Page 35 of Run Wild Omega

Just as he turns toward the door, the red emergency phone on Wyatt’s desk rings.

The sound cuts through the casual atmosphere of the room like a knife. It’s a harsh, jarring tone that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

We all freeze.

Wyatt moves instantly. He’s across the room in two strides, grabbing the handset.

“Search and Rescue, Callahan speaking.”

I watch his face. I see him listening, his eyes narrowing, his posture shifting from relaxed to rigid in a heartbeat.

“Slow down,” he says into the phone. “Where is she?”

The silence in the room stretches out, taut and trembling. Pip lets out a confused chirp.

“Okay. I hear you. Stay on the line, do you copy? Stay on the line.”

Wyatt reaches for a pen, his hand steady, but I see the white knuckles of his grip. He scribbles on a notepad.

“Got it. North Ridge, below the second pass. Flash blizzard conditions.”

My stomach drops.

“Is the victim mobile?” Wyatt asks. A pause. “Okay. Copy that. Broken leg.” He listens for another second. “We’re rolling out. ETA fifteen minutes. Keep the line open.”

He hangs up the phone.

And then, I watch the color drain from his face.

He turns to look at us, and he looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“That was the automated relay from the Forest Service,” Wyatt says, his voice sounding strangled. “A beacon activated on the North Ridge. A female voice… identified herself as Tess Hartwell.”

The air leaves the room. I grip the edge of my desk.

“She’s alive,” Dylan says, his voice cracking.

“Barely,” Wyatt says, grabbing his coat off the rack, his movements frantic, uncharacteristic. “She fell into a crevice. Leg is broken. Weather is turning to shit up there.”

He looks at me, and for the first time in years, I see absolute terror in his eyes.

“We’re going,” Wyatt says. “Now.”

Wyatt

“Stay with Pip.”

The order is out of my mouth before I even realize I’m speaking. I’m grabbing my parka off the hook by the door, shoving my arms into the sleeves with jerky, panicked movements.

Dylan freezes, his hand halfway to his own coat. “What?”

“Someone needs to stay here and man the radio,” I snap, pulling my beacon harness off the rack and clipping it around my waist. The buckle clicks—a loud, mechanical sound that usually grounds me, but today it just adds to the static in my head. “Pip can’t be alone. And none of the volunteers are here. I need someone here to coordinate when we find her.”

Dylan stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. “Fuck. That. I’m not staying here, Wyatt. You think I’m going to sit here drinking a beer while you and Miles climb up a mountain in a flash blizzard to find our Omega?”

“She’s not our Omega,” I snarl, though the words taste like ash.

“She’s Tess.” Dylan grabs his heavy turnout gear, the thick fire-resistant coat he wears for wildland calls. “And I’m going. If you try to order me to stay, I will knock you out and climb over your unconscious body.”