Page 89 of Ultimate Justice

She flipped open the laptop and unfolded the sheet of paper. It was a handwritten note.

Marlie, I know that was the camp we were at in Wyoming. Evan said he can’t get in there, but I can, and I don’t want to wait anymore. I’m going back there to get Caleb. Maybe we can convince some of the other kids to come with us, too. I’ll find a way to call you. I’ll also pay you back for the bus ticket. I swear it. Please don’t be too mad at me, ’cuz I really do want to live with you. Noah.

“Oh my God,” she whispered. “Noah, what have you done?” With her heart in her throat, she entered her password, and the home screen filled with an image. An aerial one. Of Cheyenne, Wyoming.

While she stared at the image a second longer, she was mad at him. Mad as hell. Just when they were on the verge of starting a new life together, he went and did something so incredibly foolish it might get him killed.

Anger morphed to admiration of his courage, then quickly reverted to sheer terror. With trembling fingers, she clicked on the browser history. One of the last sites he’d been looking at was for the Greyhound Bus lines. She clicked the link, worrying what she’d find. The booking page populated, and her heart nearly stopped.

Noah really had purchased a bus ticket from Union Station in Denver to Cheyenne.

She clapped a hand over her mouth. How could she have been so stupid?

All the times he’d asked when they could go get Caleb, including just this morning… She should have seen where his head was at. Why hadn’t she?

Noah was smart. Too smart. He’d intentionally planned this trip during school times when there’d be less likelihood of anyone detecting he was gone. But how did he get to Union Station, and how would he get from the bus depot in Cheyenne to the camp?

The next line in the browser history answered that question. Uber. She clicked the link. He’d also used her credit card to get a ride to Union Station and another to pick him up in Cheyenne.

“No, no, no, no!” She sucked in quick breaths. “Stay calm.” She pulled out her phone and punched in Evan’s number. After three rings, her call went to voicemail. “Evan,” she practically screamed. “Noah took a bus to Cheyenne! He’s going after Caleb and the other kids!”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The smell of smoke brought Evan back to full consciousness. He coughed, blinking to clear his vision and get his bearings.

Cracks spiderwebbed the chopper’s windshield. Smoke poured into the cockpit from the broken dashboard. Outside his door, flames shot horizontally from beneath the passenger compartment—where the fuel tanks were located.

Chip’s head lolled forward, his chin resting on his chest. Evan unbuckled his seat belt and leaned over to unbuckle Chip’s. Blood trickled from the other man’s temple.

“Chip! Chip!” The pilot didn’t move. Evan shook the man’s shoulder. “C’mon, wake up! We gotta get outta here!” Before they died of smoke inhalation or the chopper exploded.

He grabbed the latch, pushing against the door with his shoulder. It didn’t budge. He shoved harder, then kicked at it. Still, it didn’t open. The chopper’s frame must have twisted on impact, jamming the door.

Outside, the flames shot higher. Inside the cockpit, the smoke thickened, getting darker by the second. Evan coughed, as did Chip in his semi-conscious state. He reached for the extinguisher strapped to the floor by his feet. Not big enough to put out the growing inferno. Getting them outside was the priority.

Coughing again, he scrambled into the rear passenger compartment. The fuel tanks were right beneath his feet. He shoved at the door on the pilot’s side. Mercifully, it opened. He leaped over the flames shooting from beneath the floorboard and raced to Chip’s door, jerking it open and hauling him from the cockpit.

He bent enough to get Chip over his shoulder, then half walked, half jogged away from the chopper. His heart pumped harder than he thought possible, and his breath sawed, loud and uneven, coming out in heavy wheezes. Any second, the flames would hit the fuel tank. Putting distance between them and the doomed aircraft was the goal, but with a two-hundred-pound man flopping over his shoulder like a speared fish…

The muscles in his back, neck, and shoulders screamed in agony. His legs were quickly turning to rubber.

Keep going. Keep moving.

A loud explosion split the air. The ground rocked beneath his feet, the impact throwing him to his knees. As he twisted to cushion Chip’s head with his arm, a rock rushed up to meet him.

Sharp pain lanced into his shoulder. Gritting his teeth, he twisted to see the chopper fully engulfed. Thick black smoke spiraled skyward.

“Chip, wake up! Stay with me, buddy.” Relief swept through him as the other man’s lids fluttered, and he moaned.

“I’m good.” Chip groaned as he tried to sit up. “The chopper?”

“Going back to the taxpayers.” Evan hitched his head to what was quickly becoming a twisted, burning mass of metal. A strong gust of wind blew the cloying, pungent smell of smoke and fuel in their direction. A loud roar came from the wreckage as the fire intensified.

Chip groaned again. Being a military rotorhead, Evan suspected it was more over the loss of the chopper than actual pain. “What a Charlie Foxtrot.”

A total clusterfuck. He couldn’t agree more.

Still sucking in heavy breaths, Evan tugged the phone from his belt and called 911. His phone beeped. No service and no bars. He looked around for a house or a farm. Someone had to have seen them go down. Then again, this was Wyoming. There could be miles between them and any residences, farms, or ranches.