Game of Fear (Montgomery Justice #3)(5)

Below, a blanket of snow covered a valley peppered with spruce, fir, and pines. The frigid temperatures, blowing snowdrifts, and icy roads had made the ground search difficult.

If Deb couldn’t find them tonight . . .

“Return to base, Search 10,” the order crackled over the radio. “It’s too dark. We’ll continue tomorrow.”

“Negative,” Deb said. “I have a possible.”

“This is Search Command. Give us the location. We’ll add it to the coordinates to check first thing in the morning.”

“By morning, those kids might freeze to death,” Deb said. “If it’s them, the least I can do is drop supplies.” She flipped off the microphone.

“Uh, Deb,” Gene pointed out, “they can pull your license for this.”

She shifted in her seat. “I know. Keep an eye out. I’m going in as close as I can.” She rounded another hill. “Come on, baby, come on,” Deb begged the machine.

She skirted the tops of the trees directly next to the road, flying a lot closer than was sane. Suddenly, down the slope, a hint of dark blue appeared. She hovered, sweeping the area with the searchlight. The beam glinted off broken glass and chrome. Several figures stood on and near a big school bus, waving. Others lay on the ground, some suspiciously still.

“Damn it,” Gene said. “You were right.” He radioed in the location and stared at her, his expression awestruck. “You’re good.”

“Lucky is more like it,” she said.

“No, that was dogged determination. You just wouldn’t give up. You might be crazy, Deb Lansing, but you’re a hell of a chopper pilot.”

All-too-familiar guilt twisted inside her. “I have my moments.”

She hovered over the downed bus and Gene dropped blankets, first-aid supplies, and food. Below, figures scrambled to the drop zone.

Banishing from her mind the haunting image of the desperate soldier she’d been forced to leave behind, Deb turned to Gene. “I can land in that valley we passed earlier. It’ll be tight, but if there are any kids seriously injured, we may be able to transport some of them to the helicopter with the sled.”

“What the hell. You’ve already pulled off one miracle tonight.” Gene grinned. “Go for it.”

Deb eased down the control stick and, with careful precision, guided the helicopter lower. Another glint of silver flashed in the spotlight, far enough away from the bus that it wasn’t likely to be debris from that wreck.

“Do you see that reflection?” she asked. “Is it another vehicle?”

Gene peered through the windshield. “I don’t know. I saw something, though. I’ll call in the position for that, too. They can check it.”

The chopper touched down, and Deb jumped to the snow-packed ground, ignoring the cold around her. For now, she had people to save. As Deb and Gene yanked out the sled to transport the wounded, two men ran toward her, one whose forehead was caked with dried blood.

“Please, we need help. Some of the kids are hurt bad. They need a hospital.”

Deb scanned the inside of the chopper. How many could she fit and safely make it back? If she left equipment behind, she could carry someone extra. Her boss would be furious she’d taken the risk, but she’d worry about her job later.




Gabe cut a few limes and refilled the pretzels where some joker had upended a bowl, trying to prove he could balance them on his head after one too many. Gabe had called a cab and ushered the guy out. Hopefully the cop wasn’t on duty tomorrow so he could sleep it off.

Gabe could understand. He’d faced the dark side of the city, but being here all day every day gave him a whole different perspective on his fellow cops. Once a drink or two stripped away their masks, men and women he thought he’d known well showed more than they realized.

Hopefully Gabe hadn’t fallen into the trap. He had too much to lose. Giving away the investigation could get people hurt.

The thud of a pool stick and the clatter of balls falling in the pockets filtered through the chatter in the bar. Gabe checked the clock for the umpteenth time. Hawk shot him a knowing glance and poured two fingers of scotch. “Is your leg bothering you again . . . or is it that empty bar stool?”

Gabe scowled at Hawk. His bartender had reminded everyone of Gabe’s cover story, part of the ex-spook’s job. Fine, but Hawk hadn’t been able to resist bringing up the vacant end of the bar. Shoving past the dig, Gabe pulled a draft. A deputy snagged his drink and sent Gabe a sympathetic grimace.

“You learn to deal with it,” Gabe said with an exaggerated wince, just loudly enough for the cops nearby to hear.

He hated playing up the injured-in-the-line-of-duty card, a SWAT deputy driven from his job. So far he’d engendered pity, not suspicion, among the clientele. Every one of them knew it could have been them with a sliced-up leg. The gangbanger was doing time, but that didn’t heal Gabe’s nerve and muscle damage.

As to that empty bar stool at the end of the bar, he should focus on luring a couple of his prime suspects from the sheriff’s office to it. Maybe pour a little liquid truth down their throats.

But it was Sunday night. She should be sitting right there. And he noticed when she wasn’t.

Hawk caught Gabe’s second glance. “Guess Deb and her gang from Search and Rescue aren’t coming tonight. They hardly ever miss a Sunday football game.”