blazed from the war room. A room usually reserved for the press or high-profile operations run by government agency bigwigs.
Jake didn’t much care for government agency bigwigs.
He entered the war room and scanned its occupants, his eyes grinding to a halt on the two men at the front wearing wrinkled suits and grim expressions. He knew immediately the suits belonged to the D.O.C. van outside. He wondered if they’d lost one of their clientele; if they were more interested in getting their convict back—or covering their bureaucratic butts.
At the coffee station set up at the rear, medic John Maitland dumped caffeine into a disposable cup. Snagging his own cup from the table, Jake held it out. “You look like you’ve been up all night, Maitland.”
He filled Jake’s cup. “I drew baby-feeding duty last night.”
Jake wasn’t too keen on the domestic scene these days, but the thought of his teammate getting up in the middle of the night to feed a screaming baby made him grin nonetheless. Nine months ago John Maitland had been a confirmed bachelor. All that had changed the day he’d rescued a pretty redhead up on Elk Ridge. He was now married, with a three-month-old baby girl. Even sleep-deprived he looked happy as hell.
“Baby-feeding duty, huh?” Jake said.
“Beth is breastfeeding, but we’re supplementing with bottles at night so we can take turns with the night shifts. It was my turn last night.”
The word “breastfeeding” rang uncomfortably in Jake’s ears. Trying not to wince, he waited a beat then changed the subject. “What’s up with the D.O.C. van outside?”
“Inmate sneaked out a gymnasium window last night down at Buena Vista.”
“We on alert?”
“That’s right.” John looked over his shoulder to where Buzz Malone huddled with the two suits. “Escapee is a lifer, went in for second-degree murder.”
The worst kind, Jake thought, glancing in Buzz’s direction. A killer on the run with nothing to lose.
“Looks like that pretty wife of yours is keeping you up nights, Maitland.”
Both men turned their heads to see Tony “Flyboy” Colorosa, RMSAR’s Bell 412 helicopter pilot—and resident Romeo—splash coffee into a cup.
“You look like you had a late one yourself, Flyboy,” Jake said.
“What can I say, Jake? Some of us actually have social lives.” Tony whistled a tune as he spooned sugar into his coffee. “You should try it sometime. Might improve that surly attitude of yours.”
“Yeah, and it might stop snowing in Colorado one of these days.” Grinning, Maitland slapped Jake on the back.
Trying not to grimace, Jake blew on his coffee.
“Gentlemen, take a seat.” Buzz moved to the head of the table. “We’re on a tight clock this morning, so I’ll keep this brief.”
Jake took the chair next to junior medic Pete Scully.
Buzz continued. “The State of Colorado Department of Corrections has asked for our help in locating an escapee from prison. Robert Singletary and Jim Neels are with D.O.C., which is our designated agency-in-charge. Jim is going to brief you on our mission objectives.” Buzz gave the floor to the man standing beside him.
Jim Neels was a middle-aged man with hound-dog features and the build of a retired linebacker. His hopelessly wrinkled suit coupled with the half moons beneath his eyes revealed he’d already had a long night. His dour expression suggested he knew the day ahead would be even longer.
“Sometime between ten last night and three-thirty this morning, an inmate escaped from the Buena Vista Corrections Center for Women,” he began. “Abigail Nichols, twenty-seven years old, is a convicted murderer serving a life sentence at our facility. We’re in the process of setting up a perimeter, but there’s a lot of country to cover and we need your help.” Neels scanned the men. “This is a search-only operation, gentlemen. If you come in contact with Nichols, you are advised to use extreme caution.” His gaze fell to Jake. “Mr. Madigan, you’re the only law enforcement officer on the team?”
“I’m a deputy sheriff with Chaffee County.”
Nodding, Neels continued. “Aside from Deputy Madigan, if you come in contact with the subject, do not attempt to detain her or to take her into custody. Call D.O.C. for backup. RMSAR dispatch has been informed to patch you straight through. Is that understood?”
Tony Colorosa yawned. John Maitland drained the last of his coffee from his cup. Even Pete Scully looked bored. Trying not to smile, Jake leaned back in his chair, crossed his legs at his ankles and studied his boots. The men of RMSAR didn’t like some suit from D.O.C. coming in and telling them how to do their jobs. They were the best of the best and had yet to encounter a search-and-rescue mission they couldn’t pull off.
“This woman has a history of mental illness,” Neels added. “She may have an accomplice, but we don’t know who that person is at this time. Be advised that she may be armed and should be considered dangerous.”
“Do you have a location?” Jake asked. “Any sightings?”
Buzz walked to an easel where a topography map illustrated the five-county area surrounding the prison. Suit Number Two came to life and pointed out the corrections facility. “This is our facility at Buena Vista. We’ve got a five-hour window. The average person travels at about 3.2 miles per hour on foot. We think she went west.” He indicated a highlighted area. “That should put her somewhere in this yellow area here.”
“Does she have a vehicle?” Jake asked.
“Not that we know of, but it’s possible her accomplice left one at a predesignated point.”
Jake snorted. “If she’s on foot and went west, she’s not going to make very good time. It’s rugged country up there.”
Suit Number Two grimaced. “Nichols is very…determined.”
Jake wasn’t sure exactly what the other man meant, but he let it go. No matter how determined, a human being on foot could only cover so much ground. “What about gear?”
“State-issue jumpsuit—gray. Blue jacket. White sneakers. That’s all she’s got unless someone left clothing for her at a predesignated drop-off point.”
“Anyone bringing in dogs?” Buzz asked.
“Chaffee County is covering that. Forest service has notified all the area ranger stations.”
“What about a physical description?” John asked.
The suit flipped the easel page, and the room fell abruptly silent. The mug shot of a young woman with a mane of curly brown hair streaked generously with platinum blond arrested the attention of every man. Jake saw wide eyes the color of a mountain lake reflecting a violet sky. Thin, dark brows. A full mouth with just enough pout to keep a man on his toes. A graceful neck that called every man in the room to crane forward to see the rest of the package.
Jake broke a sweat beneath his flannel shirt and long johns. He stared, more than a little
