Chapter Five

The Forest Service helo couldn't land where the pilot wanted. Too much gusting wind and snow. To reach the clearing below, Heston and Asher had to fast-rope down. While it snowed. No problem. All TEAM agents were trained in everything military, including long-distance shooting, skydiving, fast-roping, even rappelling. So stepping off the edge of a perfectly safe helicopter wasn't unusual. The first step was a little breathtaking, but it was the simplest way to get to the northern shore of the river below.

Overall, it was a short drop. Heston flexed his knees to absorb the shock as he landed. Visibility was poor to zero. "Contreras touchdown," he reported to the Forest Service pilot in the helo above via their shared radio communication link.

"Copy that," came back the steady reply just as Asher dropped to all fours beside Heston.

"Splashdown," Asher sent upward.

"Stay safe, guys. Let me know when you need a lift out of here," the pilot advised as the helo lifted into the clouds. "You've got my number."

The rotor slap had barely ended when Deck growled over the same channel, "And you've got my number, boys. I'll be close by for the duration of this clusterfuck."

"Copy that, Colonel Edison," the Forest Service pilot replied respectfully. "Good luck finding your people, sir."

"Thanks. Now get off this channel and let me talk to my guys."

Heston grinned at the fierce man in the black ops tiltrotor above. "Good to hear you again, Deck. Thought you might've stayed in Seattle."

"Doesn't take me long to refuel. Comm check in sixty. Don't be late," was all the reply Heston received. Made him smile. Deck might sound like a troll who lived under a bridge and ate children for breakfast, but he was by far the best pilot Heston had ever flown with.

They humped onward. The temperature was fairly warm, unusual for this altitude Heston guessed. He'd spent time in Washington before, courtesy of the 2 nd Battalion, 75 th Ranger Regiment's combat-focused training years ago. He knew the Ranger code and he'd damned well-earned the privilege of wearing the coveted tan beret. He'd never made it to Delta, though. Stopped short of selling his soul to the Devil. His parents had never wanted him to join the Army in the first place. He figured, out of respect and love for them, he'd return home with most of his soul intact.

Weather sure sucked though. With heavy, wet snow falling, the chance of finding the Stewarts alive turned from barely possible to damned grim. Only good thing was that most of the storm remained high on the mountain peaks behind him. He took that as the slimmest sign of good luck.

Thank heavens, Decker had provided them with cold weather versions of TEAMwear, the rugged, lightweight, tactical clothing conceived by Alex and designed by Mother. Incorporated in the winter version was a wealth of pockets in both jacket and pants (always a good thing); thick but lightweight liners that wicked away excess sweat and body heat, as well as protected an agent from outside temps; and lighter-than-air, barely noticeable, built-in tactical plating. The outfits were heavier than normal military wear, but more appreciated.

There was a time a few years back when both summer and winter versions of TEAMwear had also packed a butt-load of sensors to monitor an agent's physical status, as well as document every step of his mission via live video and audio links back to TEAM HQ. Those futuristic advancements didn't last long. Scuttlebutt was that Mother threatened to quit when Alex pulled the plug on her over-the-top improvements to his concept. Alex called her bluff. Told her fine, then do it.

For the life of him, Heston wasn't sure why Mother hadn't taken Alex up on that offer, nor why Alex hadn't fired her long ago. Theirs was a love/hate employer/employee relationship if ever Heston saw one. The things they said to each other could be so direct and spoken so sharply, it was like being in a knife fight if you found yourself caught between them. They were downright mean to each other. Fortunately, Mother hadn't quit, and for now, she was working as feverishly as everyone else to locate her missing boss and his wife.

He and Asher headed due east alongside the White River to the campground where they were to meet Forest Service Rangers Bates and Wilde. They both carried two gear bags, one a heavy backpack loaded with bottled water, tasteless MREs, a change of clothes, and other necessities. The other bag was smaller, loaded with ammo, extra pistols, NVGs, blow-out kits, and other survival items.

The closer they came to the campground, the more the snow turned to rain. Another chopper, this one marked with the green and yellow United States Forest Service logo, came into view. Parked dead center of an empty clearing surrounded by spindly alpine pines, it looked like a forlorn mosquito waiting for warm weather. Hopefully that bird had brought an army of volunteers ready to search for Alex and Kelsey when it landed.

Heston radioed his USFS counterparts to let them know he and Asher had arrived.

"Roger," a calm female voice replied. "It's about time."

"Yes, ma'am. Where's Bates and Wilde? Are they here yet?"

"They're at our Incident Command Center at the White River campground, yes, sir, but I'm in dispatch at Snoqualmie Pass. I'll turn on its perimeter lights to help you spot it. Go on in, guys. They'll be glad to have you aboard."

A line of soft yellow lights blossomed ahead, lining the roof, windows, and doors of a large, ruggedized RV marked in bold yellow with: Incident Command Center, ICC.

"Thank you, dispatch," Heston told the lady at Snoqualmie, then sent a quick report to Deck. "Making contact. Will advise as needed."

"I don't hear from you in thirty minutes, I'm hunting you down."

"Copy that," Heston answered, another smile curling the corners of his mouth. There was nothing like the steady kindness of the older, wiser, crustier generation of combat vets.

He and Asher jogged the rest of the distance to the RV, aka the USFC Incident Command Center. Its door swung outward before Heston could knock, and a stalwart man jumped down from the rig's metal steps. His boots hit the muddy ground with a smack.

"You must be Agents Heston Contreras and Asher Downey," the ranger said as he stuck out a gloved hand. "'Bout damned time you lazy bastards showed up. I'm United States Forest Service Captain Devon Bates. Behind me's Lieutenant Wilde." Bates stabbed a thumb over his shoulder, not even looking at his partner. Which struck Heston as just plain disrespectful.

Wilde didn't say anything, but the tops of his cheeks were red and his jacket was zipped up tight under his chin. Looked like he, at least, had been outside searching. That helped.

"Good to meet you, Captain Bates, Lieutenant Wilde." Heston nodded at the silent LT. "We appreciate the assist. I'm Heston. My companion's Asher. I'm sure you appreciate what we're up against."

"Yeah. You guys don't think we can get the job done."

"We're here to locate our people, sir," Asher clarified politely. "Has anyone heard from Mr. Stewart since his distress call this morning?"

"Yeah. I already found him. Dragged him to shore and tried to help, but he fought me. Dumb shit's stubborn. Wouldn't listen and wouldn't let me call him an ambulance, either," Bates shrugged one of those big shoulders.

"You found him?! Where was he?" Heston demanded to know. "Take us to him? Is he okay? Any sign of his wife?" Why the hell wasn't Alex inside the Incident Command Center being treated?

Bates waved into the dark. "He was over there when I left, on this side of the river. Not sure why some office in far-off Virginia sent you guys all the way out here. We don't need your kind of help."

"You left him? Why? Is he injured? Is anyone looking for his wife?" Heston couldn't believe the nonchalance of this guy, or how often Bates dodged answering questions.

"Our kind?" Asher asked. "What kind would that be?"

"You know. Military. We work better alone. Right, Wilde?"

Heston cut Wilde off before he could answer. "Focus, gawddamnit! Captain Bates, where exactly did you leave Mr. Stewart? Has anyone located his wife yet?" Temperatures had dropped since Heston and Asher touched down. Anyone who'd been in that river would be a frozen corpse by now.

"I told you he didn't want help." Bates' brows slammed into an ugly V. "Jesus Christ, what was I supposed to do? Drag him to Enumclaw and make him be good?"

Heston ran a hand up the back of his neck, shocked at the lack of interagency support they were receiving. What the hell was up with this guy? "Just to be clear, we're former military . Tell me exactly what Mr. Stewart said. How bad is he hurt? Did you find his wife? For God's sake, answer me!"

Wilde climbed down the steps and stood behind his superior, stiff, as if he didn't dare speak up.

"Let me be frank," Bates groaned, scrubbing a big hand over his salt-and-pepper crewcut. "You guys are too late. The Forest Service officially called off all Search and Rescue efforts hours ago. Weather's nasty. Going to get worse. No sense looking for folks we won't be able to see in this storm, not if your buddy Stewart went back into the river after his wife like he said. Ain't no sense getting ourselves killed. Know what I mean?"

Heston jerked his chin at Asher. "We're done here." They needed assistance, not interference. No sense arguing. Alex and Kelsey didn't have time to waste. "Let's make camp, drop our gear, and get to work."

"You'd be smart to listen to someone who knows, Contreras ," Bates grumbled. Did he just put that nasty twist into Heston's name on purpose? "I said visibility's poor, and I don't need two more idiots lost on these mountains."

Two more idiots? Them were fighting words. The fingers of tension knotting the muscles in Heston's neck exploded into bone-crushing rage. But Asher beat him to it.

"You want to try that again, Cap'n Crunch? " Asher bit out, his right elbow cocked slightly behind his hip, and his right hand balled into a fist that looked like a boxing glove. Asher stood a hefty six-foot-five-inches tall. His shoulders were thicker and wider than Bates', and those shoulders were pure muscle. He was meaner than most men Heston had ever worked with, and this ranger was a dick.

Bates slapped his hands to his hips and tipped forward into Asher's face with a belligerent, "This is my mountain, and you don't know shit about the weather up here. You think you can walk into my park and take over my operation? I said the search is called off, got it? While you're on Forest Service land, you'll do as I say. Understood?"

Heston rolled his shoulder one more time to keep his temper under control—which wasn't easy. There was nothing to be gained by stooping to Bates' level. Pigs and mud and all that. He'd seen plenty of Bates' ilk before. Some men were born leaders; others were power-hungry, small-minded assholes who stomped their subordinates into the dirt. Not tonight.

Heston slapped a steadying hand to Asher's beefy shoulder before Asher exercised that right hook and knocked Cap'n Crunch into orbit. Wilde had yet to speak up, but maybe he knew arguing with his supervisor was futile.

"No problem. We'll pitch our tent and—"

"Why do you think I brought that rig up here?" Bates' arm snapped out behind him like a railroad semaphore, his finger pointed at the cumbersome ICC vehicle. "Sure wasn't for the fun of driving all them hairpin turns. You'll sleep inside. With us. Where it's warm and dry. Where I can keep an eye on—"

"No," Heston shot back, then quickly recovered his cool before this turned into a brawl. Wilde was a loud-and-clear no contest, but if push came to shove, Asher could clean Bates' plow without breaking a sweat. "We'll pitch camp where we choose, and we'll wait for the weather to clear. That much makes sense. But come morning, we're searching with or without you." Heston lied through his teeth. They might set up camp, but waiting until morning was pure bullshit.

Bates' nose wrinkled with disgust. Like the leader he wasn't, he climbed back into the RV, slammed the door behind him, and immediately, ICC running lights went dark.

Good riddance.

Wilde, on the other hand, jerked his head toward the riverbank and said, "Let me show you what I found."

Heston's neck damned nearly snapped off the top of his spine with a vicious double-take. That cool, calm, collected, and very feminine, voice. Definitely not the woman who'd invited them to the RV. Who'd turned the running lights on. Either Wilde was a very gentle kind of a man or he—

Wilde dragged the black knit cap off his head with one hand and tugged his face covering down with the other. Sure enough. The light turquoise hair Heston remembered so well spilled over his head and flopped into his eyes. Eyes Heston knew were the same intriguing color. Wilde was no guy. He was—

"Hot damn," Asher murmured under his breath. "Will ya look at that? Wilde's not a chicken shit. He's a woman."

"Yes, she is," Heston whispered, more to himself than to his buddy. Hot damn, indeed.

"You guys know each other?"

"You could say that. London?" Heston asked, like the dolt her sudden appearance always turned him into.

"Yes, Hes. It's me," she answered brightly, ruffling her long slender fingers through those soft as silk bangs. "Let's get you guys set up for the night. There's a clearing close by that'll suit your needs. Follow me."

Well, duh. Like the love-smitten moron he'd been once before, Heston followed London down a meandering deer trail. A thick line of alpine pines marched between the water's stony bank and the trail, deadening the roar of the White. Sloppy snowflakes, laden with moisture the Northwest was known for, splattered through the branches, marking the trail in wintery white that turned to water as quickly as it landed.

They walked a good half-mile before London turned to face them. "I know you guys aren't going to hang around, but it'd be smart to set up camp. Bates'll think you're sticking around that way. You got a tent?"

"What are you doing here?" Heston asked instead of answering.

She shrugged. "Like you. My job. But trust me, once Bates realizes that you ignored his authority, he'll—"

"Piss on Bates," Asher growled. "Didn't come all this way to let some shithead stop us. If you're not going to help, get outta our way."

London let out a measured huff. "You guys are all the same. Ready to fight before you know what or who you're fighting."

"I knew who I was fighting," Heston said quietly. Back then. At least, he'd thought he'd known. Now he wasn't so sure.

"No, Heston, you didn't know squat. Still don't." London shook her head and her long bangs fell back over her forehead and into her eyes. Like before, she brushed them away, and he wished he could, just once, reach out like he had so long ago, before everything went wrong, and touch her again. Let the coolness of her hair drip between his fingers. Soak in the warmth of her satin skin.

She pointed at a flat patch of damp dirt under more pines, itself nearly white with snow. "Get your tent up. The people you came to rescue can't wait."

"You know where Alex and Kelsey are?" Heston asked.

"No, but Bates knew Mr. and Mrs. Stewart were in trouble earlier today. I heard the call come in, but he told me it was just an exercise. That our underwater recovery teams were testing underwater drones and to ignore it. That made me suspicious. Drones are worthless in whitewater. I made some calls and…" She shook her head. "I don't know why he did it, but Bates lied. And he didn't pull Mr. Stewart from the river. Another camper, Tom Landry, did. He got Stewart into warm, dry clothes and boots, gave him food and gear before Bates ever arrived on the scene. Problem is, Bates has been hassling Landry about him carrying concealed weapons, and Tom had his little boy with him. So he backed off and let Bates take over. Only now..." London looked past Heston to the ICC rig. "Bates knew your friends were in trouble and he never called Search and Rescue. So I did. Protocol for any lost hiker, especially someone in the river, is all hands on deck. We should've alerted the sheriff's department, the nearest hospital and ambulance service, and all available Search and Rescue teams the moment that first call came in. We should've spearheaded the search, guys. That's our primary job, to protect and serve. I'm sorry. This is my fault a much as his."

"You're afraid of him," Asher declared.

London blinked. "Am now. He's out of control and" —she ran her fingers through her hair— "he's scaring me."

"Has he hurt you?" Heston damned well needed to know.

"No. But I'm done giving him chances."

"Do you think Kelsey Stewart's still alive?" Heston asked.

London bit her bottom lip. "Anything's possible, but I'm fairly new on this job, and Bates is working against me. Not like I care. Are you with me?"

The way she emphasized ‘you' told Heston everything he needed to hear.

"Yes, ma'am," Asher answered quickly.

"Abso-fuckin'-lutely," Heston added.

In less than minutes, the tent was up. Asher tossed a glow stick inside to make it look like someone was home. They stowed their heaviest packs in the tent and stood with London.

"Now what?" Heston asked the woman he'd once pledged his heart and soul to.

She nodded farther down the deer trail. "Come with me. There's something you need to see."

"What?" Heston asked, as he and Asher grabbed their smaller bags and fell in behind her.

"You'll see," she tossed over her shoulder. Even in winter gear, London was all woman.

God, what a lovely view.