Vivian Arend - High Passion

Lana waved at them from behind the call desk, already on the phone with their contact and relaying flight information details to Erin.

“I’m on lead,” Anders called out. “We’ll be fine, Marcus. We’ll keep you posted. Now get off the line and let us do our job.”

“Bastard.” Marcus laughed. “Everyone stay safe and good luck.”

A rush of energy surged as they got ready. Devon paused to pour an extra coffee and set it before Lana, and she flashed him a huge smile without pausing her task.

Teamwork. The smooth coordination flowing around him eased the pre-rescue butterflies that came no matter how many times they did this.

Devon hurried with the rest of them into the chopper. Alisha looked nearly as bleary-eyed as he felt, but otherwise she appeared in complete control. It had been a couple of days since their explosive sexual release, but he hadn’t been in a rush to contact her, and neither, it seemed, had she craved his company. They were back to keeping their distance.

Fine. As long as she was on task right now, he’d deal with the other situation later today.

“At least it’s a decent hour.” Xavier’s nonstop banter arrived as usual. “Daylight will make it easier for the search. Anders? What’s the word?”

“Lana? Want to fill in the gaps?”

“Guide took inexperienced paddlers down the Selkirk River. There’s more than one set of class five rapids and at least two impassable class six falls—and the expected happened. Guide is missing along with one other canoe, so there are four possible victims.” Her voice purred over the headsets, and Devon found himself nodding—having a contact who was easy to listen to was a nice change from Marcus’s far more gravelly tones.

Devon bet she was glad she’d had time to recover from her little drinking session, though.

Lana continued. “The third canoe was found trapped in a logjam. The two who were in her made the call for help. It’s been three days since they started the trip—it took that long for them to find their way out of the bush.”

Anders jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “There’s a local SAR team patrolling the river downstream from where the canoe was found. The valley widens so they can cover the territory pretty easily. We’re heading upstream into the mountains. Erin can manoeuvre through most of the canyon. If she can’t clear a section, we’ll have to drop in to check the territory on foot.”

“Descending on the winch?” Alisha asked.

“If it works.” Anders shook his hand. “We’re talking narrow-gauge canyons in that area.”

He pulled out a map and laid it flat. Devon leaned forward with the rest of them, highly aware of Alisha on his left, her leg next to his as she wiggled to get a better view. She didn’t seem overly stressed about the upcoming rescue.

He focused on the region Anders was highlighting.

“They put in the canoes at this point. Following the river, and with the news from the two that made it out, we know they were fine until this point.” Anders stabbed the map with a finger. “That’s when the group got separated.”

Tripp made a rude noise. “That’s the first set of rapids, and it’s not even technically challenging. Bunch of idiots. What was the guide thinking?”

“If they had problems with those bumps, they’d never have made it through here.” Xavier tapped the map where there was a noticeable change in elevation. “Did they even know how to park the boats to portage around the falls?”

“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.