Page 74 of No Hope of Rescue

But I can’t stop. I feel like I’m drowning. I push against him again and keep gulping. I feel trapped. He lifts my chin with a finger and places his mouth over mine.

At first, every muscle is engaged, trying to pry myself from him so I can breathe. I’m so dizzy, though, and he holds me in such a grip that it’s useless to struggle. Brock’s kiss is long and deep.

The urge comes again, to breathe fast, and I start to tear away. But he just holds me, adjusts, and places his mouth over mine again.

This time, I don’t struggle. I sigh. His warm mouth takes my breath, and he breathes for me in deep, slow breaths. The next thing I know, I’m sagging in his arms.

Finally, his lips leave mine but remain wet with the taste of him. I touch my lips, and then without hesitation, he takes my hands, pulls them inside the unzipped opening of his jacket, and puts them around his waist. My hands, so cold and numb, instantly begin to thaw, and I lay my head on his chest. Under his thin shirt, I hear his heartbeat thudding strong and even. An ambulance pulls up. Even through those sirens, his heart beats against my ear.

I’m not sure how much more time passes before Trent comes over. When we pull apart, he shakes Brock’s hand. Brock’s other hand stays clamped over mine. There’s discussion of taking statements. They need to impound the Bell as evidence. He will need to speak with Codie again.

“You need to grab any personal items out of the helicopter now,” explains Trent. “It might be a week or so before you get it back.”

Brock nods, gives me a squeeze, and climbs into the cockpit. He grabs a pair of sunglasses, an old thermos, several clips, and then something off the dash. He shoves it into his pocket and walks over to the ambulance.

Ross sits on the back of the ambulance as a medic, a tiny Mexican American woman with a thick accent and dark short hair, tries to bandage his arm. He has a few questions, mostly about how he can get out of being treated. I translate for him while she shakes her head, frowning. Finally, he lets her do her job, I can tell he thinks this a fuss from what I can only assume is a minor graze.

In fact, after a quick trip to the ER, Ross will come directly back to fly the McIntyre chopper home. I text Hannah our thanks and add that we’re all safe. Within minutes, she offers a thumbs-up emoji. When I’m done, Brock takes my hand again. He’s still speaking with Ross. The paramedic is filling out paperwork, while glaring at him like he might escape.

“You sure you want to do that? You’re not just pumped full of adrenaline now?” Brock asks.

Ross grins. “I’m definitely that,” he says. “But yeah, I’ll have it back by six p.m.”

“I’ll have Carter or Ryan pick you up.”

After some more orchestration and sending two cars away, Trent returns and stares at the three of us for an explanation. Brock gives him a quick outline of what the men had tasked Codie to do—none of this seems to surprise Trent. I start to get the feeling he wasn’t many steps behind us. “We’ll need statements from you three, but I can get those tomorrow. I’ll have Agent Mallon drive you home.”

I still can’t speak well, and this matches my hearing. Everything sounds like I’m in a tunnel.

Brock slips his arm around my waist—half in affection, half to make sure I don’t fall down.

“You are incredible,” he says in my ear.

He kisses the top of my head.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Brock Weston

It’s evening and we’re at Riley’s place, a small apartment above the general store in “downtown” Echo Falls. The place is cute, tidy. She’s taking a shower, and I’m sitting on her sofa, noting the complete lack of photographs: none on the fridge, none on the walls, and no frames on the bookcases. No family photos. Just one, of Savi when she was a puppy and could still sit comfortably on my lap.

It’s nice when Riley house-sits, but I love her place. It’s such a reflection of her: neat, tucked, and tidy.

The sound of running water leaves me drowsy. I’m in a stupor. She’s rinsing now, the water falling in unregulated sheets as she washes her hair.

I know she left home at seventeen. I know through a late-night confession that she cheated and changed her high school transcript so she could get into college. I also know then she graduated at the top of her class. That diploma on the wall has “summa cum laude” clearly printed at the bottom.

I tip my head back and swallow. I don’t think I’ve eaten since breakfast, and that was just a bite. Who expected Agent Trent to show up? Had to give the guy a lot of credit, though. He was already in the air, headed north, based on what he’d been able to put together. He knew we were being leveraged for transport—he just didn’t know how.

Riley still doesn’t know I saw her eye through the hole in the sheet metal. Or the terror I felt when the asshole in black shifted positions and threw shots at the back of the hangar, and I was certain she’d been hit. But it bought me the nanosecond I needed to reach up and wrestle that gun out of his hand, and though it went flying, neither of us were left with a weapon.

Moist air rises from the bathroom when she opens the door.

I’m half-asleep when she enters the tiny front room. She turns on a table lamp and picks up my parka. I gaze at her through slitted eyes.

Her hair is wrapped in a soft terry cloth towel that nearly matches her bathrobe. The bulk of the collar and flair edge makes her features seem even more diminutive and delicate. Strands of wet hair frame her face.

I yawn and sit up straighter.