Fireproof (Chasing Fire: Montana Book 6) by Susan May Warren & Lisa Phillips

Author:Susan May Warren & Lisa Phillips [Warren, Susan May & Phillips, Lisa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sunrise Publishing
Published: 2024-09-17T00:00:00+00:00

This was all sorts of out of control.

Crispin gripped the sidebar of the ATV, holding on as Henry put the gas down, flooring it over ruts and breaking branches and plowing a hole through a worn trail in the woods.

Overhead, smoke mottled the sky, turned the woods hazy and difficult to navigate. Ash and smoke littered the air the farther east they drove. So, clearly, into firestorm country.

“How far is it?”

“About a mile,” Henry shouted over the roar. “There’s a cave system—I have a place there.”

“You hid the missile in a cave?”

“No. A silo—it was already built into the ground. An old minuteman missile silo. Montana is lousy with them.”

They emerged from the forest, the terrain turning rocky, mountains rising from either side. They drove through a gorge of sorts, perhaps a dried riverbed, although the boulders seemed struck from the side of the mountain, the size of the Kia he’d stolen.

He’d have to track down the owner, send an anonymous money order.

In the front seat, Jade also braced herself, one hand on the bar, the other on the dash—they probably needed seatbelts.

Then again, she was tough.

Her accusation still simmered inside him. I don’t need your pity, okay. I don’t need you looking at my wounds and thinking…oh, poor Jade.

As if. But maybe…sure, if he let her story find root, his heart might turn a little at an eight-year-old going through the torture of burn treatments and skin grafts. But now, of course, her words about surviving today made sense.

So maybe she was a little fireproof, like the burnt area of a forest fire, already having suffered the flames. And no wonder she faced life the way she did, the wounds of a bullet shot—or a gunfight, or a house fire—glancing off her.

Or at least, they seemed to. And yes, it made him respect her just a little more. But he’d shoved the glue into his pocket because they weren’t done yet.

Henry drove them to a flattened place inside the gorge, a rocky area where bloomed purple wildflowers and tall grasses. He slowed, then pointed to a rusted metal door in the ground.

A trail led to the door, up from a dirt road in the distance, although hard to make out in the hazy air. “Had to back the trailer in here, but it’s tucked back in here good,” he said. “Hard to spot. Maybe they haven’t found it.”

He stopped the ATV, and Crispin barreled out, running to the metal door. Six feet wide, it had square handles protruding from two sides. “It looks cleaned off.”

Henry came over, Jade just behind him, as if she might catch the old man if he went down. But Henry was part cowhide, part old-school tough. For a second, an ancient fondness rose inside Crispin.

The man had saved his life. Protected him, in his way, from the rogue CIA faction.

Henry bent down and grabbed a handle, Crispin the other. They lifted together.

The door opened with a grinding shriek. Inside, rusty corrugated-metal stairs led down into a cement bunker.

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