he heard were the crunch of snow beneath boots that were about half the size of his and Sam’s openmouthed exhales as she climbed up to the edge of the clearing. “A helicopter. Thank God. I will be so glad to get off this mountain. Is that your friend?”

  Jason squeezed his hand into a fist beside his head. Sam stopped behind him, thankfully quiet except for the soft rasps of air as she evened out her breathing.

  That is, she was quiet until he unhooked the holster on his thigh and pulled out his Glock. “What’s wrong?” Her damaged voice was little more than a husky whisper.

  “Something’s off. Stay out of sight behind the tree line.”

  Ten fingers curled around the sleeve of his jacket and nipped into the skin and muscle underneath. “You’re coming back, right?”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “Good.” She tugged against him when he would have gone, and her touch drew his focus down to green eyes that held as much doubt as they did courage. “The last time I put my faith in a man, and he left me...I got kidnapped.”

  Before he could dismiss the pull he felt toward that brave vulnerability, Jason captured a tendril of toffee-blond hair that had fallen over her cheek and tucked it back beneath the edge of her knit cap, securing it behind her ear. Her eyes widened behind her glasses at the unexpected touch—or maybe that was his own body responding to the sensations of soft, cool skin and silky hair beneath his fingertips. How could a practical gesture feel so much like a caress? Jason curled his fingers into his palm, needing to distance himself from the tender feelings stirring inside him. Emotions had nothing to do with this mission. It was all about saving the girl and reclaiming some measure of solace for his tormented soul—not developing any kind of hormonal attraction or visceral appreciation for said girl. “I’m coming back. As long as you’re my responsibility, I’ll be close by.”

  He nudged her toward a trio of scrawny pines and waited for her to hunch down behind them before he moved out. Jason squeezed his gun between both hands, keeping his body low to the ground as if he was clearing a suspected enemy stronghold. His long legs took him quickly to the helicopter, but not only was the mountain unusually quiet, but now his nose could detect a smell in the air that wasn’t natural.

  He circled around to the front of the chopper, every nerve ending prickling with suspicion when he saw the front door propped open. “Marty? If this is some kind of joke...” He swung his gun around into the opening but lowered it just as quickly. He’d found Marty, all right. “Son of a...”

  His lungs burned with a painful breath. The small-bore hole in the side of Marty’s red hair, and the spatter of blood on the far seat and window, tried to take him back to Kilkut. But he shoved the memory of all the dead bodies out of his head and lowered his weapon, leaning in to press two fingers to the side of Marty’s neck.

  Jason swore again. Not only was there no pulse, the pilot’s skin was cold to the touch. This hadn’t just happened. “Damn it, Marty.” He pulled the rim of his friend’s blood-soaked ball cap down over his lifeless face. “This was supposed to be easy money for you. Not a death sentence.”

  So much for doing a friend a favor. So much for redemption.

  “Jason? What is it? What’s wrong?” He heard Sam’s worried tone a split second before he realized she was out in the open, running toward him.

  “What the hell?” Jason met her in two long strides, dragging her in front of him, using the helicopter and his body to shield her from view. “I told you to stay put. You think I want another casualty on my hands?”

  “Casualty? Nobody cusses up a blue streak like that unless something really bad... Oh. This is really bad.” Her back flattened against his chest. Her fingers dug into his forearm still cinched around her waist. “I’m so sorry. This is your friend?”

  But Jason was lost in the memories of a war-torn village street where two soldiers and two journalists lay dead among the insurgents who had fallen in the firefight that came too late to save the woman he’d loved. He squeezed his eyes shut against the memory of Elaine’s shattered glasses and matted dark hair as he rocked her in his arms. He pulled her tightly to his chest, his hands fisting at the stench of sulfur and smoke filling his head, his whole body clenching with helplessness and guilt and grief. So much blood. So much death. So much loss. It was more than one man could—

  “Jason?” The body in his arms pushed against him, wiggling its way into the flashback. That wasn’t right. Elaine was dead. No, Marty was the one who’d died. “Jason.” A hoarse voice pierced the veil between the present and the past. He inhaled deeply, his lungs filling with cool air. The air in Kilkut burned. “Hey. You’re squeezing the stuffing out of me. Are you okay? He must have been a good friend.”

  The damn inappropriate reaction to Sam’s bottom rubbing against his zipper shocked Jason back to reality. He unlocked the death grip he had around her waist and stepped back, giving her room to turn around. “I’m sorry. I...”

  How did he explain how damaged he was? How could he share his guilt with a stranger?

  But those green eyes were bright with tears now, as if she understood his pain. And the hands rubbing soothing circles up and down his arms felt familiar. “Tell me about your friend. I know he must have been very brave. He was trying to help me.”

  Yeah. He was a brave kid, all right. “His name’s Marty Flynn. I work with him. Worked with him in search and rescue. He’s the one who called me last night to help your dad find you. Always such a smooth talker. He was hittin’ on your sister. And the waitress. He survived two tours of duty, but not a routine flight into... He was barely old enough to...” He turned his nose to the sky and sucked in another cooling breath before looking down into Sam’s caring eyes. “This reminds me of...” No. He didn’t want to talk about the past right now. Not with her. He took another breath and centered himself back in the present. “Sorry if I hurt you.”

  “Your hold wasn’t any tighter than this corset thing I’m wearing. I’ll live.” But for how long if he couldn’t keep himself together? She meant to tease a smile out of him, but it wouldn’t come. “Do you know how to fly a helicopter?”

  A relatively easy search and rescue—for him—just got complicated. Marty Flynn
was never going to flirt with a pretty girl or bug him like some sort of adoring puppy dog again. And they weren’t flying out of here.

  Remember the mission. Think like a Marine. With a sharp nod, Jason slammed the door on his emotions and focused on the job at hand. Step one was recon. Gather intel. Make a plan. “No. I don’t suppose you’ve got a pilot’s license?”

  She shook her head.

  “How’d the kidnappers get here ahead of us?” Jason leaned in beside her to check the helicopter’s radio. Marty wasn’t the only thing they’d shot up. “We’re not calling for backup.”

  “I slowed you down, didn’t I?”

  “Not that much. How did they know where the chopper would meet us?”

  He pulled back to check the windows and side panel for bullet holes. There were none. The shooter had gotten the drop on Marty the moment he’d opened the door. Or else, Marty had known the shooter and opened the door for him.

  He flashed on the memory of a laser-sighted pistol pointed to his chest. A handgun like that could cover almost as much range as a rifle. Whoever shot Marty wouldn’t have needed to be that close. But the shooter could certainly be close enough to have them in their sights, too. If he was still nearby.

  “They knew we were coming.” Instead of following them from the cabin, the kidnappers had gotten out in front of them. But there weren’t exactly any road signs indicating the trail Jason had taken to get Sam here. “They knew about Mule Deer Pass.”

  Beating them to the rendezvous point wasn’t the only lucky break the kidnappers had gotten. How had they known when and where she’d be alone so that they could abduct her in the first place?

  “You mean Marty told them we were coming here? He’s one of them?”

  Jason drew his weapon again, scanning the landscape beyond the chopper. “He wouldn’t do that.”

  Who all had been in Kitty’s Bar last night? Who had Marty talked to between then and now? Who else knew the details of Jason’s rescue mission? Who didn’t want Samantha Eddington coming home?

  Understanding made her skin go pale, and she hugged her arms around her middle. “Are they sending my father a message? Pay up or this is what will happen to me?” Sam straightened under his unblinking scrutiny, then started backing away. “What are you thinking? Damn it, Jase, you’re scaring me.”

  He grabbed her by the shoulders before she retreated beyond arm’s reach and pulled her toward the back door of the helicopter. “You afraid of a long walk?”

  “No.”

  “How about a dead body?”

  “I don’t think so. But I’ve never seen a guy who’s been shot—”

  “Close enough.” He set her on the running board. “Get inside and stay down. It’ll give you a few minutes to warm up while I scope things out.”

  “You’re coming back, right?” she asked, climbing over the seat.

  “Get in.” He growled at her insecurity, then changed his answer to a succinct “Yes.”

  Apparently, his word was all the assurance she needed because she spotted something on the floor that caught her interest and she ducked down beneath the dashboard. Good. He had a feeling that out of sight was the best place for Sam to be right now. She was pulling a Mylar blanket from the chopper’s medical supplies and covering up Marty when Jason felt it was safe enough to close the door and move away.

  Staying close to the helicopter, Jason quickly scanned the top of the ridge. Thanks to glacial ice and rockslides, there was no place for a man to hide up there. Same with the washout downrange of the chopper. But the trees and craggy terrain to either side offered plenty of cover to anyone with a rifle and a steady aim. So where were the kidnappers now? Why hadn’t they taken a shot at him yet? If they wanted to recapture Sam for the ransom, they’d have to take him down first.

  Why take out the pilot and trap them on the mountain?

  His nostrils flared at the pungent odor he’d noticed earlier, and an idea began to take shape. He knelt to swipe his fingers through the snow and soggy grass underneath. Fuel. He visually followed the trail of discolored snow back to the chopper and tracked the oily residue up to the tank near the engine. Marty. The radio. And now the fuel tank—all with nice big bullet holes in them.

  A man wouldn’t need to shoot them if he could make all their deaths look like an accident. Jason glanced down the incline to see where the fuel had pooled in a snowy depression. This was bad. “Sam?” He pushed to his feet, backing toward the chopper. “Sam?” When he heard rustling in the trees, and spotted at least three upright shadows moving, he ran. This was very bad. He slapped the passenger window. “Sam!”

  She popped up, holding a Swiss Army knife in one hand and a backpack in the other as Jason waved her toward the exit. She was stuffing the tool she’d scrounged into the emergency gear bag and hooking it over her shoulder as he slid the door open. “Your friend had a backpack. Warm clothes. A couple of protein bars. Water. Do you think he’d mind if I—”

  “We need to go. Now.”

  She flinched at the crack of a gunshot, tilted her head to the sky as a flare arced like a comet above the clearing. “Is that...?”

  Very, very bad. “Run!”

  Jason grabbed her around the waist, set her on the ground, snatched her gloved hand and ran back the way they came. The flare hit the fuel, igniting a fire that ran up the slope like a charging bear. He forced Sam into the race of her life as he lengthened his stride and sprinted toward the trees. They’d barely reached the three scrawny pines at the edge of the forest when the helicopter exploded.

  Chapter Six

  A shock wave of heat knocked them off their feet. Jason hit the ground hard, catching Sam in his arms as they tumbled over and over down the mountain. He felt the bite of every rock, the punch of every root, the rasp of every frightened breath against his neck until he slammed into the trunk of a fallen tree. But there was no time to do anything more than roll Sam beneath him as fire and debris from the chopper rained down from the sky. The bulk of his pack shielded them from most of the shrapnel, but he felt the sharp nick of something hot burning into his left thigh.

  Ignoring the pain, he rolled off her, helping her sit up. Her glasses sat cockeyed on her nose, and he pushed them back into place, willing her eyes to focus and tell him she wasn’t hurt. She rubbed at the hinge of her jaw, gently shaking her head. “You okay?”

  “My ears...” Yeah. His were ringing, too. She eyed her scraped knees and the tear in her coat before catching sight of the blood on his pant leg. “You’re hurt.”

  He batted her hand away when she reached for the singed slice of material. “I’m fine.”

  For now.

  The first thud hit the tree beside them and Jason swore. He lifted her to her feet in front of him as staccato gunshots joined the roar of the burning flames. “Keep moving.”

  “Are they shooting at us? I’m worth five million dollars to them.”

  “Into the trees!”

  Jason spared a few precious seconds to swing around and return fire.

  “He’s armed!” someone shouted.

  “Son of a...” It looked like half a platoon, all dressed in black camouflage, darting out of the trees on the far side of the clearing. They carried assault rifles and handguns, wore utility vests and stocking masks like the men he’d subdued at the cabin. Their shots were wild right now, with the burning helicopter and the chimeras of rising heat obscuring their sights. But their intention was clear. Eight? Ten men on the hunt? And he and Sam were the prey.

  “Move it!” He caught Sam’s hand and ran past her, leading her into the shelter of the trees, wondering how long she could keep up this pace at this altitude, evaluating how long it would take the men to get close enough to get an accurate bead on them, worrying about the number of bullets he had left in his sidearm to protect her.

  Sam’s breathing was labored now,
her steps less sure. Jason’s brain was in combat mode, but they were outgunned, outmanned. Standing his ground wasn’t an option. But maybe he could even up the odds a little bit.

  He pulled Sam down behind the tree where they’d stopped earlier. She was breathing way too hard and her skin was far too ashen. “Did I ever tell you...I don’t really...work out?” She sucked in another deep breath. “Never been much of a—”

  “Don’t talk.” Jason placed a hand on her shoulder, encouraging her to match the rhythm of his breathing. “Deep breaths. Don’t panic.”

  “I’m going to asphyxiate long before I have the energy to panic.”

  She covered her ears and sank down as he braced his arms on top of the trunk and aimed the Glock at their pursuers. Now he could hear every damn noise in the book. Snowmobiles. Shouts. Running feet. Who were these guys?

  “Circle around!”

  “Don’t lose them!”

  Their point man crested the rise above them. Jason fired. Took him out.

  “Jimmy’s down!” another man shouted. “Jim—? He’s dead! That son of a... They’re headed north!”

  A second mercenary burst through the tree line, whooping with adrenaline as he unloaded a barrage of automatic gunfire. Jason dived for the ground as the wood splintered and flew around them. More shots shattered branches and kicked up tiny explosions of pine needles, dirt and snow. The wild spray of bullets cut a small tree beside them in half before the gun jammed and the man cursed.

  “Jason?” That terrified sound in Sam’s crackly voice twisted in his gut. “I’m not afraid to admit that I’m pretty damn scared.”

  He rose and fired off two more shots, forcing the man to the ground, before he yanked Sam to her feet and pushed her into a run ahead of him. “Deeper into the trees.”

  The noise of the snowmobiles ebbed to an idling growl as they reached the barrier of the tree line. The woods would be swarming with the rest of those men any second now, and Sam was about to drop from a lack of oxygen and fatigue. The shouts were less distinct now, the enemy’s movements harder to track.