Chapter 12

TWELVE

“It’s not going to work. Crispin doesn’t care about me. He’s not coming for me.”

She sat, her wrists secured by duct tape to the arms of a chair that Floyd had dragged from the house to the garage.

Or should she say Batcave , because while the rusted facade of corrugated metal siding gave the impression of neglect and disuse, behind the thin veneer of rust and flaking paint was a solid slab of ballistic steel, a thick concrete floor, a safe full of weapons, and a console of tech gear and screens.

To one side, a compact living quarters provided the bare necessities for a prolonged campout—a bunk with storage underneath, a fold-down table, and a small but efficient kitchenette. Tactical maps and blueprints plastered the walls, illuminated by focused task lighting. Crispin could start his own small war, or maybe stand off an army for a month, given the ammunition and MREs along with a propane-run stove. The place even contained a water supply in a massive hundred-gallon tank attached to the wall.

Hello, Crispin the super prepper. A few days ago she might have accused him of believing too many conspiracy theories, but, well, they had found a nuke in the woods, stolen by terrorists who were working with Russians who’d wanted to blow it up in America, so…

Maybe not so much.

Floyd had gotten into the weapons cache and lined up a terrifying array of armament along the front of the garage, on either side of the door, where small windows acted as medieval arrow slits. He could shoot out but not be hit.

So, yeah, apparently they were sitting tight. Except, “He doesn’t even know I’m gone.”

Flatscreens on the wall showed the driveway in from the road as well as a thorough view of the yard.

Floyd set down his half-eaten MRE of corned beef hash, his spoon still in the bag, and rolled the office chair back from where he sat, watching said monitors.

He smelled of the woods, feral and rank, wore a pair of grimy fatigues, a sweat-sodden T-shirt under a vest, the arms shorn off. His long black hair and beard were still stained a little red, and his cold eyes bored a hole clear through her.

He emitted a laugh that sounded more like disgust than humor. “Sweetheart. Have you not been paying attention? Crispin is a hound dog with a bone. And you, darling, are the bone.”

“Aside from that being a little gross, you’re the one not paying attention. We barely know each other.”

“I saw you at the compound. With him. And I know you were here before. My guys sent me photos. I know him. Guys like him work alone. Unless?—”

“We’re just friends.” She cut him off before he could be rude. “Barely friends, really. More like…”

Pardners. She looked away, hating the word suddenly in her heart, her throat. Aw, now her eyes burned.

C’mon, she was tougher than this.

“We are nothing to each other,” she said tightly, her gaze on him.

A tear escaped, but she didn’t break her glare.

“We’ll see.” He turned back to the MRE. “My money is on Crispin being the hero again.” He winked, and she felt dirty to her soul.

She closed her eyes. Please, God…

She didn’t know what to pray for. Because, in her wildest, deepest places, yes, she wanted Crispin to burst through the door, take out Floyd, sweep her up and…

Shoot. Rescue her.

She let out a breath. Stared at the corrugated ceiling. She was tired of being tough. Her brother was right. Maybe she did have something to prove.

That her scars didn’t matter to her. That she didn’t need to be seen as a victim. That she didn’t need to be protected.

But Crispin—he’d taken all that apart, hadn’t he? He’d called her capable and smart. The toughest woman he knew. Has it occurred to you that maybe your wounds are only proof of that?

And sure, she’d told herself that for years…but maybe it hadn’t reached her heart. Because if it had, she wouldn’t so easily walk away from a man who saw her as beautiful.

Breathtakingly beautiful.

So maybe being protected didn’t mean weak. Or incapable. And maybe trusting God meant not running away from love but trusting God to also protect her heart as well as her body and soul.

She closed her eyes. I know, God, You can deliver me from this, if it’s Your will. And if You want to use Crispin, I…I’ll trust You.

Survive today. She opened her eyes.

Floyd watched the monitors, his attention focused.

Which meant she could probably get her arms free. Except, what then?

The lights went out. Just like that, darkness flooded the room, save for the pinpricks of light through the slotted windows.

Floyd roared, the metal rolling chair sounding as he got up.

She ripped one arm up toward her chest, breaking the tape. Then the other.

Smoke filled the room, maybe deployed through one of the arrow slits, but she rolled out of the chair and onto the floor to get away from it.

Shots fired, Floyd manning one of the weapons at the window.

She scampered away from the propane tank, toward the bunk.

Scrabbling sounded on the roof even as shots fired into the slotted window. Floyd swore. She rolled into a ball, protecting herself just as a door in the roof opened.

As if he might be Batman himself, Crispin dropped into the smoky room. He wore body armor, goggles, and dropped Floyd with one shot.

She didn’t even have time to scream.

Just like that— what?— it was over. She still had her hands pressed to her ears when Crispin crouched in front of her.

Another man dropped behind him, but her eyes stayed on her superhero.

He crouched in front of her, and for a second, his gaze roamed her face, wincing, maybe at her injuries. Then he smiled tightly. “Hey there, Tough Girl.”

She launched into his arms, hard, knocking him back, but he caught her in his embrace, holding her so tight her breath left her.

“I didn’t think you even knew I was gone—” she said, and now her voice broke. “How did you find me?”

“Your ring.” His voice emerged a little hitched. “I found your phone in your pants. Apparently, it’s a habit.”

She laughed and leaned back, stared at his solemn expression. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. I was scared that?—”

“That you were going to get burned by a guy who didn’t realize how much he needed you.”

Oh. That. “I know I can be bossy, and maybe I do have to prove myself sometimes, but I hate being the weak link, and?—”

“Just shut up and let me rescue you.”

Then he kissed her. A solid rescuer’s kiss that did very much shut her up.

He tasted of smoke and fire, of passion and desire, and most of all…hope.

No. More than hope. Tomorrow, and three days after that. And three more after that…

She grabbed his body armor and held him there, kissing him back, until behind them, someone cleared his throat.

She looked up over at the man. Booth.

“So, we do have a fire to fight.”

Oh, that.

“Sheesh, Booth. Give a guy a moment to just breathe.”

“Save it, Crispin. I know you don’t breathe.” Then Booth walked over to the door and hit the opener.

The door rose, and sweet air rushed into the darkness, light illuminating Floyd’s body in the corner.

All his menace, gone just like that.

Crispin helped her up, then keyed in the garage code to close the door, Floyd left in the darkness. “We’ll deal with him later. We need to get you back to the fire. They need you.”

Except, did they? She stopped him, right there in the driveway. “No. They don’t. Jed is there, and so are Conner and Miles and a host of other firefighters, and yes, let’s go help, but…they don’t need me . They need all of us. That’s the only way we put out the fires in our lives. With our team. Our partners.”

He met her gaze, then glanced at Booth, back to her. “Yes.”

She rose up to kiss him again?—

“Nope, nope, we need to keep moving, Chief,” Booth said.

She laughed. “Fine.” But the expression Crispin wore definitely said… later .

Crispin peeled off his body armor and tossed it in the back of his truck, next to Booth’s. Then he got in the driver’s seat. She scooted into the middle, Booth next to the passenger door.

Crispin put the truck into Drive, pulled out. And that’s when she noticed he still wore the T-shirt from the hospital.

“We’re definitely going to have to get you a new shirt,” she said. “One that says Jude County firefighter.”

“I’m not a firefighter,” he said, pulling out into the road.

“That’s what you think.” Then she wrapped her hand around his arm—nice biceps—and smiled.

* * *

And he thought chasing down terrorists was hard.

Crispin climbed out of the back of the fire truck, driven by Logan, and fell into the grimy ranks of too many hotshots and smokejumpers to count. And really, they all simply looked like a sooty blur against the clutter of smoke and ash and…victory.

Twenty-four hours of fighting the fire as it crested down the mountain, water hoses streaming from the river, dirt thrown on spot fires, and so very much digging as fire tried to escape over the line.

His bones wanted to crumble. Instead, he spotted Jade, equally as blackened, talking with a taller man. Frankly, everyone looked alike here, all in yellow jackets, names blurred by soot, their faces plastered in sweat and dirt.

But he could make out Jade anywhere, like a homing beacon.

Yes, that was right. A homing beacon, because around her the world stopped being a foreign, angry, dangerous place.

He wanted more than three days. He’d take forever, please.

But for now, “Hey.”

She smiled at him. “You look terrible.”

“What?” He pushed his helmet up. Miles had issued him pants, boots, a jacket, a hat. “That’s the pot. Besides, I’ve had worse.”

She laughed. “Yeah. The soot covers up all the bruises.”

“Bruises?” This from the tall man beside her.

“Crispin, this is my brother, Jed.”

“Oh, the famous hotshot brother.”

The man gave him a raised-eyebrow look.

“Please,” Crispin said. “Apparently you’re the town hero.”

“Word on the street is I’ve been dethroned by a guy who hunts down terrorists and rogue nukes.”

“Really. Sounds like trouble. Zero stars, would not recommend.” But Crispin smiled.

“By the way, where is Fanny?” Jade asked.

“I got ahold of Thorne when we got back, while you headed back out to the line. Waited around and eventually his men came to get it. A guy named York and another guy, Pete. Don’t worry—they showed me creds. And they arrived with Sheriff Hutchinson, so I let them take Fanny.”

“I’m not worried.”

“You’re a little worried.”

She shrugged. “Fanny and I had a bond. Didn’t want her hooking up with just anyone.” She winked. “We should check on Henry.”

He liked the we in that sentence. He glanced at Jed. “By the way, the real hero is Brains McChurchill here, with her Normandy-style attack on the fire.” He held out his fist.

Jade bumped it. Beamed at him.

“I agree,” Jed said, then put a hand on her helmet. “There’s a new Ransom in town.”

“Not for long,” she said.

The words punched him. Just a full-out, full-body blow, center mass.

Wait— what?

He’d thought—except, she hadn’t said she was sticking around. Ever.

“Oh, are you leaving?” He was trying, very hard, to keep his voice light. No problem, no knife to the heart here.

She looked at him, her eyes widening. “Um. I mean…now that the fire’s out…”

“Oh. I thought…” And he didn’t know why the words felt like they’d been raked out of his soul. Shoot. He looked away.

“Was that my motorcycle I saw at the Ember station?” Jed said.

Jade made a face.

And then he got it. Jed.

Maybe there was only room for one Ransom in town.

So he took a breath and went for broke. “I’ve never been to Alaska…”

She studied his face, so much emotion in her eyes. “It’s dangerous,” she said quietly, “and wild. And a person can pretty much get lost and start over there.”

“I could like that.”

She smiled.

And oh, he really wanted to get her alone.

“I need to get going,” Jed said.

She turned to him. “You should stick around Ember. There’s chatter about a blowout barbecue tomorrow night.”

“I think we just had that,” Crispin said, breathing again.

“Right,” she laughed. “No. With food from the Hotline, and maybe cupcakes, and even talk about getting Oaken Fox to show back up and play some music.”

Not exactly the night he’d planned, but in his mind, he was already building them a cabin under the northern lights. So, “I could probably stay awake for that.”

“I’ll see you back at the house, sis,” Jed said and gave Crispin a side-eye.

He wasn’t that guy. Ever, but especially now. So he held out his hand. “Good to meet you, Jed. I’ll make sure she gets home safely.”

Jed eyed her, then smiled and shook his head as he walked away.

“What was that about?” she said.

“Just a short conversation about how you’re amazing and pretty much blew him away, but also how I shouldn’t get any big ideas because he’s watching and is pretty sure he can read my mind. And he’s right.”

Her eyes widened. Her back was to the wall, and he braced a hand over her shoulder and bent down. “But you’re safe with me.”

“Please. I know better.” But she wore laughter in her eyes. “And I like it.”

A deep rumble came from inside him. His gaze went to her mouth. “’Spose we can get him to loan you his bike?”

“We’ll probably have to steal it.”

“I’m okay with that.”

She laughed. “Oh, you are trouble.”

“What happened to Tough Guy?”

“Oh, him. I’m onto him. He’s actually just a big softie.” Then she rose on her toes and kissed him. Quickly. Sweetly.

He barely stopped himself from sweeping her up, but not here, not in front of her team. He let her keep it chaste.

“Don’t let it get around,” he said as she lowered herself back down.

“It might be too late.” She pointed at her team, clustered around a grimy truck. Booth gave him a thumbs-up.

“Listen.” She patted his chest. “We can stop in and see Henry on the way back to Ember. But I need to wrap up things with Miles first. And oh boy, you need a shower.” She lifted her hand and touched his forehead. “You’re bleeding. Are you wounded?”

“Absolutely. Could be life-threatening. I think maybe I need a doctor. Or a smokejumper.”

“Oh brother. A guy will say anything to get me to rescue him.”

“Anything.”

She laughed. “Crispin.”

“That’s Crispy to you there, Chief. Now kiss me and make it all better.”

“Bossy.”

“Right.”

So she did.