Page 42 of Burning Secrets

Neil got them above the zone, and Mark and Skye tested the air, watched the wind, then Skye spooled them up.

“Wind’s gusting just a little from the east. Might drive you northwest. Stay tight.” She sent JoJo and Logan out on the first stick, and again, JoJo flew, losing herself in the majesty.

For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his love for those who fear him.

Yes, she could lean into that.

She pulled her rip cord.

Waited for the tug of the chute to open, propel her up, catch the wind, stop her fall.

Nothing, and she looked up. The chute had deployed, but it twisted in the wind, tangled, the lines cluttering its deployment.

Logan floated high above her.

She bit back a word and felt for the cutaway. Released the primary chute, breathed out, and pulled the secondary.

The whoosh nearly stole her breath, the sudden unfurling halt and yank into the heavens. The harness cut into her thighs, the toggles spinning in the wind. She grabbed them, trying to steer.

The wind had already grabbed her, started to spin her.

She caught a glimpse of the fire to the west, the black smoke churning into the blue sky, the acrid scent burning her nose. Wrestling for control, she found Logan, already a half mile away, maybe, directing himself toward the drop zone.

Below her, forest rose, the black smoke roiled, and she was running out of time.

Well, she would just get to the fire sooner than her team. She angled toward the farm, the wide yard, and prayed the wind would be kind.

There was no going back now.

Crew sat on the stolen four-wheeler, watching the fire chew through the barn, the smoke burning his throat, the acrid odor stinging his nose.

But it was over. Please.

Longest four days of his life. He’d barely gotten out alive, really, and his next move would be to hightail it to Copper Mountain and warn Rio of what he’d seen.

The flames crested over the top of the barn, breaking through the smoke, the sound a rumble, the fire popping, roaring.

Apparently, biohazard made for hot fuel.

Overhead, he spotted a plane, a red-and-white body, and he stilled. Aw, he’d seen a similar plane at the smokejumper base camp. No, no?—

Yes.

There, in the sky, in the distance, tiny chutes unfurled. They drifted down, maybe a half mile away, plenty of distance between their drop zone and the barn.

They shouldn’t have deployed. The barn sat away from the house a good fifty feet, and behind it, an old corral cordoned off the barn from the forest. A natural cut line.

He should go. Last thing he wanted was evidence that he’d started a fire. And while Rio might give him a high five, he’d have some explaining to do with the Forest Service. Especially if someone got hurt.

Please, God, no.

Funny, but he’d been praying a lot over the past few days, as if nudged from inside.

He stilled as he spotted a chute headed over the treetops, the jumper fighting with the toggles as the wind propelled him—oh no.

Toward the fire.

The jumper was falling fast, descending too quickly. No way would he clear the flames and fire of the barn.

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