A firefighter's bonds of brotherhood meant more than anything, more than even saving their own lives. The other two men were going to die helping their friend.
She prayed for them, her lips moving soundlessly. She wasn't the only one praying. The mountaintop full of hotshots had turned into a silent vigil.
And then, what felt like minutes later, but could have been seconds for all she knew, the group of three crested the rock wall. Two of them held up the third between them, and even then, they ran uphill at a pace most unburdened runners couldn't match on flat pavement.
The man with the radio turned to the crew. “There are going to be burns. Severe dehydration. Shock. We're not going to lose them now. Not a goddamned one.”
Instinctively, Maya took her place in the human chain as everyone worked to quickly unload and set up the medical supplies and tents. It would take ambulances a good thirty minutes to wind their way up here.
Several firefighters carried the burned hotshot into the shade of a newly erected tent, the skin on his hands bright red and blotchy. Shaking, she made sure she wasn't going to vomit before resuming the task of bringing fresh water and bandages to his tent.
Thanking God that the young man was on the verge of going completely unconscious, she watched his fellow hotshots remove the clothes that hadn't melted in order to pour cool water over his burns.
The smell of burning flesh was inescapable.
Although she'd spent five years interviewing fire survivors and prosecuting arsonists, she'd never personally witnessed men going above and beyond human limits to outrun a deadly fire. Intellectually she knew that her father and brother's lives had been about more than simply putting out fire, but they'd always been so full of laughter and joy that she'd let herself forget the reality of what they did.
Coming face-to-face with such pain—and such incredible bravery—shook Maya to the core. Her stomach twisted with nausea, but she wouldn't let herself lose it again. She was stronger than that.
She had to be strong.
The two remaining hotshots moved into her line of vision, leaning on the wide shoulders of their fellow crew members. They were covered in dirt and soot, save the whites of their eyes. Helped into the shade of two more tents, they sucked down water. Both tall, their lean yet muscular physiques were honed for the amazing feat they'd just performed.
In the wake of such serious injuries, it was difficult to stay on task and remember that she was here on the hunt for an arsonist. But with the fire blowing up and a hotshot injured, the case had just become a thousand times more important.
Maya kept her eyes trained on the man they were calling Logan as he took off his helmet. Finally able to see his face, she stumbled back into a tree trunk.
Oh God. Him.
The bartender.
He looked exactly the same.
Hard.
Gorgeous.
And covered with sweat and ash because he'd just escaped a deadly blowup.
She closed her eyes and clung to the bark as the earth spun too fast. All this time she'd thought her biggest mistake was a bartender. A sexy guy in a baseball cap who'd made her a drink and helped her suspend time, if only for a handful of minutes.
Not a firefighter.
Not a hotshot.
And definitely not her prime arson suspect.
CHAPTER THREE
LOGAN STEPPED back into his fire-resistant pants and left the hospital examination room. He'd dealt with Dr. Caldwell and her surgical team at Tahoe General Hospital countless times over the years. Usually, she was a straight shooter with good sense. Today, she'd been a pain in his ass, wasting time he didn't have probing for signs of shock, telling him to “take it easy” and get some rest.
He wasn't going to rest a single second until he put out the fire that had nearly eaten his friend for lunch. The smell of charred flesh and the sound of Connor's raw, tortured scream as the fire slammed into him played out again and again in Logan's mind.
As if that weren't enough, he was afraid someone he loved and respected was responsible for lighting the fire.
An ambulance driver took him where he needed to go: Joseph's cabin on the edge of Desolation Wilderness.
Logan remembered sneaking up the private road as an anger-ridden teenager, so sure he'd live forever that he'd risked his life in a hundred different ways for one stupid, seemingly important reason after another. He hadn't known the first thing about what was really important. Not until Joseph had shown him.
Joseph Kellerman had plucked Logan out of an adolescent nosedive at his mother's request after he'd fallen in with a bad crowd. It was only his mother's begging her ex-boyfriend—a seasoned hotshot—for help that got him out. Joseph was the best wildland firefighter there ever was. Hands down, Logan had never met anyone who could match his mentor's intensity. His passion.
Now he knocked, then opened, the unlocked front door. He'd grown from an out-of-control, confused teenager to a man in this log cabin beneath the pines. Every year the trees grew taller and every year he appreciated even more just how much Joseph had done for him. Not only had Joseph saved Logan's punk-ass life, but he'd given him a future.
The vaulted living room was musty and the kitchen smelled like rotting meat. As soon as this fire was wrapped up he needed to head straight back here and do some cleanup. Joseph sorely needed a regular cleaning lady, but Logan hadn't figured out how to force one on the tough old man quite yet.
He was opening drapes and windows to air out the cabin when Joseph walked in from the back.
“I thought I smelled a wildfire.”
Logan noted Joseph's wrinkled, stained clothes. There had to be someone he could call to drop by and at least help out with laundry.
“We could have used you out there today.”
Joseph waded through the piles of newspapers and empty soda cans and pulled a couple of Cokes out of the fridge. He tossed one to Logan.
“No way. I'd be more of a liability than a rookie.” He sat down in his shredded corduroy La-Z-Boy. “Everyone make it out okay?”
Logan warred with himself for a long moment. He didn't want to lie to Joseph, but how much of the truth could he handle in his condition? Finally, he decided the best thing was to be as straight with Joseph as he could. His mentor had an uncanny nose for bullshit.
“Sam, Connor, and I got caught in a blowup.”
Joseph frowned. “How the hell did you let yourself get on top of the fire?”
efighter's bonds of brotherhood meant more than anything, more than even saving their own lives. The other two men were going to die helping their friend.
She prayed for them, her lips moving soundlessly. She wasn't the only one praying. The mountaintop full of hotshots had turned into a silent vigil.
And then, what felt like minutes later, but could have been seconds for all she knew, the group of three crested the rock wall. Two of them held up the third between them, and even then, they ran uphill at a pace most unburdened runners couldn't match on flat pavement.
The man with the radio turned to the crew. “There are going to be burns. Severe dehydration. Shock. We're not going to lose them now. Not a goddamned one.”
Instinctively, Maya took her place in the human chain as everyone worked to quickly unload and set up the medical supplies and tents. It would take ambulances a good thirty minutes to wind their way up here.
Several firefighters carried the burned hotshot into the shade of a newly erected tent, the skin on his hands bright red and blotchy. Shaking, she made sure she wasn't going to vomit before resuming the task of bringing fresh water and bandages to his tent.
Thanking God that the young man was on the verge of going completely unconscious, she watched his fellow hotshots remove the clothes that hadn't melted in order to pour cool water over his burns.
The smell of burning flesh was inescapable.
Although she'd spent five years interviewing fire survivors and prosecuting arsonists, she'd never personally witnessed men going above and beyond human limits to outrun a deadly fire. Intellectually she knew that her father and brother's lives had been about more than simply putting out fire, but they'd always been so full of laughter and joy that she'd let herself forget the reality of what they did.
Coming face-to-face with such pain—and such incredible bravery—shook Maya to the core. Her stomach twisted with nausea, but she wouldn't let herself lose it again. She was stronger than that.
She had to be strong.
The two remaining hotshots moved into her line of vision, leaning on the wide shoulders of their fellow crew members. They were covered in dirt and soot, save the whites of their eyes. Helped into the shade of two more tents, they sucked down water. Both tall, their lean yet muscular physiques were honed for the amazing feat they'd just performed.
In the wake of such serious injuries, it was difficult to stay on task and remember that she was here on the hunt for an arsonist. But with the fire blowing up and a hotshot injured, the case had just become a thousand times more important.
Maya kept her eyes trained on the man they were calling Logan as he took off his helmet. Finally able to see his face, she stumbled back into a tree trunk.
Oh God. Him.
The bartender.
He looked exactly the same.
Hard.
Gorgeous.
And covered with sweat and ash because he'd just escaped a deadly blowup.
She closed her eyes and clung to the bark as the earth spun too fast. All this time she'd thought her biggest mistake was a bartender. A sexy guy in a baseball cap who'd made her a drink and helped her suspend time, if only for a handful of minutes.
Not a firefighter.
Not a hotshot.
And definitely not her prime arson suspect.
CHAPTER THREE
LOGAN STEPPED back into his fire-resistant pants and left the hospital examination room. He'd dealt with Dr. Caldwell and her surgical team at Tahoe General Hospital countless times over the years. Usually, she was a straight shooter with good sense. Today, she'd been a pain in his ass, wasting time he didn't have probing for signs of shock, telling him to “take it easy” and get some rest.
He wasn't going to rest a single second until he put out the fire that had nearly eaten his friend for lunch. The smell of charred flesh and the sound of Connor's raw, tortured scream as the fire slammed into him played out again and again in Logan's mind.
As if that weren't enough, he was afraid someone he loved and respected was responsible for lighting the fire.
An ambulance driver took him where he needed to go: Joseph's cabin on the edge of Desolation Wilderness.
Logan remembered sneaking up the private road as an anger-ridden teenager, so sure he'd live forever that he'd risked his life in a hundred different ways for one stupid, seemingly important reason after another. He hadn't known the first thing about what was really important. Not until Joseph had shown him.
Joseph Kellerman had plucked Logan out of an adolescent nosedive at his mother's request after he'd fallen in with a bad crowd. It was only his mother's begging her ex-boyfriend—a seasoned hotshot—for help that got him out. Joseph was the best wildland firefighter there ever was. Hands down, Logan had never met anyone who could match his mentor's intensity. His passion.
Now he knocked, then opened, the unlocked front door. He'd grown from an out-of-control, confused teenager to a man in this log cabin beneath the pines. Every year the trees grew taller and every year he appreciated even more just how much Joseph had done for him. Not only had Joseph saved Logan's punk-ass life, but he'd given him a future.
The vaulted living room was musty and the kitchen smelled like rotting meat. As soon as this fire was wrapped up he needed to head straight back here and do some cleanup. Joseph sorely needed a regular cleaning lady, but Logan hadn't figured out how to force one on the tough old man quite yet.
He was opening drapes and windows to air out the cabin when Joseph walked in from the back.
“I thought I smelled a wildfire.”
Logan noted Joseph's wrinkled, stained clothes. There had to be someone he could call to drop by and at least help out with laundry.
“We could have used you out there today.”
Joseph waded through the piles of newspapers and empty soda cans and pulled a couple of Cokes out of the fridge. He tossed one to Logan.
“No way. I'd be more of a liability than a rookie.” He sat down in his shredded corduroy La-Z-Boy. “Everyone make it out okay?”
Logan warred with himself for a long moment. He didn't want to lie to Joseph, but how much of the truth could he handle in his condition? Finally, he decided the best thing was to be as straight with Joseph as he could. His mentor had an uncanny nose for bullshit.
“Sam, Connor, and I got caught in a blowup.”
Joseph frowned. “How the hell did you let yourself get on top of the fire?”