Page 18 of Some Like It Hot

Held it out. “We need you all in tomorrow if we want to go home.”

Which, at the moment, he very much wanted. At least to return to Sky King ranch.

The man lifted his gaze, let it land on Riley.

Cool, unflinching, but there, behind his eyes, a flicker. Then a tightening of his brow.

He shook his head.

Riley dropped the bar into the grass. “Suit yourself.” He was turning when—

“Interesting ink.”

Riley stopped, glanced at the man.

His gaze dropped to Riley’s wrist.

Riley turned his wrist, revealing the tat inside. Bold italics.If.Riley debated the answer, then said simply, “For my dad. After he died. Sort of a memorial.”

“‘If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs…’” The man met Riley’s eyes. “‘If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you…’”

Riley stared at him, nodded. “‘Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it, And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!’”

“Rudyard Kipling.” The man reached out for the power bar. Took a breath. “Thanks.”

Riley considered him. “Riley McCord.”

The man tucked the protein bar into his shirt pocket and held out his hand. “Logan Thorne.”

Riley shook it. “It’s not a very popular poem.”

“A guy I knew used to quote it.” Thorne’s eyes turned distant again. “Long time ago.”

He looked away, his jaw hard.

Ho-kay.

Riley returned to his sleeping bag, settled in a clearing. No tent for him, not tonight when he just wanted to watch the sun settle beyond the black mountains, see the flames of orange and red burn through the indigo sky.

He lay down, put his hand on his chest, right where Larke had warmed it.

Two strikes. There wouldn’t be a third.

Because he’d promised her he’d stay alive.

And he had a kiss waiting for him.

* * *

The firealways found Larke’s eyes first, searing into them with a flash that blinded her, leaving the retinas splotched with orange and red, gritty and burning as she slammed her fists into them, trying to rub away the burn.

Then the smoke. Choking her, coating her throat with grime and soot and swelling it closed.

Finally, the shouting, then her name rising above the chaos and sirens screaming. Shots over her head, around her, through her as she clamped her hands over her head.

No—no. She could do better.

Shemustdo better. She pushed herself up, the ground bleeding, soaking into her pores, and found the body. Specialist Nickolay. She brailled her fingers to his neck for a pulse.