Page 115 of Falling for the Playboy Pilot

He banked hard right, and I got a better look. The man was limping badly, leaning heavily on the girl who couldn’t have been more than sixteen. She kept looking back at the approaching fire, terror written across her face even from this distance.

“Shit,” Pickle muttered. “They’re not going to make it.”

“Can you get us down there?”

“Not supposed to land in an active fire zone.” He was already descending. “But fuck protocol.”

The helicopter dropped way too fast. My stomach shot up into my throat as we plummeted toward a small patch of asphalt in what looked like a school parking lot. The landing was anything but gentle. We hit hard, the aircraft bouncing once before settling with a jarring thud.

“Go!” Pickle shouted. “I’ll keep her running!”

I unbuckled and jumped out before the skids had fully settled. The heat hit me like a physical blow, so intense I could barely breathe. My eyes started watering. The rotor wash nearly knocked me on my ass.

I ran toward the two figures, my boots pounding against the hot pavement. The girl saw me coming and waved frantically.

“Help us!” she screamed over the roar of approaching flames. “My dad hurt his leg. He can barely walk!”

The man was wheezing, his face gray with exhaustion and smoke inhalation. I grabbed his other arm and we half-carried, half-dragged him toward the helicopter. Each step felt like we were moving through molten air. I couldn’t believe they had managed to survive at all.

“What’s your name?” I shouted to the girl.

“Emma! This is my dad, Joe!”

“Almost there, Emma. You’re doing great.”

The wind from the rotor blades was a blessing compared to the superheated air around us. I boosted the man up into the cabin first, then helped Emma climb in. She was shaking, whether from fear or adrenaline, I couldn’t tell.

“You’re safe now,” I told them, strapping them both in. “We’re getting you out of here.” I jumped back into my seat and buckled up. “Go, go, go!”

Pickle didn’t need to be told twice. We lifted off just as a shower of burning embers began raining down on the parking lot where we’d just been. The helicopter climbed steeply. I watched through the window as the flames devoured the park.

Emma was crying now, clutching her dad’s hand. The man’s breathing was labored but steady. Pickle maneuvered back to the evac zone. Another hard landing and I was out of the chopper. A team of firemen rushed over to help unload our precious cargo and get them on another bus.

“We’ve got to go back up,” Pickle shouted at me.

I nodded and hopped back in. I didn’t even have my seatbelt buckled before we were ascending. Pickle flew us back into the heart of the inferno. Rescues were going to be much harder and, sadly, less likely. But that didn’t mean we didn’t try.

The helicopter bounced and bucked as Pickle did his best. My eyes scanned the ground. I hoped like hell no one was down there. I spotted a dog running. He was smart enough to avoid the fire. Good boy.

Pickle did another pass.

I tapped the comm. “Base, this is Bravo-2. Area clear. Looks like evac’s been good. We didn’t see anyone stranded.”

Static crackled. “Grid’s golden. Get out of there. Return to base.”

Relief washed over me. I let go just enough to breathe. I could not wait to get out of the suit and the fucking helicopter.

But the calm evaporated instantly.

Flames along the tree line started swirling upward. A funnel. Every firefighter’s worst fear. I had read about one of the firenados actually causing a tornado that registered as an F2 on the Fujita scale.

The beast rising up grew fast. It was whirling, sucking air and fire into a terrifying column. We were riding right beside it, and it was alive.

Fuck King Kong, I was staring at God’s wrath. My eyes were glued to the scene. It was strangely beautiful.

One breath and everything changed. The air sucked away. The chopper’s nose dipped. Alarms screamed in my head. No. They weren’t just in my head. The helicopter’s control panel was screaming.

“Brace, brace!” Pickle called.