6

HE JUST WANTED TO PUNCH SOMETHING.

Pete sat at the edge of the metal bench in the county lockup, his head in his hands, watching the dawn wax blood-red shadows over the cement floor.

His body buzzed with fatigue, and just under his skin a shout kept building, a rush of heat and fury. And yes, he’d like to hit something very, very hard.

Like perhaps Felipe St. Augustine.

Or even his brother Sam.

Resisting arrest? Thanks, bro, for that one—a potential charge that Sam flung at him as Pete headed toward his truck. And two seconds before his uniformed cohorts shoved him against that same truck, cuffing him.

For assault.

A charge thrown at him by Felipe, who gave his statement to the cops right there in the yard. And okay, maybe if Pete hadn’t decided that he had other priorities, things wouldn’t have gotten physical with his own interrogating officer. He wouldn’t have found his face against the hood of a car with accusations of assaulting a police officer being shouted in his ear.

Hello. Said police officer was his own annoying brother.

Pete had just barely escaped the resisting arrest charge but tried to turn his brother to ash with a look as one of Mercy Falls’s finest led him to their cruiser.

Sam stood tight-lipped in the yard, wearing that big brother expression that suggested he knew what was best.

No, what was best was letting Pete follow his hunches, or at least his panic, around Mercy Falls and the surrounding countryside to find the woman he still loved.

Instead, Sam had poked his head into the car and promised to figure out a way to calm everybody down. Which meant Pete cooling off in a nine-by-thirteen cell. He might have preferred padded walls.

“Why isn’t Felipe arrested too?” Pete had shouted after his brother’s retreating back.

Sam ignored him while Felipe accepted Willow’s offer of a towel and let her usher him into Sam’s truck, where they left, no doubt, for the ER.

Pete hoped he’d demolished the man’s nose, left him permanently disfigured.

Okay, maybe not quite that, but close. Because Pete knew he’d never recover from the wounds Felipe had rendered on him.

Especially if Jess ended up seriously wounded or . . . worse.

He got up, hung his hands on the cell bars. “Hey! C’mon, anybody! Sam! I shouldn’t be in here!”

Nothing, and he closed his eyes, leaning his head on the bars, letting the cool metal brace him.

“Take a breath there, Brooks.”

Pete looked up and frowned at the sight of Ian Shaw heading his direction. He wore a Minnesota Twins baseball cap over his dark hair, a T-shirt and jeans, hiking boots and a jacket, as if he planned on a jaunt into the woods.

Pete met his hand through the bars. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard you got a call from Jess early this morning.”

“Late last night, actually. And I didn’t talk to her. She just left a message—and it sounded like she might be in trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“I don’t know. There was a male voice. Shouting. And . . . a crash. Get me out of here, man, and I’ll replay it for you.”

“Working on it,” Ian said, and blew out a breath. “I got a similar voice message from Shae. Screaming. What sounded like a wreck. I didn’t pick it up until a bit ago when I got up and realized she wasn’t home.” He wrapped his hand around the back of his neck. “I know I’m being paranoid. Probably she’s with Ned, although that is an entirely different conversation. However, with Blackburn still missing . . .”

Pete stepped back. “You think Blackburn found her and ran her off the road?”

Ian lifted a shoulder. “But I’m worried. I called Chet, who called Sam, who told me about Jess. I think Shae and Jess must be together. Chet called the rest of the team—they’re coming in to look for them.”

“I have to get out of here.”

Ian nodded. “Okay, so I talked to Sam. Apparently Felipe has filed assault and battery charges.”

“He assaulted me! He should be sitting in the cell beside me!”

“He says you started it. That you pushed him. And he says he’s got some pretty heavyweight lawyers ready to add civil damages, so while you’re probably right, this isn’t going to go your way, Pete.”

Pete backed away from the bars, holding up his hands as if he might like to strangle someone. Blew out a hot breath. “I did not push him. I . . . nudged him. He was in my way.”

Ian gave him a tight nod.

“I gotta talk to him.”

“He’s pretty hot. Sam and Willow brought him back from the hospital. He’s at Jess’s house. He blames you for Jess flying out here.”

Pete closed his eyes against Ian’s words, not wanting to sort them out to find the hope. Or the guilt. “Jess makes her own decisions. Or not, depending on how you look at it. But trust me—I’m not the reason she came back here. I haven’t been her reason for anything for a long time. He might want to take a look closer to home. After all, he’s her fiancé, not me.”

“I’m not engaged.”

Sure looked like it, from his vantage point. Still, the question lingered. Felipe was here because something wasn’t right in Jess-and-Felipe land, and maybe—oh, please—it had something to do with Pete.

He might have said that aloud, because Ian held up his hand. “I’ve talked to Felipe, told him we need your help. He’s agreed to drop the charges, but he has a couple conditions.”

That Pete not murder him immediately? Done.

That Pete find Jess and let them sort this mess out later? Yep, that too.

That Pete walk away and never talk to Jess again? Not a chance.

He folded his arms over his chest. “What conditions?”

“He wants to help us search.”

Pete gritted his jaw, looked away. “He’ll need new shoes.”

Ian looked down, and when Pete glanced at him, he caught Ian’s grin.

“Fine. What else?”

“He wants a public apology. In front of the team, and Jess. Or Selene, as he calls her.”

Pete shook his head, more in disbelief than refusal. “Of course he does.”

“Listen, we all know the story. Who cares?”

“It wasn’t my fault!”

Ian held up his hand. “I get it. And I know you hate taking the blame for something you didn’t do. But suck it up and let’s find Shae and Jess. And probably Ned too.”

Pete shucked his hands down his face. His gut growled, a mix of frustration and hunger. He needed a shower. And coffee like his life depended on it.

Mostly, he needed to talk to Jess.

“Fine.”

“That’s a yes?”

He nodded.

“Okay, sit tight. I’ll be back, hopefully with the keys.”

Pete sank again on the bench, closed his eyes, and listened to Ian’s steps fade.

Please, Jess. Be okay.

Be alive.

I promise, I will find you.

The sunrise could murder them where they sat.

Jess watched the hues of dawn slide into their enclave, the narrow cleft between two looming boulders, and tried to sort out the what-ifs.

What if they stayed here and just hid, waiting for rescue?

Except, no one knew they were missing. Of if they did, how would they ever deduce where they were?

They could run, but a glance at Shae’s face—pale and wan in the gray wax of morning . . .

Jess curled her fingers around Shae’s wrist and found her pulse. Faint, slow, but steady. Shae leaned against Ned, asleep on his chest, the brambles and leaves of their frenetic flight through the woods littered in the tangles of her blonde hair. Jess moved Shae’s jacket to get a closer look at the wound.

Still seeping, just a little, but the blood was mostly dark, old and clotted. The wound was just below her rib cage, as if she’d landed on something hard enough to impale her. Most likely her ribs also took the brunt of the fall. Which meant they might be cracked, with possible internal bleeding. Jess needed to take a look at the skin surrounding the wound and search for bruising.

And then what? Movement would only make it worse.

Ned groaned as he shifted, his head leaning against Shae’s. A handsome man, dark hair, and a dark smattering of whiskers across his chin. Wide shoulders. But how he’d carried Shae through the darkness . . .

Yeah, well, she’d seen the type before, the kind of guy who didn’t think twice about telling a girl to hold on, that he wouldn’t let her go.

Her throat tightened, burned.

“How did you find me?”

She closed her eyes, leaned back into the warmth of Shae, and sank into the memory of Pete in Paris. Let it warm her.

“Really. How did you find me, Pete?”

She sat in the nook of his arm, the lights of Paris glittering in the distance. The sun hadn’t yet set, and streaks of green and blue hovered over the city, the glorious Eiffel Tower alight and sparkling over the spillway of the Seine.

“I looked up the horse race on Google and found out it had been moved this year. Then I took a cab out to Chantilly and asked around for the St. Augustine stables. I walked in like I knew what I was doing, and it wasn’t long before I tracked down your little party. You texted Felipe, right?”

Pete had made her send Felipe a message as soon as they climbed into the car, the responsible rescuer in him not wanting to start a panic in her fiancé.

Maybe. Or perhaps he just wanted to win. He seemed to wear something of a smug smile, and she didn’t want to chase it down, dissect the meaning.

She just wanted to escape into it.

“You’re not mad that I came, are you?” he asked suddenly.

“No—of course not. It’s just . . .” She caught her lip. “Nothing.”

“What?”

“It’s funny how you think Felipe is in love with someone else.” And oh, she probably should have thought long enough to pull those words back. “It’s not a big deal—I mean, of course he might be. I was gone for a long time, and he . . . he should have moved on. It’s just . . .” She lifted a shoulder. “I’m glad. Really glad.”

“Really? Because you don’t sound glad.”

“I just . . . I didn’t want to break his heart.”

Pete didn’t move. Just kept his gaze in hers. “But it’s okay to break mine?”

She took a breath. “No! I—Pete, I . . . listen, I am coming back to you. I am. It’s just . . . I didn’t realize how much my family needs me.”

He touched her face. “And you need them.”

Her eyes burned, and she looked away, leaning into Pete’s touch. “Maybe.” She pulled his hand away but held it. “Thank you for . . . for sending me back here.”

His thumb moved over her hand, but he said nothing. When she looked up, he was staring at her, his jaw tight, so much emotion in his eyes she couldn’t move.

It cost him. The distance, the letting her go and all of it ranged across his face, in his gaze. “I missed you,” he said, his voice low, a little husky. “So much, Jess. And yeah, if you need time, you got it. But . . . and I know this was crazy, coming all the way to Paris, but I had this feeling that if I didn’t . . .” He shook his head, turned away, ran a hand across his chin. “I guess I just wasn’t sure . . .” He took a breath, glanced at her. “I’m not Felipe St. Augustine. I know that. I don’t have fancy horses or the kind of money to jet you off to Paris. I mean, I spent way too much on this stupid suit trying to impress you.”

“It looks good.” She touched the lapel.

“It’s too tight.”

She unbuttoned it. “It fits you perfectly. And no, you’re not Felipe.”

He drew in a breath.

“But I don’t want Felipe.”

He swallowed. “I want to believe that.”

They had entered the city from the east, past the Bastille, along the Rue de Saint-Antoine, turned on the Rue de Rivoli. Pete leaned up as they passed the Hotel de Ville, the nineteenth-century city hall square. “Let us out here.” He glanced at her. “Let’s catch the sunset over the Seine.”

He caught her hand and helped her out of the cab.

Paris turned into a postcard under the glow of the fall colors, crimson and golden leaves littered along the square, the tang of something roasting in a nearby boucherie.

Pete folded her fingers into his. “Tell me about Paris.”

She cupped her other hand around his forearm, felt the sinews there. “I really can’t believe you’re here. I mean—”

“When was the first time you visited Paris?”

“When I was twelve. We came in the spring. My mother made us tour the Louvre for days. If I never see another ancient, naked statue again, it’ll be too soon.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“We went to Versailles too. Room after room of ornate tapestries, scrollwork, and history. My mother made us stop at every exhibit and read every plaque. Ask me anything about Louis the Fifteenth.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah. And then we visited the Bastille, and I learned about the French Revolution and Marie Antoinette.” She pointed toward the Eiffel Tower, rising from across the river. “Napoleon is buried not far from there.”

“Noted.”

“My mother thought it was a sign of good breeding to know history. We also visited Shakespeare and Company, the 1920s bookstore not too far from here.”

He shook his head.

“It’s where Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald hung out.”

He tugged her across a bridge. “How about some ice cream?”

“Always.”

He bought her a single cone, and they wandered around the island of the city, standing for a long moment in front of Notre Dame, the lights illuminating the grand cathedral.

How could she not choose this man over Felipe?

Pete had opened his jacket but stood with the cool fall wind playing with his blond hair. The suit matched his eyes, so blue she could sink into his gaze and never come up for air. Especially when he turned it on her, reached out, and caught a strand of her hair in his grip, tucking it behind her ear. “You’re so beautiful, Jess. I don’t tell you that enough.”

Oh.

He stepped closer to her, whispered his fingers across her face. “I need to ask—”

“Yes.”

He frowned. “You don’t know what I’m going to ask.”

“It doesn’t matter. The answer is yes. It’s been yes, and it will be yes.”

“What if it’s run away and marry me tonight?”

She grinned, stood on her toes, and found his ear. “Yes.”

He caught her as she moved away and put her face in the cradle of his hands, his eyes in hers. They glistened, thick with emotion. “Jess,” he whispered. “I don’t have horses or a house in Paris, or really, anything to give you but myself.”

She could hardly breathe through the squeeze of her chest. “It’s enough, Pete. It’s all I want.”

And then, finally, he kissed her. So sweetly, right out there in the middle of the square. A whisper of a touch, as if he might be trying to keep from losing himself, pulling her into his arms and deepening his kiss.

But that was the Pete she knew. The man who longed to get it right. To be both the charmer and the protector. The man who put himself second.

She was reaching up to touch his face, maybe grab his lapel to draw him closer when he eased away. His eyes were closed, the brush of his eyelashes golden against his skin.

He opened them and smiled. “Ever been on top of the Eiffel Tower?”

Of course. But she grinned, shook her head.

“You’re lying to me.”

“Show it to me, Pete. Show me Paris.”

He took her hand, and they crossed to the west bank. He caught them a cab, negotiated them down to the Champ de Mars, and out onto the parkway. Under the shadow of the tower, he paid their tickets and kept her warm as they stood in line, his arms around her. She sank into the heat of his body.

When they took the elevators to the top, she buried her head into his chest. And clung to him as he led her out to the platform.

“What, are you scared of heights?” he said as she closed her eyes and gripped the back of his jacket as they shuffled toward the grated lookout.

“Terribly. And you know it.”

He laughed. “I do. Hang on to me, babe.” Then he turned his back to the railing and wrapped his arms around her, backing toward the edge. “I got you. Open your eyes.”

She’d seen it before, but during the daytime, and through the press of her fingers. But holding on to Pete, she allowed herself the view.

Paris arrayed before her in glittering glory. He moved behind her, clasping his arms around her shoulders. “See Notre Dame?”

She wove her hands into his forearms, gripping them against the sway of vertigo. “And there’s the Arc de Triomphe.” Below and glowing, at the far end of the Avenue des Champs-Élysées.

The Seine wove through the city, a dark ribbon of history, and the Champ de Mars jutted out like a runway beneath them, lit up and inviting.

“I bet you’d like to base jump from here,” she said.

“It’s been done, but it’s illegal,” Pete said.

“Really? You checked into that?”

He kissed her neck, sent shivers through her body. “Maybe. Just out of curiosity.”

She grew silent, still.

“What is it?”

“You make me want to do brave things, Pete. There’s a part of me who loves the person I am with you. But then . . .” She turned in his arms, met his eyes. “You were right. I’m also Selene. And I can’t forget that part of me.”

He didn’t flinch. “I know. And I . . . I guess I showed up here to see if I could fit into that world too.” A smile tugged up one side of his mouth. “I know—crazy. But . . . Jess—Selene—I love—”

She couldn’t wait for the rest; her body took over her thoughts. She moved her arms around his neck as she took his mouth with hers, her heart so far out of her body she thought it might have taken flight over the glittering cityscape of Paris.

He tasted of the night, of the soaring heights of danger, and yet, as his embrace tightened around her, she’d never felt so safe. A tiny groan emitted deep inside his chest, and whatever he’d held back in the square he released into the cover of the night, deepening his kiss. Giving himself to her, sweeping her to himself.

Pete. She should have run back to him. No—taken him with her.

He moved away, breathing hard. Pressed his forehead to hers. “You. I love you.”

She nodded and realized her cheeks had wetted. “I love you too.”

“Marry me, Jess. I know it’s not the romantic proposal I promised, but—”

“We’re on the Eiffel Tower. It’s romantic enough.”

He kissed her again, and she lost herself in his touch and how, right here, she was exactly where she belonged.

He eased away, “So, is that a yes?”

“I . . . I need to tell Felipe.”

He frowned. “Of course you do.”

“No, really, Pete. He’s been good to me. I will tell him. And then . . .” She smiled, her fingers dragging in his soft whiskers. “Yes. Of course I will marry you.”

He met her gaze. “Please don’t break my heart. You have to make a choice, Jess. If you want me, it’s time to come home.”

She stared at him, her heart thundering. Yes. “You go home. I’ll follow in a couple days.”

His mouth tightened.

“I’m coming back, I promise,” she said and kissed him again.

But she knew his smile was forced. Because he’d clung to her, his chin on her head as they stared out into the night. Please don’t break my heart.

“Jess, wake up.”

The hand on her shoulder jostled her awake, and she came to fast and hard into the brisk, bright morning.

Just Ned, reaching over to roust her back to reality, to the cold dew on her body, the tremble deep within. “Are you okay? You were whimpering in your sleep.”

She looked at him, at his breath emerging in chilled clouds. “I was?”

He nodded.

“I’m fine. I . . .” She looked around. “We need to get out of here. But your shoulder is too weak to carry Shae.”

“I’m fine.” His outburst made her stiffen, but his mouth tightened even as Shae roused. He cut his voice low. “Yeah, it hurts, but we don’t have a choice.”

“I could go,” Jess said. “Find my way out—”

“No. I know my way around the woods. I’ve spent the past four summers as a hotshot and a smokejumper. I know how to read the forest, find service roads—I can get to help.”

Ned met Jess’s eyes, the unspoken truth in them.

So, she voiced it. “It would be faster without us.”

“Yes. I’ll get help, and I’ll come back.”

She took a breath and pressed her hand to Shae’s head.

“I promise,” he added.

Yeah, well, sometimes even the most heartfelt promises got broken.

“You’re a Marshall, Ned, and Marshalls don’t quit.”

Of course big brother Fraser had to enter Ned’s head and drive him crazy as he tried to get himself past the primal urge to lose whatever he’d put in his stomach last night.

He’d hit the ground too hard—holding on to Shae, trying to protect her from the blow. And in doing so, he’d slammed into the rock and had probably broken or at least cracked a rib, because every time he took a breath he wanted to howl.

The bone-deep ache in his shoulder and radiating through his torso didn’t help, either. He clutched his arm to his body, his jaw clenched tight as he worked himself through the corridor into which they’d fallen, on his way to help.

They’d tumbled off a wall of boulders settled like bowling balls in the thick, tangled wilderness. He guessed that in the spring, the crevasse acted as a glacial run, because as he followed it, the gully turned slightly downhill. He picked out his steps on the path cluttered with boulders and moss, as well as lethal shadows. The trees arched overhead, still thick with foliage, enough to dapple the morning light against the rumpled terrain.

Sweat slicked down his spine as he stopped and braced himself against a thick birch. The sun had begun to burn the chill from the air, but his injuries took more out of him than he could afford. He tucked his arms around himself and tried to get his bearings.

Sun to the east. And he should probably be going up, not down, to get the lay of the land.

From there, he might be able to orient himself toward civilization. He might even glimpse a service road.

But he worried about Shae and Jess in the open. Better would be to find them a dry, safe place to hide while he hiked out. So he’d headed downriver, to where the spring rush would have thickened and carved out gullies and trenches into the rock.

The trees were thick with a bejeweled autumn, and in any other circumstance, the lush glory of an aspen, larch, and poplar forest, ripe with ruby-red maples and sunny oaks, might be romantic.

Thankfully, he knew the shape of these Montana forests pretty well. He knew how to survive in the bush, knew how to read the run of a fire, knew how to spot a V in a skyline that might lead to a forest road, or a peak that might promise a lookout tower.

So yeah, he wasn’t about to quit, not when he’d just gotten started. Not when he’d made a promise.

Not when Shae depended on him.

He gritted his teeth, managed a breath, and kept moving. The riverbed turned rutted, rimmed with shards of granite cut with tongues of glacial ice and rammed into the ground. Here, the water had scooped out pockets, some deep enough to hide a body.

Or two.

He trekked nearly a half mile before he found a cave big enough to hide them, a cavity that arched over the dry riverbed, littered with branches and crispy leaves, and big enough for Jess and Shae to tuck inside, secure until he could return.

And he would return. With help.

He turned around and stifled a moan as he headed back the way he came.

Jess and Shae hadn’t moved, of course, still fighting for heat and life under the grimy shadow of last night’s enclave. Jess looked up at him with so much hope in her eyes he wanted to wince. She held her wrist close to her body, her body language hinting at pain. Shae had roused too, and he forced himself to offer a tight, grim smile.

Shae had lost more blood, her face pale and her eyes even bigger. Her death grip around his neck as they ran still radiated through him, the way she’d returned his kiss last night, a tentative, sweet touch that had him breathless.

“I cause trouble, even if I don’t mean to.”

Oh Shae.

Truthfully, he still couldn’t get his brain around the events of the past eight hours—the crash, the flight through the forest, the fall, the huddle for warmth.

Yeah, when he showed up at the reception, Shae on his arm, he’d had vastly other ideas of how last night might end. Nothing more than G-rated, but they certainly resembled a different reunion with Shae. He’d even found a romantic location, a recommendation from Sam Brooks, who was apparently the local law. He liked the guy—reminded him a little of Fraser. A little bossy, although maybe that gene ran strong in the Brooks family. After all, his brother Pete had been Man-in-Charge last summer during the search for Ned’s brother. And Ned remembered him from his rookie summer with the Jude County Smokejumpers too. A get-’er-done guy who didn’t quit. He hoped Pete was helming the search, if they’d started one.

But any search would probably start with the abandoned bridge Sam told him about. Which was probably miles from here.

And meant that they hadn’t a sliver of hope that someone would point this direction. So it was up to him to hoof it out of here, ASAP, regardless of a couple broken ribs, a wounded shoulder, and his stiff knee.

Leaning over in front of the ladies, he kept his voice down, despite the stir of the wind. “I found a cave a little way down the wash. I think you two should hide there while I hike out. It’s less exposed than here, and . . . well, I’m not sure how long it’ll take.”

He left unspoken the suggestion that their kidnapper-slash-assailant might still be searching for them.

“Okay. We can carry Shae together,” Jess said.

But as she climbed to her feet, he had to catch her, grabbing her jacket. “You okay?”

She nodded, but moisture slicked her eyes. “Just—my arm hurts. It’s making me a little sick to my stomach.”

Her too, huh? “Try not to throw up. It’ll make you weaker. I got Shae.”

He hid a wince as he crouched in front of her. “How are you doing, babe?”

Shae made a noise, something that suggested the pain was winning. He touched her face. “I’m going to go for help while you stay with Jess and keep breathing, okay?”

She nodded, her skin practically translucent, and he caught her hands, held them against his chest to warm them.

“I mean it, Shae. I’m going to find help and then . . .” He leaned close. “Then I’m going to teach you how to two-step. That little sway we did earlier is not a true country dance.”

He longed for a smile.

She swallowed, her face hollowing. “I’m so sorry—”

“No,” Ned said. “We’re not going there again. This is not your fault.”

“It is—Blackburn had to be the one who ran us off the road.”

Wow, she was fixated on that. But maybe her pain spiraled her thoughts into a hard, focused ball. “Stop. We don’t know anything for sure. Except that we need to get you some help.” He put his arms around her. “Hold on to me.”

She looped her arms around his neck, her hold flimsy at best. He drew in a breath, got his feet under him.

He couldn’t hold in the groan as he pulled her up, couldn’t stop himself from stepping back, once, twice, trying to find balance. He did manage, however, not to cry out in some sort of pansy scream. But a knife had gone straight through his shoulder, scraping down his chest, and sweat broke out across his forehead.

Jess’s hand went to his back to steady him. “Ned, are you okay?”

Shae tried to meet his eyes, but he looked away.

“Mmmhmm.”

“I can walk,” Shae said.

“You can’t,” Jess answered. “Your ankle is wrecked, and you’ll start bleeding again.”

“I’m okay,” Ned said to Jess. The pain had stepped back, the sudden light-headedness and flash-bang of agony quelling to a deep throb that radiated through his body.

He turned and looked at Jess. “Go in front of me.” He didn’t add anything like “Because you might have to catch us both” because he was not going to fall.

Shae rested her head on his chest, and he concentrated on the feel of her body, small and tucking close to his.

Okay, so his intentions last night might have been more PG, and the way she held on to him roused some of that to life. She even turned her face into his neck, let her lips settle there, probably an accident but for a second it took his mind off the ache thrumming through him.

Yeah, he was going to get her to the cave, find help, save them all, and then . . . prove to her that she wasn’t trouble. That she just might be the best thing that ever happened to him.

In fact, he might even ask Shae how she felt about someday being a navy wife.

Hooyah.