Chasing Fire

killer had a car, or truck, she decided. Nobody would’ve carried Dolly from where she’d stopped to where she ended up. Did he kill her when she pulled off 12, dump her body in the trunk of the car, bed of the truck? Or did he give her a ride, maybe park at the trailhead, then do it? Or force her up the trail, then—
    Jesus, any way it had happened, she’d ended up dead, and her baby daughter an orphan.
    Why had she been heading south on 12, or had she been heading back from farther away? To meet a lover? To meet this theoretical person she’d enlisted to cause trouble? Plenty of motels to choose from. Hard to meet a lover—and Dolly had been famous for using sex as barter—when you lived at home with your parents and your baby.
    Why couldn’t she have loved the baby enough to just make a life? To treasure what she had, and put some goddamn effort into being a good mother instead of letting this obsession eat away at her?
    All the time she’d spent planning her weird revenge, harboring all that hate, could’ve been spent on living, on nuzzling her baby.
    “Oh, mother issues much?” Annoyed with herself, she quickened her pace.
    Enough solo time, she decided. Solo time was overrated. She should’ve taken Gull up on his offer to come with her. He’d have distracted her out of this mood, made her laugh, or at least annoyed her so she’d stop feeling sad and angry.
    When she moved around the people scattered over the lawn, the picnic tables at her father’s place, she looked up, as they were.
    Coming on final, she thought, watching the plane. She crossed to the fence, tucked her hands in her back pockets and decided to enjoy the show. Her smile bloomed as the skydiver jumped—and taking a breather didn’t seem so bad after all. When the second figure leaped out, she settled in, studying their forms on the free fall.
    The first, definitely a student, but not bad. Not shabby. Arms out, taking it in. Check out that view! Feel that wind!
    And the second . . . Rowan angled her head, narrowed her eyes. She couldn’t be sure, not yet, but she’d have laid decent money down Iron Man Tripp rocketed down toward the student.
    Then came the moment. The chutes deployed, one then two—to applause and cheers—the blue-and-white stripes of the student’s, and the chute she’d designed and rigged for her father’s sixtieth birthday with the boldly lettered IRON MAN in red (his favorite color) over a figure of a smoke jumper.
    She loved watching him like this, and always had. Perfect form, she thought, absolute control, riding the air from sky to earth while the sun streamed through those drifting clouds.
    She’d been exactly right to come here, she realized, when the world tipped crazily all around her. Here, what she loved held constant. Whatever happened, she could count on him.
    She willed the stress of the morning into a corner. She couldn’t dismiss it, but she could shove it back a little and focus on what made her happy.
    She’d hang out here with her father for a while, have lunch with him, talk over what was going on. He’d listen, let her spew, and somehow pull her back in, steady her again.
    She always thought more clearly, felt less overwhelmed, after a session with her father.
    The student handled the drop well, Rowan observed, managed a very decent landing and was up on his—no her, Rowan realized—feet quickly. Then the Iron Man touched down, soft as butter, smooth as silk.
    She added her applause to the rest, sent out a high whistle of approval before waving her arms in hopes of snagging her father’s attention.
    The student unhooked her harness, pulled off her helmet. Gorgeous red hair seemed to explode in the sunlight. As the woman raced toward her father, Rowan grinned. She understood the exuberance, the charge of excitement, had seen this same scene play out countless times between student and instructor. She continued to grin as the woman leaped into Lucas’s arms, something else she’d seen again and again.
    What she hadn’t seen, and what had her grin shifting to a puzzled frown, was her father swinging a student in giddy circles while said student locked her arms around his neck.
    And when Lucas “Iron Man” Tripp leaned down and planted a long, very enthusiastic kiss (and the crowd went wild) on the student’s mouth, Rowan’s jaw dropped to the toes of her Nikes.
    She would’ve been more shocked if Lucas had pulled out a Luger and shot the redhead between the eyes, but it