Burns So Bad (Smoke Jumpers) (14 page)

“Hey!” She jabbed an accusing
finger in his direction. “You want to lend a hand, Donovan?”

“No time,” he grunted, turning
towards the trail.

“I need your help.” She sounded
like the admission was killing her.

Another time, he’d have been happy
to gloat. Unfortunately, time was a commodity they were short on and this
wasn’t about their relationship, whatever that was. Hell if he knew.
Christ
.

“They’re coming,” he whispered, slicing
his finger over his throat in the universal gesture for
cut it out
but she wasn’t listening. Which just figured. Nothing
about today had gone right.

“Who’s coming?” she snarled,
muttering curses as she attacked the wire wrapped around her ankle again. He
hoped like hell her hands were steady. He didn’t need her nicking an artery.

A motor gunned as someone came up
the trail.

No, what he
needed
was for her to shut up.

Now.

Palming his utility knife, he
sprinted across the clearing.

###

The muscles in Gia’s abs burned as
she reached once again for the tripwire snaked around her ankle. The move
smacked of the world’s worst curl-up, except she didn’t need a trainer
screaming incentives at her to understand there was plenty on the line here.
Worse than the burn in her stomach was the nothing she felt in her ankle. Her
ankle should have hurt like hell, so the radio silence likely meant she was in
shock. And that, when she
did
feel
the pain, that would be all she did. Just in case, she forced herself to look
up. At least her ankle was still attached to her leg. That was good. Without
her steel-toe, she might not have faired so well.

God. It was going to hurt like a
bitch when she got down.

She drew the knife across the wire,
but the damned thing remained taut. No give at all. Shit. Her falling into the
growers’ booby trap was just Exhibit A for the “Gia can’t take care of herself”
school of thought. She turned her
head and looked at Rio.

Who was giving the impression of some
Grim Reaper version of a pointer dog. He stood there frozen
in place, head at an angle.

“A little help?” she hollered, because
she didn’t want to ask and none of this should have happened. She was in a
pissy mood. She’d own that. If he wanted sweetness and light, he could find
himself a new jump partner and, since he cut the damned checks, how hard could
that be? He could replace her in a heartbeat—even a heart that beat as
fast as hers.

She was fairly certain the grinding
noise she heard were her teeth.

“Shut up,” he growled and lunged
for her.

What. The. Hell.

Big hands cupped her head, dragging
her face to his. That was unexpected.

“I don’t—” Two words. That
was all she got out before his mouth covered hers.

She hadn’t seen
that
coming.

His hands pinned her in place for
his kiss. She probably could have bucked, used the trip wire’s momentum
because, God knows, she’d been spinning in nauseating circles for long minutes,
but she didn’t want to.

No, she wanted Rio.

His mouth sealed over hers, hard
and unyielding. His beautiful face was fierce and focused as Rio fixed every
inch of his attention on her.
Dear. God.

She opened her mouth. Not to
protest. No, she had no idea why her tall-dark-and-brooding was kissing her,
but some things were good and she wouldn’t question. Much. Instead, she
deepened the kiss, stroking her tongue over his lips and concentrated on not
dropping the knife. Accidentally stabbing Rio wasn’t in her plans, any more
than cutting her down appeared to be in his.

Instead, she concentrated on
threading her hands through his short hair, holding him to her. He made another
sound, rough and needy. She could work with that. She really, really could, because
the masculine noise sent a tsunami of lust through her
.

Her hands cupped the back of his
neck, angling the blade away from his skin. His skin, silky and hard at the
same time, was an erotic treat she had no intention of denying herself.
Instead, she ran her hands over his neck and down his shoulders. Rio pulled her
toward him hard, his upper body supporting hers and taking the painful weight of
the snare for her. He tasted so good, but all she could reach was his mouth. His
neck.

More
.

He moved, turning them, and she let
him maneuver her body because whatever he had in mind, she was so on board with
his plans. Just as soon as she got down—unless Rio was into acrobatic
sex, which she’d never heard and, God knew, she’d have heard—she wanted
him under her. Wanted to take him—

His eyes were open. Which she only
knew because her own were open. Hell, the pair of them weren’t romantic, but
they could work on that too. Or just on the orgasms. That was fine with her. Was
that roar the blood in her ears? Because, sweet baby Jesus, Rio made her
feel
things.

His eyes slewed right and she
wanted his attention back on her.

An ATV gunned towards them from the
undergrowth.
Oh
. This wasn’t about
sex at all. It was the oldest shut-the-girl-up move in the world.

Rio ripped his mouth away from
hers.

“Don’t go away,” he snapped. “Knife
up. Anyone but me comes near you, you punch that blade in his eyes or his gut.”

Punch line delivered, he strode
towards their unwanted company, leaving her hanging in the air like a birthday
piñata.

Rapidly, Rio weighed options. He
doubted the welcoming committee was a coincidence, but he didn’t have the proof
he needed to justify lethal force. He didn’t kill innocent civilians, but no fucking
way would he let anyone take Gia Jackson. He calculated how long it would take
him to close the space between him and the two ATVs hauling ass towards them.
Factored in how many bullets the drivers could pump into him if they were
carrying and willing to open fire. He wouldn’t be any good to Gia dead.

Snagging a branch from the ground, he
pointed his makeshift club at the ATV’s driver. Lucky thing for him the bastard
hadn’t bothered to draw before breeching the clearing—and that made him
think the growers had cameras pointed on the trip wire, because the guard’s
eyes widened almost comically when Rio planted himself in the other man’s path.

“She’s not alone,” Rio snapped.

Then he was moving, following up
his advantage, his fists flying even as his steel-toe connected with the
driver’s groin and knocked the man off the still moving vehicle. He followed
with an elbow to the throat, snapping the man’s head back with the palm of his
other hand.
And… out for the count
.

He removed the man from the
ATV—okay, he launched the unconscious body at the second driver because
he was working with what he had—and took a second to enjoy the satisfying
thump. The second driver was following too hard and fast on his companion’s
heels and, sure enough, he ran the unlucky bastard over.

The second guard kept right on
aiming for them though, clearly unconcerned that he might have injured his
co-worker. No, he simply yanked the AR-15 from his shoulder and sighted. Of
course. This situation wasn’t ending in anything but violence. This wasn’t a
street mugging where handing over his wallet and cell phone would send the
assailant on his way. No, these guys wanted Gia dead because she was the
eyewitness to their illegal shit.

Before the gun’s muzzle could
finish its lazy upward arc, Rio launched himself at the man, straddling the ATV’s
front and pinning the gun between their bodies. Uncle Sam hadn’t trained any
fools.

Although the idiot on the ATV
hadn’t come to that conclusion yet.

“Hands up, dumb ass.” The guard
stood up on ATV, confidently leveling weapon at Rio like having chambered
rounds made him the man in control of the situation.
Mistake
. The bastard should have pointed the weapon at Gia, because
then Rio would have had far fewer options. Instead, he now had a personal
invitation to move.

Redirect.

“Don’t mind if I do.” He drove his
left hand up, knocking the gun aside. The guard never saw it coming.

Control.

Wrapping his hand around other
man’s wrist, Rio drove the arm aiming the gun away and down until the muzzle
aimed at forest floor.

Attack.

He punched his right hand into the
guard’s jaw repeatedly. This old dog remembered his tricks. Too bad for grower
boy, but Rio was taking Gia out of here and the only people getting hurt today
were the bad guys.

Take
away.

He twisted the wrist pinned between
his fingers. He heard bone snap as the guy’s eyes rolled back in his suddenly
white face.
Two down.
Dragging the
gun strap over the unconscious man’s head, he shoved the bastard off the ATV
and killed the engine.

And
looked up. Gia stared down at him like she’d never seen him before in her life.
Which was ridiculous—they’d spent the better part of the summer together
and then she’d seen
all
of him that
day in her truck. Going Rambo on the guards hadn’t been his first
choice—it had been his only choice. Surely, she got that. Understood that
this violence was for her, because he wasn’t letting her get hurt any more on
his watch.

She flopped down, like her muscles
weren’t up to holding her any more. He took a cautious step toward her, pretending
he didn’t notice when his boot caught one of the downed men in the ribs. No
complaint from the fallen, so the guy was still out for the count. Perfect. Gia’s
short hair was tussled and standing on end. A pink flush stained her cheeks and
her chest rose and fell like some kind of fucking hummingbird’s wings. Hell.
Had he scared her? Because he hadn’t known it was possible to scare his
tough-as-nails Gia.

He opened his mouth to say
something—although he really had no idea what—when the third ATV
roared to a halt at the edge of their clearing.

Gia’s eyes shot straight to the
newcomer just yards away from her. They both knew she was face-to-face with Mr.
Death right there.

Hoping like hell the AR-15 had a
full cartridge, he flipped off the safety and got his finger on the trigger.
“I’m not in the mood for party crashers.”

The newcomer’s head swiveled toward
him—followed by a gun. Which just figured. Nothing about today could
possibly be easy. But then the man threw the ATV in reverse and started beating
a hasty ass retreat back down the path.

Thanks to the nondescript baseball cap crammed low over the man’s
face, Rio couldn’t get a good look at the face beneath the visor, although he
had a sinking feeling that Gia had. She’d been ringside for this guy’s arrival.
Otherwise, the man pretty much lacked distinguishing features. A white
Caucasian who stood maybe five foot eleven with a solid build and sported a
sun-faded L.A. Dodgers T-shirt and faded cargo pants. The army-issue boots
could have been a surplus store purchase or a bad, bad sign if someone’s
military was in play here. In short, there was no fucking way Rio picked this
guy out of a line up.

He watched the back of the man’s shirt disappearing down the trail
and he still had time to pull the trigger. He could get off a shot or several
and he’d likely hit his target. But, shit, he’d promised Jack. No more guns. Not
unless it was life or death.

And
this wasn’t life and death.

Not
quite.

Not
yet.

The
third ATV disappeared down the trail, home free.

###

Holy. Shit. Gia got busy with her
utility knife while Rio’s back was still to her. Was he even the same man she’d
jumped with just this morning? Because she really didn’t recognize this version
of Rio. On the outside, he was still hotter than hell, the same sensual,
dark-eyed bad boy she’d pretty much attacked in her truck and then again today…
but this new Rio 2.0 had a lethal edge she didn’t want to tangle with.

Hanging around waiting for Rio to
notice her had never seemed like a worse idea. Whatever, whoever Rio Donovan
was, Gia realized, he was far more than a brawny M.I.T. programmer. He jogged
down the path after the retreating ATV and she did
not
want to think about how comfortably he handled the automatic
rifle he’d snagged from one of the growers. He wielded the gun as confidently
she did a tooth brush.

The wire snapped.

She hit the ground and not in a
graceful landing either—more of a splat-on-her-back plant on the ground.
The air whooshed out of her lungs and for a long minute she concentrated on
breathing.

Because breathing
was important.

Unfortunately, as soon as her brain
was satisfied with the oxygen levels in her body, sensation returned to her
ankle with a vengeance and it was every bit as bad as she’d feared. Her hands
fluttering over the ankle, not sure if pressing down would help or just make
her holler. She didn’t need an M.D. after her name to know she was absolutely
not one hundred percent okay. Running wasn’t in her playbook.

Neither, she suspected, was walking.

Damn it.

The universe had terrible timing.
Her heartbeat picked up, slamming into overdrive. She took a moment—after
all, Rio clearly had matters under control in the fight-to-the-death
arena—and let her head hit her knees. Breathed in and out for a count of
twenty. Was it just this morning she’d left base camp and boarded the DC-3 for
what should have been an adrenaline-pumping typical day at work? Because there was nothing typical about this day so far.

Absolutely nothing.

Rio loomed over and that small
shock sent her heart into overtime again. How had she never noticed how
silently he moved? Like a big cat. The kind with four-inch
canines and a taste for raw meat.

“Hey.” He crouched beside her,
reaching for her ankle to unwind the wire.