wind from the chopper’s blades.
John’s feet hit the ground hard, but he was prepared and bent his knees to absorb the impact. In an instant, he jerked the patient’s harness from his flight suit and started toward the subject, praying Flyboy could keep the chopper steady enough to prevent him from getting jerked off his feet and slammed into a rock or dragged through tree branches. He could do without a broken arm—or God forbid—a broken neck.
He made eye contact with the woman as he approached her. Dark, frightened eyes, glazed with the effects of hypothermia and wide with terror, met his as she stumbled toward him. Full, colorless lips moved to speak, but she didn’t make a sound. He saw the will to live in its rawest form in the depths of her eyes, and an acute sense of urgency overwhelmed him. Hell or high water, he was going to get her out of this.
But it was the beauty of the face staring back at him that nearly stopped him in his tracks. Dark, pretty eyes and a delicate cut of jaw dominated her features. A slash of high cheekbones beneath pale flesh tinged pink from the cold. Wavy hair the color of an alpine sunset and wild as a mountain gale tangled over slender shoulders. Even as dirty and bruised as she was, he could plainly see her body was lush in all the right places. If it hadn’t been for his medical training and the fact that the chopper was hovering seventy-five feet overhead in forty-knot winds, he would have taken a moment just to appreciate the view.
John was accustomed to all sorts of rescues, from the severe trauma of a mountain motor-vehicle accident, to the tourist who’d called out the team for nothing more than a bee sting, to the Boy Scout who’d lost his way during a hike last summer. But the sight of this particular subject hit him like the business end of a shovel and went deep.
“Hey, gorgeous.” He started toward her, offering up his best relax-everything’s-going-to-be-all-right grin. “I’m a medic. My name’s John. My team and I are going to airlift you out of here and transport you to the hospital. Do you understand?”
Her eyes were glassy, her flesh as pale as the snow being kicked up by the rotor blades. But she was alive. He figured they both had cause to be thankful for that. John had lost patients before, but he damn well didn’t like it. One thing he’d learned about himself over the years was that he was a consummate sore loser when it came to the Grim Reaper coming out ahead. It was the one aspect of his job he took personally.
He reached her just in time to keep her from sinking to the frozen earth. Even through his thick gloves, he could feel her shivering. “Easy,” he said. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
“Please…no.” Surprising him, she twisted in his arms. “Get…away…from me…bastard.”
“Easy—”
The gun came out of nowhere. A big, ugly beast capable of killing him with a single shot and aimed right at this face. Releasing her, John lurched back, swearing richly. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I’ll kill you,” she choked. “I swear. I won’t let you get away with this.”
“Whoa! I’m cool.” He raised his hands above his head, aware of the sharp stab of fear in his chest. “Look, my hands are up, Red. Now put the damn gun down before someone gets hurt.”
He knew hypothermia could cause mental confusion. One of his Coast Guard buddies had told him about a water extraction off the Alaskan Coast during which the subject had fought so hard, they hadn’t been able to get him in the cage. The subject had ended up drowning.
What in God’s name was she doing with a gun?
John knew he could handle her if it came down to a physical confrontation. She was small and fatigued and severely hypothermic. All he had to do was get the gun away from her. Considering she could barely hold the damn thing upright told him that wasn’t going to be too difficult. But he wasn’t a big enough fool not to take the situation seriously.
“Easy, Red. You’re hurt and confused. Put the gun down, and let me help you.”
She swayed. “Stay away. Just…stay—”
He rushed her. She yelped and swung at him, but was so weakened, John easily dodged the blow. He grabbed for the gun, but before he could get his fingers around it, she lost her grip. He watched it tumble down the ravine and disappear into a stand of juniper twenty feet below.
“What the hell were you doing with a gun?” he snapped, giving her a small shake.
She blinked at him as if seeing him for the first time. “I thought—I thought…Richard…”
His concentration wavered as a wave of damp, cinnamon-colored hair washed over his arm. Simultaneously the sweet scent of columbine in spring titillated his senses. Turning her toward him, he got his first up-close look at her face. Her alabaster skin was as flawless as virgin snowfall. He winced at the purple bruise above her left temple and the cut on her chin. Even her nose was skinned. But the underlying beauty struck him, and John felt the impact of her all the way through his flight suit and into his bones.
He stared at her, realizing with a stark sense of dismay that she had the most incredible brown eyes he’d ever seen. “What’s your name?” he shouted above the roar of wind and engines, watching her carefully to gauge her lucidity.
“I…” Her brows furrowed, then she blinked at him. “I—I’m…”
She was pale and confused; both were symptoms of hypothermia. The condition was assumed in all cold-weather situations. Judging from her state of mind, he suspected she’d been hypothermic for quite some time. Snow-damp jeans and a sweater were no protection against subfreezing temperatures and windchills hovering around zero. Her hair was damp. He looked down at her feet and cursed. She wasn’t even wearing shoes. Frostbite would be an issue, as well, he realized, and another wave of urgency surged through him.
“Is anyone with you?” he asked.
Her body jolted, and he saw fresh terror leap into her eyes. “I…I don’t know.”
“Come on, sweetheart, stay with me.” Holding her face between his hands, he made eye contact. “Are you alone?” he pressed. “I need to know if there’s anyone else down here. I’ll need to get them in the chopper.”
“I’m…not sure.” She looked over her shoulder uneasily. “I think I’m alone.”
“Good girl.” Using his left arm to steady her, he quickly secured the patient’s harness around her, trying not to notice the way that sweater clung to curves he had no business noticing at a moment like this. “How did you get here?”
“He was…chasing me.” Her gaze snapped to his, her eyes widened with what might have been recognition. “Oh, no. Oh, God! Richard, please, don’t—”
“Calm down,” he said firmly. “Just stay calm—”
“I won’t let you—”
“Stop it!” An alarm trilled in John’s head, and he gave her a little shake. The last thing he needed was for her to go ballistic on him while they dangled seventy-five feet over terrain not fit for a mountain goat. “Look at me.”
When her gaze met his, he saw vividly the terror in her eyes and felt the hairs at his nape stand on end. Something—or someone—had this woman spooked in a major way. “My name is John. I’m not going
