Chasing Fire Page 9

  Zeke had been Lucas’s banker for close to forty years, so Lucas watched a moment longer, gave a nod of approval at the form, before he walked over to the blanket where the two men from the base stretched out with what he recognized as one of Marg’s famous boxed lunches.

  “How’s it going?” he asked, and crouched down beside them. “Lucas Tripp, and you must be Dobie. I heard you got in a scuffle at Get a Rope the other night.”

  “Yeah. I’m usually prettier. It’s a pleasure meeting you,” Dobie added as he held out a hand. “This one’s Chainsaw, as he likes to use one to shave his legs.”

  “Heard about that, too. If you’re going to get banged up, it might as well be early in the season, before things heat up.”

  “It’s a real nice operation you got here, Mr. Tripp,” Stovic commented.

  The polite deference made Lucas feel old as an alp. “You can hang the mister around my father. We’re doing pretty well here. See that one.” He gestured toward where Zeke touched down and rolled. “He won’t see sixty again. Bank manager out of Missoula. Granddaddy of eight with two more coming. Known him longer than either of you have been alive, and up until a couple months ago, he never said a word to me about wanting to jump. Bucket List,” Lucas told them with a grin. “Since that movie came out, we’re getting a lot of clients and students with some age on them coming in.

  “I’ve got a tandem jump coming up. Client’s due in about fifteen. Fifty-seven-year-old woman. High-school principal. You never know who’s got a secret yen to fly.”

  “Do you miss it?” Dobie asked him. “Jumping fire.”

  “Every day.” Lucas shrugged as he watched his banker wave to a trio of his grandkids. “But old horses like me have to make room for you young stallions.”

  “You must have a lot of stories from back in the day.”

  And older yet, Lucas thought, but grinned at Stovic. “Get a couple beers in me, I’ll tell them all, whether you want to hear them or not.”

  “Anytime,” Dobie said. “Anyplace.”

  “I might take you up on it. I better get on, give the principal the thrill of her life.” Lucas pushed to his feet. “Enjoy your day off. You won’t get many more of them.”

  “I don’t see how he could come to give it up,” Dobie commented. “I don’t think I could.”

  “You haven’t jumped fire yet,” Stovic pointed out.

  “In my head I have.” Dobie bit into a drumstick Marg had fried to a crispy turn. “And I didn’t try to castrate myself with a chain saw.”

  Stovic gave him a good-natured punch in the arm. “It got the Swede’s hands on my thigh. Worth every stitch.”

  “You try to move on that, Gull’ll give you more than a few stitches. His eyes’re homed in that direction.”

  “I ain’t blind. But she’s sure got a nice touch.” Stovic dug into the potato salad as they watched the next jumper.

  Lucas checked his logs, the aircraft, had a quick conversation with his mechanic and the pilot for the tandem. Even if the client arrived on time, Marcie—his service rep—would sit her down for an overall explanation, have the client fill out the necessary forms. Since she’d ordered the DVD package, he swung through to make sure his videographer was lined up for the go.

  When he walked into the operations building, he spotted Marcie and the client at one of the tables dealing with the paperwork. His first thought was a cliché, but true nonetheless.

  They hadn’t made principals like that when he’d been in high school.

  She had red hair, and a lot of it, that kind of swept around her face, and eyes like forest shadows. Deep and green. When she smiled at something Marcie said, shallow dimples popped out in her cheeks, and her lips turned up in a pretty bow.

  He wasn’t shy around women—unless he was attracted to one. He felt the wash of embarrassed heat run up the back of his neck as he approached the table.

  “And here’s your jump master,” Marcie announced, “and the owner of Zulie Skydiving. Lucas, I was just telling Mrs. Frazier she’s about to experience the thrill of a lifetime, and she’s got the top dog to take her through it.”

  “Well,” Lucas managed as the heat spread to the top of his skull.

  “If I’m going to be thrilled, I like knowing it’s with the top dog.” She offered her hand—narrow, slender-fingered. Lucas took it loosely, released it quickly, worried he might crush it.

  “Mrs. Frazier’s son bought her the package for Christmas,” Marcie added.

  “Make it Ella, since we’ll be jumping out of a plane together. He heard me say I wanted to try skydiving one day, and took me seriously, even though I believe I’d had several glasses of wine at the time.” Those lips bowed up again; the dimples popped. “He and his family are out poking around, as are my daughter and hers. They’re all excited to watch.”

  “That’s good. That’s nice.”

  “So...” Ella waited a beat. “When do we start?”

  “We’ll get you suited up.” Though she beamed smiles, Marcie slid a puzzled look up at Lucas. “While we do, you’ll watch a short instructional video. Then the boss will give you a little training, answer any questions. That’ll take about thirty minutes, so you’ll be familiar with the equipment, feel comfortable and learn how to land.”

  “Landing would be key. I don’t want to traumatize my grandchildren.” She said it with a sparkle in her eye.

  Married. Lucas’s brain caught up with the rest of him. With kids. With grandkids. Knowing she was married eased the shyness. Now he could just admire how pretty she was, seeing as she was off-limits.

  “No worries about that.” He was able to grin back at her. “They’ll remember today as the day they watched their grandmother fly. If you’re done with the paperwork, we’ll get you your flight suit.”

  He changed into his own while Marcie got the client outfitted. He generally enjoyed doing tandems with first-timers, soothing their nerves if they had them, answering questions, giving them the best experience possible, and a memory they’d carry for the rest of their lives. He expected this run would be no exception.

  The client looked fit, which helped. He glanced at his copy of the form and noted he’d been on the mark on her statistics. Five-five, 123 pounds. No physical problems.

  He stepped outside to wait for her.

  “I feel official.” She laughed and did a little turn in her flight suit and jump boots.

  “Looking good. I know Marcie went over the procedure with you, but I can go over it again, answer any questions you’ve got.”

  “Marcie was thorough, and the video was great. The harness attaches me to you, start to finish, which is very important from my point of view.”

  “It’s a good way to make a first jump. Low stress.”

  She bubbled out a laugh. “Easy for you to say. I guess you’re used to screamers.”

  “Don’t worry about that. I’m betting you’re going to be too happy and too dazzled by the view to scream.” He led her to a small training field. “We’ll go up to about fourteen thousand feet. When you’re ready, I’ll take you on a trip into that big sky. The free fall’s a rush, exhilarating. It’ll last about a minute before the chute deploys. Once it does, you’ll float, and listen to the kind of quiet only jumpers know.”

  “You love it.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I’m doing this for a couple of reasons. First for my son. I just couldn’t disappoint him. And second, I realized on the way here, to remind myself I used to be fearless. Tell me, Mr. Tripp—”

  “Lucas.”

  “Lucas, how many people chicken out once they’re up there?”

  “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 le
arned 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 sale 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.