Chapter 3
Backcountry near Kamloops, British Columbia
The storm was rolling in fast, a low bruise on the horizon smearing purple over the tree line.
She and her two colleagues had left Wilderness Interdiction & Logistics Division or WILD Headquarters, tucked deep in Tranquille Valley just outside Kamloops, a rugged spread of timber buildings, paddocks, and training grounds carved straight into the wilderness, far enough from town for secrecy, close enough for the Mounties to matter.
The wind carried the scent of rain and pine pitch, and Royal Canadian Mounted Policewoman, Sergeant Blair Brown, leaned low over Jet Relevé’s thick neck as the black gelding thundered over the rough trail.
“Easy, Rev,” she murmured as branches whipped past. “Find me the trail.” This wasn’t any ordinary horse, and not even a typical Mountie horse.
Blair smiled softly. God, when she’d found him, he’d been tied to a tree, starving, severely underweight, injured, dehydrated, and so aggressive toward men that two of her colleagues refused to go near him.
But there had been something else in this magnificent creature, something trauma hadn’t been able to touch, his spirit.
It had burned through the ruin of his body, bright and defiant, unyielding.
She’d seen it in the fiery gaze he’d shot at her that day, the proud way he’d lifted his head despite the pain, the way he’d quivered when he saw her, as if some instinct inside him recognized something in her and reached back.
A lot of people liked to say she’d broken him to her will, but Blair knew better.
Jet Relevé didn’t belong to anyone. He had chosen her because of that moment, because she saw him when no one else did, because she understood what an unbroken spirit looked like even when the body failed, because she carried her own quiet history of being pushed past breaking and still finding the strength to rise, the way a dancer rises after the fall.
Her colleagues thought she’d trained him into submission, that she’d shaped him into something useful, but Blair had nothing to do with Jet becoming part of their division. He chose her, and because of her, he chose service.
Jet snorted, ears flicking forward, muscles gathering under her like coiled lightning. The horse had a sixth sense for disturbance, broken underbrush, old scent trails, the shift of ground where someone had run instead of walked.
“Sarge,” Constable Jake Holmstein shouted over the engine whine, “slow up, we don’t have eyes on the drop yet.” He and her other colleague, Constable Malcolm Tyler, struggled to keep up on ATVs.
“Then get eyes faster, Beef,” she shot back. “They’ve been missing six hours already.” Irritation and fondness tangled in her tone. “I told you horses would be faster. You and Tyler needed Sundance and Blue. They know their way around here.”
Holmstein cursed under his breath, and Tyler chuckled. “She has a valid point, eh.”
“You were right, but you bucked the Superintendent’s orders.”
“He was misinformed,” was all she said. Superintendent Matthew Darrow, arrogant, self-serving, polished, a social and professional climber with the charm of a man who hated being second-guessed, but in Blair's opinion, his calls were often…misinformed. She knew that from firsthand experience. He had once been her partner, her mistake, her disappointment. He would never be in charge of her again, and her trust was now reserved for men who didn’t get to where they were on her back.
Blair didn’t wait. She trusted Jet, and he trusted her. He had more integrity than many men she knew. That was enough.
She guided him toward the ridge line, scanning the ground, divots in moss, a snapped sapling, a small, partial boot print where the soil had washed downward and there in the dirt were kid-sized prints, and they were running from something.
Blair’s pulse spiked. “Rev, take me down,” she said softly, squeezing with her calves.
“Wildcat, we can’t follow you down there on these vehicles. We’ll meet up with you on foot.”
“Copy, she replied.” Give her a horse any day. Noisy, unwieldy machines didn’t fare well in this thick and treacherous backcountry where the Mounties were the only law and order.
Jet slid into a controlled descent on the narrow slope, hooves finding impossible footholds.
He might be an Arabian-Percheron mix, but she wondered if he was part mountain goat.
Blair leaned back in the saddle, breath steady, eyes scanning every shadow.
Halfway down, she spotted a splash of red fabric caught on a low-hanging branch.
A child’s jacket. Jet stopped himself without her asking. “That’s it. Good boy.”
She slid off, pocketed the torn fabric, then paused. A faint sound rose above the wind.
Crying.
She froze, scanning. Blair dropped the reins and reached across to unclip the rifle from the scabbard strapped to the saddle.
The backcountry was notorious for drawing predators closer to human scent, and children running meant something had spooked them badly.
The last thing terrified kids needed was a stranger looming over them with a firearm.
Her operational jacket clung damp against her shoulders, the RCMP crest dulled by rain, and her worn brown riding boots were already streaked with mud.
The brim of her field hat, a beat-up baseball cap, channeled the water away from her eyes.
In the chaos of wind, rain, Jet’s breathing, and the engines higher on the ridge, she was a steady, unmistakable figure of authority.
The older child saw her first.
The girl was crouched over her younger brother, soaked through, shaking, her thin arms wrapped around him.
When she spotted Blair through the curtain of wet branches, something primal flashed through her.
She rose fast, shoving the little boy behind her small frame, and snatched up a thick, jagged branch from the ground.
Her grip was clumsy but fierce. Her chin lifted in defiance.
She was ready to swing with everything she had.
The little boy whispered her name, barely audible. “Sarah…”
“Stay behind me, Joshua,” she snapped, voice quivering but strong.
Blair held her position, lowered her center of gravity, and angled her body so the rifle stayed visible but harmless, barrel down, hands steady.
“Hey,” she said gently, softening her tone without losing the authority that kept them anchored.
“I’m Sergeant Brown, RCMP.” She pointed to her patch. “You’re safe now.”
Sarah’s eyes flicked from Blair’s hat to her jacket to the rifle in her hands, assessing every detail. She didn’t relax her stance. She didn’t lower the branch. She simply shifted her weight to keep her brother hidden fully behind her, fierce enough to break Blair’s heart in a single beat.
“That’s good,” Blair murmured. “Stay right there. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m here to take you home.”
Jet exhaled behind her, a slow, calming breath, and the little boy peeked around his sister, wide-eyed at the massive black horse waiting like a shadow at Blair’s back.
“Wow, he’s pretty,” the little boy whispered.
Sarah blinked, her face vulnerable for a second as she glanced at the horse, then her brother.
“What’s RCMP?” Sarah asked, her voice steadying.
Blair noted the American accent. “Royal Canadian Mounted Police,” she said. “We’re the law here. Where you from?”
“New York City,” she whispered.
“Ah, the Big Apple. You’re some of our American cousins. Clearly out of your comfort zone, but ready and able to protect your brother. Joshua, is it?”
The boy peeked again, nodded shyly, and then buried his face in his sister’s lower back.
Sarah never took her eyes off Blair, not even then, though her expression faltered for a moment.
She was young, soaked, scared, armed with nothing but a stick and raw courage, standing exactly the way Blair used to stand behind her own classmates in studio corridors when someone smaller needed a defender.
A girl didn’t need size to be formidable.
Joshua reached out with small, trembling fingers, his awe overcoming his fear for a brief, fragile moment.
Jet stepped forward with a deliberate gentleness Blair had only ever seen him show around her, lowering his massive head until Joshua’s hand brushed the velvet of his muzzle.
The boy let out a soft gasp and stroked him once, reverent and careful, his tiny palm disappearing against Jet’s dark strength.
Sarah didn’t flinch, didn’t relax her hold on the branch, but something in her gaze wavered for the briefest heartbeat as she took in the horse towering over them, steady as a wall, solid as a shield.
She drew herself up again, fierce and unyielding, ready to defend her brother from anything that moved.
Blair’s throat closed for a moment. God, this girl had fire.
A sharp crack echoed through the trees behind them. Sarah’s grip tightened instinctively, her eyes snapping toward the sound, and at the same moment her radio hissed with static.
“Blair,” Holmstein’s voice barked, breathless and urgent. “There’s fresh kill here. Bear tracks. Watch yourself, he might still be in the area.”
Blair was already moving, stepping in front of the children, her rifle at the ready, heart hammering as every hair on the back of her neck lifted at once. The forest went still in that thick, unnatural way that told her a predator was near.
Jet’s entire body coiled beneath the weight of that silence.
The bear exploded out of the undergrowth in front of them seconds later.
A mass of black fur and claws and rage barreled toward them with a guttural roar that shook the wet branches. Blair planted her feet, shouldering her rifle, ready to fire if she had to, but Jet moved before she could breathe.
He surged in front of her so fast the air seemed to rip.