Chasing Fire Page 11

  “Oh, there’s some, sure. I can usually peg them before we get off the ground.” He gave her an easy smile. “You won’t be one of them.”

  “Because?”

  “You were fearless once. You don’t forget what you are. Sometimes you just put it aside awhile.”

  The dimples fluttered in her cheeks. “You’re right. I’ve learned that lesson the last few years.”

  He showed her how to land, how to use him, her own body for a soft touchdown. He strapped the harness so she could get accustomed to the feel of it, and having his body against hers.

  The little jump in the belly he felt had him relieved to remind himself she was married.

  “Any questions? Concerns?”

  “I think I’ve got it. I’m supposed to relax and enjoy—and hope I don’t scream the whole way down so the DVD shows me with my mouth wide open and my eyes squeezed shut.”

  “Hey, Mom!”

  They looked over at the group hovering at the edge of the field.

  “The family. Do you have time to meet them before we do this?”

  “Sure.”

  He walked over with her, made some small talk with her son—he looked pale and nervous now that it was zero hour—her daughter, the three children, including the one watching him like an owl from his daddy’s hip.

  “You’re sure about this? Because if—”

  “Tyler.” Ella rose to the toes of her jump boots, kissed her son’s cheek. “I’m revved and ready. Best Christmas present ever.”

  “Nana’s gonna do this.” A boy of about five shot the toy parachutist from their gift shop into the air. It floated down on a bright red chute.

  “You bet I am. Watch me.”

  After hugs and kisses, she walked off with Lucas toward the waiting Twin Otter. “I’m not nervous. I’m not going to be nervous. I’m not going to scream. I’m not going to throw up.”

  “Look at that sky. It doesn’t get prettier. Until you’re floating in it. Here’s Chuck. He’ll be videographing your entire experience.”

  “Chuck.” She shook hands. “You’ll get my best side, right?”

  “Guaranteed. Nobody gives a tandem like Iron Man, ma’am. Smooth as silk.”

  “Okay.” She blew out a breath. “Let’s do it, Iron Man.”

  She turned, waved to her family, then got onboard.

  She shook hands with the pilot, and to Lucas’s eye stayed steady and attentive through the flight. He expected more questions—about the plane, the equipment, his experience—but she played it up for the camera, obviously determined to give her family a fun memento.

  She mugged, pretended to faint and surprised Lucas by crawling into his lap and telling her kids she was flying off to Fiji with her jump master.

  “We need to go back for a bigger plane,” he told her, and made her laugh.

  When they reached jump altitude he winked at her. “Ready to harness up?”

  Those lips bowed up with nerves around the edges. “Let’s rock and roll.”

  He went over the procedure again, his voice soothing, easy, as he hooked them together.

  “You’re going to feel a rush of air, hear more engine noise when we open the door. We’re miked, so Chuck will pick up what we say for your DVD.”

  As he spoke he felt her breathing pick up. When the door opened, he felt her jerk, felt her tremble.

  “We don’t go until you say go.”

  “I swam naked in the Gulf of Mexico. I can do this. Let’s go.”

  “We’re go.” He nodded to Chuck, who jumped first. “Watch the sky, Ella,” he murmured, and leaped with her.

  She didn’t scream, but after a strangled gasp, he heard her clearly shout, “Holy fucking shit!” and wondered if they’d want that edited out for the grandchildren.

  Then she laughed, shot her arms out like wings.

  “Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God ! I did it. Lucas!”

  She vibrated against him, and in tune with her he recognized exhilaration rather than fear.

  The chute deployed, a rush of wings, and the whippy dive became a graceful float.

  “It was too fast, over too fast. But, oh, oh, you were right. This is beautiful. This is . . . religious.”

  “Put your hands on the toggles. You can drive awhile.”

  “Okay, wow. Look at Nana, Owen! I’m a skydiver. Thank you, Tyler! Hi, Melly, hi, Addy, hi, Sam!” She tipped her head back. “I’m in the sky, and it’s blue silk.”

  She fell silent, then sighed. “You were right about the quiet. You were right about everything. I’ll never forget this. Oh, there they are! They’re waving. You’d better take over so I can wave back.”

  “You have a beautiful family.”

  “I really do. Oh, gosh, oh, wow, here comes the ground.”

  “Trust me. Trust yourself. Stay relaxed.”

  He brought her down soft.

  With excited screams, wild cheers, her family jumped and waved. When Lucas detached the harness, she dropped into an exaggerated curtsy, blew kisses.

  Then she spun around, her face glowing, and stunned him by throwing her arms around him and kissing him firmly on the mouth.

  “I’d have done that in midair if I could have because, my God, that was orgasmic. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “I think you just did.”

  She laughed, made him laugh by doing a quick victory dance. “I jumped out of a damn plane. My ex-husband said I’d be crazy to do it, the jerk. But I feel crazy, because I’m going to do it again.”

  Still laughing, she ran over, arms wide, to her family.

  “Ex-husband,” Lucas managed. And the heat spread up the back of his neck again.

  7

  With the siren silent, Rowan spent most of her time in the loft checking, clearing or mending chutes. She’d caught up on paperwork, repacked her personal gear bag, checked and rechecked her own chute, readied her jump gear.

  She remained first jumper, first stick.

  “Going stir-crazy here,” Cards said when he got up from the machine.

  “Aren’t we all. And the word of today is . . .”

  “Fastidious. We’ve been doing dick-all but cleaning and organizing. The ready room’s freaking fastidious enough to suit my mother’s scary standards.”

  “It can’t last much longer.”

  “I hope to Christ not. I had to kick my own ass for cheating at solitaire yesterday, and I’m starting to think about crafts. We’ll be knitting next.”

  “I’d like a nice scarf to match my eyes.”

  “It could happen,” he said darkly. “At least I had phone sex with Vicki last night.” He pulled the deck of cards from his shirt pocket, shuffling as he paced. “It’s fun while it lasts, but it doesn’t really do the job.”

  “And gone are the days you’d hunt up a companion for actual sex?”

  “Long gone. She’s worth it. I told you she and the kids are coming out next month, right?”

  “You mentioned it.” One or two thousand times, Rowan thought.

  “Gotta get in some time now, so I can take a couple days next month. I need to work, need the pay, need—”

  “To resist trolling the aisle of the craft store,” Rowan finished.

  “I won’t be trolling alone if this lull lasts much longer. Have you got anything to read? All Gibbons has are books that give me a headache. I read one of Janis’s romance novels, but that doesn’t help keep my mind off sex.”

  “Nothing deep, nothing sexy. Check.” She signed and dated the tag on the repaired chute. “What’re you after?”

  “I want something gory, where people die miserable deaths at the hands of a psycho.”

  “I could fix you up. Come on. We’ll peruse my library.”

  “Dobie’s in the kitchen with Marg,” Cards told her, passing a hand over Rowan’s head, then flipped out an ace of spades. “He got some recipe of his mother’s, and he’s in there cooking up some pie or other.”

  Cooking, knitting—that bake sal
e could be next. Then struck, Rowan paused. “Is Dobie hitting on Marg?”

  Cards only shook his head. “She’s got twenty years on him.”

  “Men routinely hit on women twenty years younger.”

  “I’m bored, Ro, but not bored enough to get into a tangle on that with you.”

  “Coward.” But when they stepped outside, she paused again. “Look, check out those clouds.”

  “We got scouts.” His face brightened as he studied the clouds over the mountains. “A nice string of them.”

  “Could mean smoke today. With any luck, we’ll have that ready room messed up again before afternoon. Do you still want that book?”

  “Might as well. I’ll get myself all settled in, good book, good snack. It’s like guaranteeing we’ll fly today.”

  “It’s the slowest start to a season I remember. Then again, my father once told me when it starts cool, it ends hot. Maybe we shouldn’t be so eager to get going.”

  “If it doesn’t get going, what’re we here for?”

  “No argument. So . . .” She tried for a casual tone as they crossed to her end of the barracks. “Have you seen Fast Feet this morning?”

  “In the Map Room. Studying. At least he was about an hour ago.”

  “Studying. Huh.” She wasn’t interested in settling down with a book, but a little byplay with Gull might be just the solution to boredom she needed.

  Inside, she led the way to her quarters. “Gruesome murder,” she began. “Do you want just violence, or sex and violence? As opposed to romantic sexy.”

  “I always want sex.”

  “Again, it’s hard to—” She broke off as she opened her door. The slaughterhouse stench punched like a fist in the throat.

  A pool of blood spread over the bed. Dark rivers of it ran down hills of clothes heaped on the floor. On the wall in letters wet and gleaming dripped the statement:

  BURN IN HELL!

  In the center of the ugliness, Dolly whirled to face the door. Some of the blood in the canister she held splattered on her shirt.

  “Son of a bitch!” Fists up, her mind as red and vicious as the blood, Rowan charged. A war paint line of pig’s blood splatted on her face as Dolly screamed and dropped to the ground—seconds before Cards grabbed Rowan’s arms.

  “Wait a minute, wait a minute.”

  “Fuck you.” Rowan pushed off her feet, adding to the blood when the back of her head connected sharply with Cards’s nose and had it spurting.

  He yelped, and through sheer grit managed to hold on for another second or two.

  “You’re so dead!” Rowan shouted at Dolly, and, blind to anything but payback, jabbed her elbow into Cards’s ribs, sprang free.

  Shrieking, scrabbling back, Dolly pitched the canister. Globs of blood flew, striking wall, ceiling, furniture, when Rowan batted it away.

  “You like blood? Let’s see how you like painting with yours, you crazy cunt.”

  Rowan clamped her hands on Dolly’s ankles when Dolly tried to crawl under the bed. Even as she hauled Dolly across the blood-smeared floor, men who’d come running at the commotion dived in to grapple Rowan back.

  Rowan didn’t waste her breath. She punched, kicked, jabbed and kneed, heedless of where blows landed, until she ended up facedown on the floor, pinned.

  “Just stay down,” Gull said in her ear.

  “Get off me. Goddamn you, get off me. Do you see what she did?”

  “Everybody sees it. Jesus, somebody get that screaming idiot out of here before I punch her.”

  “I’m going to kick every square inch of her skanky ass. Let me up! You hear that, you psycho? First chance I get it won’t be pig’s blood you’re wearing, it’ll be your own. Let me the fuck up!”

  “You’re down until you calm down.”

  “Fine. I’m calm.”

  “Not even close.”

  “She’s got Jim’s blood on her,” Dolly wept as Yangtree and Matt pulled her from the room. “You all have his blood on you. I hope you all die. I hope you all burn alive. All of you.”

  “I think she lost her religion,” Gull commented. “Listen to me. Rowan, you listen. She’s gone, and if you try to go after her and take a shot at her now, we’re just going to put you down again. You already bloodied Cards’s nose, and I’m pretty sure Janis is going to be sporting a black eye.”

  “They shouldn’t have gotten in my way.”

  “If they, and the rest of us, hadn’t, you’d have punched a pathetic lunatic, and you’d be off the jump list until it got sorted out.”

  That, he noted, had her taking the first calming breath. He signaled for Libby and Trigger to let go of her legs and, when she didn’t try to kick them, pointed to the door.

  Libby shut it quietly behind them.

  “I’m letting you up.” He eased his grip on her arms, braced to grab them again if necessary. Then, cautiously, he shifted off her, sat on the floor.

  Blood covered both of them, but he was pretty sure she had the worst of it. It smeared her face, dripped from her hair, coated her arms, her shirt. She looked as if she’d been whacked with an ax. And it made him sick.

  “You know, it’s a goddamn pigsty in here.”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “No, it’s not, but it’s the best I got.” He eyed her coolly as she pushed up to sit, watched her right hand bunch into a fist. “I can take a punch if you need to throw one.”

  “Just get out.”

  “No. We’re just going to sit here awhile.”

  Rowan used her shoulder to wipe at her face, smeared it with more blood. “She got that crap all over me. All over my bed, the floor, the walls.”

  “She’s sick and she’s stupid. And she deserved to have every square inch of her skanky ass kicked. She’ll get fired, and everybody on base and within fifty miles will know why. That might be worse.”

  “It’s not as satisfying.” She looked away a moment as, with the wild heat of temper fading, tears wanted to sting. She clamped her hands together; they’d started to shake.

  “It smells like a slaughterhouse in here.”

  “You can sleep in my room tonight.” He hitched a bandanna out of his pocket, used it to wipe blood from her face. “But everybody who sleeps in my room has to be naked.”

  She huffed out a tired breath. “I’ll bunk with Janis until I get it cleaned up. She has the naked rule, too.”

  “Now that was just mean.”

  She looked at him then, just sat and looked while he ruined his bandanna on a hopeless job. It helped to see he wasn’t as calm as