Page 3 of Hemlock Firestorm (Black Timber Peak Hotshots #3)

TWO

COLE

The radio crackles, static cutting through the tense atmosphere of the command post. I pause mid-sentence, my gut clenching as I catch the urgency in the spotter's voice.

"Hadley's in trouble. Repeat, we have a jumper down."

My blood runs cold.

Jo. Of course it's Jo.

I snatch up the radio, barking into it with more force than necessary. "This is Whitlock. What's the situation?"

There's a beat of silence that stretches for an eternity. When the response comes, it confirms my worst fears.

"She's tangled bad. Canopy's a mess. We can see movement, but she's not getting free on her own."

Shit. A hundred scenarios flash through my mind, each one worse than the last. I force them back, focusing on the facts. "What's her position? How close is the fire line?"

Another pause. I can practically hear Jerry doing mental calculations. "About twelve miles southeast of your position. Fire's changing direction though, picking up speed with this bizarre wind. Clock's ticking."

I close my eyes, picturing the map in my head.

Twelve miles isn't too far, but with the terrain and the unpredictable fire, it might as well be on the moon. The dense forest and steep ravines in that area would make ground approach nearly impossible. That’s exactly why Hadley had been deployed. "Any other jumpers in range?"

"Negative. Rest of the team's tied up on the north face."

Of course they are. Because nothing can ever be simple when Jo Hadley's involved. I look at the map to verify where everyone is located. Jo was going to be creating the fireline further south, heading north to meet up with the other smokejumper team to create one long break .

I clench my jaw, torn between fury at her recklessness and the choking fear that's threatening to overwhelm me. This is exactly the kind of stunt I've been warning her about for months. Taking unnecessary risks, pushing too hard…

For a moment, I see Rick, my smokejumping partner's face from years ago, grinning at me from the open door of the plane. The same cocky assurance I'd seen in Jo's eyes a hundred times.

My palms go slick with sweat. I wipe them on my pants, trying to ignore the way my heart is suddenly racing. This isn't about Rick. This is about Jo, alone and in danger.

The first time I saw her, during a training exercise last year, she'd breezed through the physical tests like they were nothing, then proceeded to challenge every decision I made. I'd been equal parts impressed and infuriated.

I remember the flash in those amber eyes, the determined set of her jaw. The way my gaze had been drawn to the curve of her neck, the flex of toned muscle in her thighs. Totally inappropriate.

My training as both a Hotshot and a smokejumper had me in on the combined training the year prior with both state and federal agencies involved.

The Hotshots ran tons of drills. We ran drills on rapid deployment, simulating an emergency jump into a fast-moving fire scenario.

It was then I’d met Jo for the first time.

Jo had just completed her third jump of the day, each one executed with textbook precision.

"Alright, Hadley," I'd called out as she jogged back to the staging area. "You're done for the day."

She'd stopped short, confusion quickly replaced by stubborn determination. "Sir, with all due respect, I'm good for at least two more jumps."

I'd shaken my head, exasperated. "It's not about what you're 'good for', Hadley. We have protocols in place for a reason. Three jumps per day, max. No exceptions."

"But sir," she'd argued, stepping closer. "In a real emergency, we might need to push past those limits. Shouldn't we train for that possibility?"

I'd felt my temper rising, matched only by my grudging admiration for her tenacity. "The limits exist to keep you safe, Hadley. Fatigue leads to mistakes, and mistakes get people killed out there."

She'd held my gaze, unflinching. "I understand that sir. But I'm not fatigued. I'm ready to go again."

We'd stood there, locked in a battle of wills, neither willing to back down. The other trainees had watched in tense silence, waiting to see how it would play out .

Finally, I'd crossed my arms, fixing her with my sternest glare.

"Fine. You want another jump? You've got it.

But you'll do it with full gear, and you'll run the entire obstacle course before you even touch that plane.

If you can do all that and still execute a perfect landing, I'll consider revising the protocols. "

I'd expected her to balk at the challenge because it was by all accounts absurd. The obstacle course in her gear after all of those jumps was likely to make her pass out. Instead, her eyes had lit up with fierce determination. "You're on, sir."

What followed was one of the most impressive displays of sheer stubbornness I'd ever witnessed. Jo had tackled the obstacle course like a woman possessed, scaling walls, crawling under barbed wire, and navigating the rope bridge with a speed that left even seasoned jumpers in awe.

By the time she'd reached the plane, she was drenched in sweat and breathing hard. But there was a fire in her eyes that told me she was far from done.

I'd watched from the ground as she made the jump, my heart in my throat as she freefell for what seemed like an eternity before deploying her chute. Her landing had been textbook perfect, touching down exactly on the target with barely a stumble.

She'd walked back to me, legs visibly shaking with exertion but a triumphant smile on her face. "So, about those protocols, sir?"

I'd shaken my head, torn between exasperation and reluctant admiration. "You've made your point, Hadley. But don't think for a second this means you can ignore safety measures in the field. Sometimes knowing when to stop is just as important as pushing your limits."

"Understood, sir," she'd replied, the ghost of a smirk playing at her lips. "I'll remember that."

Shaking my head sharply, I force myself back to the present.

Focus, Whitlock.

I do some rapid mental math, weighing our options. The ground crews would never be able to reach her position in time which was why she was deployed in the first place.

The thought of Jo facing those flames alone, trapped and helpless, makes my chest constrict painfully.

I know what I have to do, even as every instinct in me screams against it.

There wasn’t another choice. The smokejumpers on their way were still on a plane to get here from other states.

I pull out my cell phone and make a quick phone call squaring away the situation here before I can leave my post.

"I'm going in," I say into the radio, my voice steady despite the tremor in my hands. "Have the rescue chopper prepped and ready."

There's a beat of shocked silence. Then a burst of protests from both the spotter and Hansen, one of the squad leaders who was waiting for the rest of his crew to arrive on site. I cut them off sharply.

"This isn't a debate. I'm the only one who can reach her in time.

" I turn to face my team, meeting their concerned gazes.

"Hansen, you're in charge of ground operations until Morrison gets here to take over. He’s about thirty minutes out.

Keep the fire contained as best you can, but do not, I repeat, do not send anyone else into that sector. Clear?"

Hansen nods, worry etched on his face. "Yes, sir. But Cole, it's been years since?—"

"I’ve got it." I interrupt, more harshly than I intend. I soften my tone. "I appreciate the concern, but there's no time to argue. Hadley needs extraction now."

Hansen steps closer, lowering his voice. "Cole, you're not certified as a smokejumper anymore. You could face serious repercussions for this. We're talking about potential suspension, maybe even losing your position."

He was right. Everything I worked my life for could be stripped from me when I came back. It didn’t escape my notice that what I was considering was breaking all of my own rules. It makes my stomach tighten with dread.

I meet his gaze steadily, my jaw set. "Repercussions are better than a dead smokejumper. I'll deal with the fallout later."

He holds my eyes for a moment longer, then nods curtly. "Understood. Just be careful out there."

I clap him on the shoulder, managing a grim smile. "Always am."

I don't wait for further protests, striding towards the equipment shed with purpose I don't entirely feel. Each step feels leaden, memories crowding in despite my best efforts to push them aside.

The jumpsuit is first. I pull it on mechanically, muscle memory taking over where conscious thought fails me.

The Nomex fabric is comfortingly familiar, designed to protect against the intense heat we face on every jump.

I'm hit with a vivid flash of helping Rick adjust his straps that last day, double-checking everything as always. My hands falter on the buckles.

Stop. Breathe. Focus.

Next comes the parachute. Acid in my stomach seems to rise.

I heft the familiar weight, picking one up I had seen Hadley packing earlier.

I trusted her knowledge in packing chutes more than anyone despite her recklessness.

She might be infuriating but she was smart and methodical.

At this point I trusted her chute packing skills more than my own.

Running through my mental checklist, I inspect every inch of the canopy and lines, just like I did for Rick.

No. Not now. Later.

I strap on the reserve chute, praying I won't need it. The harness feels both foreign and achingly familiar, a reminder of countless jumps and the one that changed everything.

The helmet is last. I stare at it for a long moment, remembering the last glimpse I had of Rick's before he jumped. The jaunty salute he'd given me, oblivious to the equipment malfunction that would claim his life mere minutes later.

My hands are shaking. I clench them into fists, nails biting into my palms. The pain helps, grounding me in the present.

I am not that man anymore. I will not fail again.

The walk to the waiting aircraft feels like a dream. Everything is too sharp, too bright. The roar of the engines is deafening, drowning out the pounding of my heart.

As I approach the plane, I run through the jump procedure in my head. Exit the aircraft. Assume the proper body position. Count. Deploy the chute. Steer towards the target. Prepare for landing. Simple steps that I've performed hundreds of times, but now they feel like a foreign language.

I argue briefly with the pilot outside the C-23 Sherpa about the conditions. He's right to be concerned, the winds are nasty and unpredictable. Any sane person would wait it out.

Hadley’s spotter and the acting incident commander, Jerry, backs me, knowing we need to get her out. He steps forward, his voice steady and authoritative, cutting through the tension in the cockpit.

"Listen, son," Jerry says, placing a hand on the pilot's shoulder. "You know as well as I do that those winds aren't going to settle down anytime soon. Every minute we wait is another minute that fire closes in on Hadley. Cole is our best shot at getting her out of there alive."

The pilot glances between us, his brow furrowed in doubt. "I care about Jo but it's too risky. The winds are all over the place. One gust could throw Witlock off course, or worse, send him into the trees with Hadley."

Jerry nods, acknowledging the danger, but his resolve doesn't waver.

"That's why we need Cole. He's got the experience, the instincts.

He can read the wind better than anyone else out there, ‘cept perhaps me but I am watching the wind for him.

He has it once he jumps. If anyone can make this work, it's him.

But we have to act now. We don't have time to sit around and hope the weather changes. "

I can see the hesitation in the pilot's eyes, but Jerry's words seem to be sinking in. He knows we're running out of options.

"Look," Jerry continues, his hand smooths through his thick ash-white beard, his voice softer now, almost pleading. "I've been doing this longer than you've been flying. I've seen what happens when we wait too long. We can't let that happen to Jo. She's counting on us. We owe it to her to try."

The pilot exhales sharply, his shoulders slumping as he finally gives in. "Jesus, you're as stubborn as Hadley!" he mutters, shaking his head.

I step forward, my heart pounding in my chest. "Thank you," I say, though I know it's not enough.

And then before I know it I'm there, standing at the open-door thousands of feet in the air.

The old terror claws at me, threatening to drag me under.

My body remembers this, even if my mind has tried to forget.

The endless stretch of sky. The sickening lurch of freefall.

The absolute certainty that this time, this jump, will be my last.

I look down, searching for any sign of Jo. All I can see is smoke, billowing up from the inferno below. Somewhere in that hellscape, she's trapped. Waiting. Maybe praying that someone will come for her.

I refuse to let another jumper die on my watch.

Not this time , I think fiercely. Not her.