Tactical Rescue. Maggie K. Black

the best she could as the world around her was swallowed up in smoke, heat and falling rock.

      More shouting from above her now. A gun blast rattled the rocks. She closed her eyes and focused on breathing through her fear, even as she could feel it threatening to take over her mind. A vehicle engine rumbled in the distance. There was the sound of someone scrambling over the rocks above her again.

      “Hey.” The voice was male, deep and with just a hint of grit. “I’m back. You okay?”

      Rebecca opened her eyes.

      Her heart stopped. His helmet was now off. And she found herself staring straight into the gray eyes of the only man who’d ever managed to make that heart flutter a beat.

      Zack. She opened her mouth but couldn’t find her voice. Zack Biggs.

      Is that really you?

      “Hang on, I’m going to get you out of here.” He disappeared again and she heard rocks shift above her.

      No, he couldn’t be Zack. She must’ve bumped her head so hard she was seeing things. Her mind filled with a mental image of what Zack had looked like the last time she’d seen him. She’d been seventeen years old and dressed in the only sparkling formal dress she’d ever owned. The sports banquet had been over. She’d still been clutching her martial arts trophy: Rebecca Miles, Technically Flawless. Zack had stood outside in the courtyard, pounding rain beating on his head and running down his face. Looking sad and angry and as though he’d just lost something.

      The weight that was pressing against her limbs lightened. She wriggled her other arm out of the rock.

      “All right, I’m going to reach in and lift you out of there.” He peeled off his leather jacket and leaned in toward her. “Just grab hold of my arms, and I’ll hoist you up.”

      The arms she grabbed ahold of were solid muscle and as smooth as marble encased in silk. The T-shirt-clad chest that pulled her in was as perfectly sculpted as a statue. The face she looked into had cheekbones cut like an action hero’s, and his black hair was grizzled gray at the temples. Could this man really be Zack? If so, didn’t he recognize her? Her tongue felt tied. His strong arms were practically carrying her down to the road, and here her brain couldn’t even figure out how to make sense of what was happening. A good chunk of the cliff side now blocked the road leading to her campsite. The man who’d set the detonators was nowhere to be seen. The motorbike lay in a twisted wreck on the south side of the rocks. The Zack she’d known had had a passion for motorcycles and had admired the General’s vintage collection. But he also could never have maneuvered a bike like that. He set her down gently. One hand hovered over her shoulder. “Are you hurt?”

      “Scratched and bruised, but okay,” she said. “But what about you? That looked like a pretty major crash.”

      “I’m fine.” He stepped back. His shoulders straightened. His arms crossed. Everything about his stance screamed military.

      “Where did that other man go?” she asked. “Do you know who he was, or where he went, or why he sabotaged the road like that?” She was talking too fast, which tended to happen when she was uncomfortable. And right now her nerves were in overdrive. “I don’t have a cell phone on me, but there’s one in my camper, which is a short walk from here. My truck’s there, too. We need to report this to police. This road’s a write-off, at least for going south. And your bike’s wrecked. But if we take my truck and drive north, there’s a back way we can take to Timmins. It’ll only take a couple hours.”

      He just looked at her. Then he ran one hand slowly over his face and looked down the road.

      See, this is why you can’t possibly be my Zack, no matter how much you remind me of him. Because my Zack would be hugging me right now and reassuring me, instead of just standing there.

      “Sorry, we haven’t done introductions.” She stepped forward and stretched out her hand. “My name is Rebecca Miles.”

      His eyes met her gaze. She knew those eyes. Dark gray. Like flint, the moment just before it sparked a fire. His mouth opened. A phone started ringing behind her, so loudly she almost jumped. He ran past her, back up the rock pile to his jacket, and grabbed a cell phone out of the pocket. “Keats here.”

      Keats? His name was Keats? Even though she’d just told herself he couldn’t possibly be her high school crush, somehow hearing a different name come out of the man’s mouth landed heavy in her stomach.

      She watched as he stood on the rock, his back to her and his phone to his ear. If he’d had a phone, why hadn’t he called the police already? The conversation was quick. He hung up, picked up his jacket and walked back down the rock slide toward her. Deep frown lines cut along his brow.

      “Keats, is it?” she asked.

      He paused, as though he’d just been asked a very difficult question.

      “I’m sorry,” she added. “I couldn’t help but hear when you answered the phone. But that’s all I heard.”

      “Yes.” He pulled off his right glove and reached for her hand. A strong, firm grasp enveloped hers. “Sergeant Keats. Reconnaissance specialist. That was my CO—my commanding officer—on the phone. I apprised him of the situation. My phone battery is pretty much dead right now, and he’s going to call all this in to the police. And yes, I’d like to take you up on your offer of a ride to Timmins.” There was a searching look on his face, as if she was supposed to be reading something else between his words. “What were you doing up on that hill?”

      “Searching for a falcon’s nest,” she said. “I’m a filmmaker and videographer. So, Sergeant Keats, is it safe to presume that the man who nearly blew us up is some target you’re up here chasing?”

      “No.” His frown grew deeper. “I’m not on assignment. I’m on leave actually, until Thursday. I’m due back at base in two days. Just let me grab my bag off the bike and I’ll be good to go.”

      “But what about the man who blew up the road? I heard arguing and gunshots—”

      “He’s gone.”

      Her hands slid onto her hips. “And?”

      “And, he blew up the road.” Now his arms crossed over his chest. “We struggled. I disarmed him. He ran off to where he’d hidden his vehicle. I thought he’d gone. But then he returned with a new weapon. It discharged. I disarmed him again. He left. I now have two illegal Glocks in my possession, and I’d like to go put them in my bag, as I don’t much feel like leaving them here.”

      It was all useful information, but hardly warm and reassuring. And didn’t tell her what she wanted to know.

      “But who was he and why did he blow up the road?”

      “I’m really sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything more than I have.” He turned around and climbed back over the rocks toward his motorcycle.

      “But are we still in danger from him?”

      He paused, his feet balancing on the crushing rocks that she’d feared just moments ago would bury her alive. His eyes glanced at the sky, his head shook and his lips moved as though he was praying. Then he looked at her head-on, with a look so raw and unflinching she blinked. “I don’t honestly know if we’re in danger or not. But trust me, Rebecca, I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe. And I wish I could tell you more about what’s going on. I really do.”

      He grabbed a green shoulder bag and moved his bike off the road. They walked to her camper. Neither of them spoke. He’d already made it clear he wasn’t about to answer any of her questions, and random small talk had never been something she’d been good at. Eventually they reached the small break in the trees that was the unpaved, overgrown entrance to her property. It was a nice chunk of forest actually. But it was hard to reach and very overgrown. Terrible for building on. But not bad for a hideaway.

      “Welcome to my home.” She waved a hand toward the vintage aluminum