Chapter 10

CHAPTER 10

F elt way too much like Shep was sitting in the Air One chopper, flying over the mountains of Alaska, on his way to a rescue.

Except the Dolomite Alps seemed higher, more jagged, and between them, in the valleys, tiny snowcapped houses sat in pristine white storybook clusters.

But he was on his way to a rescue.

Shep sat on the deck of a chopper that Fraser—who’d turned out to be more useful than he’d expected—had managed to procure from some contact he had in the States, who had a contact in Italy who’d shown up with a twin-engine Airbus H145, which had had Moose salivating, despite his jet lag, as he walked around the machine at the private airport in Luciella.

Axel had shown up too, along with Boo—who flew into Shep’s arms, tight around his neck. “Are you okay?”

Not even a little. He couldn’t believe the nightmare was repeating itself. But maybe a little better than last time because, “Thanks for coming. We’re going to get her back.”

Boo nodded. “They tried to leave me behind, but . . . seriously, I couldn’t believe it when Flynn told me that London was alive. All this time. Alive.”

“Yes. And I’d like to keep her that way.” Please, please, oh God, let her still be alive. “And, um . . . she’ll tell you everything when we find her.”

See, his voice barely shook.

“She’d better.”

It had been a desperate move to reach out to his Air One team, but they were all he had. He didn’t trust York—not completely—and while he liked Fraser and Pippa, and even the royal they came attached to, he needed people he could trust.

He’d let Fraser and York do the shooting. He was here to find London, keep her safe, bring her home.

Mission accepted.

He’d barely slept, but his head had never felt more clear, the map he’d studied in the embassy embedded in his head. He’d run scenarios with Fraser and York while waiting for his team. Mitch had helped by pointing out landmarks, his face strained despite his cool demeanor. They’d follow a river through the mountains as they rose in elevation, then fly above a ridgeline of cliffs to a tiny village where her GPS pin had stopped moving.

Please let her be alive . He couldn’t stop praying it.

“Coco, our hacker, says that the location is an old twelfth-century fortress. It’s built into a mountain, with a sheer drop on the outside. Best route in might be through these tunnels.” York had leaned over the map too, adding his thoughts.

“Best route in is down a static line and in through a window,” Shep said. “Right into the room where they’re holding her and then back out. Just like that.” He kept his voice calm, but really—the sooner they were in and out, the better.

Unless she was hurt— please, God, don’t let her be hurt .

“This is what we’re dealing with, Shep. The high windows are too small for a person. There are some second-story windows that we could get in. Or, like I say again, through the tunnels.”

“Which will probably be guarded.” This from Fraser, who had sat in a nearby straight chair. Apparently, he was a former Navy SEAL, so again, Shep liked him. And especially when he stood up and looked at a grainy picture that someone had pulled off the internet and blown up, then laid out his plan. “I think a better choice would be to put down on this walkway.” He ran his finger across a balcony that seemed to run the length of the castle, midway up. “And if we rig two lines, York and I go down, break through the windows, come in hard and fast, provide cover, and then Axel and Shep drop in and find London, get her home.”

He’d glanced at York then, who’d nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’d really prefer to have Pippa on the line,” Fraser had said, “but she needs to stay here with the princess. She’s technically her secretary, but I don’t trust Imani’s protection to anyone else.”

Whatever. Shep couldn’t care a whit about some stupid princess.

“I’ll get the tech you need,” promised Mitch, and by the time Moose had arrived, they had the chopper loaded and ready for its pilot. Shep had even found medical supplies, a stretcher, and a survival pack aboard, so Fraser’s friend’s contact might be in the rescue business too.

They’d climbed aboard, and he’d noticed that Fraser and York had kitted up, wearing body armor, carrying weapons, the spec ops part of the team. The rest wore jackets and pants, and he’d wished for the safety of flight suits. They also wore European-style suspender harnesses, which he’d customized to fit. He’d already checked all of their webbing and the winch. Good to go.

Fraser had clipped two ropes into the brackets in the top inside edge of the door—their fast ropes, maybe. As they’d taken off, the duo had climbed into harnesses, added descenders, then hooked into the line.

Now they sat, weapons across their backs, buckled in.

Him too. He’d already fitted his harness on, as had Axel, and Boo would run the line. He didn’t know the other chopper pilot—a male—who had climbed in front beside Moose. He wore sunglasses and seemed to know the terrain, so maybe a local.

Now, nearly twenty-four hours since the world had gone dark and London had been snatched from under his nose—twenty-four hours of wanting to throw up, to hit something, to take apart every choice he’d made since finding London alive—he soared over the mountains.

He should never have let her leave Alaska.

They’d left the valley, climbing into the altitudes, the occasional hunting cabin or sheep farm coming into view. A deep-blue lake sat in a pocket surrounded by whitened peaks, a small congregation of houses along the shoreline. A misty cloud hung to the east, and in the west, the falling sun cast deep, long shadows into the valleys.

According to their plan, they’d arrive onsite just as the sun set, hopefully also distracting London’s captors from any clear shots at the chopper.

His entire body had turned cold with that comment, made by Moose, when York had briefed him on the details.

Which indicated, however, that his boss understood the gravity of their situation. Moose had been a military rescue pilot once upon a time, so he knew all about edge-of-the-spear ops.

There would be no Purple Hearts if the chopper went down.

Shep glanced at Moose at the helm. Wow, he didn’t deserve these guys. The fact that they’d shown up . . .

Moose’s voice came through the headset. “According to GPS, we’re ten clicks away. I’ll do a flyover, and then we can deploy if you guys are a go.”

Fraser gave him a thumbs-up.

Interesting to see their brief reunion. Apparently Moose had plucked Fraser’s brother out of the freezing Bering Sea last year. Shep hadn’t gone on that op—Harrington, one of his buddies from the PEAK team in Montana, had been up visiting, and Moose had been trying to recruit him, so Moose had taken him out on the ride into the wild, churning lethal blue.

Shep had been thinking about reaching out to the PEAK guys, seeing if there might be a place for him?—

“There it is,” York said.

The castle seemed to grow out of the mountainside, backed up against a yawning cave, maybe seven levels in total including the two towers on each end. Black slate roofs, small windows, but along the walkway, larger leaded-glass windows suggested Fraser’s plan might work. The setting sun had turned them golden, the entire place an imposing prison.

Fraser lowered a monocular. “I don’t see any guards.”

Moose pulled up over the mountain, and they got a good look at the depth of the cave. Snowpack covered the backside of the mountain, falling into lush green forest at the bottom that washed down to a valley, cordoned on every side with more high snow-layered peaks. About halfway down the slope, on a ridge, framed by a scattering of trees and surrounded by snow, a small clearing held an A-frame hunting cabin.

Below, in the valley, maybe thirty clicks in the distance, sat another red-roofed storybook village.

Moose angled the chopper around. “We’ll go in from the top, take them by surprise. Get ready to go, and I’ll bring you as close as I can.”

Shep opened the door and clipped his lead to the bar on the top while he unhooked the line from the winch.

They flew over the top of the mountain. Fraser and York had also gotten up, holding on to their bottom rope with one gloved hand, the above-door bar with the other.

“It’s been a while since I’ve fast-roped,” York said.

Fraser looked at him.

The chopper moved over the fortress, descending, the walkway extending from the stone maybe ten feet deep and some fifty feet below.

Moose hovered the chopper. “Go.”

“Out the door,” Fraser said and turned. “Wait until we’re clear!”

Shep knew how to do this, thank you.

Fraser moved down to the chopper skid, York next to him, then suddenly they were zipping down the line, the rope moving through their descenders. Moose held them at a hover, the specialized rotors of his Airbus allowing him to pull in closer to the mountain.

The men landed, unhooked, and then deployed into the house.

Just like that.

Shep hooked into the line.

“I’m right behind you,” Axel said.

Shep turned and, just like Fraser, stepped out of the door, onto the skid, and then Boo was sending him down the line with the winch. Not quite as cool as the fast-roping, but it did the job, and his feet touched down on the stones of the balcony. He unhooked, then sent the line back up.

He didn’t wait for Axel.

Fraser and York hadn’t broken the windows, just pushed one open, and now he climbed inside too.

He entered a large room, a hearth on one side, a couple sofas, a carpet over the stone floor. Empty.

York stood near the chairs. “Blood over here.”

Yeah, Shep didn’t need to hear that.

Axel came in through the window.

York gestured to Fraser, and he took off down the hall.

“Stay behind us,” Fraser said, and followed.

“Hurry up,” Shep said, but hugged the wall until York gestured to him.

Fraser was already at a stairwell landing. “Up or down?”

“I’ll go down,” York said.

Fraser headed up, and Shep followed him. Axel went down with York.

A chill gathered on the next floor, emanating out of the brick floor and granite wall of the mountain. A series of closed doors ran down the hallway. Wooden and thick, with locks hanging from bulky hasps.

Fraser crept down the hall. He thumped on a door. “London?”

Nothing, and Shep went to the next one. “London! Are you in there?”

Down the hall, a voice. “Here!”

Shep ran toward it. Slammed his fist against the door. “London!”

A beat. “Shep?”

His knees nearly buckled.

“Stand back,” Fraser said. He’d pulled out a long metal lever, like a fireplace poker. He must have picked it up along the way. He put it into the lock and pried it open with a snap.

Shep shoved past him into the room.

And then his knees did give out. London sat on the floor in her ball gown, although it had lost its magic, her knees up to herself, bruised and bloodied. And next to her, on the floor, a woman. A badly injured woman with dark hair, her face swollen, her eyes closed.

“Ziggy,” Fraser said, his voice sounding a little wrecked as he knelt in front of her. “What happened?”

“A couple Igors,” London said quietly. “But we hurt them back.”

Shep couldn’t listen to her anymore. He knelt on the other side of her, did a quick assessment of Ziggy. “Her arm looks broken, and—” She wore a black tunic and he raised it. “Bruising. So, internal bleeding, maybe broken ribs.” He checked her eyes. “Pupils aren’t fixed, so hopefully no brain damage.”

“She just kept fighting, trying to take out Martin.” London’s voice bore an edge, and she looked . . . angry. Shep so wanted to pull her into his arms, but she looked . . . different.

And definitely not fragile.

Fraser got on the radio, updating York as Shep checked London. A bruise on her neck, one on her cheek, but otherwise—“Can you walk?”

“Yes.” She pushed herself to her feet. “Let’s go.”

Huh. “Okay, let’s go.” Kneeling, he pulled Ziggy to himself, then scooped her up.

Axel had appeared at the door, breathing hard. “Oh my—who is this?”

“My . . . friend,” said London as she pushed past him. But she tripped on the hem of her dress and nearly went down. Shep turned to catch her, a reflex, but Axel grabbed her arm first.

“You okay?”

“Dehydrated. But I’m fine.”

Hardly. But he didn’t want to argue. Not yet.

She looked at Shep. “They’ll be back. We need to hurry.” She gathered up her dress in one hand and headed down the hall, nearly running.

Get down the stairs, out to the balcony ?—

“Moose, we’re going to need a Stryker basket,” Axel said on his headset. “Boo, can you send it down?”

Shep scrambled down the stairs into the main room. York had beat them down, and Axel climbed out the window. Shep handed Ziggy to him.

Boo had sent down the basket, and Axel set Ziggy into it, clipping her in. The line zipped up with Axel and Ziggy attached.

Shep turned to London, and now, for the first time, grabbed her arms and really checked her, up and down. She held a bar in her hand, maybe the pry bar Fraser had used.

As if she’d needed a weapon.

“I’m okay, Shep.”

Weirdly, she was.

But then she shook her head, drew in a breath. “But?—”

Gunshots from down the hall—and really, the fact they’d gotten this far without any resistance seemed a miracle. Now, as Shep pulled London behind the sofa—or did she pull him?—Fraser turned and zeroed in on a man running down the hall.

Two shots, and the man crumpled midstride.

“Gotcha, Igor,” said London, and Shep looked at her, the dark, angry, foreign expression.

More shots, and these came from outside, on the balcony. York fired back, and Shep grabbed London up and pulled her away from the window.

Outside, the chopper veered away, out of range.

Good boy, Moose .

Fraser had moved down the hallway, into the shadows, and York had taken a position on the balcony, also firing.

Shep yanked London down behind the other sofa.

“I saw this being not quite so epic,” he said.

And then York came careening through the window. “Grenade!” He rolled into the hallway just as the entire balcony exploded. Shep threw himself over London as rock and metal and glass pelleted the room.

The chandelier shook in the ceiling and fell, crashing, as he covered their heads. A thousand tiny shards shattered through the room.

“We need to move,” London said, and lifted her head.

He got up, but she scrambled to her feet faster and grabbed his hand, pulling up her silly dress with the other—“C’mon!”

She fled down the hallway where Fraser had gone, where York had already rolled to his feet. Below them, in the stairwell, gunfire pinged. And she headed toward it.

“What are you doing?” He reached to stop her, but she lit out across the landing. It turned into a walkway that faced an open cavern, and on the other side—the cave entrance. A black yawn in the rock.

The tunnels York loved so much.

Moose could pick them up on the other side.

“I’m headed into the caves,” Shep said into his headphones.

London had already grabbed Shep’s hand. She was breathing hard, didn’t look so great.

“You okay?”

“You came for me.”

Uh, yeah. “I did.”

“Help is coming. I didn’t believe her.”

“Let’s go!”

Behind him, another explosion destroyed the stairs, dust and wood and clutter clogging their escape.

Gunshots on the lower levels. Please, God, keep Fraser and York alive .

But he didn’t look back as he and London ran into the darkness.

* * *

“Wait—wait!” Shoot, she didn’t want to slow them down but—“I think I have a sliver.”

He turned, frowned at her. “A what?”

London couldn’t have let go of Shep’s hand if she’d wanted to he gripped it so tight. And maybe she gripped it back just as tightly. She kept replaying the moment when he’d burst into the room.

She’d been so sure that Ziggy might die, right there next to her on the floor.

All of it had happened so fast—and now . . . now they were tromping through a cave, Shep’s headlamp—the man was a Boy Scout, no matter what he said—leading the way. He didn’t even seem rattled.

As usual.

He hadn’t even, after the quick study of her exterior, tried to kiss her. Then again, the castle had been exploding around them.

Eight hundred fifty years of history, gone.

They’d climbed five or six flights of stairs into the passageway to the tunnel, the ceiling a good twenty feet over their heads, the floor muddy. The white limestone walls turned weirdly blue and translucent when Shep shone his light on them. The air hung like a damp sheet around them, and water trickled in the darkness. Their breath seemed to catch in the air, their voices swallowed by the expanse. They’d passed a giant lake in the recesses of the cave, so maybe mountain water fed the lake, which ran out under the castle.

She shivered. Her feet were ice. Still, she’d stepped on something back there, and now she had to get it out of the heel of her foot.

Shep’s eyes widened as he knelt down in front of her and pulled up her dress. Just above her ankles, but enough—“You’re barefoot!” He looked up at her, his eyes dark. “What were you thinking ?”

She blinked at him. “When? When I was getting ready to go to the ball? Did you expect me to think, hey, you know, I might get kidnapped, I guess I’ll wear my best wool socks and hiking boots? Of course I wore heels. I lost them when they took me.”

“For the love, sit down.”

He practically pulled her down onto a nearby rock. “And you don’t have a sliver—your entire heel is cracked open and bleeding. It’s probably full of bat guano and is going to get infected and fall off.”

“You’re in a good mood.”

He looked up at her, his mouth tight. Stared at her for a moment, then breathed out. “Yes, yes, I am.” Then he sat down next to her and unlaced his boots.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

“I can’t walk in your boots. They’re too big?—”

“Socks. I have wool socks. Because, you know . . . I think ahead before I go to a ball.” He lifted a shoulder.

“Was that a joke? Are you trying to be funny right now?”

He smiled.

“You get kidnapped in your tux and see how you feel about it.”

He looked back at her, something of horror in his eyes as he took in her flimsy dress. “I’m a complete jerk.” He pulled off his boot, then his sock, then put his boot back on and did the same with the other.

Then he stood up, unzipped his jacket, and pulled it off, put that around her. Zipped it up, all the way past her chin. Met her eyes. “I am so sorry. I was so focused on getting us to the tunnel?—”

“Hey. Me too. I wasn’t even cold until now.”

“You’re such a liar.”

He probably meant it to be funny, but suddenly, her throat tightened and she looked away. “I am. I am such a liar.”

A beat, just the dripping of the water plinking around them. Oh, she couldn’t look at him.

“Hey—what’s going on here?”

“In the avalanche. If I’d told you then, then maybe . . . I don’t know. Maybe we wouldn’t be here, you know?”

“No. Too many what-ifs.” He grabbed her foot and shoved his sock on it, pulling it up almost to her knee. Her feet still throbbed, but it helped.

He did that with the other foot too. “We were just trying to stay alive in that bathtub. Just trying to keep each other awake and lucid and find a way free. So . . . no what-iffing. We survived. That’s all that matters.”

Then he took her face in his hands and met her eyes. Even in the dim light, she saw the earnestness in them. “And the other lies . . . no more, right? You said that, and I believe you. And it’s done. You’re alive, and we’re going home.”

Right. She nodded.

“Okay. Now, your dress is going to make this tricky, but I’m going to carry you on my back.”

“I can walk.”

“You’ll wreck my socks.”

She narrowed her eyes.

He turned around. “Arms around my neck, put your legs through my harness straps, and Bob’s your uncle.”

“Who’d you learn that from?” She realized then that she still held the poker she’d grabbed as a weapon, and now shoved it behind her, into the belt at her back. Then she looped her arms around his neck, pulling up to his strong shoulders. She tried to get her legs into the harness, but yes, the dress prohibited her movements.

“Your friend Pippa. And this isn’t going to work.” He turned, and then, gripping the bottom of her dress, he ripped it. Did the same to the back. Then he tied the ends to themselves, making legs, of a sort. “Now try.”

It worked. She shoved one leg into a harness strap, then the other.

He stood up as if she weighed nothing.

Wow, he was strong, and steady, and solid, and . . . She put her head down on his shoulder and held on as he started off.

His headlamp light cut through the darkness, and they came to stairs etched into the rock, leading up.

“This’ll be fun.”

“I can walk.”

“Just hold on.”

And up they went. He’d gone into rescuer mode. She hadn’t realized how much she depended on that until now. How, in so many crisis moments of her life, Shep had shown up .

“You’re not in this alone, London.”

She didn’t know why that voice strummed inside her, but it seemed to steel her. Turn her almost warm.

“I am still amazed that you were there.”

“Where?” He grunted, one step at a time.

“The avalanche—you came out of nowhere, really, and?—”

“Yeah, about that. Um, your dad said he pulled some strings to get my team up there.”

A beat. “My dad?”

“Yeah.”

“Why did he . . . why would he . . . What?”

Shep had stopped, breathing hard, his hand on the wall. “Uh, London, how much do you know about what your dad does?”

“He’s a lawyer.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“What are you saying?”

He started moving again. “You two should talk. Anyway . . . he knew that if I saw you, then . . . there was no way I’d let anything happen to you.”

Oh. She closed her eyes, set her face against his back, and fell into the rhythm of him climbing the stairs, his strong legs carrying her when she couldn’t.

Oh, she loved this man. Had for so long she’d sort of forgotten what it felt like to realize it anew. And here he was, showing up for her again. In Montelena.

They finally reached the top, Shep breathing hard, his skin clammy. Another short tunnel wound out ahead, but from here, wind streamed in. He shone his light toward it.

“There’s the opening on the other side.”

She lifted her head. Some fifty meters away.

He adjusted her on his back, then headed toward the entrance. The air filtered in, fresh and crisp, and at the far entrance, they came out into snow. The milky way fanned out across snow-gilded mountains, the sky a deep blue, almost velvet, and so many stars tossed across the heavens, it seemed almost like . . .

“You don’t see that kind of sky unless you’re in Alaska,” he said.

Home .

He pulled out his walkie. “Air One, this is Shep. Moose, come back.”

It took a moment of scratch, but Moose’s voice came through the line. “Sorry, Shep, I had to make the call—Ziggy isn’t doing well and we were at bingo. I’m halfway back to Luciella. York and Fraser are hoofing it out on the other side of the mountain. Where are you?”

Shep sighed, his big shoulders moving.

Uh-oh . Even she could see their predicament. No place for the chopper to land, and the backside of the mountain had turned mostly white, with snow lifting off it. More, the wind had kicked up on this side of the valley.

But that wasn’t the biggest issue. The rock over them jutted out, cutting off any deployment of a line.

But maybe it didn’t matter anyway.

Shep finally keyed the mic. “We’re on the backside of the mountain. It’s all snow for about five hundred yards down and then . . . forest. And darkness.”

Static, then, “Can you find a place to hunker down?”

Shep stared down the mountain. “Okay, when we scouted it the first time, I spotted an A-frame cabin. Sits on a ridge, about halfway down the mountain. We’ll make it there and lay low until you grab us.”

He clicked off the radio. “Good?”

“Good,” she said. “I can eve?—”

“Roger.” Moose cut off and Shep clipped the walkie back onto his harness.

“Okay, princess, let’s see if we can find our hotel.”

“Shep, I know I’m getting heavy.”

“For cryin’ out loud, London. Don’t you remember? I can hold you all day long.”

Aw, he was referring to that moment back at camp, on belay.

“What I need is a pair of skis.”

“Yeah.”

“Maybe I can glissade.”

“What—”

“But if I fall, we could both go headfirst down the mountain. And there are rocks.” He’d taken off his headlamp, held it up for more of a view. “But it looks steep enough. I just need something to steer, and self-arrest.”

“Like, a poker?”

He stilled. “What?”

She reached behind herself and pulled the metal bar from her waist. Brought it around front so he could see it. “I saw it on the floor when I tripped, and thought—weapon.”

“And I see an ice axe. Maybe.” He took it. “It has a sort of hook on it, so it could work.” He looked down. “It’s either that or we make camp in the cave and try to hike out in the morning.”

“It’s freezing in the cave, and we have nothing to make fire. . . . Do you really think you can find the cabin?”

“I think so. Or I could make us a snow cave. Remind me to tell you how I saved Colt’s life in a snow cave during a blizzard.”

“Apparently that’s your MO.”

He laughed. “I guess so.”

“So that’s what Colt meant by ‘we’re even’ when he found us.”

He’d been testing out the poker, holding it one hand, then the other. “When?”

“When his Ranger team dug us out of the cabin. He said—‘Now we’re even.’”

“Huh. Yeah, maybe. Okay, I think you’ll have to go down on my lap.”

“Say again?”

He had crouched. “Climb off and come around me.”

She did so, stepping on the ground. The cold breath of the cave had made her socks damp, but now, stepping into the wet and snow, they turned downright soggy.

“You’d better find that cabin, or my feet just might freeze off.”

“I’d prefer you with feet.” He sat down on the snow, legs up, pushed off, and slid a ways, then he slammed the poker into the snow. “It’ll turn me, but to stop us—” He rolled over and plunged the straight end into the snow, holding on. “Yep, this will work, but now let’s talk about you.”

He was born for this. The sense of it burst through her, took hold as he explained how he’d sit, legs flat, and she’d sit on his lap, her legs on top of his, her shoulders secured with the harness suspenders, “And if I suddenly stop and roll over, I won’t crush you—but I’ll need to dig my feet in, and you’ll hold on to the straps with everything inside you. This will work, London.”

She met his eyes. “I trust you.”

He swallowed, and something hollow—maybe fear—entered his eyes. Then he blinked it away. “Okay.”

He sat down and held his legs out, and she climbed onto his lap, put her arms through the harness suspenders.

Settled her legs on his.

“You gotta hold them there. Be strong. Don’t scream.”

“I don’t scream.”

“You should. Like when someone is, say, trying to kidnap you.”

More joking? “Right.”

“Craziest glissade ever. Okay, here goes.”

He pushed them off into the snow. The fall was steep, but at first they didn’t move.

Then, snow started to sift up at her, over the tops of his boots, dusting her face, her mouth. She closed her eyes, feeling them move faster. He slowed them down with his boots, his legs like timber below him. They bumped, faster, faster, his headlamp illuminating the snow flying at them like pellets.

He was a toboggan, and she clutched the harness and clamped her mouth shut.

Especially when their bodies lifted from the snow, took flight.

Then, suddenly, his arm went around her waist, and they were turning, scrubbing into the snow, sliding now on their sides, out of control.

She screamed.

“Roll!”

He pushed over her, and then, just like that, slammed the poker into the snow, his feet slamming into the hillside as they jerked, slid, and jerked again.

She collapsed in the snow. He hadn’t crushed her, but the snow had found her face, her ears, throttled its way into her jacket. She’d lost a sock, and her legs were icicles.

But they hadn’t died.

“You okay?” His voice, soft in her ear. And even in her frozen state, it had the power to light a fire through her.

But she’d need more than that. “I think so.”

He caught her again around her waist and rolled over, him now in the snow, her on top. Snow cluttered his headlamp, but he cleaned it and then shone it around.

They’d traveled nearly all the way into the tree line.

“That was . . .”

“Terrifying.” He pushed up. “I think the A-frame is that way. I was reviewing the map in my head and . . . yeah, see it? Through that stand of hemlock?”

She could barely make it out in the darkness, but it did seem like a structure.

“Back on my back, let’s go.”

“I can walk?—”

“Please. For the sake of your feet, get on my back.”

She climbed on, her legs through the harness again, and grimaced when he grunted.

But he handed her the poker, wrapped his arms around her knees, and started tromping through the knee-high snow. No wonder he had wanted to slide instead of walk.

They came to the trees, and he waited a moment, turning off his light.

No movement in the small cabin, sitting alone under the stars, surrounded by untouched snow.

“Okay, let’s go.”

He trudged out across the open space and up to the small cabin.

The roofline protected the wooden porch. He backed up to it and offloaded her, then climbed the stairs and went to the door.

It opened without struggle. He looked at her.

She shrugged and then, still holding the poker, followed him inside.

Darkness, but a stove with logs stacked nearby sat in the small room, a pipe directed outside. And on the other side of the room, a double bed. A small kitchen against the back wall held a vertical water tank, probably for fresh water from a nearby river, a bowl for a sink, and a small table.

Maybe a skier’s cabin.

“I’ll make a fire,” she said.

“No, you sit. I’ll make a fire.”

She sat on the bed. It came without blankets, but after a moment, she looked under the bed. And there, in a plastic tub—a comforter and sheets. “This might even be one of those glamping B&Bs.” She pulled out the comforter and wrapped it around herself.

Shep the Boy Scout had the fire glowing in a blink.

He stood up then and pulled off his harness, dropping it on the floor, and then he rubbed his shoulders.

“Sorry I’m so heavy.”

He looked at her. “You’re not heavy. But I am wondering if I need to put a tracker on you.”

She stared at him a moment, then—“That’s how you found me. My phone.”

“York had someone in his organization hack you. So yes.” He stirred the fire. And then, finally, looked at her. “What happened?”

She probably wouldn’t tell him about her fight with Igor One, or Two, or the way Ziggy had fought Martin, relentless, even climbing onto his back, holding on with a choke hold until he nearly broke her ribs—or had—getting her off.

She remembered the poker, too—Tomas had used it to take Ziggy down and render her unconscious.

“I gave them the seed code.”

He gave a nod. “You had to.”

Maybe .

“But it wasn’t the right code.”

He sighed. “Of course not.”

“The right code is twenty-two words, all in the correct order. And in case I forgot them”—she pulled out her necklace, the one with the Mandarin written on front and back—“they’re here.”

“On the necklace?” He touched the pendant and ran his thumb over the etchings.

“I learned rudimentary Mandarin when my family lived in Taiwan. The Hanzi—the symbols—are the words.”

“Brilliant.”

“It bought me time. They’ll get locked out for twelve hours.”

“So, we’ll have twelve hours to get to Cryptex and attach the virus to your account.”

“Yes. Ziggy said she thinks she knows why they want the money now.”

“Not just for random nefarious plans?” He closed the door to the stove.

“She thinks the Petrovs want to buy a country.”

He stood up, smacked off his hands. “A country. A little vacation country by the sea?”

She frowned. Who was this guy? “I doubt it. She says it’s either that or some massive biological weapon . . .”

“Can’t just go with a straight-up nuclear bomb, huh? Too boring.”

“Are you okay?”

He sat down on the bed. Rubbed his hands over his face. Then he lay back and closed his eyes. “Next time you want to go to a ball, London, can we please stay home and eat pizza instead?”

She laughed.

“I just want to go home,” he said.

Her laughter faded even as his breaths deepened.

So maybe now wasn’t a great time to talk about the fact that suddenly, painfully, she’d realized that Ziggy was right.

Despite the horror, something had ignited inside her. A thirst for justice, maybe. And it felt like she’d also found the person she wanted to be.

She just wasn’t sure that person belonged in Alaska.