Page 4 of One Last Stand

She grabbed his jacket. “Thank you.”

“You know this area is off-limits, right?” Shep said.

“Easy there, bro,” Boo said softly.

Right.He blew out a breath, studying her face as she let go of his coat. “Anything broken?”

“I don’t think so. And I didn’t mean to ski in here—” Her eyes filled again, her face reddened from cold and tears. “I took the wrong run and was trying to take a shortcut back to the intermediate slopes. I wasn’t going fast, but my ski caught, and down I went. I tried to grab branches to stop myself, but the snow just came down over me. . . .”

Her breath caught, andaw, just loosen up, like Boo said. Clearly, memory had a grip on him, turning him into a jerk.

He gave her a small nod, his gaze softening at her fear.

“I don’t know how you saw me, but . . . if you hadn’t—” She hiccoughed. “Thank you.”

He had to look away, then he blew out a breath, found a smile for her, and nodded. “You must have angels watching out for you. And you’re welcome.” He then stepped back as the patrollers closed in—a new crew for this season. “She probably needs an X-ray.”

“Thanks,” said one, the name badge on his orange ski jacket reading Bowman. He directed others to bring in a sled.

Boo and Oaken carried her gear out to where more patrollers sat, ready to ski her down the hill.

Shep stared at the tree well. Any longer and it might have become a tomb. His throat thickened, but he shook away the grip of what-ifs and headed back out to the run.

Boo and Oaken waited for him, already in their skis.

“I thought you were going to take the blue runs.”

“And let you call us pansies?” Oaken said. “Please. Besides, we weren’t sure if you’d just . . . I don’t know. Ski off the edge of the planet, never to be seen again.”

He blinked at them.

“You’re not fooling anyone, Shep. We know you put your townhouse up for sale—I have the same realtor.”

Boo leaned on her poles. “You’re really leaving?”

So much for his secrets. “Maybe.” He swallowed. “Probably. But don’t tell Moose yet, okay? I just . . . I’m not ready . . .”

“To tell him that his number-one rescue tech is leaving during the time that he might very well be losing his company?” Boo raised an eyebrow.

Yeah, that. He pursed his lips.

Boo’s voice fell. “Listen, Shep. We all grieve London. She was my roommate. I miss our chats, the way I’d spot her in the yard, working out—even our late-night conversations about faith. If I know anything about London, it’s that she was a woman of faith—and she’d want us to be rejoicing that she’s in heaven.”

Her words stripped him. “Rejoicing?Boo—she wasmurdered.And somewhere out there is the person who killed her. And . . .”

And he was supposed to have protected her.

His one task when recruiting her for the Air One Rescue team had been to keep her safe.

So not only had losing her taken him apart . . . he wanted to hurt the man he saw in the mirror every dark and brutal morning.

The shadows had returned, the darkness seeping back into his pores. “The dead-last thing I feel like doing is rejoicing.”

He snapped back into his skis. “I think I’m done for the day. Thanks, guys. Try not to break any bones.”

Then he pushed off, leaving them behind as he tore down the slope.

Not flying at all.

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