Chapter 6

SIX

Of course he’d ghosted her the next morning. Not that she’d expected any less from Crispin slash Bourne, but still, when she got up and spotted Booth alone, heating up water on the stove, she knew.

“He said he’ll meet you at your place,” Booth said quietly.

A haze of residual smoke hovered through the forest. Usually a fire died down during the night, and they were a good mile from the front. Still, she should probably check on the drone coverage this morning, along with their ride back to Ember.

She nodded at Booth’s words and retrieved her dried handkerchief from the line. For now, she used it to tie back her tangled hair, now knotted in a hairband. Grime infiltrated her pores, soot embedded her cells, her bones. An hour under a cool shower might not be enough.

“You really know where Crazy Henry is?”

She came back to the fire, frowned. “He’s not crazy.”

Booth made a sound, deep in his throat.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just…watch your back.”

She frowned again. “Why? Bad guys in the woods?”

“Maybe.”

She’d been kidding, sorta. But maybe not, considering the last few days. “What do they want with Henry? He’s a harmless old guy who likes to fish.”

Another deep sound.

“Booth.”

“Nope. But I’m sure you’re right.” The water boiled, and he poured it out into instant grounds. “Besides, you’ll be with Crispin. He won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Have you taken a good look at your friend? He’s still hurting.”

“He’s fine. He’s Crispin.” He took a sip of his coffee, then eyed her. “Wait. You like him.”

“What? I mean—sure. He’s…we’re friends.”

“Nope. Crispin doesn’t have room for friends. Never has.”

“Weren’t you his partner or something?”

“A long time ago.”

She retrieved a cup and added instant grounds, then poured herself a bracing stew.

“But he’s always worked alone, really. I was sort of just Robin to his Batman.”

“I’m sure you were more than that.”

“I had to track him down and make him tell me about The Brothers. And that was after I was nearly killed. So…Crispin makes a point of not needing anyone.”

“No one doesn’t need anyone.” Around her, tent doors had started to unzip.

He cut his voice down. “Crispin is a great guy. Like I said—a patriot. He always— always —does the right thing. But he’s gotten used to relying on himself.” He gave her a look. “Even if he did agree to your help this one time.”

“What are you trying to say, Booth?” She, too, had lowered her voice.

JoJo had stepped out of the tent.

“I just don’t want you to get burned.”

She drew in a breath. “I’ve got thicker skin than you think. I’m practically fireproof. But don’t worry—nothing is happening between us.”

He raised an eyebrow, and she stepped away as JoJo came to the fire. “Mornin’.”

“Morning,” he echoed, his gaze on Jade.

She took another sip of coffee, then turned to JoJo. “I’ll get eggs from the kit.”

They’d tied up the food pack overnight, but now it lay on the ground, Booth having retrieved the coffee earlier. She found the powdered egg pouch, handed it to JoJo, then headed over to a clearing to call Conner.

No new fires overnight, and yes, he’d dispatched a bus to pick them up.

You like him. Booth’s words sat in her head as she packed up her tent, then the gear box, and finally, with the team, hiked down to the service road to meet the crew bus, a twelve-passenger van.

No, she didn’t like him. Except, her brain kept returning to his bursting from the forest, shouting get down, his hazel-green eyes on her, fierce, painfully protective.

The way he’d grabbed her, pulled her to safety.

Put his hand on her shoulder when he’d told her to stay put.

Even the fact he’d shown up last night… Are you following me?

Shoot, her stupid heart hoped so.

She stared out the window of the van, her jaw tight. Brilliant, Jade. Because suddenly she saw herself laughing with him, maybe letting him ride with her on her—Jed’s—bike, and making them steaks, and hel- lo, she was not staying in Montana .

And he had a life here—or sort of, and…

Oh boy. Because what if she did stay? What if?—

They pulled up to HQ, and she spotted a bulldozer tearing down the front of the burnt building, scraping the charred beams down to the earth to start over.

What if she…started over? Here, in Montana?

No. What—no. She had a life in Alaska. Besides, Jed’s gig in Missoula would end in August, and she’d need to pack her bags. No room for two Ransoms in Ember.

So. Just partners, then. On the hunt for sweet old Henry.

They piled out, and she helped unpack the truck, then brought the gear to the ready room in the Quonset hut. Dragging out her jumpsuit from the gear box, she hung it in her locker, then brought her chute to the hanging room.

“Hey, Duncan.” The spotter stood at a long table, checking chutes for damage.

“Another successful mission,” he said and gave her a thumbs-up. “Good job, Ransom.”

“Thanks. Hey, I got this tear in my jacket.” She shed it and put it on the table, showed him where the jacket had separated. “Can you sew it up?”

He frowned at her. “What happened?”

“Got hit by a branch.”

He pointed to her shoulder. “You’re bleeding.”

She could barely see it. But the wound must have opened after she’d patched it up last night, quietly, in the darkness of her tent. “It’s fine.”

“You should get it checked out.”

“Aw, it’s nothing. Thanks for sewing up the coat.”

She returned to her locker and pulled on her jean jacket before anyone could notice. It did smart, but not enough to slow her down.

And of course, it wasn’t from a branch. But she didn’t need questions. Or pity.

She’d unpacked and stowed her gear and was headed into the office to talk to Conner when Booth stopped her. “Crispin won’t do it, so you make sure you call me if you need me.”

She cocked her head. “It’s just a ride into the woods to see an old friend.”

“Yep,” he said.

“Fine. Okay.” Then she brushed past him, toward Conner’s office.

“I already know about the shooting,” Conner said as she came in. “But what I don’t know is why you didn’t call me right away.” He pointed to a chair.

Oops. “Truth is, there wasn’t time. We had to kick down the fire. But I’m here now. Still—how’d you find out?”

“Sheriff called, asked me to ask you to come by and give him a statement. Not sure how he knew.”

She had a guess it started with a C and ended in ispin . “Will do.”

He drew in a breath, then turned to the map on the wall. “I know you have two days off, but I can only give you twenty-four without being on call, just in case this fire gets out of hand. I have another jump team coming in, so you’ll be the second team we call out, but we need you ready.”

Oh. But Henry’s place might only be an hour from here. She’d be back by tonight. “Aye, aye, boss.”

He looked at her. Shook his head. “I don’t know what it is about you, Jade, but nothing rattles you.”

She smiled. No need to get rattled when you’d already faced the fires and survived. Instead, “Thank you, sir. I try.” She got up.

“That Jed’s bike out there?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Could be.”

He shook his head, but a smile touched his mouth. “You like to live dangerously.”

She laughed. “I’ll have my phone with me.”

But his words sat with her. Dangerously. No, no she didn’t. Or not usually.

Jed’s bike sat in the morning shade, and she donned her helmet, got on, and fired it up.

The air skimmed off a layer of grime as she drove home.

A hot shower skimmed off the rest. Not quite an hour, but she stayed under the spray a long time, letting the ambush and the fire and even Booth’s words wash off her.

She didn’t like Crispin. He wasn’t her type—dangerous and moody and a loner. No, she didn’t like him at all.

She just felt…sorry for him. Yes, that was it.

Getting out, she changed into a clean sports bra, a white short-sleeve T-shirt, and cargo pants, pulled on a flannel shirt, then braided her hair and added a bandanna.

Then she grabbed the small black ring off the dresser and slid it onto her ring finger, right hand.

She came out into the kitchen. Crispin sat on her deck, staring out at the lake, in one of Jed’s Adirondack chairs. At least this time he hadn’t broken in, but it gave her a moment to just consider him against Booth’s words.

Crispin doesn’t have room for friends. Never has.

Maybe not. Because he seemed like a lone wolf, with his beard, his dark hair, the solemn expression. He wore a pair of black combat pants, a lightweight gray long-sleeve shirt, and boots. And what looked like a knife attached to his belt.

Yet he held a cup of coffee in a paper cup, like just a guy, hanging out.

So maybe friends, at least for today.

Sliding open the door, she stepped out onto the deck. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he said and took a sip of coffee.

“So, what’s the deal with Henry? Booth was tight-lipped.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Nope.” She sat on the arm of the other chair. “What’s going on? And I don’t care if you have to kill me.”

He glanced over at her, no smile, but maybe a touch of humor in his eyes?

She offered a half smile.

He sighed and set his coffee on the arm of the chair. “Okay, so I mentioned that I was dead for three years.”

“Yes.”

“And that I was in the CIA.”

“Hard to miss.” She got up and moved the chair to face him and sat in it. “Go on.”

“So, I left out the part about the sting being the sale of a nuke to the rogue CIA faction.”

She stilled. “A real nuke.”

“A missile, yes. A Phoenix missile—compact—ten feet tall and two feet wide, about six hundred pounds. A prototype, but functioning. It has a range of five hundred miles and can carry a low-yield nuclear warhead. It also has an advanced guidance system that can be remotely controlled and activated. The tricky part is the AI component that was built in.”

“A missile that can think.”

“Yes. Which means it can adjust to find the area where the blast can be most destructive in a given set of parameters.”

“I’ll never sleep again. Excuse me while I start prepping. Please tell me this is not the artwork of a bad player.”

“Unless you include the US government.”

“I might. Sometimes.” She drew in a breath. “So, this faction wanted to get their hands on the missile and sell it? To whom?”

“The Russians.”

“Oh, just them. Right. Because we’re in a Bond movie.”

He laughed, and shoot, the deep rumble of it simply went right through to her bones, her cells. Sparked a terrible longing that no, no, no—just friends, Jade!

But she could be his Robin, today.

“Okay, so how does Henry play into this?”

“Right. So Henry White—Snow—was my handler. And Booth’s handler.”

“Handler.”

“As in?—”

“I watched Alias .”

“So, this wasn’t quite Alias .”

“True. You don’t have Jennifer Garner’s legs. Or skimpy outfits.”

He looked at his legs, back to her. “Should I change?”

And now she laughed. “Did you just try and be funny?”

“You can’t have all the fun.”

“Okay, your handler, crazy old sweet Henry Snow-White?—”

“Stole the nuke.”

Words were stripped from her.

He took a sip of coffee.

“No, he didn’t.”

“He absolutely did. To protect it because we didn’t know who the bad guys were. And then he hid it.”

“In his garage?”

“I hope he found a better place than that.”

She did too. “So, now what?”

“Now The Brothers are trying to find him before I do, grab the nuke, and sell it to Russia.”

“Why are we sitting here?” She made to get up.

“Wait.”

“What? Are you going to tell me the Chinese are after us too?”

“I hope not. But I am going to say this, and please hear me, because I’m only going to say it once.”

She sat back, her eyes purposely wide.

His mouth tightened. Eyes narrowed. “You do everything I say. Stay with me—don’t wander off?—”

“I’m not the one who ghosts?—”

He ignored her. “If I say run, you run. You don’t look back. You don’t try to help me. You run.”

His gaze had turned nearly ferocious, his tone lethal. Ho- kay . She nodded. “You’re a little scary.”

“Good. Finally.”

“And bossy.”

“Otherwise known as right.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Hardy har har.” She got up. “Let’s go.”

He’d gotten up too but now caught her arm. “Jade, are you hurt?”

She froze.

“You’re bleeding. On your shoulder.” He took a step toward her.

She jerked away. “I’m fine.” She turned, but he grabbed her hand.

“You’re not fine. What’s going on?”

No, no, no—“I got hit by a branch. It’s no big deal. C’mon.”

But he didn’t move. And…that was just it . “I’m not as fragile as I look, Tough Guy. So do you want to stop World War Three or not?”

Then she turned her back to him and nearly fled the porch.

* * *

Crispin always felt like he possessed the emotional depth of a teaspoon, but even he could see that he’d done something to upset Jade.

She sat in the passenger side of the bench seat of his vintage F-150, staring out the window, her jaw tight.

I’m not as fragile as I look, Tough Guy.

He couldn’t scrape her words from his mind, and now, as they headed out of Ember, west to County 518—at her direction—they burned inside him. “I don’t think you’re fragile.”

She looked over at him. “What?”

“Fragile. I don’t think you’re fragile. I think you’re…well, you might be the toughest woman I’ve ever met. And that’s saying something, because I’ve known more than a few female agents. None of whom would strap on a parachute and jump into a fire.”

He glanced at her, but she just swallowed.

He didn’t know why he cared, really. Maybe because, yes, this was all kinds of wrong, him taking her to find Henry, and if he were honest with himself…

Maybe it was better not to be honest. It wasn’t like they had a future. They were barely friends. He’d call them…partners. For the day. Like…a female Booth. So, “Are you always this ornery?”

This got a response. One eyebrow shot up. “Ornery? That’s rich, coming from Mr. Ornery himself. You cornered the market there, grumpy-pants.”

Grumpy-pants? “I’m not grumpy. I’m serious. Focused.”

“High scorer on Whac-A-Mole.”

“What?”

“You know that game?—”

“I know the game. I just…okay, so yes, I’m trying to keep life from exploding—literally, I might add—but…fine. Maybe I am wound a little tight. But…” He turned onto the county road. “I wasn’t always…” He sighed. Swallowed.

“There is a complete sentence in there. I know there is.” She turned toward him.

And at least she had started to warm, so, okay, why not?

“I’ve sort of been on my own since I was eighteen and my parents were killed in an earthquake.”

Silence.

Aw, probably he could work on his delivery, but he hadn’t had much opportunity for practice, having tucked that super awesome event deep inside his chest for nearly fifteen years.

She put her hand on his arm, and he stiffened. But her hand tightened around his bicep, and he glanced at her.

“I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry. That’s terrible.” She released her hand, but the warmth stayed. And it helped ease the story out.

“It was Easter Sunday, 2010. We were living in a small town just north of Baja, California. My dad worked border control, my mom was a veterinarian. We had a little place outside town with horses. It was a ranch home, walkout style. The earthquake happened a number of miles away, and we barely felt it. What we didn’t know was that it had cracked the center beam of the house—a very old house—and afterwards, they thought maybe it had already been broken. I was out with some buddies. We were just hanging out, playing video games at a friend’s house, when the aftershock hit. I was in town, and we had decided to get midnight pizza when we heard sirens, and a bunch of the guys thought—let’s go. Chase the ambulance, you know.” He swallowed, his throat dry. “I followed them all the way to my house.”

“Oh no.”

“The house had caved in. My parents had a walkout basement master—it had been remodeled into a big suite. They loved it—it looked out to the mountains. My sister was upstairs in her bedroom. The house collapsed into the master suite. She could hear them shouting for her, but she couldn’t get to them. I don’t know how she lives with that memory, but…I can’t get it out of my head.”

She hadn’t touched him again. And maybe that was good, because he hadn’t really told anyone the story.

“I stood outside, watching the firefighters, and I lost it. I tried to get in—they had to cuff me and throw me in a cruiser. And then I just sat there and cried.” He closed his mouth, and a terrible sound emerged from his chest. He cleared his throat. “Anyway, my sister survived, and she was thirteen, so I got custody. We lived on the life insurance for a while. Moved to Last Chance County, where I studied criminal justice at a local community college. When she turned eighteen, we moved to Nevada, and I finished my degree at Nevada State. Top of my class.”

“No doubt.”

“I got recruited by the three letter companies right out of school. I picked the CIA and sort of regretted it right away.”

“Really?”

He looked at her. “I was young and eager, and I went undercover, and…let’s just say that I was reckless. By this time my sister had moved to Idaho, and I wanted to play big brother and check in. I was working in Mexico, dismantling a cartel, and somehow brought the danger home. She had to change her name. She moved to Wyoming and then finally ended up here. Where…of course, I nearly got her killed again.”

“I see.”

He glanced at her. “What do you see?”

She cut her voice low, imitating him. “ You should leave me. Get away from here. ”

Oh.

“So yes, I get it. And suddenly, what Booth said about you makes sense.”

So going to kill Booth. “What did he say?”

“He called you a lone wolf.”

On the other hand, maybe Booth had done him a solid. Because then she wouldn’t get her hopes—aw, see that’s what lying to himself did. Because frankly, he was the one with hopes way out of control, somewhere in the outer atmosphere.

Rein it in, Tough Guy.

“Listen. I also get wanting to…go it alone.” She had taken a breath. “But we weren’t designed that way. God created us to be in community. You’ve heard that saying—it’s not good for man to be alone?”

“That was about Adam.”

“It was about man. Which I think, from all outward appearances, you are.”

“I am.”

“Thought so. So, pardner, stop being so grumpy. Everything happens for a reason. Go with it. Take a right up here.” She pointed to a mile marker and then a dirt road.

He turned. The entire drive, smoked had cluttered the sky to the east. But here, it seemed to darken, as if the fire might be closer.

Hopefully not overrunning Henry’s place, because, hello—nuclear missile. But he wouldn’t be so careless as to hide it in his, well, garage, right?

He sighed, looked at her. “I don’t get you, Jade. You’re always so…calm. Like Teflon.”

“Why worry about things I can’t control? I have today. And that’s all I need to worry about.”

He frowned.

“It’s something my mother said to me when I was young. Just today. Survive today.”

Interesting words. Survive?

“She used to ask me, ‘Is it well with your soul?’ And when she put it like that…it sort of focused everything. Because in the end, that’s what matters, right? So I just…survive this day—oh my—” She sat up. “There’s something on fire up there.”

He slowed and peered through the woods. Flames curled around an outbuilding, sparks shooting into the sky.

A garage fire.

“That’s Henry’s house!” She pointed to a cabin about a hundred yards from the garage, not on fire—yet.

He slammed the gas down, gunned the truck over the rutted road, right into the yard. She had piled out before he threw the car into Park.

“Jade! Stop!”

But of course, just like he’d predicted, she didn’t pause to obey him.

She landed on the front porch, then grabbed the door?—

“Jade! Wait—what if there’s?—”

She disappeared inside.

—an assassin inside.

He grabbed his Browning 12 gauge from behind the front seat.

Then he followed her into the house, bracing himself.

Stopped.

She knelt on the floor next to an older man who was skinnier than Crispin remembered and bleeding from a head wound. A Glock 19 lay not far from his reach.

“Get me a towel!” Jade shouted.

He scanned the room first—all clear—then grabbed a towel from the counter. Tossed it to her.

She pressed it on the man’s head. “It’s okay, Henry. It’s going to be okay.”

The man groaned, and Crispin walked over to him.

Blood matted his whitened hair, and he must have been knocked out, because he woke with a rush, a jerk, and stared at Jade, grabbing her hand.

“Get away from me!”

She scrambled back, and that’s when Crispin stepped over the man, crouched in front of Jade. “Henry. It’s me—Cris—um—” Shoot. Maybe Henry wouldn’t remember that name. “It’s Ethan. Ethan Tucker.”

Henry blinked at him, then pushed himself up. Glanced at Jade, then put his hand to his forehead, and his face began to buckle. His voice dropped, and he shook his head, his eyes on Crispin. “Oh, Ethan. Ethan—you’re too late.”