“Oh, of course you do. Everyone does. A woman who’ll listen, take your side, tell the truth—or not, as you need it. A woman you can count on, no matter what, and who’ll love you no matter how much you screw up. But since you’ve already got that in Marg, I’m happy to settle for being your friend.”

“We can see how that goes.”

The siren shrilled.

“Hell. I’m up.”

“Oh, God! You have to go. You have to—Can I watch? Lucas told me how this part works, but I’d like to see it.”

“Fine with me. But you have to run.” Without waiting, Rowan tore toward the ready room.

She breezed by Cards, so he kicked it to keep pace.

“What’s the word?” she asked.

“Laborious. Got one up in Flathead, tearing down the canyon. That’s all I know.”

“Are you spotting?”

“Jumping.”

They rushed into the controlled chaos of the ready room, grabbing gear out of lockers. Rowan pulled on her jumpsuit, checked pockets, zippers, snaps, secured her gloves, her let-down rope. She shoved her feet into her boots and caught sight of Matt doing the same.

“How’d you get back on the list?”

“Just my luck. I checked back in twenty minutes ago.” He shook his head, then snagged his chute and reserve off the speed rack. “I guess the fire god decided I’d had enough time off.”

Rowan secured her chutes, her PG bag. “See you on the ship,” she told him, and tucked her helmet under her arm.

She shuffled toward the door, surprised to see Gull, already suited up, standing with her father and Ella.

“That was quick.”

“I was in the loadmaster’s room when the siren went off. Handy. Are you set?”

“Always.” Rowan tapped her fingers to her forehead, flashed her father a grin. “See you later.”

“See you later.” He echoed the good-bye they’d given each other all her life.

“I asked if it was allowed, and since it is, I’m going to say stay safe.”

Rowan nodded at Ella. “I plan on it. Let’s roll, rook.”

“I know you told me it all moves fast,” Ella said as Rowan walked with Gull toward the waiting plane, “but I didn’t realize just how fast. There’s no time to think. The siren goes off, and they go from drinking coffee or packing boxes to flying to a fire, in minutes.”

“It’s a routine, like getting dressed in the morning. Only on fast forward. And they’re always thinking. Kick some ass,” he told Yangtree.

“Kicking ass, taking names. And counting the days. Catch you on the flip side, buddy.”

He spoke to others as they waddled toward the plane, some he’d worked with, others who seemed as young as saplings to him. He slipped his hand in Ella’s as the plane’s door closed.

One of them might be a killer.

“They’ll be fine.” She squeezed his fingers. “And back soon.”

“Yeah.” Still, he felt the comfort of having her hand in his as he watched the plane taxi, rev, then rise.

* * *

After the briefing in flight, Rowan huddled with Yangtree and Trigger over maps and strategy.

Gull plugged his MP3 in, slid on his sunglasses. The music cut the engine noise, left his mind free to think. Behind the shaded glasses, he scanned the faces, the body language of the other jumpers.

Maybe it felt wrong, this suspicion, but he’d rather suffer a few pangs of guilt than suffer the consequences of more sabotage.

Cards and Dobie passed some time with liar’s poker while Gibbons read a tattered paperback copy of Cat’s Cradle. Libby huddled with Matt, patting his knee in one of her there-there gestures. The spotter got up from his seat behind the cockpit to pick his way through to confer with Yangtree.

When the call came out for buddy checks, Gull walked back himself to perform the ritual with Rowan.

“Yangtree’s dumping us,” Rowan told him.

Yangtree shook his head with a smile. “I’m going to work for Iron Man the first of the year. I’m going to take the fall off, buy myself a house, get my other knee fixed, do some fishing. I’ll have a lot more fishing time without having to ride herd over the bunch of you every summer.”

“You’re giving up this life of travel, glamour and romance?” Gull asked him.

“I’ve had all the glamour I want, and might just find some romance when I’m not eating smoke.”

“Maybe you should take up knitting while you’re at it,” Trigger suggested.

“I might just. I can knit you a real pretty sling since you like keeping your ass in one.” He climbed over men and gear for another consult with the spotter and pilot.

“He’s barely fifty.” Trigger folded gum into his mouth. “Hell, I’m going to be fifty one of these days. What’s he want to quit for?”

“I think he’s just tired, and his knee’s killing him.” Rowan glanced forward. “He’ll probably change his mind after he gets it fixed.”

Once again, the spotter moved to the door. “Guard your reserves!”

Hot summer air, scorched with smoke, blasted in through the opening. Rowan repositioned to get a look out the window, at the blaze crowning through the tops of thick pines and firs. Red balls of ignited gases boomed up like antiaircraft fire.

“She’s fast,” Rowan said, “and getting a nice lift from the wind through the canyon. We’re going to hit some serious crosswinds on the way down.”

The first set of streamers confirmed her estimate.

“Do you see the jump spot?” she asked Gull. “There, that gap, at eight o’clock. You’ll want to come in from the south, avoid doing a face-plant in the rock face. You’re second man, third stick, so—”

“No. First man, second stick.” He shrugged when she frowned at him, knowing Lucas had asked L.B. to switch him to her jump partner. “I guess L.B. shuffled things when he put Matt back on.”

“Okay, I’ll catch the drift behind you.” She nodded out the window at the next set of streamers. “Looks like we’ve got three hundred yards.”

He studied the streamers himself, and the towers of smoke, glinting silver at the fire’s crown, mottled black at its base.

On final, Trigger snapped the chin strap of his helmet, pulled down his mesh face mask before reaching for the overhead cable to waddle his way toward the door. Matt, second man, followed.