Page 34 of Light My Fire

“We could hike up to the top of this ridge,” Tucker said. “But I don’t want to lose sight of Skye.”

Stevie seemed to consider his words. Nodded. “Okay. I’ll stay here, keep an eye on them, and you try to find reception and get ahold of your team.”

He caught her eyes, the dark pinch of her mouth. “Okay.” Grabbing his radio, he climbed to his feet and cast one more look through the trees to the homestead. “Stay right here.”

She gave him the barest of nods, and he took off.

Never mind that his body felt like he’d landed hard on a bad fall from the sky. His knee screamed with every step, his bones tender from the fall off the bike. But he let Skye’s expression fuel him as he hiked up the ridge, where the land turned from heavily treed to mostly granite, bald and dangerous. Sweat dripped down his back as he fought for footholds, the scree falling from his steps.

He finally turned around, sat on a ledge that overlooked the valley, and tried the radio.

“Jude County, Tucker. You there?”

Static.Please.

“Tucker, this is Seth.”

Seth?“Where’s Riley?”

“Injured. We had to chopper him out. Snag fell—he’ll be okay. Broke his arm, maybe. Have you found Skye?”

Wow. But he didn’t have time to catalog another catastrophe. “We have eyes on her. She’s alive. But we need backup.”

“Confirm. The Marshal’s office sent in a couple guys from Anchorage, but they’re on foot, so it’ll be a while before they get to you. Where are you?”

A couple of guys? For an entire crew of fugitives? Tucker wanted to throw something. “About two clicks southwest of you. Stevie identified the cabin as belonging to someone named McGinty.”

“Got it.”

“You guys bugging out?”

A pause and in it Tucker read the weather, the gusts off Denali, and knew the answer.

“We’re still wrangling the blow-up, but we’ve got it.”

Shoot. “How bad?”

“The wind shifted, and she’s burning down into the valley to the east, outside the burn.”

Tucker should be there. The smoke had thickened in the distance, a burr of gray against the blue sky. “Keep at ’er. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

He signed off, not sure what, exactly, he intended. Because frankly, he just wanted Skye back. Leave the apprehension of a murderer to the feds.

To Stevie?

Yeah, she wasn’t giving up on March. Not with her father missing or hurt or maybe just an accomplice, but that might be worse.

He didn’t want to suggest that her father might have been on the plotting side of the escape, but it had been nagging him. Archer knew where the McGintys lived. What if he’d directed them there?

What if he was not a hostage but an instigator of the prison break?

Tucker worked his way back down the mountainside, easing off his knee as much as he could—going down just might be worse. Still, he made decent time, and when he reached Stevie, the sun had moved farther behind the range, casting a fiery, ethereal glow against the peaks, leaving a murky haze in the forest.

It couldn’t be called dark, but shadows fell over Stevie as she tucked behind her lookout.

“Any movement?”

“The truck has turned over a couple times. It backfired once, threw out some exhaust, but nothing. My guess is that the fuel filter is clogged. Which, if they figure out, can be fixed with some carburetor cleaner and a little elbow grease.” She handed him the binoculars. “I spotted my dad. He’s not hurt. He was in the house getting food. They downed a couple MREs.”

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