White Heat (4 page)

W
hy had he touched her back there? Lyndie couldn’t figure it out so she stopped trying and looked around. They made their way toward the fire on a narrow, rutted road that wound around the hills in a meandering fashion. If they could get there as a crow flew, they’d have arrived in two minutes flat, but the roads here in the Barranca del Cobre were few and far between. Just outside the airport, they crossed a set of railroad tracks that nearly rattled the teeth out of Lyndie’s head.

“That’s where the train comes through,” Tom explained to Griffin. “Which is the only way to travel this area. It’s not really safe any other way. Too many deep, dark canyons where one can fall to their death; too many wild animals, including hungry bears. Too many damn places to get lost and never get found again.”

Griffin didn’t look happy at that knowledge.

After the tracks came a creek. They used the one and only rickety old bridge to cross, which Lyndie tried not to think too much about as it creaked and groaned with their weight. She glanced back at Griffin to see how he took it, but he just sat there, immobile, face utterly unreadable.

Halfway across, the Jeep stalled. “Damn,” Tom said.

The bridge swung with their weight and Lyndie gulped. “Tom.”

“On it.” He tried to restart the temperamental Jeep while they all hung there in the balance on the wobbly bridge with the fire ravaging the hills around them.

The Jeep didn’t turn over.

The bridge shuddered.

“Just give it a sec,” Tom said calmly, and cranked the engine again. Finally it turned over, and they began to move.

And still no reaction at all from Griffin.

So he wasn’t easy to ruffle, she thought, with just a little bit of admiration. She appreciated that in a volunteer. In anyone.

The road widened a bit after that, crossing through the low-lying hills beneath the hot day, the sun trying to beat down on them through the thick smoke. Breathing became a challenge as they came into San Puebla. The sandstone and brick facades of the buildings lined well-traveled narrow cobblestone streets, concealing courtyards, some empty and deserted, some lush with bougainvillea that had been lovingly tended to for centuries. The city’s beautiful and unique architecture reflected a Moorish influence brought by seventeenth-century architects from Andalucia in southern Spain.

There was a gas station and tire shop next to an eighteenth-century cathedral. A farmers’ market next to a cantina that had once been home to a Spanish run-away prince. And an undeniable peaceful, timeless feel to it all, if one didn’t count the ominous cloud of smoke overhanging it, threatening, growing…

Lyndie’s heart leapt at being back here, she couldn’t deny that. Nor could she deny the lump in her throat at the overhang of smoke and the terrible stench of the fire so close that the sky seemed to glow.

She glanced over at Tom. He seemed tense, too, but when he caught her looking at him he reached over and squeezed her hand. “It’ll be okay now.”

She hadn’t been looking for reassurance, but she’d take it. The choking air, the way the smoke seemed like a live, breathing thing, scared her to death, and she didn’t scare easily. “This is bad,” she whispered.

“Yeah.” Tom let out a heartfelt sigh. “It’s all bad. The record high temps, the rainfall at less than one tenth the norm…” He shrugged his shoulders. “Mexico’s lost an area the size of Rhode Island in this season alone.”

Lyndie’s heart clenched. She didn’t want San Puebla to be just another statistic.

And still their stoic firefighter didn’t say a word.

They passed through town, and it seemed as if they headed directly into hell as they climbed the hills, totally engulfed by flames. The smoke swirled around them, thicker and then thicker still, billowing so high in the sky they could see nothing else.

Tom’s radio squawked.

He pulled over because, as Lyndie knew, attempting to manage the narrow, curvy road and a radio at the same time was bad news, and he’d gone through four Jeeps in his career to prove it.

While he fumbled for his radio, she turned and eyed their passenger. Griffin Moore looked over the rough road, the cliff on one side, a drop-off on the other. In front of them lay mountainous terrain so rough and unfriendly that few humans had dared to venture.

Now that they were out of the plane Griffin looked even leaner than before, the lines of his face more stark. He’d pulled out a pair of sunglasses from somewhere, which covered his blue eyes just enough that she couldn’t get a feel for what he was thinking. Not that it took a genius to make a guess.

There was a hauntedness in those eyes, she’d seen it in the brief moment before he’d covered them. He didn’t want to be here.

Not her problem; he’d volunteered. Maybe he’d gotten himself in hot water with his captain or someone, and had been forced to put in the time, but it didn’t matter, he was here.

What was wrong with people anyway? What was the big deal about volunteering, giving some time, helping others? Hell, she was no saint, and she did it.

But still she sensed it was much more than mere reluctance to help…

“You’re staring at me,” he said, not moving his head. “You have something to say?”

Slowly she shook her head. “Nope.”

“Sure? Because you’re thinking loud enough to give me a headache.”

“I’m thinking you look like you’d rather be having a root canal without drugs than be here.”

“And you’d be right.”

She opened her mouth to say something to that, but Tom said,
“Ahorita voy,”
into his radio, and that got her attention. “You’ll be right where?” she demanded.

He set the radio down and gave her a long look.

“More good news, I take it?” she said.

“Well.” He scratched his head, which had Lyndie’s heart sinking because he was thinking, and thinking hard. Never a good sign. “You’re going to have to take over for a bit. I’ve got a bar fight to break up.” He unhooked the strap across his lap, as the shoulder part of the seat belt had long ago disintegrated. “It’s been a whole week since I’ve had me a good bar fight.”

Lyndie rolled her eyes. “Try to keep all your teeth this time.”

“Hey, I haven’t lost a tooth in a fight in years.” Tom got out.

Griffin remained quiet, but his grim expression said it all. He was no more thrilled at being left alone with Lyndie than she was.

“I’ll walk back,” Tom said. “You get our hero here where he needs to go.”

Griffin stirred at that, shifted in his seat, which Lyndie found interesting. A reluctant hero? Not many men would fit that bill, and damn if that didn’t pique her interest where she didn’t want to be piqued.

“It’s half a mile,” she pointed out to Tom, who wasn’t exactly known for his interest in exercise. “You always say the walk from your desk to your filing cabinet is too long.”

“Yeah, but it’ll give them a good chance to beat the shit out of each other. By the time I get there, they’ll be too tired to resist arrest.”

“And you’ll be in time to get your afternoon nap in.”

“Not today.” His smile faded as he gestured to the smoke. “I’m coming back. Stay safe, you hear?” With a fond pat on her head, he nodded to Griffin. “See you soon. You stay safe, too.” And he began walking.

“How are you going to get out to the fire?” she called after him.

Tom stopped on the dusty road.

“Do you have a tractor?”

Lyndie turned in surprise to Griffin, who kept his eyes on Tom. “Do you?” he asked.

“I could probably get my hands on one.”

“A tractor can get anywhere and clear a path,” Griffin said, using more words than he had all day. “That’ll work for fire lines, or even an emergency road exit, if we need it.”

“Consider it done, then.” Tom saluted, then he was gone.

Lyndie climbed over the stick shift and into the driver’s seat, grumbling at the condition of the seat belt. While she clipped herself in, Griffin put a big, tanned hand down on the console between the seats and hopped from the back to the passenger seat she’d just vacated. He slid his long legs in first, then rested his broad shoulders back, tilting his face up to look at the marred sky before glancing at her. “Better,” he said.

She jammed the shifter into first gear and hit the gas. She had to give him credit, he didn’t react, not other than reaching for the seat belt as the acceleration pressed them both back. He settled in, one elbow resting on the passenger door, his face inscrutable. In charge of his world.

She liked to be in charge, too, so she supposed she could appreciate that. She certainly appreciated having the view of his nicely built, long, leanly muscled body to look at. Not that she’d ever do more than look. Unlike her boss, Sam, she rarely mixed business and pleasure.

The road took a sharp turn and arched up toward a series of ranches, and then beyond them the sharp, ragged peaks. The road was narrow, pitted, and frankly, quite dangerous. With the sheer cliff on one side, the drop-off on the other, it was impossible to tell yet how far the fire had raged.

The smoke around them thickened along with the choking, clinging scent of the fire. The hills above them, between the village and the alpine mountains beyond, were nearly invisible, and what wasn’t invisible glowed with flame. Lyndie squinted into the smoke as she drove, desperately wishing she could reach out and shove it all aside. Her lungs grew tight, an unfortunately familiar feeling. She patted the inhaler in her pocket, knowing she’d need it before this was through.

“What’s the problem?”

Griffin Moore had a way of looking at her that made her feel as if he could read her mind. Too bad she never allowed a man close enough to do such a thing. “No problem.”

He knew that wasn’t the truth, she could tell, he just wasn’t going to pursue it right now. “We’re nearly there,” he said.

She nodded to the ashes raining down over them. “Yeah.”

His nod was tight, his mouth growing grimmer by the minute. Odd, as she’d have figured as a firefighter, he’d get more excited the closer they’d gotten to the front.

Because she’d been staring at him, she hit a deep rut, and nearly tipped them over. Applying the brakes didn’t help as they didn’t give right away. “Sorry,” she gasped when they finally stopped. She began again, slowly. “The road’s a little rough.”

“In the States this would barely qualify as a fire road.”

“Yeah.” There weren’t many “fire roads” in this part of Mexico; there weren’t a lot of roads, period, but there were plenty of little known places where people might want to disappear. The Barranca del Cobre was one of those places. As the road all but disappeared, she said a silent thanks for the way the Jeep could get over just about anything, including all the rocks and branches blocking their way. Of course the shocks were nothing to write home about, and she thought the fillings in her teeth might just rattle right out of her head, but she had to get him there before this thing got worse.

“How many men are out here?”

“I’m not sure.” She maneuvered around a fallen tree and ended up on her two side wheels for a terminally long second. She was going to need a bottle of aspirin after this drive.

“Do you know how many acres have burned?”

“I know nothing, I’m sorry. I fly in a doctor every two weeks, alternating a dentist in every once in a while to get the locals some desperately needed health care, that’s all.” Which she did for other places too, wherever Sam sent her, but San Puebla was her favorite, and when she’d heard about the fire late last night, she’d insisted on flying in their “specialist” herself. “I also fly in supplies and highfalutin fishermen willing to pay the locals for the hot spots, people guaranteed to drop their money in the bar. This fire thing is new for me.”

“Who’s in charge?”

“We’ve never had a fire out this way, so I have no idea, though I imagine no one. You’ll be lucky to have the proper equipment, much less enough people. The only reason
you’re
here is because you volunteered through Hope International, and because you supposedly have some experience directing a fire crew—”

“I didn’t.”

“What?”

“I didn’t volunteer. My brother gave them my name.”

She risked taking her eyes off the road again to stare into his tense, rugged features—and because she did, they hit a deep pothole blindsided.

As she went airborne, Griffin gripped the dash with his right hand and thrust his left arm across her body while swearing impressively. With only the lap belt for protection, Lyndie slammed into the hard sinew of his forearm, wincing in anticipation of breaking his limb between her body and the steering wheel, but thankfully he was rock solid and held her back against the seat. No steering wheel involved.

Without his arm squashing into her breasts, holding her back as the shoulder harness would have if there’d been one, she might have been hit face-first into the steering wheel herself. Arms tight, she held on to it for dear life and gritted her teeth, calling herself every kind of fool until he dropped his arm away from her. “Thank you,” she said from between her teeth, trying not to notice her asthma was kicking in right on schedule.

“Maybe I should drive,” he said.

“I’m fine.” Stewing, she drove in silence for a moment through the smoke, the flames in plain view now on their left. She hated to stew, but unfortunately, she was good at it. Then they came around a turn and into view of a ranch, and Griffin let out a low curse. Lyndie’s breath caught, too.

The fields were on fire. Directly behind the hilly fields was the first higher peak. Because it was entirely engulfed in smoke, she couldn’t see how far up the flames had raged, but she had no problem seeing the ten-foot walls of flames on their left, at roadside.

“Careful here,” Griffin said grimly, eyeing the hot flames so close. “A sudden sharp blast of wind will take them right over the top of us.”

Terrific. Resisting the urge to duck, she drove on. She knew from Tom that the “fire central” was back here, behind this ranch, somewhere amidst all the flames, so she turned at the crossroad and hoped she could find it. “This is one of those days where I think a desk job wouldn’t be so bad.”