“Good question.” Anders stared into the air as he issued an order. “Lana, find out if the survivors were briefed about portaging. If they were, we’ll have to check the trees more thoroughly.”

“Got it.” Lana jumped on the line, a faint crackle of background noise from the radios in the office carrying with her words. “Weather warnings just rolled in from Environment Canada. Erin, you have high winds coming in ahead of the storm front.”

“Affirmative. Thanks for the heads-up.” Erin spoke over her shoulder on the chopper-only line. “So far the newbie isn’t doing so bad.”

Devon adjusted his collar. High-wind warnings almost guaranteed they would be climbing and going on foot for parts of the rescue. Beside him, Alisha had closed her eyes, hands folded easily in her lap.

The urge to reach over and grasp her fingers flashed out of the blue. It made him wonder.

The travel time passed too quickly. Everyone changed position to look out the windows, eyes peeled for the sight of any kind of civilization. The bright orange marker the local SAR crew had placed at the canoe site glowed like a violent gash in the greens and browns of the local foliage.

“Everyone ready?” Anders asked.

Devon gave his affirmative, his gaze meeting Alisha’s for a moment. She smiled and shot a thumbs-up. Her confidence shone out even while a hint of weariness lingered in her eyes.

Which, hell, he could understand. They’d worked each other over like crazy the other day, not to mention that the previous rescue and flood incident were less than a week ago.

Erin banked the chopper, the angle hard enough that they all scrambled to grab tightly to security straps as they found positions and stared outside.

“Anything more from the survivors? Jacket colours, canoe information?” Tripp pressed his hands to the glass as he leaned into the concave window. “Tell me they all wore neon pink and make my day.”

Lana clicked through. “You’ll love this bullshit. The canoes are painted with camouflage—apparently the guide moonlights leading hunting parties during the duck-hunting season and figured it was a good idea to use the same craft for both activities.”

Devon banged his forehead against the glass. “Idiot.”

“It gets worse,” Lana warned. “Looks as if your best bet will be the dry bag. As in, you heard me right, there’s one dry bag for the lot of them in the guide’s canoe. Bright red, at least.”

“This guy actually have a license, or did he set up a company online and start bullshitting people?”

“Pretty much. The two who walked away from it said they were offered one place to stick cameras, phones, and wallets for the trip that wouldn’t get wet. Everything else they shoved into backpacks, sports sacks, and garbage bags.”

“High tech,” Anders sighed. “Black garbage bags, of course.”

“Of course.”

Devon listened to the banter, but all his attention was on the water passing slowly beneath them. On the massive rocks lining the shoreline, the tall pines breaking their visibility as the water popped in and out of sight at random intervals. “The one good thing about this area not being a common destination for canoers—any garbage we see is probably from this incident.”

“Exactly. Eyes peeled for garbage stuck in the rocks. Watch the sweepers along the riverbanks plus any low-lying branches things could get caught on. Devon, you focus on the water and the edge in this section, I’ll check the trees,” Anders ordered. “There’s a portage coming up. On the left, Alisha, you’ve got the water, Tripp, the trees.”

Below them the landscape changed. Instead of flying over a river that ran along a fairly level path, the elevation rose sharply to produce multiple waterfalls, each one descending no more than a dozen feet but forming a myriad of options for the water to pour over. Hidden nooks and darkened chasms created places that more than a canoe could vanish into.

“Stop,” Tripp shouted.

Erin paused their forward motion. “Of course, right smack in the middle of the . . . Damn crosswinds. It won’t be a smooth ride, guys. Hold on.”

The chopper was buffeted from side to side as Tripp pointed. Erin fought to keep them level in the changing wind currents rushing around the pillars of rock.

“There’s a bag on the edge of the scrag pile there. See it?”

Devon had found nothing on the right, so he rose to peer over Alisha’s shoulder. The chopper rocked and he caught hold of her to steady himself as they both eyed the ground.

“I see it,” Alisha said excitedly. “Backpack. Only . . . that’s old school. It’s got an exterior frame.”

“Makes sense.” Anders’s disdain was clear. “Hunters use exterior frames for carrying out kills. I bet our wonder guide used the same gear for all of his upmarket adventure experiences.”

“Can you get in closer?” Devon asked Erin. He glanced behind them as best he could, but the water remained unsearchable, with too many rocks and blocked lines of sight. “We can’t see if there’s anyone in the river from here.”

“You’ll have to go on foot. Sorry, guys. Anders can lower you to the shoreline, but there’s no place for me to land soft-bodied people. The winds alone will play havoc with your descent.”

Anders stepped back to his position. “Prep for action. Alisha, we’ll put you down first. If you spot anything unusual on your descent, radio your recommendations for a change of drop site.”

“Got it.” She was out of her seat and hooking up her harness in a flash. Devon and the rest followed suit, the chopper leveling. Even with headsets on, the props were a constant buzz in his ears, the rush and pump of the massive blades creating a throb as if the chopper had a heartbeat.

“I lifted a bit so you can get ready in relative calm,” Erin commented. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

Ropes, climbing cams, first-aid supplies. Everything they needed for a rescue was pushed into bags or attached to their harnesses. Alisha moved into position next to Anders. “Ready.”

He double-checked all her attachments, fingers flying in the familiar safety check pattern they’d done hundreds of times in both training and real-life situations. “You’re good.”

He glanced at the others. Tripp and Xavier were clearing each other’s gear.

Alisha stepped up to Devon. She tugged straps and adjusted gear, her touch skilled and professional. Then her gaze rose to meet his, and her serious expression made something inside him tighten.

She flipped his radio to a private station. “I’m fine, and ready to roll. You be careful, okay?”

It was more than the gesture of a concerned teammate. Devon nodded. “I’ve got your back.”

* * *

The doors opened and the wind blasted into the chopper bay. The violent gust lifted everything that wasn’t strapped in place and attempted to rip free everything that was. Alisha clutched the safety hooks by the door tighter, waiting for the go-ahead.

“Erin, I can’t send anyone out in this,” Anders complained.

Cursing carried over the line before Erin got it under control. “This is what you’ve got unless I take you a kilometer upstream, and even then there’re no guarantees it’ll calm down.”

Alisha glanced outside, judging the drop. The wind was stupidly high, but there was a wide landing spot to make for, and it wasn’t that far below them. “I can do this.”

Anders stood beside her, staring out and judging as well. “It’s crazy, Alisha.”

“If I get a line set you can slide the gear and crew in less time than it’ll take to hike from wherever Erin thinks is an alternative. I’m sure of it. Let me try.”

He examined her face and the ground once more before nodding firmly. “Fine, if you’re up for it, we’ll give it a shot. Erin, Alisha’s dropping. Five minutes of your best flying ever, got it?”

“Got it. Alisha, have fun, girl.”

Anders caught her by the chest harness and attached a secondary cable. “If you get into trouble, call it off and Erin will lift straight up. We can have you on solid ground in less than two minutes after bugging out. Deal?”

“Deal, but we’re good.” She couldn’t stop herself from glancing over Anders’s shoulder at Devon. There was concern in his eyes, yes, but his smile was back. The cocky one that said he was having fun.

The adrenaline rushing through her veins proved she was enjoying herself far too much. Other worries faded away. Family demands. Ultimatums. Vincent’s bizarre behavior, even the panic she’d felt days earlier—she knew all those issues were there, that they were real, but here and now was more real. More vivid and making her come alive.

She dropped from the doorway into the open air.

Icy fingers clutched her as the wind personified into an evil demon intent on tearing her from her safe connection to the helicopter. Anders managed her cable, slowly lowering her to the ground. She spun uncontrollably in the wind, twisting her head to catch glimpses of the waterfalls downstream. The wind actually decreased as she got closer to the uneven surface, and on the third rotation she slowed enough to spot something.

There, jackpot.

“We got a hit, guys. There’s a paddle in the scrag pile to the right, and clothing and a black garbage bag stuck to branches on the edge of the cliffs.”

“Affirmative. Ten feet. Prep for landing.”

Alisha got ready to hit the ground, well aware that with the high winds Erin was doing her best, but that at any moment the chopper could change levels. While she was being lowered on the cable it wasn’t as scary a thought. The worst time was at landing, when the ground could come up or down far too fast.