Under Fire Page 22

  He jerked his gaze to her, his eyes blazing. “Are you crazy? Hell, no!”

  “This is the FBI…” the God-voice came again.

  Kenny lurched from the chair and stalked out of the room. In the direction of the back door.

  A spotlight came through the window. The rustling of branches outside as the chopper dropped lower. She could feel the muzzles aimed at her. A sixth sense she’d discovered in ’Nam.

  She closed her eyes and waited.

  “Stop! FBI!”

  Gunshots rang outside.

  Kenny. God, no. Oh, Kenny…

  Tears prickled her eyes. A commotion ensued outside. Running feet. Shouts. The bark of commands from the megaphone on the chopper.

  Then the front door crashed open. Two men in dark jackets burst in. Rifles poised, sweeping the room, ready to fire.

  The rifles zeroed in on her and froze.

  Shoot me. End this suffering.

  “She’s been shot.” One of the men ran to her. Checked her for weapons while the second man kept his gun trained on her.

  “Where’s the girl?” the second man asked. “Where’s Emily McKay?”

  “G-gone.”

  The men exchanged a quick hard look.

  “Gone? As in dead? Did you bastards kill her?” The man with his weapon on her stepped closer.

  Hatred for these men who’d shot at Kenny, who’d called her names and assumed she could harm Emily fired in her blood. But for Emily, so that they’d look for her, save her, Cara struggled for a breath. Her lungs burned, but she forced the words. “Ran…away.”

  The agent frisking her stilled. “She escaped?”

  Cara moved her head slightly. Closed her eyes. Yes.

  “She’s out on the mountain? In the woods? By herself?” the second man asked.

  “Yes,” Cara said, though it sounded more like a hiss, a sigh.

  “She’s not armed.” Finished with his search, the first man sat back on his heels. “Doesn’t look like she’s got the strength to shoot even if she did. Judging from the blood on the floor, she took her bullet a good while ago.” He gently probed her wound. “Looks like someone tried to stop the bleeding with this towel, and there’s a plug of something—cotton maybe—in the bullet hole. Probably what’s kept her alive.”

  They were talking about her as if she weren’t there, as if she were already dead. Cara wanted to lash out at them, but barely had the energy to inhale.

  The second man moved to the door and shouted, “We need a medic and a stretcher in here!”

  “Fff-” Cara tried to make her mouth, her throat cooperate.

  “What is it?” The first man was checking her wound, but leaned closer when she spoke.

  “Fff…fiiiind…”

  “Find? Find what?”

  Two more men came through the door. The stretcher they carried banged the door frame as they entered.

  She held the first man’s dark gaze, desperate to convey her plea before the others pushed this man aside to administer first aid. She didn’t matter. Her life was over. But Emily…

  “Fffinnn-d…hhher.”

  “Find her. Find Emily?”

  Cara closed her eyes. A tear leaked from her eye. Yes.

  She was jostled. Lifted. Poked with needles.

  Foolish men. She was dying. They needed to be looking for Emily.

  “Fffiinnd hhh—”

  A warm hand closed on her wrist. “We’ll find her, ma’am. I promise.”

  “Rescue Two to Command. Come in.”

  Jackson’s stomach tightened. His head pounded so hard he felt like it might explode. He stopped pacing and faced the radio.

  Tarver stepped to the mic. “This is Command. Go ahead.”

  “We’ve apprehended two suspects. A white male tried to flee and was shot in the calf before being subdued by our agents. A white female was found inside the cabin with a GSW in the upper chest near her left shoulder. She’s critical. We’re transporting both to the hospital in Idaho Falls.”

  “Roger that, Rescue Two. What about the little girl?”

  There was radio silence for a moment. Jackson held his breath, his heart in his throat. He said a dozen prayers in the space of a few, endless seconds.

  “Negative.” Static blasted from radio.

  Icy horror filled Jackson’s veins. His vision blurred, dimmed. He swayed into the nearest metal chair.

  “Rescue Two, repeat. Do you have Emily McKay or not? Over.”

  “No, sir. She’s not here.”

  Tarver glanced back at Jackson with an apology in his eyes.

  A vice grip of anguish ripped through Jackson’s chest. Blood roared in his ears. “Oh God. Oh God, no! Noooooo!”

  At some level, he noticed the firm hand Billows placed on his shoulder, but when the voice came back over the radio he locked in on his only link to the mountain cabin. Information. Emily.

  “The woman says the little girl escaped. Over.”

  Jackson’s heart stilled. A thousand thoughts scrambled through his brain as he tried to process this turn of events.

  How? When? Was she hurt? How did they find her? What did this mean? What about the fire?

  “Stay positive,” he muttered under his breath. Damn, but he wished Lauren was here now. He needed her optimism, her level-headed thinking. He needed to hold her.

  He needed to hold Emily.

  “Are they going to look for her?” Jackson asked, his voice hoarse.

  Tarver motioned for him to be quiet, to sit still.

  “Rescue Two, do we know when the little girl was last seen or what she was wearing?”

  “The woman’s too weak to be much help, and the other suspect’s not cooperating. Rescue One’s already started a preliminary search, but we’ll need more people up here. Maybe some dogs.”

  “We’ll set it up,” Tarver replied. “Over and out.”

  Tarver sent a look to Billows, and the sheriff rallied to action. “I’m on it.”

  Jackson couldn’t breathe. He felt sick to his stomach, sick at heart. Where was Emily?

  Whitefeather’s day started early, before the sun was fully up. A thumping like the beat of a heart seeped into his sleep, rousing him to the chilly morning.

  He rubbed his eyes and checked their campsite for evidence an animal was raiding the last food in the PG bag. But no little thieves were out this morning.

  The scent of smoke hung in the air. A thin veil of yellow-gray haze tinged the sky, evidence that the wildfire had caught up with them. He sighed heavily. If help didn’t come soon, they’d have to move again. He wasn’t sure Boomer was up to it.

  Emily huddled against him, shivering. The campfire had fizzled out over night, and reviving it was first on his to-do list. Boomer and Emily needed the heat.

  As Whitefeather eased away from the little girl, with a glance toward Boomer, he heard the low thrum again. And recognized the sound this time.

  A chopper.

  Rescue. At last.

  He finished untangling himself from Emily with haste and considered how to signal the search helicopter.

  Boomer stirred, turned his head toward Whitefeather. Jake Randolf’s eyes were dim but held a hopefulness that sliced through Whitefeather with a dull edge. His friend’s face seemed more drawn, significantly paler this morning. The man was fading fast. If he didn’t get help soon…

  Shit.

  “Birdman?” A small voice. Emily.

  Whitefeather looked up, hoping like hell he hadn’t said the obscenity out loud. For a moment, he’d forgotten about the girl.

  “It’s okay, little one. Help is on the way.”

  “I’m going with you,” Jackson told Billows in a tone that brooked no resistance. “I can search that mountain as good as anyone else, and I won’t sit here a minute longer while my daughter is up there alone. Lost.”

  The waiting was driving him berserk.

  Billows glanced at Tarver. Tarver gave a tight nod.

  “All right then,” Bill
ows said. “Grab a supply pack and a radio, and let’s go.”

  Jackson didn’t have to be told twice.

  Whitefeather had Emily gathering all their things into the PG bag while he stoked the fire. Perhaps the chopper would see the flames, the column of smoke through the cover of the trees. He knew the haze from the wildfire would obscure the searchers’ view, and they needed a few aces in their hand. He tied his white shirt to a stick and tucked it in the waistband of his pants.

  “Emily, you stay here and take care of Boomer. I’m going to try to climb that tree and flag down the helicopter when it comes by. Okay?”

  Emily looked up the tall ponderosa pine he indicated and wrinkled her nose. Her cough was worse, despite the inhaler and the mullein tea. The extra smoke was clearly aggravating her asthma.

  “How are you gonna climb that?”

  He winked. “I’ll show you.”

  Whitefeather pulled his letdown rope and gloves from the pocket of the PG bag where he’d stashed them and swung the rope over a large branch. Using the procedure he knew by rote for retrieving hung cargo or parachute canopies from trees, he climbed the pine, until at last he had a view of the sky from the top branches. He waved down at Emily. “Like that!”

  She clapped and cheered. “Birdman, you’re better than Spiderman!”

  Whitefeather laughed then raised his head when he heard an approaching drone.

  “Keep trying!” Lauren shouted over the helicopter noise. “If the repeater’s back up then we should be able to get Birdman on his radio.”

  The look Giles shot her argued with her logic, but she ignored him. She wouldn’t give up. She hadn’t made it on the smokejumping team by quitting when she failed.

  “We need to know where he is, where to look,” she persisted.

  “I’m well aware of that, sweetheart,” the pilot said irritably.

  She gritted her teeth and bit back a retort to the sweetheart moniker. When Giles flashed a knowing grin, she gave him a deadly glare.

  “Whitefeather, do you read me? Over,” Giles said.

  Lauren watched the terrain that passed beneath them. Scanning. Scanning again. On the horizon, she saw the wildfire cresting the mountain ridge. The fire was still surprisingly small, probably due to the rain they’d received, the cool snap over night. And just plain dumb luck.

  Still, the fire had to be contained.

  “BLM smokejumpers, come in.” Dean Young was on the handheld radio now.

  Beneath them, something caught her eye. In the trees. A flash of white. “Over there! What’s that?”

  “Hard to say,” the pilot said and swung the chopper around, dipping low toward the trees. “Let’s take a closer look.”

  Lauren pressed her nose to the window, squinting to see better through the layer of drifting smoke. “That’s him! That’s Birdman!”

  “Birdman?” Young chuckled. “Judging from that name, I’d say this isn’t the first time he’s been up a tree.”

  “Sorry, but no. He got his name for the way he flies.”

  “Flies?”

  “When he jumps,” Lauren said. “He’s amazing. He can land anywhere he wants.” She held out her hand. “Let me try the radio.”

  Young passed it to her, and she held it close to her mouth. “Birdman, do you copy? We have you in sight. Over.”

  When there was no response, she leaned forward and yelled to the pilot and Dean. “Can we lower a radio to him?”

  The pilot jerked a nod, and in minutes, Dean had attached his handheld radio to a wire. They circled low over the tree where Birdman waited and eased the two-way radio to him.

  Whitefeather snagged it, waved, and soon a burst of static sounded through the helicopter radio.

  Lauren grabbed the headset from Giles. “Birdman, it’s Lauren. Do you copy?”

  “I copy, Mike. Damn is that chopper a sight for sore eyes!” Whitefeather answered.

  A tiny knot of tension loosened when she got him on the radio. “Where’s Boomer? How is he?”

  “Down below. He’s critical, Mike. We’ll need to get him straight to the hospital. You folks have a litter, don’t you?”

  “Affirmative,” the pilot said into his lip mic. “We’ll get the injured man up first. I’m gonna send a man down to get him strapped in, but I need more room to negotiate. I can’t get the cable tangled in these trees.”

  Lauren chewed her lip. “What about up there?”

  The pilot turned to look the direction she pointed. “I think that’ll work. It’ll be tricky, but we don’t have many other options.”

  “Birdman, do you see the gap in the trees about two hundred yards northwest?”

  She saw Whitefeather crane his neck to look. “Roger that. I’ll move Boomer up there. Over.”

  “When he comes down,” the pilot said, “my guy will have a harness for you to put on while we lift the injured man. Over.”

  “Roger that. Hey, Mike, you still there?” Whitefeather asked.

  “Right here. Over.”

  “Is McKay with you?”

  Her pulse tripped just hearing his name. “No. Why?”

  “I have Emily. Over.”

  Lauren sat back in her seat, stunned. “What?”

  “His little girl. Emily is with us. She’s safe, but she needs oxygen. Her asthma is giving her fits.”

  Emily. Holy hell. She had to get word to Jackson. He had to be going freaking mad not knowing where she was, probably assuming the worst.

  She grabbed Young’s arm. “What channel was the FBI using? Can you patch us in to them? Or to the sheriff’s office?”

  “I can try.”

  “Do it. I have to let Jackson know his daughter is safe.”

  Giles moved toward the front of the helicopter. “Let me. You have rescue work to do.”

  Giles and Young swapped seats, and the search and rescue volunteer made his preparations to be lowered from the chopper by a steel cable.

  And she thought she had a dangerous job…

  She divided her attention between Birdman, who disappeared from view as he let himself down the pine, and Giles, who fiddled with the radio trying to reach the sheriff’s office.

  Young moved into the open side door of the helicopter and readied the wire basket litter that would bring Boomer aboard. “After we get Boomer up, the girl will be next. I’ll bring her up. Then Whitefeather.”

  Lauren nodded. Her heart was thundering so loud, she wondered if the men could hear it over the spinning rotors.

  The few minutes that passed as Whitefeather moved Boomer to the opening in the trees, as Young rappelled to the ground and as Giles helped her pull Boomer up to the chopper felt like an eternity.

  “Boomer?” She moved to the edge of the wire basket, but Boomer was unresponsive. A fist of dread grabbed her, squeezing her chest. Please, Boom. Hold on just a little longer.

  Giles pushed her aside, began hooking Boomer to intravenous fluids, checking his pupils.

  Tearing her attention from Boomer, she gave Giles room to work and glanced tentatively out the side door. Her heart gave a knock seeing how far down the ground was. She wrapped a sweaty hand around the edge of the nearest seat.

  Then a small, blonde-haired child stepped out of the woods, holding Whitefeather’s hand. Jackson’s daughter.

  When Young had Emily hooked in a harness and fastened to the cable with him, he gave the thumbs up. Lauren started pulling them up by the winch system in the chopper. Closer, closer.

  She wiped her palms on her pants, eager to get Emily safely inside the helicopter and wrap her in a hug.

  Young and the wide-eyed little girl finally appeared in the door. Lauren helped get them inside and unhooked the cable from the carabiner on their harness.

  “Your turn, Birdman,” Young said into the radio then tossed the cable out for Whitefeather. “Just like I showed you.”

  “Roger that. Save me a seat!” Birdman answered.

  Lauren drank in the sight of Jackson’s daughter. Her ripp
ed and soiled nightgown, tangled blonde hair, large brown eyes. Jackson’s eyes. Tender emotions swelled in her chest.

  “You’re Emily?” she asked the trembling girl.

  The child faced her and nodded, tears puddled in her eyes.

  Lauren smiled, feeling a lump in her own throat. “My name’s Lauren. I’m a friend of these guys. And of your dad. He’s been really worried about you.” She stroked the girl’s damp cheek.

  “Where is my dad? Is he okay?” Emily said, barely loud enough to be heard over the helicopter turbines.

  “He’s going to be great as soon as he sees that you’re okay. He sent a hug for you. Can I give it to you?”

  Emily’s cheek twitched, the corner of her mouth lifting, then she stepped into Lauren’s arms.

  Lauren closed her eyes, clung to the little girl, and her own tears spilled down her face.

  I have her, Jackson. I have her.

  “Sheriff Billows, come in. This is Command,” Tarver’s voice blasted over the radio in the sheriff’s car.

  Jackson tensed. Every new radio call seemed to bring worse news than before.

  Billows picked up the hand mike. “Billows here. Go ahead.”

  “I have someone on the line for Dr. McKay. Over.”

  Jackson took the radio mike from Billows. “This is McKay.”

  “Jackson? It’s Lauren. Are you there?”

  His pulse leaped at the sound of Lauren’s voice. Immediately his gut twisted in fear. He heard the tears in her voice, the deep emotion, even through the crackle of static.

  Oh God. Now what?

  “Lauren, what’s wrong? What’s happened?” He could barely get his voice to work.

  A film of perspiration beaded on his brow, on his upper lip.

  “I have Emily, Jackson. She’s with us, and she’s going to be all right. Over.”

  Jackson stared at the radio mike, not certain he’d heard correctly. But a surge of relief, of joy, of sheer exhaustion swept through him with the power of a hurricane. His head fell back against the seat, and he expelled a shuddering breath.

  “Jackson, did you hear me? I have Emily. She’s okay!”

  He had to clear his throat before he could speak. “I—I heard you. I—”