in the shot? No way. Why are you going up there? I thought your people were protesting the building of that thing.”
She was referring to the private residence of Gerald W. Rustkin, the man who had founded one of the social media sites that self-destructed all messages from either side of any conversation. The man who allowed others to hide had put himself in the center of controversy when he had donated generously to the city of Flagstaff and afterward quietly received his variances to break the ridgeline with his personal residence.
“My people?” asked Dylan.
“You’re Native American, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but we don’t all think alike.”
“But you’re all environmentally conscious.” she said, as if this was a given.
“That would be thinking alike.”
“You don’t want to prevent that thing from being built?” She pointed at the unfinished mansion sprawling over the top of the ridge like a serpent.
Dylan glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to go. You know you really should put on a hat.”
She scoffed. “You think I’m worried about skin cancer? Nobody expects me to make thirty.”
He wrinkled his brow. “Why not?” She looked healthy enough, but perhaps she was ill.
“Why?” She laughed. “You really don’t know me?”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s refreshing. I’m the screwup. The family’s black sheep. The party girl who forgot to wear her panties and broke the internet. I’m in the tabloids about every other week. Can’t believe they didn’t follow me out here. I thought you were one of them.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, I can see that.” She approached his truck. “Can’t remember the last time I did this.” She extended her hand. “I’m Meadow.”
Dylan looked at her elegant hand. He considered rolling up his window because this woman represented all the trouble he tried to avoid.
Instead, he took her hand gently between his fingers and thumb and gave it a little shake. But something happened. His smile became brittle and the gentle up-and-down motion of their arms ceased as he stared into bewitching amber-brown eyes. After an awkward pause he found his voice.
“Nice to meet you, Meadow. I’m Dylan Tehauno.”
Her voice now sounded breathy. “A pleasure.”
Her eyes glittered with mischief. Now he needed to get by her for other reasons, because this was the sort of woman you put behind you as quickly as possible.
She slipped her hand free and pressed her palm flat over her stomach. Were her insides jumping, like his?
“What’s your business, Dylan?”
“I’m a hotshot.”
She shook her head. “What’s that, like a jet pilot?”
“I fight wildfires. Forest fires. We fly all over the West—Idaho, Oregon, Colorado. Even east once to Tennessee. Man, is it green there.”
“Really? So you jump out of airplanes with an ax. That kind of thing?”
“No, those are smoke jumpers. We walk in. Sometimes twenty miles from deployment. Then we get to work.” In fact, he had most of his gear in the box fixed to the bed of his truck.
“That’s crazy.”
He thought standing in the sun with a GoPro was crazy, but he just smiled. “Gotta go.”
“All right, Sir Dylan. You may pass. How long will you be up there?”
“Hour maybe.”
“Time enough for me to get my shot then.” She reversed course and moved her tripod behind her sports car.
Dylan rolled past. He couldn’t stop from glancing at her in the rearview mirror. He kept looking back until she was out of sight. Soon he started the ascent to the house, winding through the thick pines and dry grasses.
His shaman and the leader of his medicine society, Kenshaw Little Falcon, had recommended Dylan for this job. This was his first commission in Flagstaff. He’d recently earned his credentials as a fire-safety inspector in Arizona. As a fire consultant, it was usually his role to give recommendations to protect the home from wildfire, identify places where wildfire might trap or kill people and provide fuel-reduction plans. Something as simple as trimming the branches of trees from the ground to at least ten feet or not placing mulch next to the house could be the difference between losing a home and saving it. But this consultation was different because so many did not want this house completed. Cheney Williams, the attorney who had filed the injunction, waited for him on the ridge. Dylan felt important because he knew that his report might prevent the multimillionaire Rustkin from securing insurance. At the very least it would buy time. That would be a feather in Dylan’s cap. He lowered his arm out his window and patted the magnetic sign affixed to the door panel—Tehauno Consulting.
Dylan smiled and then glanced back to the road where he could no longer see Meadow Wrangler. He should be looking ahead. By the time he finished with the attorney, would Meadow be gone?
The flash of light was so bright that for an instant everything went white. Dylan hit the brakes. The boom arrived a moment later, shaking the truck and vibrating through his hands where they gripped the wheel. Artillery.
His brain snapped to Iraq. He had served two tours and he knew the sound of an explosion. He glanced up, looking for the jets that could make such an air strike and saw the debris fly across the ridgeline. A fireball erupted skyward and rained burning embers down from above. Rocks pelted the road before him.
Meadow.
Dylan made a fast three-point turn and was hurtling down the mountain as embers landed all about him, erupting into flames. It was July, over a hundred degrees today, and the ground was as dry and thirsty as it had been all year. Perfect conditions for a wildfire. But this was not one wildfire—it was hundreds. Burning debris landed and ignited as if fueled by a propellant. The flames traveled as fast as he did. Faster, because the wind raced down the mountain, pushing the growing wall of flames that licked at the trunks of the piñon pines. Once it hit the crowns of the trees it would take off. There was nothing to stop it. His only chance was to get ahead of it and stay there.
* * *
MEADOW GAPED AS the top of the ridge exploded like an erupting volcano. With her camera still running, she stood in the road, paralyzed by what she witnessed. The house that had broken the ridgeline collapsed, falling in fiery wreckage into the gap below. The steel skeleton vanished amid tails of smoke that flew into the sky like launching rockets.
Dylan.
He was up there. Her impulse was to flee, but the urge to reach him tugged against her survival instinct.
The rockets of fire flew over her head, and she turned to watch them land, each a meteor impacting the earth. The vibrations
