Page 27 of The Heat is On

Besides, what could they do? They weren’t cops. And they’d only sent in one US marshal.

But plenty of prisoners worked fires over the summer months. Minimum security prisoners often trained for firefighting work. In California, they even had all-prisoner teams who joined with the regular wildland firefighters—no guards needed.

So maybe these guys weren’t killers. Except…

March glared at her, motioned with his chin to keep going, and she turned back around just in time to stumble.

Rio caught her, righted her. Met her eyes with a warning.

Right. Keep up.

They crossed a ravine, then stepped into the cool embrace of a forest, sparsely wooded at first, then thicker as they trudged deeper. Shaggy black spruce rose above them, darkening their path, with tall trios of birch and full-leafed aspen arching in a knitted canopy overhead.

They worked their way up a hill, breathing hard, and even March sat down halfway to the top. He tucked the gun in his belt and bent over, bracing himself on his knees.

Archer stood a few feet away, looking back along their trail, still that pensive expression. Skye wasn’t sure if she should be afraid of him or…well, probably. After all, he was clearly on board with this escape.

Darryl leaned against a tree, his back to March, breathing so hard Skye thought he might be having a heart attack.

Rio pulled Skye up next to him, glancing over to Darryl, then back to her. Met her eyes.

Now.She had the sense of it even as he took a breath, looked at March, then back to her…and nodded.

He practically pushed her away as he turned and lunged at March.

She took off back down the hill, running with her heart outside her body, leaping over a rock, her feet bruising the piney loam. Run,run—

In her mind, Rio was grabbing March’s gun, rolling over, and holding him at gunpoint.

A shot shredded the branches just over her head, deafening, the hot whiz of a bullet so close it singed the air.

She screamed. Turned.

Froze.

Because March stood at the top of the hill with his gun to Rio’s neck. Rio bled from the nose, clearly woozy from a blow he’d taken.

“Come back,” March said, his tone lethal. “Right now.”

But her legs wouldn’t work. She just stood there, dumbly.

March tilted his head as if considering her.

Then he pointed the gun at her.

Behind him, Thorne had started to run, now turned, his jaw hard.

“No!” Rio slammed his head into March’s face and March’s shot went wild.

And she knew she should run again but—but Rio was on the ground now, March’s knee in his back, the gun moving down—

“Stop! I’m coming back—I’m coming back!” She stumbled up the hillside. “Don’t shoot—I’m coming back—”

March watched her, his hand on Rio’s head, shoving him into the bloody soil. She topped the hill and dropped to her knees in front of Rio. “I’m not running—I’m right here.”

“I should just kill you both. Right now.”

Skye stopped breathing.