Marg loosed a long sigh. “I wouldn’t give her a reference. Her preacher came out, tried to get me to write her one. I didn’t like his way, that’s one thing, but I wouldn’t do it anyway. She didn’t earn it with the way she behaved.

“I guess I’m sorry for that if she felt she had to leave Missoula to work. But there are plenty of places she could’ve gotten work without a reference.”

Marg sat a moment, saying nothing. Just studying the mountains.

“Was she coming back from there when it happened? From work in Florence?”

“It’s something I’ll have to check out. I hate exaggeration, so you know I’m giving it to you straight when I say this is the best cookie I’ve ever eaten.”

“I’ll give you some to take with you.”

“I wouldn’t say no.”

The crew in Idaho had the fire caged in by sundown. But up north, the battle raged on.

She could see it. As Rowan stepped outside to take the air, she could see the fire and smoke, and the figures in yellow shirts brandishing tools like weapons.

If they called for another load, if they needed relief or reenforcement, L.B. would send her. And she’d be ready.

Her back stiffened at the glint of headlights, the silhouette of an approaching pickup. Then loosened again, a little, when she saw it wasn’t Leo Brakeman back for another shot at her.

Lucas stepped out of the truck, walked to her.

Some anger there, she noted. Still some mad on.

He proved it when he clamped his hands on her shoulders, gave her a little shake. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me what happened? Finding the remains, about Dolly, about any of it.”

“I figured you knew.”

“Well, I damn well didn’t.”

“You’ve been busy.”

“Don’t pull that crap with me, Rowan. Your landing text said A-OK.”

“I was. I wasn’t hurt.”

“Rowan.”

“I didn’t want to tell you in a text, or on the phone. Then it was one thing and another. I came down this morning to talk to you about it, but—”

He simply yanked her against him and hugged.

“I’m a suspect.”

“Stop it,” he murmured, and pressed his lips to the top of her head.

“The Forest Service agent’s questioned me twice. I had altercations with Dolly, then out of all the acres up there, I stumble right over what’s left of her. Then, Leo Brakeman came here today.”

She unburdened, stripped it out and off because he was there to cover her again.

“Leo’s half mad with grief. In his place, I don’t know what I’d do.” Couldn’t bear to think of it. “They’ll find whoever did it. Maybe it’ll help like they say it does, though I swear I don’t know how.”

“He was crying when he drove away. I think that was the moment I stopped feeling sorry for myself, because I’d been having a real good time with that.”

“You were never able to stretch that out for long.”

“I was going for the record. Dad, about before. I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” He wiped a hand through the air, a familiar gesture. “Clean slate.”

“Squeaky clean.”

“Where’s that guy you’ve been hanging around with?”

“He’s on the Flathead fire.”

“Let’s go check with Ops, see how they’re doing.”

“I want him back safe, want all of them back safe. Even though I’m pissed at him. Especially pissed because I think he had a point about a couple things.”

“I hate when that happens. Besides, who does he think he is, having a point?”

She laughed, tipped her head to his shoulder. “Thanks.”

She kept vigil in Operations, helped update the map tracking the crew’s progress and the fire’s twists and turns, and watched the lightning strikes blast on radar.

Sometime after two while a booming thunderstorm swept over the base, and up north Gull and his crewmates crawled into tents, she dropped into bed.

And almost immediately dropped into the dream.

The roar of thunder became the roar of engines, the scream of wind the air blasting through the plane’s open door. She saw the nerves in Jim’s eyes, heard them in his voice and, tossing in bed, ordered herself to stop him. To contact base, alert the spotter, talk to the fire boss.

Something.

“It is what it is,” he said to her, with eyes now filled with sorrow. “It’s, you know, my fate.”

And he jumped as he always did, taking that last leap behind her. Into the mouth of the fire, screaming as its teeth tore through him.

This time she landed alone, the flames behind her snarling, throaty growls that built until the ground shook. She ran, sprinting up the incline, heat drenching her skin while she shoved through billowing clouds of smoke.

She shouted for Jim—there was a chance, always a chance—searching blindly. Fire climbed the trees in pulsing strings of light, blew over the ground in a deadly dance. Through it, someone called her name.

She changed direction and, shouting until her throat burned, stumbled into the black. Charred branches punched out of smoldering spots and beckoned like bony fingers. Snags hunched and towered, seemed to shift and sway behind the curtain of smoke. The scorched earth crackled under her feet as she continued to run toward the sound of her name.

Silence dropped, like a breath held. She stood in that void of sound, dismayed, disoriented. For a moment it was as if she’d become trapped in a black-and-white photo. Nothing moved, even as she ran on. The ground stayed silent under her feet.

She saw him, lying on the ground the fire had stripped bare, facing west, as if positioned to watch the sunset. Her voice echoed inside her head as she called his name. Dizzy with relief, she dropped down beside him.

Jim. Thank God.

She pulled out her radio, but like the air around her, it answered with silence.

I found him! Somebody answer. Somebody help me!

“They can’t.”

She tumbled back when Jim’s voice broke the silence, when behind his mask his eyes opened, behind his mask his lips curved in a horrible smile.

“We burn here. We all burn here.”

Flames ignited behind his mask. Even as she drew breath to scream, he gripped her hand. Fire fused her flesh to his.