Ricochet (37 page)

But Rachel wasn’t just any chick.

“Looks good.” Charlie pushed to his feet and lifted his gaze to the horizon, where the sun had just started lowering in the sky. “How much time have we got?”

Ryker checked the sundial app on his phone. One Rachel had told him had been designed and created by Rubi. The script called for the scene to run at sunset. To make all three scenes match up on film so editors could cut and splice the three together to create a cohesive, realistic climactic car chase across the bridge, they had to run this blast and the final blast at the same moment in sunset as they’d filmed Wes speeding across the bridge three weeks ago, before Ryker had even landed in California. Which gave them a very small window for filming.

“Nineteen minutes.” He crouched and made the final check of the blasting caps and wires. Calculated the millisecond delays between each mini-blast in his head to make sure they would mimic automatic rifle fire. Reevaluated the angle of the drilling to verify the end result would appear as if the fire was coming from above and behind, where the choppers would have been if this were a real incident.

He took a deep breath and pulled the radio from his belt. “Chamberlin, we’re a go here.”

Jax acknowledged, and the pilots milling around him climbed into their choppers. Ryker and Charlie started toward the end of the bridge and the command post, where central communication and detonation had been set up.

“Hey,” Charlie said. “Think we could let Ray call out the countdown? He’s so jazzed about this blasting gig, I think he might be hooked.”

Ryker chuckled. “Got yourself a little protégé, do you?”

Charlie grinned. “He’s got big potential. Giving guys like that little treats along the way keeps them interested, and calling the countdown would give him a thrill.”

“Fine with me.” Ryker scanned the crowd again but didn’t spot Rachel. Unease squeezed his gut. “Let’s make a final check with Brad that everyone’s been accounted for. I don’t see Rachel.”

Charlie’s brow fell in concern. They turned off the bridge and climbed the hill toward the temporary shelter they’d built as the command post, and he paused, turning to scan the crowd. “Brad coordinated with two deputies from the sheriff’s office to make sweeps of the danger zone and make sure no one was left behind… Wait, there she is.”

Charlie pointed and lifted his hand in a wave. Ryker followed his gesture and found Rachel at the helipad, standing next to Marx. She lifted her hand and wave back. Relief flashed first, then annoyance as Marx dropped his head close to hers and said something that made her look at him.

“Then we’re good to go.” Ryker turned away from the sight of them together and continued up the hill.

They met Ray, Brad, the county fire marshall and a sherriff’s deputy at the command post. They had fire and law enforcement personnel standing by at various locations around the site. Ray handed them all ear protection, and Ryker pulled his radio again. “Get those birds in the air, and we’ll start the countdown.”

“You got it.”

Jax made a circular motion with his arm, and the choppers lifted into the air one by one, angling away from each other and hovering into position—one on either side of the bridge, one directly overhead. Cameramen had been harnessed into the choppers and manned the cameras mounted in the open rear doorways.

“Beginning initial countdown,” Jax said over the radio.

“Roger that,” Ryker answered, then turned. “Ray. Get your ass out there with the bullhorn and call the countdown.”

He jerked a muffler off one ear, his dark eyes wide. “Me?”

He sounded like a little kid, and Ryker laughed. “Is there another Ray here?”

Charlie tossed him the bullhorn, and the smile that brightened Ray’s face could have provided enough light to illuminate the camp for twenty-four hours. He secured his mufflers again and stepped outside the hut, watching the choppers circle into position.

“Wait until they signal,” Ryker called, sliding his ear protectors into place. As soon as the choppers banked back toward the bridge, the one in the middle flashed its lights. “You’re on, Ray.”

Charlie, already secure with his own ear protection, picked up the ignition controller, and Ryker pressed his palms against the ledge of the window of bulletproof glass.

“Five,” Ray started through the bullhorn. Adrenaline rushed Ryker’s blood, and he leaned forward in anticipation. “Four. Three.”

The choppers swooped into place.

“Two. One,” Ray continued. “Fire in the hole!
Fire in the hole!
”

The first row of explosions ripped off with a perfect rat-a-tat-tat rhythm. Then the next. And the next. And they continued to light off with perfect precision as the filming choppers followed the progression in powerful, quick sweeps along the bridge.

Then it was over, the last row of explosions complete, the choppers swooping away and turning back toward the landing pad.

A slap on the back drew Ryker’s focus. He glanced over his shoulder and found everyone clapping and grinning, which was when he realized he couldn’t hear them—and it wasn’t because of the ear mufflers. Everything seemed to move in slow motion, and only that dark buzz sounded in his ears.

Charlie pulled Ryker’s headset off, his smile tightening in concern. “You all right, buddy?”

He rubbed at his ears, his hearing slowly returning. “Sure, sure.”

“Then why aren’t you howling with success?”

He didn’t know. “I can’t tell what it will look like on camera. I only know it went off as we planned.”

Charlie squeezed Ryker’s shoulder and pointed through the glass. “That’s how it went.”

Ryker looked that direction and found Jax clapping over his head. He’d been looking at an iPad that played back the footage of the filming immediately. But what thrilled Ryker was the sight of Rachel jumping up and down next to Jax, her hands meeting in enthusiasm. That was what told Ryker the footage was really good.

A thrill coursed through his chest, twining with something deeper, richer, something brimming with emotion. That finally brought a smile to his face and relief to his shoulders. He straightened, turned to the others, and shook hands, bumped fists, accepted congratulations.

When he turned back, his gaze seeking the sight of Rachel, he found her wrapped in a hug with Marx. His grin faded, and his chest compressed.

Charlie slapped Ryker’s back again. “Come on, buddy. Let’s make sure they all blew, then celebrate.”

Ryker focused hard on each hole he and the team had drilled and stuffed with RDX, making sure no explosive, no undetonated blasting cap was left behind.

By the time they cleared the bridge, Rachel was long gone, and the other members of the staff drifted back toward base camp.

“Go grab a shower, boss,” Charlie said. “The boys and I will clean up.”

Ryker didn’t want a shower. He wanted to talk to Rachel. Gauge her mood. Read her eyes. “Nah, I’m here until we put it all to bed.”

“We got this, boss.” Ray’s grin was infectious. “Go on. You deserve a break.”

Ryker glanced around the bridge. There wasn’t much to clean up, and he relented. “Call if you need me.”

He hustled down the hill with a mix of anticipation and fear forming a knot in his belly. When he stopped in at the office, it was dark. Then he heard laughter coming from the dining room and turned that direction. Peering through the lit windows, he found Rachel mixing drinks for the crew. Disappointment lowered his shoulders. He planted his hands on his hips and paced a large circle. Going in and getting trapped in the celebration wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted Rachel. Alone.

He blew out a breath and paced another circle, staring at his feet. Maybe he’d go shower and check back.

The dining room door opened, and voices and laughter spilled into the night. The screen squeaked, and Ryker looked up. Rachel came through the door and closed it behind her.

“Hey,” she said. “Are you coming in?”

“Uh, no,” he said. “I’m not in the mood for more noise.”

She crossed her arms and stepped off the small porch. “What are you doing out here?”

He tried a smile, but nerves made it falter. Freaking
nerves
. What the hell? “I haven’t talked to you all day.” Not exactly an answer. “How’s your hand?”

She lifted her injured hand and curled her fingers into a fist. “Sore but okay.” She took another step toward him. “Congratulations. That went off perfectly. Josh was impressed, and Jax was stoked.”

His smile came easier. “That’s great.”

“You got back fast,” she said. “I thought you’d be out cleaning up for a while.” She gestured toward the dining room. “We’ve got cupcakes inside. Chocolate.” She grinned. “Or I can make you a drink—”

An explosion ripped through the night. Alarm streaked down Ryker’s spine and raised gooseflesh over his entire body. He spun toward the bridge, his mind tearing from his thoughts of Rachel. And ran.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
It was the only thought that filled his mind for the first half of the run up the hill. The second half of the climb brought all the horrific possibilities. He must have missed a live plug of RDX in the post check. His mind skipped from Charlie to Ray to Brad to visions of Mike, and every thought was worse than the last, each growing worse until Ryker’s mind rattled in his skull.

He heard the screaming before he’d rounded the embankment and hit the asphalt. Screams that ripped at Ryker’s skin and tore his heart out of his chest. Screams that transported him back to Kandahar in an instant.

He spotted a group of shadows at the middle of the bridge and sprinted. By the time he reached the men, his mind had gone numb. He dropped into a crouch beside the one curled on the ground—Ray. It was Ray. Charlie knelt beside the younger man, Brad stood nearby, hands on his head, eyes wide with horror.

“Fuck, my hand!” Ray’s scream sounded garbled to Ryker’s ringing ears, like he was under water. “
My hand!
”

“Light,” he said, afraid to reach out until he could see what they were dealing with. “Someone give me light.”

A flashlight clicked on. Ryker snatched it and turned it on Ray, searching for his hands. “We’ve got you, buddy. We’ve got—”

Ryker’s stomach turned to rock. Ray’s left hand was covered in blood—and missing three fingers. The other two barely held on by skin and bone.

“Brad, first aid kit,” he said.

Brad slowly walked backward, expression still dazed.

“Brad!” Ryker shouted. “First aid kit.
Now
.”

“Y-yeah,” he sputtered before he turned and ran to the nearest truck.

“Okay, buddy,” Ryker said, barely able to hear his own voice beneath the buzz. “I’m lifting your hand above your head.” He gripped the man’s wrist, found his pulse, and pressed his thumb over the artery hard. Ray screamed and pulled back, but Ryker held tight. “Hold on, man. Hold on. Charlie, shine that light on him. Ray, are you hurt anywhere else?”

“I…I…don’t know,” he croaked, his voice drowning in pain.

Ryker scanned his face, wiped at some blood to see if it was hiding an injury or just blowback. “How’s your vision? Your hearing?”

“I…I don’t know. My hand hurts so bad I can’t feel anything else.
Fuck!
”

A toolbox hit the ground, and Ryker ripped open the top with his free hand, then ordered, “Get me the Celox gauze and bandages, Charlie. Silver packages.”

He groped the ground for the flashlight Charlie had set down and shone it on Ray’s hand again. The sight of bright white bone surrounded by ravaged red tissue kicked off similar images in his head. Ryker’s stomach pitched. His mind slid sideways.

“I called for an ambulance.” The female voice behind him startled Ryker, and he turned his head quickly. Too quickly. His head spun, and he tipped off balance, catching himself with a clank of the flashlight on asphalt. Rachel’s face gazed back at him from the shadows, fear swamping her expression.

“What can I do?”

“We can’t wait. I’ll drive him,” he rasped, clawing at the bits and pieces of his mind trying to scatter. “Fingers. Need to find his fingers. Take them with us.”

Color drained from her face, but she pushed to her feet, and the beam of her flashlight scanned the ground. More voices and shadows filtered into Ryker’s mind of mush, but the sound of ripping drew Ryker’s gaze back to Charlie just in time to grab the gauze shoved his way.

He handed the flashlight to Charlie. “Hold this.” Then to anyone at large, he yelled, “Someone get a vehicle over here. Someone hold his arm.”

Marx dropped into a crouch beside Charlie and gripped Ray’s arm. “How did this happen? Why was he handling explosives?”

“Keep pressure on his artery,” Ryker said, dismissing Marx’s questions, then to Ray, “Hold tight, buddy, this is gonna hurt.”

With gritted teeth, Ryker focused on the missing fingers and packed the blood-clotting gauze on the stumps.

“Ah!” Ray screamed and jerked. “Ah!”

Marx held tight, immobilizing his arm. “Almost done. Stay tough.”

Ryker wound the clotting bandage over and around the gauze and secured the end. The sight of severed body parts, the screaming, the blood—they crowded his brain, and Ryker fought to hold on to his mind.

Ray’s cries quieted, and his expression turned slack and glazed. “He’s going into shock.” He looked over his shoulder. “Where’s that vehicle?” He turned back to Ray and tapped his face. “Stay with me. We’re getting you to help, buddy, just hold on.”

A truck stopped at the edge of the bridge, and Ryker pulled Ray’s good arm across his shoulders, then lifted the man to his feet. “I got you, Mikey. I’m here. Won’t leave you, buddy.”

Reality seemed to toggle back and forth in his mind. Ray and Mike. Ray and Mike. And no matter how hard he tried, Ryker couldn’t keep his mind from straying to that horrifying day…

Ryker forced it from his mind as he bent, gripped Ray’s thighs, and lifted him over his shoulder, then hustled toward the headlights.

He lowered Ray to the seat and climbed in beside him, catching sight of Jax’s profile in the driver’s seat. Ryker didn’t even have the door closed before he was yelling, “
Go, go, go
.”