Burns So Bad (Smoke Jumpers) (13 page)

Like hell.

“We’re partners.”

“And we’ve got three working legs
between us,” she grumbled. “The sooner you reach the team, the sooner you can
be out there with the guys.”

“We’ll be square,” he said. “When
we get out of here.”

She gave him the look, the one that
said she saw right through his line of bullshit.

“You
caught me when I fell,” he explained, trying to find the right words to explain
this. To make it easier for her to accept. He didn’t want to trample on that
prickly pride of hers but, goddamn it, she’d messed up her ankle bad on that
landing and the only way she hiked out was with a helping hand. “You made sure
I reached the ground okay when my chute malfunctioned. Now, I’m going to make
sure you get back to base okay.”

“I don’t want your help,” she
pointed out.

He hadn’t wanted hers either, but
the alternative had been even grimmer. “You’ve got it anyhow, like a free gift
with purchase.”

“I didn’t buy anything,” she
grumbled, but he could see the small smile tugging at the corners of her
mouth. Then she stepped on
something—loose dirt, a stick or a badger hole—and her face
scrunched up in a grimace.

This corner of the National Park
wasn’t heavily trafficked. He’d spent the first hour of their hike alternating
between trying not to hover and gritting his teeth. Gia was prickly. She didn’t
want his hand beneath her elbow. She didn’t want his concern. He was torn
between tossing her over his shoulder—although her weight combined with
two packs would have been a challenge even for him—and tossing her recalcitrant
ass over his knee.

That was a fun fantasy he’d store
away for later, but it didn’t get him any closer to a solution right now.

The problem was, she needed help
and he was the only one here to lend the assist. She was stuck with him whether
she liked it or not.

She knew it.

He knew it.

But
she
was still being difficult.

And she probably had a point. He
was willing to admit that much to himself. If her name had been Mack or Joey
and she’d been a six-foot male with the penis to match, he wouldn’t have been hovering
by her side. He’d probably have smacked her on the back and told her to suck it
up. He’d have watched from the corner of his eye, of course, because having
Mack or Joey pass out or permanently cripple their ankle wasn’t okay either,
but he’d have cut them more slack.

Lost in thought, he almost missed
the first oh-shit sign as their day went from bad to worse. PVC piping did not
belong in the middle of nowhere. Nor did the empty cans of Campbell’s finest.
Shit.
He dropped down fast, taking her
with him. His hand clapped over her mouth as he made the Spec Ops sign for
silence.

He’d misread the signs. Had thought
they were on a game trail.

But fuck. No. Not all.

He’d jumped into a budding
firestorm and Gia had jacked up her ankle.

And now he’d just led them both
straight into a drug grow.

It definitely did
not
pay to get out of bed some mornings.
He felt Gia stiffen against his chest, but maybe she objected to the unplanned
intimacy. His sudden drop had her breasts pressed against his chest and her
legs tangled with his. Carefully, he nudged her head until she made eye contact
with him and nodded. She was on board with the whole silence mandate.

“We’ve got a pot grow,” he
whispered roughly, removing his hand from her mouth. Now that he inhaled, he caught
the distinctive smell. That was definitely marijuana up ahead. The earthy,
almost incense-y scent was all around them.

She nodded and shifted backward a
few inches.

“I’m going to go in,” he said,
keeping his voice low. “I’ll check it out. You stay here.”

“Here’s another plan,” she whispered
back, crossing her arms over her chest. “We’ll both go. Or, better yet,
neither
of us goes. We mark the
coordinates and radio them in to the happy folks at the Park Service.”

Over his dead body. He narrowed his
eyes and braced his hands on either side of her head. When she rolled left, he
was ready for her. He followed easily, keeping her pinned beneath him.

“Grows are dangerous business.”

“You have firsthand knowledge of
this?” She sounded skeptical.

“You bet.” He didn’t want to have
this conversation now. If their approach had gone unnoticed this long, they
might be home free. Keep talking, however, and any alert guard would home in on
their location.

“Former military?”

“No.” He didn’t like the rules, the
rigid structure. While Evan and Jack had done their tours of duty with the
Marines, Rio had spent those same years working undercover for the DEA and drug
enforcement. Alone. In the field. As former covert ops, he’d had a personal
introduction to the world of the drug cartel and armed growers. The jungles of
South America teemed with the illegal stuff, but drugs crossed the borders
easily as well and now illegal drug grows were all too common in U.S. National Parks.

She glared up at him. “That’s all
you’ve got for me? One word?”

He gave her three more. “Works for
me.”

She shook her head. “Donovan, this
is a partnership—not a dictatorship. I’m going to need a much better
reason than
Because I said so
before
I hang back while you skip ahead to check things out.”

He forced himself to relax his jaw.
“Have you done this before?”

“Sussed out a potential drug grow?
No.”

“I have.” Two words. That should
make her happy. “There’s going to
be someone watching. There always is.”

“I can watch your back.”

She could, but then who would be
watching hers? Instead, he pulled the paycheck card. “But which one of us can
run?” he growled low, getting down in her face.

That card worked. She dropped her
head back into the ground with an audible thunk. “You win.”

She flipped him the bird as he left
her tucked in place. He wanted to smile, but that would just be adding fuel to
the fire. For the moment, Gia was listening to him, so he needed to leave well
enough alone. Five minutes later, he was stepping out of the forest and into
marijuana grove. He knew those distinctive leaves, the deep-green buds. With
their tufts of fluff. Trees half-screened the clear cut field, but there was no
mistaking the dozens of neat rows of marijuana plants with drip irrigation.
Steel drums set along the clearing’s edge held water.
Shit.
The grow had to be one of the
largest he’d uncovered in his years of jumping with Donovan Brothers. Movement
on the far side of the clearing announced that the growers were on the scene,
ramping up the danger factor another notch.

He took a deep breath and the
distinctive musky scent hit him. Wet grass and skunk with an almost citrus
edge, there was nothing pleasant about the smell. He had nothing but sympathy
for the folks who needed medical marijuana, but a hidden grow deep inside the National
Park wasn’t meant to take the edge off a chemo treatment. This stuff was
destined for the streets.

He’d grown up on those streets.

He’d been one of dozens of kids
haunting the dilapidated apartment buildings where social services made
sporadic checks with limited resources, probably doing the best they could. Not
that those efforts had been enough. By the time he was five, he recognized the
smell of weed permeating the hallways. And those had been the good days. When
he was six—or maybe seven because, hell, time blurred and no one in his
first family had had any desire to celebrate birthdays—he’d moved with
his auntie to a crack house. The dirt and filth were the least of it. Skinny
bodies piled in corners. Crack pipes. Breakfast, lunch and dinner courtesy of
the Wonderbread bag he’d lifted from the local Target because it was steal or
starve. He didn’t miss it, tried not to remember it.

Until a few years ago, he’d led
Spec Ops missions for the U.S. military, going in deep
undercover to shut the drug supply off at the source.Walking away from this grow wasn’t
happening because he knew exactly what would happen when the product left this
hillside. Shut down this site and the growers would simply rebuild elsewhere because
their pipeline was still in place. The only viable option was taking out the
leadership.

He bellycrawled toward the site, evaluating
his options. A quick look turned up multiple armed growers, with more likely concealed
in the ramshackle shacks dotting the clearing’s edges. He’d bet money that
there were additional makeshift rooms dug out of ground below his feet and disguised
with tarps and foliage. And booby traps in case of uninvited guests.

He dropped back, melting into the
undergrowth as a pair of male voices grow closer.

“Fire’s on the other side of the
ridge, asshole.” Guard number one sounded unconcerned, which made him a stupid
fuck. Fire always jumped where you least expected it.

“Maybe.” The second guy clearly had
a few more brain cells to spare. “The Park Service put a plane up.”

“They left.” The first guard
sounded certain, so they were definitely monitoring the airwaves.

Five minutes to recon, because he
wasn’t leaving Gia alone longer than that. His first pass revealed a dozen out
buildings, four visible guards—although he was betting on any hidden
number of watchers—and a plant count that translated into a two million
dollar bonanza if the plants made it to the street. The surveillance cameras
mounted in the trees warned that these guys meant business. If the armed guards
didn’t pick off uninvited guests, the goons parked in the control room would.

Taking out the two guards was
temptingly easy. The problem was: then what? Dropping the men reduced the
threat to Gia, but left a telltale sign that someone had spotted the grow and been less than happy with his discovery.

Some days, it sucked to be law
abiding. It was also a good thing he didn’t have a sniper rifle with him,
because he didn’t need the temptation of a quick fix. Instead, he slipped out
his cell phone and snapped photos, making sure he got each outbuilding and
guard station. And each guard he could shoot. When the park rangers arrived,
they’d know exactly where to go and what they were facing. The shots wouldn’t win
the Pulitzer for photography, but the phone did the job and then some. He’d
have to wait until he had reception to send anything but, as soon as he did,
these growers were out of business.

He waited until the guards
disappeared out of earshot on their route and then dropped back. As soon as
he’d put some space between him and the grow site, he pulled out the portable
radio. All park personnel had a safe word to use if they needed immediate law
enforcement backup and the airwaves weren’t secure. Since the growers were
undoubtedly monitoring the park channels, looking for signs of discovery, it
was time to send up the official distress flare.

Jack’s voice greeted him over the
airwaves, starting with a thundering
Where
the fuck are you
.

“Can’t talk,” Rio said. “But I
wanted to let you know that I’ll be taking those tickets to the Raiders’ game.”

“You
sure you want those seats?”

“One
hundred percent.”

“Rio—” Whatever Jack intended
to say got lost as the guards appeared on their return circuit and Rio killed
the radio and dropped back to the ground nice and slow.

Boots paused in front of his face.

The guard’s radio crackled and man
flicked the headset piece. “Come in.”

“We’ve got company.” The voice on
the airwaves sounded blasé. “You know the drill.”

“You sure it’s not another
goddamned squirrel?” The guard lit a cigarette, clearly in no rush to check out
the report. Slowly, carefully, Rio began inching away.

“We got a visual on the camera. Looks like Park Service. Female. She’s all tied up, waiting
for you.”

Rio fell back double-time, racing the
guards on ATVs to get back to Gia. He needed to make his few seconds head start
count. Mentally, he started the internal countdown that he’d learned on his
Spec Ops mission. When he hit zero, he’d be out of time.

Rio sprinted straight up the ridge.
The muscles in his thighs burned with each step but stopping wasn’t an option.
He got to Gia first. It was that simple. He didn’t want to imagine what would
happen if the growers’ muscle got there first. Whatever Gia had done to alert
them didn’t sound good. She sounded
helpless
and that wasn’t a word he’d ever imagined in conjunction with Gia.

When he reached the spot where he’d
left her, however, it was clear what had happened. Gia probably hadn’t moved
much—maybe a few feet to check out the path he’d taken or for a pee
break—but it had been enough. She’d tripped a hidden wire and now she
hung upside down by her ankle, cursing. Either the growers had a camera on the
spot or the wire had a sensor, but now she was on their radar. She’d managed to
get her knife free and was curled upward, working on the wire.

Not helpless, but close enough
because she couldn’t possibly cut fast enough. When he stopped and listened, he
could just make out the dull roar of the ATVs headed their way and the primitive
response that flooded him shocked him. She was
his
. And she was in danger. He wanted to tear the guards apart with
his hands.
Christ
.

He was calm.

In control.

He really, really was. She curled
up again, with a little grunt he found endearing. Face flushed, she spun in a
small circle as she worked the blade. The move put him face-to-ass with her
backside. No complaints from him, because he had great memories of cupping
those curves and pulling her to him.
Bad
timing, Donovan
.

He didn’t have time to cut her
down, so he did the next best thing. Moving fast, he swiped her pack from the
ground and tossed it into the undergrowth to hide it. They’d need every
advantage they could get.