Hot Zone (24 page)

“She’s dead. The baby she had with her is still on the island, with the military nurse in custody for questioning.”

All the pieces fell into place, neatly tied up in his mind. The nightmare was past and Amelia was safe. “It’s finally over then.”

She placed her hand on his chest, on his heart. “Actually, I was hoping that this is actually the beginning for us.”

Hoping his knocked-around brain wasn’t playing tricks on him, he said, “You’ll need to spell that out a little more for me. I’m still kinda thick from the blow to the head and I wouldn’t want to misunderstand.”

“I believe we shared something very special this past week and I don’t want to lose that.” She stared back at him with those beautiful cornflower blue eyes that had so captivated him from the start. “We may not have known each other long, but it’s long enough for me to be absolutely certain that I love you, Hugh Franco. What’s more, I’m
in
love with you, so much so, you’ve filled my heart and life in ways I never even imagined was possible.”

His hand fell to rest on top of hers and he wished he could hold her. He let the words sink into him and settle, his future coming into focus again for the first time in five years.

“You do have a way with words, madam lawyer.” He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles, lingering before putting her hand back on his chest. He wanted to do more, but aside from being strapped to a litter, they had a cargo hold full of people around them. “I want to see you again after we get back to the States.”

“See me?” Her fingers drew small circles on his chest.

“Date you, be your boyfriend, buy you flowers and candy, take you on dates.” Give her all the romance there hadn’t been time for while they were on the run. Let her know how much he treasured the gift of having her in his life.

“I like the sound of that very much.” She leaned forward, her hair draping over him and offering a silken curtain of privacy as her mouth met his.

This kiss wasn’t as long or frenzied as others they’d shared, but the ease with which they came together, the way they connected… He was a lucky man.

“I love you, Amelia Bailey,” he said against her lips.

And he looked forward to showing her just how much every day, for the rest of his life.

Four months later

The world had opened up for Amelia. Literally.

She stood alongside Hugh as he pushed wide the French doors leading to the balcony of the beach condo. Gasping, she took in the incredible ocean view. The Gulf of Mexico spread out in front of her from the home Hugh was considering buying.

He was relocating.

For her.

“Hugh? Is this place for real?” She stepped to the white railing overlooking a beach with pristine white sand. The place was a corner unit, townhouse style with three bedrooms and even a little dock slip of its own.

“As real as it gets.” He tucked an arm around her shoulders. “I take it you’re giving the place a thumbs-up?”

“Definitely, two thumbs-up.” That he was consulting her on his home purchase spoke of just how much he’d committed to their relationship too.

So much had happened for them in four short months. But then her whole life had changed in those first days with Hugh, so that now she couldn’t imagine her life without him.

Once they’d returned from the Bahamas, Hugh had been put on medical leave to recover from his broken ankle. Thank God his injuries hadn’t been any worse. Amelia had taken vacation as well to play nurse at his southern Florida base—and make the most of his time off to be together in his place and then go to hers. She’d been dreading his return to work, so far away, with even longer deployments looming.

But he’d surprised her on that last day of his leave, telling her that Major McCabe had helped pull some strings to get Hugh a transfer to a base in northern Florida. Hugh would be stepping out of the field for at least two or three years to teach newbie incoming pararescuemen at the Air Force Combat Diver School—located in Panama City, Florida. It was closer to Alabama. Closer to her. And with less time away.

She’d started job hunting in Panama City the next day and accepted a position the next week.

Sliding in front of him and leaning back against his chest, she soaked up the late-day Florida sun, the beauty of a seagull dipping along the rolling shore. His arms slipped around her with an ease that both calmed and excited her.

She tipped her face into the sea breeze, watching sailboats and jet skis on the horizon. “What a peaceful place to end the workday, having supper out here on the balcony.”

“When I saw the place, the first thing I thought of was sitting out here with you, my guitar, a bottle of beer—”

“—a glass of wine.”

“Together.” His chin rested on top of her head.

“I still can’t believe you came out of the field for me.” That he would make such a life change to help them be together touched her. Deeply.

“The decision wasn’t as tough as I thought it would be. I realized I’d been working too close to the edge. You helped me see that. And here? I figure that makes me the right kind of instructor to teach students how to make that distinction between laying it all on the line and being so reckless you endanger others.”

“You’re a good man, Hugh. They’re going to learn a lot from you.” She folded her hands over his on her stomach. “I would have moved farther for you.” As much as it would have hurt to be far from her brother and his family, she knew her future was with Hugh.

“Thanks”—he dropped a tender kiss on her forehead—“but this is where we’re supposed to be.”

“I agree.” So easily they both already spoke of the future together. Things may have started off tough for them, but the love part? They were in total sync on that.

“Besides, I enjoy seeing you spoil Joshua rotten. You’ve taken well to the role of indulgent aunt.”

Hugh took part in quite a bit of that spoiling. There were still times shadows crossed his eyes when he looked at her nephew—or any child, for that matter—and she knew he was thinking about his daughter. But she also saw he wasn’t letting that stop him from enjoying Joshua.

News of Lisabeth’s pregnancy had caught her by surprise, but Amelia had done her best to ensure any postadoption paperwork proceeded smoothly. Aiden and Lisabeth had been tapping into every support line imaginable to help Joshua bond securely, and they had additional counseling help in place for any contingency after the baby was born.

Everything was being done by the book. Jocelyn Pearson-Stewart had shown them too well how playing fast and loose with the rules could wreck precious lives.

Authorities in the Bahamas and the States were still threading through the tangled mess by cutting deals with Courtney, Erin, and the military nurse, Lieutenant Gable, in exchange for information. So far, two young children had been rescued from a transaction Oliver had overseen. Amelia shuddered to think what could have happened if they’d been lost forever in the abyss of a child-prostitution ring.

She shivered and Hugh’s arms wrapped tighter around her.

“Do you want to go inside?” His deep voice vibrated against her back.

“Let’s stay here a while longer, if the real-estate agent isn’t in a hurry.”

“Actually, I convinced her to have coffee across the street. We’re free to hang out a while longer.” He ducked around in front of her, leaning against the rail. “I was hoping we could talk.”

His green eyes went serious, crinkles at the sides fanning out. Her stomach flipped as hard and fast as a fish flopping in the distance.

“Okay, is there some kind of problem?” She smoothed the collar of his camo—he’d come straight over from work.

“I was thinking, since your stuff is still in storage, you might consider moving it here rather than searching for another place.”

Surprise stilled her. She’d been so careful to give Hugh time and space in the their relationship that she hadn’t been fully prepared for this moment. She’d told herself she was fine living separately. Taking it slow. But—wow. The thought of being with him full time grabbed hold of her heart.

“You’re asking me to move in with you?”

“That’s part of why I wanted to make sure the place met with your approval before I bought it.”

Nerves—and excitement—kicked up her pulse. “And the other reason?”

Holding on to the rail, he dropped to one knee in front of her. Her stomach dropped right along with him. There was no mistaking his intent.

He pulled his hand from his pocket, holding a small black-velvet jeweler’s box. “Amelia, will you marry me?”

Such simple words, but the feeling behind them, the emotion in his eyes and in his voice, was so far from simple, it humbled her. This complex man who had every reason to fear risking love again was giving himself, his heart, his future to her.

She sank to her knees, clasping both of her hands over his. “Of course, I will—move in, marry you, spend the rest of my life loving you.”

Hauling her to his chest, he hugged her hard and close, whispering “Thank God” against her hair with so much relief she couldn’t help but be moved. Then he kissed her or she kissed him. They moved so fluidly together it didn’t matter. The way he turned her inside out with a touch, a stroke, the glide of his mouth along her lips… her skin tingled, the heat radiating inward and rivaling anything that sun could crank out.

He eased her to her feet again, ending the kiss with a final brush across her lips. “I do have a ring here.”

He creaked open the velvet box to reveal…

She clapped a hand over her mouth.

A marquise-cut diamond of orangey pink hue, in a platinum setting with white diamonds on either side, refracted rays from the setting sun. “It was my mom’s. It’s never been worn by anyone but her. She passed away a couple of years ago. I would like you to wear it. I want you to marry me, be the mother of my children…” He paused, a long swallow working down his neck, hinting at just how big a risk he was taking here, offering up his heart again. “And God willing, should we be so fortunate, I’d like you to grow very old with me.”

Too choked up to speak, she simply held out her left hand. And it didn’t so much as tremble. She was that sure of her love for Hugh, that sure of how well they fit together.

He slipped the ring in place and pulled her hand back to his heart. “I understand that this is all happening fast, and if you need a long engagement, I’m okay with that. But I can’t just date and pretend we’re testing the waters when I know that you’re the only woman I want to be with. I know that’s not romantically poetic—”

“Shhh…” She placed her fingers over his mouth, unable to resist staring at the ring on her finger. “I understand what you mean, I understand you. And your proposal is wonderfully romantic and perfect in every way.”

“Ooh-rah!” he whooped, scooping her into his arms. “I think it’s time to sign the paperwork on this place so we can start celebrating back at the hotel.”

“I’m hoping our celebration will be clothing optional?” She looped her arms around his neck.

“Damn straight.”

His green eyes glinted with a heated promise as Hugh carried her over the threshold into their first home and into their future together.

It was a cold day in hell for Tech Sergeant Wade Rocha—standard ops for a mission in Alaska.

He slammed the side of the icy crevasse on Mount McKinley. A seemingly bottomless crevasse. That made it all the more pressing to anchor his ax again ASAP. Except both of his spikes clanked against his sides while the underworld waited in an alabaster swirl of nothingness as he pinwheeled on a lone cable.

Wade scratched and clawed with his gloved hands, kicked with his spiked shoes, reaching for anything. The tiniest of toeholds on the slick surface would be good right about now. Sure he was roped to his climbing partner. But they had the added load of an injured woman strapped to a stretcher beneath them. He needed to carry his own weight.

Chunks of ice and snow pelted his helmet. The unstable gorge walls vibrated under his gloved hands.

“Breathe and relax, buddy.” His headset buzzed with reassurance from his climbing partner, Hugh “Slow Hand” Franco.

Right.

Hold tight.

Think.

Focus narrowed, Wade tightened his grip on his rope. He’d earned his nickname, Brick, by being the most hardheaded guy in their rescue squadron. Come hell or high water, he never gave up.

Each steady breath crackled with ice shards in his lungs, but his oxygen-starved body welcomed every atom of air. Lightning fast, he grabbed the line tying them together and worked the belay device.

Whirrr, whippp.
The rope zinged through. Wade slipped closer, closer still, to Franco, ten feet below.

“Oof.” He jerked to a halt.

“I got ya, Brick. I got ya,” Franco chanted through the headset. Intense. Edgy. Nothing was out of bounds. Franco would die before he let him fall. “It’s just physics that makes this thing work. Don’t overthink it.”

And it did work. Wade stabilized against the icy wall again. Relief trickled down his spine in frosty beads of sweat.

He keyed up his microphone. “All steady, Slow Hand.”

“Good. Now do you wanna stop horsing around, pal?” Franco razzed, sarcastic as ever. “I’d like to get back before sundown. My toes are cold.”

Wade let a laugh loosen the tension kinking up his gut. “Sorry I inconvenienced you by almost dying there. I’ll try not to do it again. I’ll even spring for a pedicure, if you’re worried about your delicate feet chafing from frostbite.”

“Appreciate that.” Franco’s labored breath and hoarse chuckle filled the headset.

“Hey, Franco? Thanks for saving my ass.”

“Roger that, Brick. You’ve done the same for me.”

And he had. Not that they kept score. Wade recognized the chitchat for what it really was—Franco checking to make sure he wasn’t suffering from altitude sickness due to their fifteen thousand foot perch. They worked overtime to acclimate themselves, but the lurking beast could still strike even the most seasoned climber without warning. They’d already lost one of their team members last month to HACE—high altitude cerebral edema.

He shook his head to clear it. Damn it, his mind was wandering. Not good. He eyed the ledge a mere twenty feet up. Felt like a mile. He slammed an ice ax in with his left hand, pulled, hauled, strained, then slapped the right one in a few inches higher. Crampons—ice cleats—gained traction on the sleek side of the narrow ravine as he inched his way upward.

Slow. Steady. Patient. Mountain rescue couldn’t be rushed. At least April gave them a few more daylight hours. Not that he could see much anyway, with eighty-mile-per-hour wind creating whiteout conditions. Below, his climbing partner was a barely discernible blur.

Hand over hand. Spike. Haul. Spike. Haul. He clipped his safety rope into a spike they had anchored in the rock on the way down. Scaled one step at a time. Forgot about the biting wind. The ball-numbing cold.

The ever-present risk of avalanche.

His arms bulged, the burden strapped to his harness growing heavier.
Remember the mission. Bring up an unconscious female climber. Strapped to a litter. Compound fracture in her leg.

His job as a pararescueman in the United States Air Force included medic training. Land, sea, or mountain, military missions or civilian rescue. With his brothers in arms, he walked, talked, and breathed their motto, “That Others May Live.”

That people like his mother might live.

Muscles burning, he focused upward into the growl of the storm and the hovering military helicopter. A few more feet and he could hook the litter to the MH-60. Rotors
chop, chop, chopped
through the sheets of snow like a blender.

The crevasse was too narrow to risk lowering a swaying cable. Just one swipe against the narrow walls of ice could collapse the chasm into itself. On top of the injured climber and Franco.

On top of him.

So it was up to
him
—and his climbing partner—to pull the wounded woman out. Once clear, the helicopter would land if conditions permitted. And if not, they could use the cable then to raise her into the waiting chopper.

Wind slammed him again like a frozen Mack truck. He fought back the cold-induced mental fog. At least when Hermes went subterranean to rescue Persephone from the underworld, he had some flames to toast his toes.

Wade keyed his microphone again to talk to the helicopter orbiting overhead. “Fever”—he called the mission code name—“we’re about five minutes from the top.”

Five minutes when anything could happen.

“Copy, the wind is really howling. We will hold until you are away from the crevasse.”

“Copy, Fever.”

The rest of his team waited in the chopper. They’d spent most of the day getting a lock on the locale. The climber’s personal locator beacon had malfunctioned off and on. Wade believed in his job, in the motto. He came from five generations of military.

But sometimes on days like this, saving some reckless thrill seeker didn’t sit well when thoughts of people like his mother—wounded by a roadside bomb in Iraq, needing his help—hammered him harder than the ice-covered rocks pummeling his shoulder. How damned frustrating that there hadn’t been a pararescue team near enough—he hadn’t been near enough—to give her medical aid. Now because of her traumatic brain injury, she would live out the rest of her life in a rehab center, staring off into space.

He couldn’t change the past, but by God, he would do everything he could to be there to help someone else’s mother or father, sister or brother, in combat. That could only happen if he finished up his tour in this frozen corner of the world.

As they neared the top, a moan wafted from the litter suspended below him. Stabilizing the rescue basket was dicey. Even so, the groans still caught him by surprise.

The growling chopper overhead competed with the increasing howls of pain from their patient in the basket. God forbid their passenger should decide to give them a real workout by thrashing around.

“Franco, we better get her to the top soon before the echoes cause an avalanche.”

“Picking up the pace.”

Wade anchored the last… swing… of his ax… Ice crumbled away. The edge shaved away in larger and larger chunks.
Crap, move faster
. Pulse slugging, he dug deeper.

And cleared the edge.

Franco’s exhale echoed in his ears. Or maybe it was his own. Resisting the urge to sprawl out and take five right here on the snow-packed ledge, he went on autopilot, working in tandem with Franco.

Climbing ropes whipped through their grip as they hauled the litter away from the edge. Franco handled his end with the nimble guitarist fingers that had earned him the homage of the Clapton nickname, Slow Hand. The immobilized body writhed under the foil Mylar survival blanket, groaning louder. Franco leaned over to whisper something.

Wade huffed into his mic, “Fever, we are ready for pickup. One survivor in stable condition, but coming to, fast and vocal.”

The wind-battered helicopter angled overhead, then righted, lowering, stirring up snow in an increasing storm as the MH-60 landed. Almost home free.

Wade hefted one end, trusting Franco would have the other in sync, and hustled toward the helicopter. His crampons gripped the icy ground with each pounding step. The door of the chopper filled with two familiar faces. From his team. Always there.

With a
whomp
, he slid the metal rescue basket into the waiting hands. He and Franco dove inside just as the MH-60 lifted off with a roar and a cyclone of snow. Rolling to his feet, he clamped hold of a metal hook bolted to the belly of the chopper.

The training exercise was over.

Their “rescue” sat upright fast on the litter, tugging at the restraints. Not in the least female, a hulking male pulled off the splint Wade had strapped on less than a half hour ago.

Wade collapsed against the helicopter wall, exhausted as hell now that he could allow his body to stop. “Major, have you ever considered an acting career? With all that groaning and thrashing about, I thought for sure I was carting around a wounded prima donna.”

Major Liam McCabe, the only officer on their team and a former army ranger, swung his feet to the side of the litter and tossed away the Thinsulate blanket. “Just keeping the exercise real, adding a little color to the day.”

The major tugged on a helmet and hooked into the radio while the rest of his team gaped at him—or rather, gaped at McCabe’s getup. He wore civilian climbing gear—loud, electric yellow, with orange and red flames that contrasted all the more up next to their bland sage green military issue. Laughter rumbled through the helicopter. The garish snow gear had surprised the hell out of him and Franco when they’d reached the bottom of the chasm. They’d expected McCabe, but not an Olympic-worthy ski suit.

McCabe could outpunk Ashton Kutcher. For the most part they welcomed the distraction at the end of a long day. McCabe’s humor was also a needed tension buster for the group when Franco went too far, pushing the envelope.

End game, today’s exercise hadn’t pulled out all the stops for a mountain rescue. Nobody had to parachute in.

Suddenly the major stood upright as he gestured for everyone’s attention. “Helmets on so you can hear the radio.”

Wade snapped into action, plugging in alongside his other five team members, some in seats, Franco kneeling. The major held an overhead handle, boots planted on the deck.

“Copilot,” McCabe’s voice piped through the helmet radio, “have the Rescue Coordination Center repeat that last message.”

“Romeo Charlie Charlie, please repeat for Fever two zero.”

“Fever two zero, this is Romeo Charlie Charlie with a real world tasking.” The center radio controller’s Boston accent filled the airwaves with broad vowels. “We have a request for rescue of a stranded climbing party on Mount Redoubt. Party is four souls stranded by an avalanche. Can you accept the tasking as primary?”

Mount Redoubt? In the Aleutian Islands. The part of Alaska the Russians once called “the place that God forgot.”

The copilot’s click echoed as he responded. “Stand by while we assess.” He switched to interphone for just those onboard the helicopter. “How are you guys back there? You up for it?”

The major eyed the rest of the team, his gaze holding longest on him and Franco, since they’d just hauled his butt off a mountain. His pulse still slugged against his chest. Franco hadn’t stopped panting yet.

But the question didn’t even need to be asked.

Wade shot him a thumbs-up. His body was already shifting to auto again, digging for reserves. Each deep, healing breath sucked in the scent of hydraulic fluid and musty military gear, saturated from missions around the world. He drew in the smells, indulging in his own whacked-out aromatherapy, and found his center.

McCabe nodded silently before keying up his radio again. “We are a go back here, if there’s enough gas on the refueler.”

“Roger, that. We have an HC-130 on radar, orbiting nearby. They say they’re game if we are. They have enough gas onboard to refuel us for about three hours of loiter, topping us off twice if needed.” The copilot switched to open frequency. “Romeo Charlie Charlie, Fever and Crown will accept the tasking.”

“Copy, Fever,” answered their radio pal with a serious Boston accent. “Your new call sign is Lifeguard two zero.”

“Lifeguard two zero wilco.”
Will comply.
The copilot continued, “Romeo Charlie Charlie copies all.”

The radio operator responded, “We are zapping the mission info to you via data link and you have priority handling, cleared on navigation direct to location.”

“Roger.” The helicopter copilot’s voice echoed through Wade’s headset, like guidance coming through that funky aromatherapy haze. “I have received the coordinates for the stranded climbers popped up on a data screen and am punching the location into the navigation system. Major, do you copy all back there?”

“Copy in full.” McCabe was already reaching for his bag of gear to ditch the flame-print suit. “Almost exactly two hundred miles. We’ll have an hour to prep and get suited up.”

McCabe assumed command of the back of the chopper, spelling out the game plan for each team member. He stopped in front of Wade last. “Good news and bad news… and good news. Since you’ve worked the longest day, the rest of the team goes in first. Which means you can rest before the bad-news part.” He passed a parachute pack. “Speaking of which, chute up. Because if we can’t reach someone, you’re jumping in to secure the location and help ride out the storm.”

Apparently they might well have to pull out all the stops after all. “And that second round of good news, sir?”

McCabe smiled, his humor resurfacing for air. “The volcano on Mount Redoubt hasn’t blown in a year, so we’ve got that going for us.”

***

A wolflike snarl cut the thickly howling air.

Kneeling in the snow, Sunny Foster stayed statue-still. Five feet away, fangs flashed, white as piercing icicles glinting through the dusky evening sunset.

Nerves prickled her skin, covered with four layers of clothes and snow gear, even though she knew large predators weren’t supposed to live at this elevation. But still… She swept her hood back slowly, momentarily sacrificing warmth for better hearing. The wind growled as loudly as the beast crouching in front of her.