Page 12 of Stilettos & Whiskey (Deputy Gemma Stone)

Brent, Mom’s medic and spotter pulled me into the helicopter. He was pushing sixty, but he had the stamina of a man half his age. “Sorry about your apartment.”

“Me too.” I released the belay line as he closed and secured the helicopter door.

Mom glanced over her shoulder. “Buckle up. We need to relieve Firebird One. He’s running low on fuel.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I strapped in and put on the headphones. “Who are we looking for?”

Brent handed me a clipboard with a missing person’s poster attached to it and climbed into the co-pilot’s seat.

“Our missing hiker is one Annalise Cordova. She’s twenty-five, apparently in good health but a risk taker. Her occupation is listed as romance writer. She flew in from San Diego Saturday to hike the Superstition Mountains for inspiration,” Mom advised.

I groaned. “Let me guess. She’s writing about either the Lost Dutchman’s Mine or Peralta’s hidden horde.”

“The Lost Dutchman’s mine,” Mom answered.

The missing person’s poster showed Annalise flaunting her awesome figure in a red bikini top and jean shorts. The blue backpack at her feet wasn’t big enough to hold enough supplies for a two-hour hike, let alone a three-day camping trip. “Please tell me she didn’t go alone.”

“She refused to listen to the park ranger and was last seen two days ago on the Siphon Draw Trail,” Brent said.

Ugh. She just had to pick one of the more dangerous trails. It had been one hundred and twelve degrees for the last two days and without adequate water, the chances of Annalise still being alive weren’t good. “Were they able to track her cellphone?”

“No,” Mom replied.

“Has she done any backpacking before?”

Mom shook her head. “Firebird One searched Siphon Draw, Peralta and Hieroglyphics trails and came up empty.

Damn. I stared out the window. The Superstition Mountains were beautiful but deadly.

To this day the park rangers still find skeletal remains of the unlucky treasure hunters or hikers who got lost and ran out of water.

But the chance of finding the Lost Dutchman’s gold mine or Peralta’s hidden horde kept luring the idiots to their deaths.

“We’re approaching Massacre Falls. If Annalise made it this far, she might have taken refuge under one of the mesquite trees,” Mom said.

I raised my binoculars and studied the rugged landscape. The falls were one of the few sources of water during the rainy season. Back in 1840 Peralta’s men were massacred by Apaches when they stopped for water. The gold they had mined was never found and the legend started.

Five minutes later, Brent called, “I have a blue backpack just south of that boulder shaped like a toadstool.”

Mom expertly put the helicopter into hover mode.

“There’s something red under the mesquite tree to the east of the boulder,” I exclaimed.

Mom swung the helicopter around. “Looks like a body.”

“I agree. I’ll rappel down and see if this is a rescue or recovery,” Brent said.

I released my harness and opened the helicopter door. The wind buffeted me. To the east a towering bank of dark gray clouds filled the sky. A monsoon storm was coming. “We need to be gone before the storm hits.”

“Your crazy mother enjoys getting caught in a haboob. Me, not so much.” Brent attached the belay line to his harness and rappelled down.

The crack of a high-powered rifle sounded. An instant later, a bullet whizzed by my ear and struck the fuselage. “Fuck! Brent! Look out!”

The sniper fired off a volley of lead.

Brent’s belay line broke. With a cry of horror, he fell to the ground and didn’t move.

Another bullet zipped by me. “Shit!” I quickly shut the helicopter door. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. I shuddered. That was too damn close.

“November-nine-seven-eight-alpha-whiskey, someone is shooting at us,” Mom called on the radio.

The static almost drowned out the dispatcher’s voice, “Say again, November-nine-seven-eight-alpha-whiskey.”

The copter vibrated so badly, my teeth rattled.

“This is November-nine-seven-eight-alpha-whiskey, we are declaring an emergency.”

Bullet holes peppered the windshield and the helicopter spun wildly. “Mom! Are you hit?”

“Buckle up,” Mom shouted. “We’re losing oil pressure, and I need to land before the engine shuts down.”

More rounds thudded against the metal.

My hands shaking badly, I struggled to fasten my harness. This day was going from bad to worse.

Mom’s voice remained steady as the helicopter shook violently and spun in a circle. “Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! We are going down!”

A scream tore from me as the helicopter dropped from the sky. It hit the ground hard and skidded along a ridge for a good ten feet before slamming into a huge saguaro cactus. I sagged against the seat in relief. We weren’t dead.

“The engine is on fire,” Mom warned.

Releasing my harness, I grabbed the fire extinguisher and put out the fire. “I never, ever want to do this again, Mom.” I glanced over my shoulder. She was slumped over the controls. “Mom!” Sheer horror swept over me. “No, no, no. You are not dying on me; do you hear me!”

“Not dead,” Mom gasped. “Just shot.”

A cold dread tightened my stomach. “Where?”

“Shoulder.”

Damn. Brent had the medical bag. “Do you have a spare first aid kit?”

“Next to the AED.”

I hurried over and grabbed it. “Once we get the bleeding stopped, we need to move. That sniper is still out there.”

“I caught a brief glimpse of him. The sniper is dressed like an Apache warrior,” Mom gasped.

Was there a full moon tonight? Shit, there was. “If he shoots at us again, he’s a dead man. I’ve had my fill of crazy people today.”

“It’s probably Pete Thurman. He’s a slightly mad treasure hunter, but I’ve never seen him dressed like an Apache warrior before. He lives in a cave near Weaver’s Needle.”

I helped Mom out of the pilot’s seat and over to the gurney. God, there was so much blood. Fighting back my panic, I gave Mom my “everything is fine” smile. “Let’s have a look.” I unbuttoned her shirt and examined the wound. “It’s a through and through.”

Mom’s cellphone rang. Her teeth clenched against the pain, she answered it, “Stone.”

While Mom relayed the situation to her captain, I bandaged her shoulder. My cellphone rang. I glanced at the caller ID. It was Dad. Did he know we had crashed? Probably. “Garza.”

“Was your mother’s helicopter shot down?” Dad growled in my ear.

Mom raised an inquiring eyebrow.

Dad , I mouthed.

Her eyes widened in alarm.

“Answer me, Julie.”

“We made an emergency landing, but we’re okay,” I said in my Debbie Sunshine voice.

There was a long pause. “How badly is she hurt?”

“She took a bullet in the shoulder. I’ve bandaged it, but we need to move. The sniper is still out there.”

Dad demanded, “What happened to Brent?”

“We had located the missing hiker, and he was rappelling down when the shooting started. His line broke and he hit the ground hard. Once I get Mom to a safe place, I’ll look for him.”

“Stay with Tess. We’re coming,” Dad barked and disconnected.

“Dad and the boys are coming.”

“The cavalry en route,” Mom said at the same time.

Smoke blew into the helicopter.

“Shit! The bushes are on fire. Let’s get you somewhere safe.”

Mom pointed to the east. “See that overhang of rock?”

“Yeah.”

“It has a hidden cave, and we’ll have the high ground advantage until our backup arrives.”

After all these years, Mom still thought like a sniper. “And the boulders will give us some protection from flying bullets.” Wrapping an arm around Mom’s waist I helped her out of the helicopter.

“Wait!”

I really didn’t like Mom’s color. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not leaving without my sniper rifle and grab the emergency supply bag too.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I pulled on the emergency pack and slung the sniper rifle over my shoulder. “Let’s go. We’re sitting ducks out here.”

Mom grimaced in pain as she moved up the rocky path. “If it’s Pete, he has arthritis. He doesn’t move very fast and he’s usually a lousy shot.” Mom sighed. “Until today.”

“Any idea why he would shoot at us?

“He thinks the government is after his gold.”

Of course, he does. God was it hot. The heat waves shimmering off the sweltering rocks, added to the feeling of being baked alive. Even the poor cactus looked wilted.

Mom staggered and fell to her knees. “I need to rest for a minute.”

“Okay.” I surveyed the area. Nothing moved and the only sound was the crackling of the brush fire. Which was spreading. Fast.

I dug a bottle of water out of the emergency pack. “Here. You need water.”

“I’d rather have a pain pill.” Mom drank half the bottle and gave it to me. “You need to keep hydrated too.”

“I haven’t been shot.”

In her mean mother voice, Mom countered, “No, you were just pushed down the side of a ravine. Drink it.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I gulped the water down and placed the empty bottle in the pack.

Two gunshots rang out and were quickly followed by a burst of gunfire.

A man’s cry of agony echoed off the rocks.

“Oh, God, Brent.” Mom struggled to her feet. “He needs help.”

Wrapping my arms around her, I held her tight. “He does, but Mom, you aren’t in any shape to help him.”

“He’s my friend, I’m not letting him die,” Mom snapped.

I took a deep breath. “And if he’s already dead?”

Tears ran down her cheeks.

“As soon as you’re safe, I’ll look for him. I promise.”

Mom touched my face gently. “You’re not in fighting shape either.”

“Maybe not, but I wasn’t shot.”

Every inch a bad ass sniper, Mom surveyed the area. “I’m getting a bad feeling the Evans family is behind this.”

“Me too. Let’s get to high ground.” It seemed like it took an eternity to reach the overhang of rocks. I glanced at my watch. Dang. It had only been eight minutes. We collapsed in the shade with a sigh of relief.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

KABOOM! A huge fireball rose high into the air.

“That bastard blew up my helicopter,” Mom snarled.