1. Ward

Thunder Bay, Ontario, in January, was not somewhere I'd ever thought to put on my bucket list. To be fair, it still wasn't. I mean, Canada in the winter in general, am I right? DC was cold enough.

And yet, here I was, in the Great White North.

This wasn't the smallest airport I'd ever been in, but it was damned close. Unless I was missing something, I could see every gate from where I stood. Each one seemed all but empty, which was not a good sign, considering it was midday on a Wednesday. There should be business travellers around, right? Maybe?

How big was this city, anyway?

My phone rang, jolting me out of my observations of the airport's emptiness. I wasn't surprised to see April's name on the screen. I brought it to my ear and answered, "Sullivan."

"Would it kill you to answer the phone like a normal person?"

"Yes." I hitched my bag to a more comfortable spot on my shoulder and started down the corridor. "I assume you're calling because my contact is here?"

"Devlin Campbell."

"Has he got a sign for me or something?"

"Because the airport's so crowded, right?" I could almost hear her rolling her eyes.

"Jesus, just asking."

"Stupid questions get stupid answers."

"Do I get a description of the guy, or do I have to randomly approach people and ask their name?"

"Look for the Canadian." With that, she hung up.

What the hell was that supposed to mean? I scowled as I shoved my phone back in my pocket and stepped onto the down escalator. I was in Canada. Everyone here was Canadian. Unless he was dressed in a Captain Canada costume, how the fuck was I going to know who…he…was…

Oh.

A few things became instantly clear as the lower floor came into view. One, there really wasn't a crowd of people hanging around, so the one dude staring up at the escalator like he was waiting for the long-lost love of his life kind of stood out. Two, if there was the epitome of a Canadian, this guy was it. He was tall, maybe a couple of inches taller than my six-two height, and as broad as a football player. He wore faded blue jeans, big, warm-looking work boots, and a red-and-black flannel jacket over a fleece vest. A red knit beanie covered most of his dark brown hair, but his less-than-neat beard was on full display. The pale skin of his cheeks and nose sported red spots—from the cold, I assumed—and he wore black-framed glasses. Most disconcerting, though, was his wide, bright smile. Like he actually liked it here. Or—even weirder—like he was looking forward to meeting me.

No onelooked forward to meeting me.

The dude's smile widened even further when he spotted me. "Firefox?"

Oh, no, he did not. My glare hardened. "Ward Sullivan," I corrected him coldly. "You can call me Sullivan."

For some insane reason, instead of my tone dimming his smile, it made it nearly incandescent. "Sure. Sorry. Sullivan. Welcome to Thunder Bay." He held out a large hand. "I'm Devlin Campbell. You can call me Dev."

I shook his hand because I might be an asshole, but I wasn't a dickhead. "No codename?"

Dev shrugged. "Never needed one. Want me to get your bag?"

I rolled the shoulder my bag was on. "This is all I've got."

"I could carry it."

What was with this guy? But hey, if he wanted to take it, I wasn't going to say no. "Knock yourself out."

Again with the smile. No one should be that happy to heft someone else's luggage onto their shoulder. Suddenly I wondered if maybe I should've read the file in more detail, instead of skimming over the section that provided info about my liaison like I usually did. I wasn't here to make friends, though, and what mattered was why I was here, not who would be babysitting me while I was.

Whatever.

Dev led me out of the airport into winter. I thought I'd understood winter. I mean, DC got snow. It got cold. I'd grown up in PA, too, so yeah. I knew winter. Or, at least, I thought I had. But I'd never had my breath stolen by the sheer coldness of the cold. It bit at my nostrils, pulling at my nose hairs, and the skin of my cheeks almost instantly went numb. And my ears? They might have just fallen off.

And still Dev smiled. "You've got good timing. It's supposed to get colder tomorrow, so this will ease you into it."

"Colder?" I hadn't intended to shout, and I certainly hadn't anticipated the mouthful of frigid air that made me cough.

"Yeah. It's only minus fifteen with the windchill today. It's supposed to get down to minus thirty or so tomorrow."

"With the windchill?"

"Oh, no, before."

I eyed my leather jacket. It was lined, but I could already feel the cold air knifing through it. I wasn't a fan of beanies, but I was starting to think they might be a necessity in this frozen hell. "I think I'm going to need to make a stop at an outfitter."

"Yeah, not a bad idea. There's one in Nipigon that has good stuff. That's where I usually go."

"They have more than flannel, right?"

Dev paused in trekking across the parking lot. "Hm. I think so? Want me to call and ask?"

Seriously, this dude. I shrugged. "Sure."

"Cool. I'll call once we get on the road. Well, this is me." He waved at a top-end, rugged-looking pickup. For some reason, I'd pegged him as an ancient VW bus kind of guy, maybe one with a funkadelic peace sign painted on the side, not an owner of an orange Ford F-150 Raptor. Actually…yeah, I could see him owning something in orange. Or yellow. Some bright, sunny color. But how the hell did he afford a Raptor on an agent's salary? Unless satellite agents like him made way more money than those stationed at headquarters? He had to get hazard pay for living in this frigid place.

"How far is it to Nipplegone?" The sarcasm was heavy in my voice as I settled into the truck. I knew that wasn't the name of the place. But it fit, now that I'd experienced the cold.

Instead of being insulted that I'd misnamed his town, Dev burst out laughing. "That's a good one. Yeah, no, Nipigon's not far. Maybe an hour and a half, depending on the road conditions."

He considered that not far? Jesus. I really was in a whole different country.