Page 5 of The Heat is On

She turned, and bush pilot Barry Kingston sat down next to her, handed her a bottle of lemonade. “Which makes watching the sunset a very long date.”

She laughed. “I’ll remember that.”

She liked him. The owner of Sky King Ranch was in his mid-sixties, with wise, kind, blue eyes, his white hair shaved down to bristles. He wore a faded cap and a thick white handlebar mustache that brought to mind images of an older Sam Elliott. Barry prayed before meals. She liked that.

Apparently, he could read minds too, because he spoke, “‘The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul.’” He looked at her. “Living out here always makes me think of the twenty-third psalm.”

“I learned it at church camp, Living Translation,” she said. “‘Even when I walk through the darkest valley, I will not be afraid, for you are close beside me.’”

“‘Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.’”

Skye wanted to nod. To add anamenand agree with him. Instead, she watched the sun burn through the sky and wished it would char away the feeling of doom that churned in her gut.

Please, God, keep me from killing anyone.

It wasn’t Tuesday.Because if it was Tuesday, then Rio Parker wouldn’t be sitting in the Copper County Correctional Facility cafeteria, dressed in the prison orange shirt and gray pants, stirring the gray swill that might be beans.

He wouldn’t feel and smell like a criminal. No, he’d be dressed in a suit, in court seeing justice prevail.

Hopefully. Please.

Most of all, he wouldn’t have to sit on the sidelines watching Jaden Maguire trying to dodge the lockup bullies.

“Step back!”

Rio caught the voice—a tough veneer over a quivering shell, shaky and a little too high to be menacing—from the eighteen-year-old wanna-be thug who’d somehow landed on the wrong side of trouble. Baby-faced and skinny, his head recently shaved to reveal the bumps and scars of a too-white head, Jaden backed up against a pillar, holding his tray like it might be a shield as Boneyard Wells slapped a hand on the cement behind his head.

Rio set his spoon down, his gut knotting.

Around him, the other prisoners seemed unmoved. He glanced at Archer Mills—an older guy he’d pinpointed as former law enforcement the way he knew how to handle himself. No one really messed with Archer. But Archer didn’t mess with anyone, either.

The story was he’d killed a man with his bare hands, but everybody had a story.

Jaden’s story probably included some petty theft, drug running, maybe even a domestic abuse charge. He wore a few scars on his face, and now lifted his chin, a tough guy even as he drew his shoulders up.

Boneyard—bald, beefy, tattooed with a swastika on the back of his neck—leaned into Maguire, said something in his ear. Two of his cohorts—a long-haired drug dealer named Ike, and a skinhead with tribal tattoos on his face—stood a few feet away, grinning.

Maguire jerked away from him, but Boneyard grabbed his jaw.

And then he did something that had Rio bouncing to his feet, the adrenaline hot and churning through him.

Boneyard licked the kid. Starting at his jaw, all the way up to his temple. A slimy, spit-filled trail that turned Rio’s gut and left an expression of raw terror on Maguire’s face.

Rio had seen that expression far too often to let the assault happen in front of his eyes. Male or female—it didn’t matter.

Which was why he found his feet moving, the chair scratching along the floor as it slid back. The hum in the room dimmed as Rio came around the table and walked right up to Boneyard.

And somewhere in the back of his head, he heard the voice, the one that had sent him here.Stay cool, lay low. Stay out of trouble and do your job.

Yeah, well, trouble seemed to find him, and frankly, thiswashis job.

Protecting the helpless. Justice for the victims.

Even if the guy he was supposed to be protecting was sitting in the corner finishing up his fish sticks.

But maybe this was why Rio was here, too. Because sometimes justice needed a little nudge.

“Let him alone, Boneyard.”

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