Chapter 4

FOUR

Twenty-four hours of knocking down a fire, and Jade needed a cheeseburger.

A cheeseburger and maybe answers, although the second didn’t seem anywhere in view.

Crispin had vanished. Simply ghosted into the wilderness.

And why not? Because after her statement to the local sheriff, a man named Hutchinson, about the attack at Crispin’s cabin by The Brothers, she couldn’t help but sense that maybe they thought Crispin might be the bad guy.

The sheriff had retrieved the bodies and declared the area a crime scene, but no one seemed at all worried that maybe, just maybe, Crispin might be in trouble.

Conner had no idea who he might be, and she got nothing from Miles either after she’d described him.

Frankly, deep in her gut she just felt…well, maybe Crispin needed to disappear.

But what if disappearing meant he landed right in another ambush of The Brothers?

“You okay?”

The question came from her pilot, Aria, who sat down next to her at the counter of the Hotline Bar and Grill, carrying a foamy chocolate milk and a basket of fries. She pushed the fries toward Jade.

Jade picked one out of the basket. “Yes. Just tired.”

Aria nodded, also grabbing a fry. She dipped it into her milk, then popped it in her mouth. “That’s what happens when you fight a fire for twenty-four hours without sleeping. But you got it knocked down, so bam.” She held up a fist.

Jade met it. “The water dumps helped.”

“Teamwork,” said Aria. “The guys asked me if you want to join them at the pool table.” She nodded across the room filled with smokejumpers and hotshots seated at tables and in the booths along the wall. At the pool table in the front, Vince and Finn had cued up, were shooting a round of eight ball.

At high tops, watching, sat Booth and Nova, clearly together by their animated conversation, the laughter. Booth wore a bit of desire in his eyes.

Jade couldn’t remember a man ever looking at her that way.

Except—

No. That hadn’t been desire from Crispin. It’d been a headache, and she’d held the cool cloth that’d soothed it. So, there. Big difference.

She’d met a few of the hotshots: Kane, Mack, and Ham—the Trouble Boys, as Aria had called them. And maybe they were, given the way they sat, surveying the room, back in their seats, definitely bearing an aura of military. They sat with JoJo Butcher and another female hotshot, Sanchez. Charlie, one of the older ’shots, ate fries in a booth with Orion, a good-looking guy in his early twenties.

Jade’s burger arrived in a plastic basket, and Aria gestured to the pool table area. “C’mon.”

Why not?

She walked over to an empty high top and sat down on a stool. Finn had banked a three ball into the corner pocket.

Aria took the other seat. “So, not a bad first couple days.”

Jade glanced at her while she opened the top of the burger and added ketchup. “You mean no one got hurt?”

“That and you knocked down your first fire.” She gestured to Orion. “Word on base is that he applied to be a smokejumper. You’re one man—or rather, woman—down while Nova heals.” Thankfully, her other injured smokejumper, Rico, had been given the all clear to join them on the next deployment.

“I got his application. It’s not really up to me—Conner is at the helm of new recruits—but it’s so late in the season. He needs to go through proper training. Better to bring in another ’shot from Alaska, or Missoula.”

“Like your brother?” Aria pointed to a picture that hung on the wall of Jed and his legendary team. One of many, and of course, his picture hung beside years and years of other hotshot teams in this fire town.

On the other side of Jed’s team picture hung the memorial picture of his mentor, Jock Burns, along with the other firefighters who had died in a terrible flashover accident a number of years back.

Jade took a bite of her burger, set it down and wiped her mouth. “I hope not. First—he’s boss of all the ’shots there. Second, I can’t think of a worse nightmare than working for my brother.” She sighed. “Let’s just say he hates that I’m a smokejumper.”

Aria raised a brow.

“When Jock and his team died, he called me. I was at Washington State University getting my undergrad in fire science, and he…well, let’s just say that it was mostly panic and grief, and yeah, love, but…he said things I’m trying to forget. I hung up on him. We haven’t spoken much since.”

She took a sip of her soda. “I’m not sticking around. This is a short-term gig. Montana is just one state too close to Jed.”

“Ouch,” said Aria.

Vince scratched, and Finn pulled out his ball and set up for a new shot.

Jade nodded toward Booth and Nova. “So, what’s with those two?”

“Oh. You know, fire romance. Booth saved Nova’s life. Or maybe she saved his. He’s sort of a mystery. Fun guy—likes to tell stories. Nova’s had a thing for him all summer, although she wouldn’t admit it. Glad to see it finally flashed over.” She picked up a fry and winked. “He’s a tough guy too, though. Chased down the arsonist who torched our HQ.”

Jade had taken another bite and now put down her sandwich. “Really.”

“Yeah. Finn saw him fight—said he looked like he might be ex-military.”

Interesting.

Sounded a lot like a guy she knew.

And it could be a long shot, but…She slid off her stool.

Booth picked right then to head toward the bar, holding two empty glasses.

She caught up to him. “Hey. Can I talk to you?”

He looked down at her. Handsome guy, nearly as tall as Crispin, with long, dark-blond hair, a bit of a beard, and a wide set to his shoulders. Had a sort of swagger about him. “Sure, Chief. ’Sup?”

She glanced around, not sure why, then, “Do you know a guy named Crispin?”

He stilled, drew in a breath. “Who’s asking?”

A terrible burst of hope filled her. “Me. I’m asking. I found him in a car wreck and took him back to his cabin, and then these guys shot at us, and he was wounded, and then when Conner showed up, he took off and?—”

“Whoa.” He set the glasses on the counter, then took her arm and motioned her outside. They stepped through the doors, the noise of the bar dying, and Booth walked her right over to the edge of the building, away from the door, into the shadows.

“You’re sort of freaking me out.”

“You’re freaking me out,” Booth said. “What do you mean Crispin was in a car crash? He’s supposed to be in the hospital .” He ran a hand across his forehead, shook his head. “I knew—I just knew he’d pull something like this. As soon as I gave him that phone…” He blew out a breath, then turned to her. “When was this?”

“Yesterday. Right after we jumped into the Rainbow Lake fire.”

He nodded. “Right. Okay. And you say he was hurt? Beyond shot and beat up?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Um, he added a scratch to his leg, and I don’t know—exposure, maybe. I thought he might be going into shock, and he had a wicked headache?—”

“He’s giving me a wicked headache. But yeah, that sounds like Crispin. I guess I didn’t really expect him to stay put. Not with The Brothers hunting him.”

“Hunting him?”

He nodded. “They have assassins, hired to take him out.”

She stilled. No wonder they’d found him at the house. But, “Who is Crispin? He said he was…well, he intimated that he was a secret agent or something.”

Booth laughed then, something of humor, maybe chagrin. “Yeah. Or something.” He looked at her, his smile dying. “Crispin is a patriot. And he’s given a lot—too much—for his country. He was thought dead for a long, long time and probably would like to keep it that way, if you get me.”

Oh.

“He’s on a mission, and it’s important. But here’s what I know about Crispin.” He leaned in, his gaze on hers. “He’s just about the best guy I know. Tough and smart, and most of all, the guy who will get the job done, no matter what it costs.” He sighed. “Do you know where he is now?”

“No. He took off like, poof, Casper the Ghost when Conner showed up.”

“Figures.” He nodded. “I hope he’s all right.”

Her too.

“Thanks for telling me,” Booth said. “Please don’t tell anyone else.”

Gulp.

She nodded though, because henceforth, her lips were sealed. Booth headed back inside, but her appetite had died. As had her desire for camaraderie. She walked out to Jed’s bike, the one he still kept at his house just outside Ember.

She fixed on the helmet, got on the bike, and headed home. But Crispin followed her home, his words in her head. You should leave me.

No. See, that was just it. Try as she might, she couldn’t tear herself away from his memory.

Jed’s place sat on tiny Ember Lake, just north of town. A chalet-style home with a loft and a lower bedroom for their son. The deck overlooked the lake, the inside an open plan with a kitchen and great room, a two-story fireplace. During the winters, Jed worked on various facelift projects. She wondered if big bro knew she was here, bunking. Conner had told her that Jed had wanted it house-sat this summer while he was in Missoula.

So yeah, she felt a little like an interloper. Still, she couldn’t remember having so much room to herself.

Now, she parked the bike in front of the house, took off the helmet, and went inside. The night had settled into the room, the moon glistening on the waters beyond the sliding glass doors and the deck.

She was reaching for the light when she saw him. A man, standing by the fireplace. Just standing, hands in his pockets, watching her. Her heart jerked, stilled.

Then her breaths came hard as he said, “And here I thought I lived dangerously.”

She flicked on the light. Swallowed.

Crispin blinked, reopened his eyes. And smiled.

“Crispin!”

Don’t hug him. Don’t ? —

Nope. She took two steps toward him and couldn’t stop herself. She threw her arms around him, pulled him tight to herself. “You scared me.”

He hesitated, then put his arms around her too, and weirdly, a sigh ushered out of him, deep and unhindered. “Yeah, well, that makes two of us.” Letting her go, he met her eyes. “Seriously? A motorcycle?”

She paused, smiled, and then, aw, she started to laugh. “And here I thought you might be dead. When in fact, you’re just annoying.”

* * *

“Annoying?”

Not what Crispin had expected out of her mouth, but then again, he could never predict anything from her.

Like the hug ? And he’d simply reacted, his mind blank, instinct taking over, causing him to lean in.

Hold on.

As if she might be the solid rock in the shifting waters of his crazy life.

She smelled good too, as if she’d showered. She wore leggings that did a great job of showing off what those canvas fire pants hadn’t, and a T-shirt under the jean jacket. Her blonde hair fell onto her shoulders, shiny, and the entire ensemble made her look painfully, beautifully female.

He blew out a breath and stepped back a little, just in case he did something crazy and reached for her again.

What. Ever.

“Yes, annoying ,” she said. “Seriously—I jump from airplanes into fire for a living, and you’re worried about me riding a motorcycle ?”

He ran a hand around the back of his neck.

“And that’s a little pottish, isn’t it? I mean, you’re some secret agent being hunted by assassins, and I’m the one living dangerously?”

He stilled. Raised an eyebrow. “How did you know…” Oh no, he hadn’t said something stupid during his feverish state on the sofa, had he?

“I had a little chatty-chat with your friend Booth.”

Oh. He cleared his throat. “I, uh?—”

“Save it, Tough Guy. I know you’re on a mission . And…” She stepped up to him, her voice soft. “I know you were dead for three years.”

He’d have to kill Booth. Slowly. “That’s all classified. Or it was, until my sister was threatened and I ended up under a canoe with a bunch of campers and then in the hospital…okay, maybe it doesn’t matter anymore.”

“It matters to me. Why were you dead?”

“I didn’t come here for this.” He brushed past her, his heart a fist in his chest. First the hug, now the…the…He rounded on her. “I told you—you should stay away from me. People get killed around me.” He held up a hand. “No more hugs.”

She had turned on a lamp and now rolled her eyes. “We’re past that. I taped up your gunshot. Sat by your bedside. Made you steak .”

“Good steak, by the way.”

“We’re friends, like it or not, which means when you slink out in the middle of the night?—”

“It was seven p.m.—”

“—and then show up in my living room at midnight?—”

“It’s ten.”

“—scaring the stuffing out of me and then acting all worried about me?—”

“I was worried.”

“See. Then I get to hug you.”

Oh.

“Don’t let it go to your head, though. That was a friend’s hug. Friends . It’s a term people use when they share things with each other, like why they were dead for three years.”

He took a breath. “I was double-crossed.” He sighed. “Actually, the CIA was double-crossed. By a man named Alan Martin. He was working with a rogue faction inside the company. We knew there was a mole, and my boss set up a sting. What we didn’t know was that the faction was onto us—Martin had gotten wind of the sting, and they ambushed us. Agents were killed, a bomb went off, and I was injured. I was also the last one standing. My boss got me to a secure facility and then told everyone I’d died.”

He sat down, suddenly tired. “He did it to save my life. But it cost Booth his life too. He was my partner, and at the time of the bombing, he was in the hospital, taking care of his mom, who had some heart surgery or something. But the faction pinned the entire event on him, fingered him as the mole, and without my boss’s quick thinking, he’d be in some CIA black site right now, without fingernails.”

She didn’t smile. Maybe she thought he was kidding.

“Henry sent him here, to Ember, where he’s been working as a smokejumper for the last few years.”

“And you?” Still the soft tone.

“I…mended. And then I got angry. I had a sister and a life and I didn’t deserve to die. So I sent my sister a postcard, secretly, to tell her I was alive…just a hidden message, but she got it. And then I erased the old me and became Crispin Lamb, a name my sister gave me when we were kids.” He got up, went to the kitchen. “I need water.”

“Glasses are in the cabinet next to the sink.”

He took one, filled the glass. Drank it. He hadn’t realized how parched he was. But twenty-four hours hiking to one of his stashes, grabbing his truck, kitting up, and then tracking down Jade had worn him thin.

He needed about twelve hours of good sleep that wasn’t in the back of an F-150.

“What has Crispin Lamb been doing for the past three years?”

He hadn’t heard her get up, walk into the kitchen—hadn’t expect her to be standing behind him, leaning against the counter. So close he could step up to her. Lean in.

Hold on.

He drew in a breath. Shook his head. “Tracking down the rogue agents, one by one.”

She froze.

“The whole thing came out a few years ago. The CIA found out that the faction had been working with the Russians to cause all sorts of terror, from attempts on the president, to biological weapons, to staging attacks in other countries with the hopes of drawing America into a war. The faction was dissolved and Martin arrested—although he escaped prison, last I heard.” He set the cup down. “The ones I didn’t find went to prison. So I turned my attention to their partners.”

“The Russians?”

“And specifically, The Brothers.”

“Yes, the assassins in the woods.”

“Mm-hmm.” He sighed, then met her eyes. Still so beautiful, even in the dim light. “I’m sorry I got you involved in this.”

“If memory serves me, I’m the one who rescued you from your little tin-can car.”

“It wasn’t mine.” He offered a wry smile.

“Oh brother.”

“Still,” he said. “This is where you need to forget you ever met me. Where we pretend we’re not friends. And if anyone ever asks about me, you say, Crispin who?”

Her mouth opened. Closed. She shook her head.

“Jade—”

“Crispin. You can’t…you need…”

“I can, and I don’t need.” He drew in a breath. “Please. The last thing I do need is to worry about you getting hurt.”

Something shifted in her eyes then, and her mouth hardened. “Right.”

He’d hurt her. “Jade.”

“Why are you here then, Crisp?” Her tone matched the chill in her eyes.

Probably for the best. “I need my phone.”

She just stared at him. Silence.

“You have it.”

“I don’t have it.”

“Yes. You put it in your leg pocket. Back at the car.”

Her mouth slowly opened. “Right. I forgot.”

“Me too. All the way until today, when I realized there is information on it that I need. So…I tracked you down.”

Her mouth made a tight line. “So, you weren’t worried that I was worried.”

He frowned, gave her a look. “Were you worried?”

“Of course I was worried! You were—are—hurt!”

“I’m fine.”

“For the love. You were shot. Nearly went into shock. What, did you turn into Wolverine?”

A beat.

“Oh please. Don’t tell me you don’t know X-Men. Wolverine? Can heal himself?”

Oh. He smiled at that. “No. I mean…I just…it’s mind over matter.” But really, what would it hurt? “Fine. Yes. I’m tired. And sore—really sore. And living on the edge of ibuprofen, but…”

“But you have to finish the mission.”

“Yes.”

“Alone.”

“Yes.”

“Now you’re really annoying me.”

He drew in a breath. “Yes. Phone, please?”

She narrowed her eyes, then strode off to a nearby bedroom, slapping on the light as she went.

He waited in the kitchen. Took another drink. Resisted the urge to raid the fridge.

She returned, grabbed his hand, and slapped the phone into it. “It’s probably dead.”

Oh, right.

She stared up at him. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll charge the phone, and you lie on that sofa and close your eyes for one whole hour. Maybe two. And then I’ll make you something to eat—I hope you like eggs—and let you walk out that door. Alone. I’ll even give you a little wave.”

He considered her, the way she stood, her hands on her hips, nearly glaring at him. “You are…bossy.”

“We’ve been over this. No, I’m right. Take a load off, pal.” She held out her hand. “Phone me.”

He put the phone in her palm. She opened up a drawer and fished through it until she found the right cable. Then she plugged it into the wall.

“To the sofa, Rambo.” She pointed.

He found himself obeying.

Toeing off his shoes. Lying on the sofa, his head on a pillow.

He closed his eyes to her putting a blanket over him.

And then, by George, he found exactly what he’d come here to really find but had been afraid to hope for.

Rest.