Set the Dark on Fire (11 page)

“What was it?”

“A bobcat. Probably a juvenile, not much bigger than a house cat. And only a couple of feet away.”

“What did you do?”

She grinned at the memory. “I held out my hand and said, ‘Here, kitty, kitty.’”

“You didn’t.”

“Oh, yes, I did. But I should have just stayed quiet and still, because he bolted as soon as I reached out.”

He shook his head, chuckling at her moxie.

“After that, I knew what I wanted to do. It was a life-defining moment.” She arched a glance at him. “Did you have one of those, when you decided to be a cop?”

“Yes,” he said, sobering. “But mine isn’t as nice to tell.”

She waited for him to continue with undisguised interest.

He stared across the hills below them, far into the distance. “The last summer I spent with my father, we … argued. I was eighteen and thought I knew everything. He didn’t like my attitude. I didn’t like his. One night, he’d been drinking pretty heavily, and he grabbed me by the arm.” Frowning, he studied his clenched fist. “I let him have it. Knocked him on his ass. He didn’t get up.”

She nodded, seeing the regret in his eyes.

“I called nine-one-one, because I was worried. By the time the tribal police got there, he was up and hollering for them to take me away. I spent my last night on the rez in jail. Took quite a few sucker punches that night, too.”

“The tribal police beat you up?”

“Yes. I decided then that I was going to be a real cop. A good cop.” His gaze met hers. “Better than them.”

Her own tummy ached at the thought of him lying on the floor of a jail cell, beaten by men he should have been able to trust. “They’re not all like that,” she felt compelled to say. “The police on Los Coyotes aren’t dirty.”

Although he didn’t argue with her, she knew he wouldn’t take her word for it. He was clearly a man who made up his own mind about people, and that was admirable, as long as he didn’t judge them based on his past.

Sighing, she looked at the shelter, surveying her handiwork. The camouflaged mesh was kind of obvious in the sunlight, but under the shade of the oak, the shelter passed for a waist-high bush. From inside, they would have a 360-degree view of the area. “Ready?” she asked, holding open the flap. “Get in.”

Luke folded his lanky body into the shelter. Sitting down, he took up almost all the space. Shay frowned. She hadn’t built it big enough. “Can’t you, like, scrunch over?”

“Like, no, I can’t,” he said, mocking her speech.

It couldn’t be helped, so she squeezed in beside him. They sat hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder, their heads almost touching. She had to bring her boots up to her bottom to close the front.

Twisting, she managed to get the deer horn out of her pack.

“Cover your ears,” she warned before sounding it off. The noise was deafening, disturbing the quiet and piercing the still air, but what bothered her most was the raw agony of the cry. It sent chills down her spine.

“Jesus Christ,” Luke whispered after the echo died away. “If that won’t bring a lion I don’t know what will.”

Turning back-to-back, they waited, guns resting on bent knees, muzzles pointing opposite directions. The minutes ticked by. Nothing happened. Shay focused on the landscape, watching grass sway and shadows stretch. Insects buzzed. The interior of the shelter was dark, hot, and airless. She was intensely aware of the way her tank top clung to her, the heat of his body next to hers, the muscles shifting in his back.

She felt every heartbeat, every intake of breath.

An hour passed.

“Let’s take a break and then sound the horn again,” she said finally.

“Thank God,” he said, engaging the safety and putting his weapon aside. “I’m dripping sweat.”

“We can’t go out.”

“Why not?”

“A lion might come.”

“I’m willing to take my chances.”

She turned to face him. “Don’t be such a baby. We can’t leave the safety of the shelter and you know it.” Rummaging through her pack, she took out her secret stash: an apple. Her elbow caught him in the cheek as she brought it to her mouth. “Sorry,” she said, crunching loudly. “Do you want some?”

He scowled at her, touching his cheekbone.

Smiling, she held out the apple, turning it so he could take a bite from the unmarred section. For a moment, she thought he would decline, but then he reached out and wrapped his hand around her wrist, tilting the apple and sinking his teeth into the part of the fruit her mouth had already touched.

If he’d nipped at her belly, or placed his open mouth on her inner thigh, she’d have reacted the same way. Heat coursed through her, singing in her veins. She swallowed too soon, almost choking on bits of apple, and she had to drink several ounces of water to recover.

He took the apple from her hand and proceeded to finish it for her, his manner as cool as hers was flustered.

In her defense, the man had a sexy mouth. Strong white teeth. Chiseled jaw. Watching him eat an apple was like some kind of foreplay.

He smelled nice, too. And if he was sweating, well, so was she. Shay wasn’t sure if her deodorant was working, but she could detect the faint scent of his, along with shaving soap and laundry detergent, starched collar and warm male skin.

“You smell too good,” she accused.

“
I
smell too good?”

“Lions can detect human scents. Trackers know better than to go overboard on personal hygiene products.”

“What are
you
wearing?”

Uh-oh. Shay fought the urge to lift her arm and do a sniff test. Was she stinky?

“You smell like flowers or herbs or something,” he clarified.

“I do?”

“Yes, you do, so don’t act like I’m the one who’s fuming up the place. I’m not even wearing aftershave.”

She bristled. “The only product I use is an all-natural deodorant. It doesn’t smell like anything.”

His eyes dropped to her bare arm, which was wedged against his, then returned to her face. “How does it taste?”

She moistened her lips. “How does it—what?”

“Never mind,” he said, and lowered his mouth to hers.

10

Shay’s first instinct was to pull away.

She may have been entertaining lustful fantasies about Luke’s mouth, but that didn’t mean she wanted it on her in real life. She wasn’t willing to overlook the way he’d treated her yesterday. He’d had his chance with her and he’d blown it.
Blown
it.

He must have sensed her reluctance, because he lifted his hand to the nape of her neck, holding her in place. If he’d been a little more aggressive, she’d have pushed him off, but he merely brushed his lips over hers, using a light touch. At the same time, he did something to the back of her neck that sent shivers down her spine.

Her brain turned to mush and her body went boneless. Feeling like his puppet, she fought to keep her mouth clamped shut and her eyes wide open. Her lack of cooperation didn’t deter him any; she felt his lips curve against hers as if her stubbornness amused him. Maybe he was one of those men who liked a girl to play hard to get.

Jesse certainly had.

Incensed by the idea, she opened her mouth to tell him off. His tongue dipped in, and all thoughts of Jesse Ryan fled.

He tasted as good as he looked, like hot man and Red Delicious—and boy, did he know how to kiss. He didn’t move too fast or press too hard. He just took it slow and easy, kind of like he didn’t care if it went any further. Only their lips were touching, his tongue tracing the rim of her mouth, his hand resting lightly on the back of her neck, but her entire body tingled with sensation. She imagined his fingertips stroking her nipples, or pressing against the sudden ache between her legs. Forgetting her protests, she leaned into him, wanting more.

He eased back.

Damn it.

Her body was throbbing with awareness, her mouth wet from his. She sucked in a tortured breath.

He stared at her parted lips. “I smell smoke.”

“Smoke?” she repeated stupidly. They were generating a lot of heat, she supposed. One little kiss and she was about to go up in flames.

“As in fire.”

Then she smelled it, too. Looking out across the grassy field to the sumac-covered hills in the distance, she saw it. Thick black smoke, roiling up to the sky.

Wildfire.

Gasping, she shoved aside the front flap of the shelter and scrambled out, dragging her pack along behind her. Luke winced as he rose from his cramped position.

Resisting the urge to panic, she strapped on her pack and studied the landscape, assessing the greatest opportunity for escape. She couldn’t see the flames but knew they were just beyond the trail. Santa Ana winds blew west, away from the desert and toward the coast. They couldn’t go uphill, and they couldn’t go back the way they came. The best course of action would be to head for the tenajas and hope the fire didn’t reach them first.

“This way,” she said, grabbing his arm.

The streambed leading to the tenajas was in the direction of the smoke, so he balked. “Shouldn’t we go the other way?”

“We can’t outrun a fire by going uphill. It could overcome us in minutes.”

He hesitated, instinct warring with logic.

“Trust me,” she said, pulling him along.

The next few moments took on a surreal, dreamlike quality. The flames were approaching fast, eating up the thick underbrush and igniting dry branches, throwing sparks and black wind in every direction. The Santa Anas might be blowing west, but a large fire created its own weather, and this one was all over the place.

By the time they reached the streambed, the flames burned frighteningly close. If they didn’t make it to the tenajas before the fire, they could take cover in the shallow creek, but with the heavy foliage along the bank, that would be a hot, dangerous option.

Knowing they were in serious trouble, she quickened the pace as much as she dared, hopping over boulders and trudging through the ankle-high water. Her boots became wet and heavy with mud. Branches struck her across the face.

She stumbled, losing her footing on the slippery rocks, and went down hard on one knee. Pain radiated through her, slamming all the way up to her hip. Luke crouched beside her. She could see flames reflected in his dark eyes.

“I’m okay,” she said, struggling for breath.

“I’ll carry you.”

“No.” Allowing him to help her up, she let him support her on one side and kept moving, ignoring the pain. The fire was advancing quickly now, jumping the creek, surrounding them. If they didn’t hurry, a bum knee would be the least of her problems.

The largest pool was the closest, less than a quarter mile down the streambed. It took an eternity to get there. The force of the heat was intense, whipping at her clothes, burning her eyes and nose and lungs. Her skin felt raw from exposure. When they finally reached the edge of the falls, Shay didn’t take off her boots or throw aside her pack before she jumped in, and Luke was right there beside her.

The water was cold. Shockingly, blessedly cold. And deep. The pool embraced her like a lover, inviting her stay a little longer, to sink down a little farther, to immerse herself in the safety of its sweet, dark depths.

Luke’s arm snaked around her waist, jerking her up. They broke through the surface, panting, staring, wide-eyed. All around them, fire blazed.

“We’ll die in here,” he gasped, releasing her to tread water.

She wasn’t sure they wouldn’t, so she didn’t respond. The flames roared. Hot ash rained down on top of the water, singeing and sizzling.

Cursing, Luke shrugged out of his pack. Mutely, she slipped hers off her shoulders and let him take it from her. She watched while he found a place under the water where his feet could touch, stared at him while he removed his uniform shirt, eyes blinking, mind blank. He made a tent with it and gestured for her to take shelter underneath. She did, holding on to his bare shoulders, feeling his strength.

“Are you all right?”

She nodded and buried her face in the hollow of his throat, tightening her grip on him, never wanting to let him go. She felt the need to cry but couldn’t. He tucked his shirt around their heads and they stayed that way, shivering with cold and stunned into silence, until the danger passed.

When they came out from beneath his shirt, the world was black.

It wasn’t yet dusk but clouds of smoke and heavy ash occluded the sun like a solar eclipse. The air was thick with the smell of burning sage, oak, and mesquite. Everywhere she looked she saw a blanket of ash. Charred branches and smoldering tree trunks were all that was left. An eerie gray light cast their shapes into stark relief like a photo negative.

In less than a week, green shoots would sprout from black soot, nature reinventing itself, but for now, the sky was dark and the landscape barren.

Shay shuddered in Luke’s arms.

“Your lips are blue,” he said, studying her cautiously.

She was cold. So was he. Beneath her fingertips, his shoulders were like chilled granite. Her own body felt limp, bloodless. When he released her, she thought she might float away.

“You’re in shock,” he accused.

Normally that kind of insult would have riled her up. Now the liveliest response she could muster was a yawn.

Muttering Dylan’s favorite curse word, Luke put his shirt back on, leaving it unbuttoned, and treaded water, searching the perimeter of the pool for a way out. This particular tenaja was called the Devil’s Cup, and it was basically a giant bowl of granite with smooth, high sides. After a lone explorer drowned here more than fifty years ago, hand-and footholds had been notched into the stone. Luke found them with no help from her. Then he dragged her over there and made her go up first.

Her wet fingers couldn’t seem to find purchase on the slippery rock, and her legs were all but useless. “Hmm,” she said. “Maybe we will die in here.”

“I don’t think so,” he replied, sounding mad. Covering her hands with his, he forced her to get a grip. Literally. Then he gave her bottom a hard push and insinuated his shoulder underneath it, using his body to keep hers from sliding back down. It was awkward and undignified, but with Luke’s help, Shay made it up.

He heaved himself over the edge as well, and they both lay there, panting from exertion.

After a few moments, she realized he was waiting for her lead. He didn’t know where they were or how to get out of here. The fire wouldn’t come back to a burned-out area, but that didn’t mean they were in the clear. They were cold and wet, and dark was fast approaching.

“How’s your knee?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “My whole body is numb.” Experimenting, she bent both legs, feeling a dull throb in the left one. She touched it and didn’t find any broken bones or loose parts. It was only a little swollen. Maybe the cold water had helped.

“There’s a cave near here,” she said, her brain kicking back into gear. “I think I can make it that far.”

His eyes narrowed. “A cave?”

“Not a lion cave,” she said, stifling a hysterical giggle. “It’s a sacred site, actually. Petroglyphs and stuff.” There might be drinking water there, too. The site was little known and seldom visited, but Shay had stashed some supplies there herself six months ago. From the Santa Ana Mountains to the Anza-Borrego Desert, there was only this desolate, treacherous stretch of land, and hikers got lost in the area occasionally.

“Do you want to rest?” he asked.

“No. We need to get moving.”

Nodding, he gathered up their packs. Shay put all of the essentials in one, the last of their drinking water, a first aid kit, and a couple of energy bars. The tranquilizer guns were wet and the cell phones out of range, but she added them anyway.

He took the pack away from her and helped her up. She tested her knee, putting weight on it gingerly. It didn’t feel good, but it didn’t buckle, either.

“I can carry you,” he said again.

“No, you can’t,” she snapped. “I’m too heavy.”

He frowned, perusing her body for evidence of heaviness. Or maybe he was just assessing her injury. “Let me look at your knee.”

Grumbling, she sat down and drew up the leg of her pants. The wet fabric bunched around her knee, making tending to it impossible. Cheeks heating, she hobbled to her feet again, fumbling with her zipper and dropping her pants.

Shay was glad today’s panties were a dark, unrevealing blue.

She wasn’t seriously injured, just a bad scrape and the makings of a nasty bruise, but he examined her knee carefully, pressing gently here and there before applying some salve from the first aid kit and wrapping her up in an ace bandage. She remained standing, trying to ignore the fact that he was kneeling before her, his face just inches from her crotch.

When he was finally done, his gaze moved from her knee to her bikini briefs. He jerked away from her and straightened, his color darkening.

My, my. Luke Meza could blush.

Hiding a smile, Shay tried to drag her pants back up, almost losing her balance when the wet fabric refused to cooperate. Luke stepped in to offer his assistance, hands sliding all over her slippery skin.

“Did these shrink or something?” he had the nerve to ask.

She swatted his hands away and completed the task herself, her cheeks heating with embarrassment. Of course he wouldn’t understand about wet clothes and extra curves. His butt was probably hard as a rock, like the rest of him.

With his uniform shirt hanging open, and his hair all wet and choppy, he was most enticingly disheveled.

His eyes met hers and shuttered instantly, hardening into black chips of ice. “Ready?” he asked, throwing the pack over one shoulder.

She nodded, preparing herself for another long haul.

Her boots squished as she walked, growing heavier with every step, and her knee ached, but she soldiered on, leading him over scorched earth and smoldering embers, heading toward Cahuilla Ridge. Traveling so soon after a wildfire wasn’t recommended, but the temperature was dropping fast and they needed to find shelter before nightfall.

She was aware of her wet clothes clinging to her and the pervasive silence, the fuzzy gray sunset and falling ash. It was as if the fire had sucked up every breath of air and ray of light, swallowing sound and muting color, leaving nothing but dark soot, charred black bits, and quiet.

Putting one foot in front of the other, she trudged on, relying heavily on her right leg. Anyone who followed their tracks would know by the uneven depressions her boots made that she was hurt. When the burned soil beneath her feet became sandy, she knew they were close.

Cahuilla Ridge was a rock exposure made of multi-layered sandstone, carved deep by wind and erosion, too barren to provide fuel for the wildfire. The area’s only foliage, a cluster of fan palms, stood high and proud, untouched by flames. Nestled into the side of the ridge there was a small cave, tall enough to stand in and wide enough to move around. It wasn’t a five-star resort, but it would serve as lodgings for the night. Native American couples had been using the place to perform sacred rituals for centuries.

Ascending the trail along the ridge proved more difficult than she’d anticipated. The pain in her knee was bearable so she didn’t think it was responsible for her sluggish pace. She was shivering but didn’t feel the cold, aware of her surroundings but unable to focus.