Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

“I t could have been worse.”

Moose stood, arms folded, in the ER of the Luciella Medical Center. He appeared tired, not a little stress on his face. And Shep had a feeling it might not be all about scooping his bloodied body off a mountain.

“You okay, Moose? Everything okay in Alaska?”

“Yeah.” Moose ran a hand behind his neck. “It’s complicated. But . . . we’ll sort it out.”

Axel appeared, holding a skinny can of cola. Handed one to Moose. He wore a pair of cargo pants and a thermal shirt, having shucked off his jacket and hat in the tiny ER compartment where a nurse had parked Shep. Luciella didn’t have its own chopper landing, so Moose had put down in a parking lot nearby. Then they’d shoved Shep into a waiting embassy car and trucked him over to the ER lot.

The hospital wasn’t big—a three-story white building with the entrance to the ER under a pull-through at one end. Lime-green ceilings, modern yellow sofas in the lobby, and matching lime-green curtains hanging between ER gurneys.

Now Axel turned to Shep. “Tillie’s house blew up.”

The words didn’t settle. “What?”

“Gas leak,” Moose said and shot a look at Axel. “She and Hazel are with me.”

“And I thought getting shot twice was bad. Poor Tillie.”

“Yeah.” Moose took a drink of soda.

Something seemed off, but Moose moved on with, “You’re lucky this accountant doesn’t have better aim. Could have taken out your kidney or gall bladder or even your liver.”

“Right? Who gets shot without hitting any major organs?” Axel added.

“Skin is a major organ,” Shep said. “And they had to fish out the bullet, so that was uber fun.”

“Even that—the wound is, like, an inch deep,” Axel said. He sat down in one of the molded plastic chairs in the tiny ER berth.

“In my body ,” Shep said. “Let’s trade places, Axe.”

Axel grinned, took a long swig of his soda. Crushed the can. “Nope.”

He had also gotten three stitches in his head, so he felt a little like Frankenstein’s monster. “Any sign of Tomas?”

“No. But Mitch is on it,” Moose said.

“How’s London? Is she done getting checked out?”

Axel glanced at Moose, a definite I-don’t-want-to-tell-him expression on his face.

“What?” Shep sat up but closed an eye at the pinch in his side. Okay, so no sudden movements.

“She never came to the hospital.”

What? Shep gripped the sides of the gurney, held himself up, but—“Never came . . . Oh.” And now his chest burned. Sheesh, maybe he was hurt worse than he thought. He leaned back. “Okay. Maybe . . . I get that. Maybe her mother needed her.”

“I don’t think so.” Axel said. “She was . . . different.”

Different . Like she’d been at the fortress. A kind of different he didn’t want to accept.

Axel tossed the can into a nearby garbage. “What happened back there? Because when I said, ‘Hey, London, want to ride to the hospital with us?’ her response was, ‘Take care of Shep.’ And I got a definite heave-ho kind of feeling from her. You two have a fight?”

A fight might have been less of a bomb to their relationship. “I had no choice.”

Silence.

More silence.

“No choice about what?” Moose finally asked, his voice low.

“Tomas had her on the ground, the gun to her head—all he wanted was the seed code. So . . . I told him.”

Moose didn’t move.

“Do you mean the password to her supersecret crypto wallet with the billions of dollars in it that she risked her life—and Ziggy’s—to protect?” Axel said.

“Yes,” Shep snapped. “That one.”

Axel held up a hand. “Just so we’re clear.”

“Did I mention the gun—to her head ?”

Moose nodded. Blew out a breath.

Axel ran a hand behind his neck, but also nodded.

“Listen. He was going to kill her?—”

“Not as long as they didn’t have the seed code,” Axel said.

Shep looked at him. “Really? And that’s how you felt when the Midnight Sun Killer had a gun on Flynn? ‘Hey, pal, let’s negotiate for the life of the woman I love. Maybe share a beer?—’”

Moose held up a hand. “Shep, calm down. No one is blaming you?—”

“Are you kidding? London is blaming me.” He reached for the IV port on his arm. “Get me a cotton swab.”

Boo walked in right then. “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

He must have worn something lethal in his expression, because she stopped cold.

Axel brushed past her, grabbed a cotton swab, and handed it to him.

Shep untaped his IV line.

“For Pete’s sake, let me help,” Boo said, and took over, pulling out his line, pressing the swab over the wound. “It’ll bleed, so hold it there a minute.”

He didn’t have a minute. “She’s going to do something stupid. Like go after the money.”

Moose cocked his head. “C’mon. She’s not that?—”

“Impulsive? Brave? Determined?”

Moose held up his hands.

“Sheesh.” He shook his head. “You’d think after what happened to Ziggy—” Wait . “How is Ziggy?”

“She was in ICU when we left,” Boo said. “I just went up to check on her, and someone checked her out of the hospital.”

Silence, again, in the room. “Who?”

“Dunno. The nurse said it was some guy. He came in with his own medical team and took her away.”

More silence.

“York?” Shep asked.

“Who?” Boo said.

He shook his head. “Nobody.” His feet hit the floor, and he reached for his coat. “I’m going to the embassy.”

“Shep—” Moose stopped him with a hand on his arm. “We all have a flight out of here in a couple hours. You should be on it.”

“I’m not leaving without London.” He shook his arm away from Moose’s grip. The movement shot heat through him, but they’d doused him with pain killers, so maybe he wasn’t exactly all there. Still, “We’ll be there.”

“You sure you don’t need help?” Axel said, but Shep held up a hand to him and Moose and Boo and even the nurse who ran down the hall after him. She said something in Montelenan, but he ignored it, came out into the lobby, and then pushed through the doors.

The castle sat on the hill, a fresh layer of snow dusting the parapets, the black gothic roofs. In the city below, the snow had turned to slush, cars splashing through it. The hospital sat blocks from the embassy, but he had the map in his head, thanks to the tour that London’s father had given him, and he now set out for it, not hurting at all, thank you.

Except maybe his heart.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, head down, and stalked to his pounding heartbeat. Let’s get off this mountain and go home.

His words, not hers. Maybe she’d never meant to return to Alaska with him. And maybe he was the jerk here for expecting that, but . . .

But he knew London. Or maybe he only knew London . The person she’d talked about last night, the one ignited by justice . . . that person he’d only gotten glimpses of.

Brutal and raw glimpses. Like the way she’d fought Tomas in the snow. And he’d nearly come unglued when Tomas hit her.

And when she hit him back. What ? —

And then there was—well, everything . Her tackling him into the river and running out of the fortress in her bare feet and glissading with him down a mountain and . . .

He’d never forget her the night of the ball, so beautiful she’d taken his breath away. Delaney Brooks.

But she had this other side, too, the Laney Steele side.

And maybe it wasn’t fair of him to suppose she could only live as one version of herself.

Still—

He stopped at the gate. Looked at the guard. “I don’t have ID, but call the ambassador.”

“No need, sir. She’s expecting you.” The man buzzed him in.

Huh.

He came into the courtyard, wet with fresh, melted snow, and only then did he realize the nip in the air. A guard opened the door to him, and he went in, passed through the security checkpoint, and by the time he reached the stairs, Mitch stood there.

“She’s in Sofia’s office.”

Shep nodded.

He put a hand out to stop Shep. “But you’re supposed to be on a plane.”

“Seriously. Take your hand off me.”

A beat. Mitch lowered his hand. “Shep, this is bigger than you or your life in Alaska.”

“It doesn’t have to be!”

Mitch’s jaw tightened.

“She nearly died!”

“I know.”

“Shep?”

He looked up. She’d changed clothes, wearing a pair of black yoga pants and a black pullover, her hair back in a ponytail. No makeup, and even with the bruises and scrapes, she could still take his breath away.

In fact, he had to put his hand to the cool wall to keep his knees from buckling. Because clearly, she’d been crying.

He hadn’t expected that.

“Can we talk?”

She nodded, her arms folded. He glanced at Mitch, to his pursed lips and disapproving expression, and then followed her.

Hello, someone needed to watch out for her, because it seemed that Mitch only saw the Black Swan in her.

And maybe Shep needed to see that more , but frankly, he saw all of her. The teenager who’d refused to give in, the woman who’d survived with him in an avalanche, the pilot who saved lives, and the woman who could fight in a ball gown.

And he loved her. All of her, even the parts he didn’t recognize, the parts that stunned him, even scared him. That was the only thought that filled his brain, eclipsing all others as he followed her through the reception area to the inner office, the dining room where he’d eaten before.

He loved her, and he wouldn’t apologize for betraying her, and if he had to do it all over again?—

“You know millions might die.” She’d closed the double doors, then turned, met his eyes.

Oh. So maybe she hadn’t been crying over him. Still. “I didn’t want you to die.”

She drew in a long breath, then her mouth tightened and she nodded. “Yeah.” She walked over to the Steinway, sat down on the bench. Played a few of the keys with one hand.

“London?”

“I know you did what you thought was right.”

Words left him.

“I might have even made the same call for you.” She lifted her left hand, played a harmony. “But I would have been wrong.”

“No. Lives matter. People matter?—”

“Yes.” She met his gaze. “But I’d do anything to save my sister, or those people on the bus. Or in the subway station, or even the stadium in Paris years ago. Or how about 9/11, or any of the other attacks around the world? Aren’t they worth one life?—”

“Not your life!” Aw, he hadn’t meant to roar, and maybe he’d left the man he was behind on the mountain too, but—“Not the life of the woman I love.”

She took her hands off the keys. “London.”

“Yes. You , London.”

“What if I’m not?—”

“Don’t play that game. You can’t separate yourself into partitions. Sure, you had a life as a spy. It makes you clever and tough. And you are a diplomat’s daughter, so that makes you adaptable. And you are Delaney, the girl who wanted to be a princess, so that makes you an optimist and a dreamer—and frankly, we need more of those. And yes, you’re a rescue pilot too, so that makes you dependable and steady and the person we are all hoping will show up.” And now he’d gotten a hand around his thundering heartbeat, schooled his voice. “You can’t shut off any of those parts of you, London, because that is who you are. Who God made you to be?—”

“And what about this part of me that can’t let it go?” She stood up, a fire in those beautiful eyes. “The me that refuses to sit on the sidelines when life is blowing up around me? What about that part?”

He blinked at her. And then he got it. Oh, no, he got it. “You like this life.”

She swallowed, but the truth stripped away the game on her face. Oh. And with it came a punch to his chest.

His voice fell. “No. You crave this life. Because even your life as a pilot has this—danger and the sense of living on the edge?—”

“I was called to a mission, Shep?—”

He took a step forward, hating the sudden panic that edged his voice. “Guess what—me too. My mission was to keep you alive and bring you home. Mission accomplished. Let’s go .”

She held up a hand. “Mission not accomplished. The Bratva has the money! They’re going to use it for terrible purposes?—”

“And what, you’re going to get it back?” He didn’t have a hope of calming down. “You and who else? Ziggy is gone —she was taken from the hospital.”

That stripped her. “What?”

“Some guy came in with a medical team and discharged her. And York isn’t around, so my guess is he might be behind that.”

Her voice dropped. “Or Roy, maybe.”

“Who?”

“Never mind—” And then, right before his eyes, she rebounded. “Listen. Okay, so yes, I’ll just need to reach out to the other Black Swans?—”

“ Listen to yourself!” He put a hand to his forehead. “Your entire team came over here to rescue you, and you’re just . . . diving back in?” He blew out a breath. “Let someone else do this, London. What about the Caleb Group? Their entire goal was to get a tracker on this Alan Martin guy. They can track him, go after the money?—”

“No. It was my mission. I can’t let this go, Shep.”

He could almost hear the cracking inside, everything shattering inside him. “So this is it. You’re going to just walk away, just like you did in Zermatt. No looking back.”

Please, please, London ? —

A beat. Then, “It seems to me that you’re the one walking away, Shep.”

He couldn’t breathe, the vice in his chest so tight. Still, what did she expect of him? “I told you the first day, I’m not a man of violence. I don’t want this life?—”

“It seems like you do. Because you keep showing up. Because like it or not, being with me is an adventure for you. You like rescuing me?—”

“I like making sure you don’t die! So yes, I show up—to keep you safe. To make sure your impulsive, foolish alter ego doesn’t get you and everyone around you killed!”

Her eyes widened. And yeah, that wasn’t completely fair.

But maybe parts of it were true too. And then it hit him. “I can’t hold on to someone who doesn’t want to be held.” He took a step back, hating the words that burned out of him. “I’m such a fool.”

She stared at him, then lifted her chin. “Maybe I should never have come back from the dead.”

He managed to keep his voice even. “Maybe not.” He backed away, his hand up, his painkillers clearly wearing off, because his entire body ached. “I’m not going to follow you anymore, London. This is me, letting go.”

Then he turned and walked to the door.

Her father stood in the reception area. “Shep,” he said. “Where are you going?”

“Mission’s over, sir,” he said. “I give up.” He kept walking. But at the doorway to the foyer, he turned. “You should tell her the truth.”

Her father turned, started after him, but Shep ignored him and kept moving into the foyer, out through the doors, into the courtyard, and through the gates.

Because he was going home.

* * *

This was not how the story was supposed to end.

London stood by the piano, listening to his footsteps fading away, still listening as he went down the stairs, then, when the sound died, she turned to walk to the window.

She watched him leave through the gate.

Shep.

She put her hand on her chest. Outside, the sky turned dour, pewter gray, the snow peeling softly down to melt into the sidewalk and cobblestones.

No.

Maybe I should never have come back from the dead.

She hadn’t meant that—it’d just come out, and shoot , she was eighteen again, standing there in the bloody aftermath of Ruslan’s betrayal.

“Are you okay?”

She turned at the familiar British voice, her mouth opening as Pippa Marshall, best friend and current secretary to one Princess Imani of Lauchtenland, came into the room. “Pippa!” She met her friend’s hug.

Pippa wore a suit, of course, and heels, her dark hair back in a bun. But some of the tension lines in her face had softened, her bun not quite so tight.

“You look good,” London said, scrabbling to find her voice. “Marriage suits you.”

“It does,” Pippa said. “I never thought . . . you know . . . me. Married.”

“I was there. I signed the papers.”

“I remember the covert operation.”

London laughed. “Fraser thought sneaking you to the altar might be the only way.”

“He knows me. And speaking of—was that Shep Watson I saw leaving the embassy? Your mother is meeting with the princess, and I came out to check on our flight back to Lauchtenland. He didn’t look happy.”

Oh . “Yeah. I uh, he uh . . . You know, it’s probably my fault for thinking I could settle down, live in one place?—”

“Oh, that’s a lie.” Pippa tugged her over to the sofa, pulled her down beside her. “Take it from someone who thought her only life was in protective services. There is more to you than being a”—she cut her voice low—“Black Swan.”

London wished. “I don’t know. The fact is, sometimes I don’t know who I am. Part Swan, part pilot, part . . . dreamer, maybe?”

“Oh, the Princess Delaney thing.”

“Silly.”

“No. Listen. You’re all of that, London.”

“It sounds like an identity crisis to me.”

“Really. You know who doesn’t have an identity crisis?”

“You?”

“God.”

London gave her a sideways look.

“Three persons in one Godhead. And yet perfectly expressed in different ways.”

“I’m hardly the Almighty?—”

“Be we’re made in his image. Capable of being more than we think. Yes, you’re a Swan, but you’re also this amazing rescue pilot. And yes, you’re gorgeous in a dress. I spotted you at the ball—couldn’t believe it. And then when you were taken and Fraser?—”

“I thought I saw him at the fortress. Is he okay?”

“Yes. He and his brother Creed are waiting for us at the hotel.”

“He helped rescue me?”

“Of course he did.” Pippa took her hand. “But it was Shep who put it all together.”

Of course he did. “I show up—to keep you safe.”

Even when he’d been hiding the fact that he was protecting her, he’d done it for her. Holding on to her. Her jaw tightened. “Shep and I are over. He’s tired of running after me.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that. Just give the man some time.” Pippa stood. “And maybe yourself some time, too, to figure out what you really want.”

London walked her to the door. “I don’t know that it’s about what I want. You told me once that you were made for royal service.”

Pippa laughed. “I think we all are. My orders simply changed. And perhaps yours have too.” She air-kissed London’s cheeks. “I need to run. Ring me now and again.”

London’s hand fell on the handle, and the door opened, and for a second—a crazy second—she thought, hoped, that Shep had turned around, returned to her.

But no.

Pippa startled. “Mr. Brooks, sir.”

“Pippa,” her father said.

London backed up as her father came into the room. She shot a look down the hallway right before he shut the door.

Pippa glanced back at her, waved.

But no Shep.

She looked at her father. And Shep’s words from yesterday in the tunnel returned to her. “London, how much do you know about what your dad does? You two should talk. He knew that if I saw you, then . . . there was no way I’d let anything happen to you.”

Backing up, she put her hand on the back of one of the blue sofas. He had gone to the table, pulled out a straight chair, and now sank into it. Crossed his legs. Blew out a breath, then nodded at her. “I saw Shep leave. He’ll be back.”

“I don’t . . . I don’t think so.”

“He loves you.”

Swallowing, she nodded. “But . . . he’s angry.”

“Of course he is. I tried to tell him, but he wouldn’t believe me.”

She stilled. “Tried to tell him what? What did you hear?” Because yes, her mother might know the truth but?—

“Honey, you should sit down.” He indicated the sofa.

She sat down at the far end.

“I know you’re a Black Swan.”

Oh. That . She exhaled. “Right. I figured, since Mother knew.”

“No. I am the one who got you into the Swans.”

She cocked her head. “What?”

He put his hand on the table, tapped it. Sighed. “Your mother thinks the Swans were her idea. But long before your mother was assigned to be a diplomat, I was recruited by the CIA.”

And just in case the world was really shifting, she put her hand on the arm of the sofa and gripped it. “You?—”

“Your mother doesn’t know. Shouldn’t know. But long before she was assigned to Moscow station, I worked with a man named Pike Maguire.”

“You knew Hawkeye?”

“Yes. He had left the CIA but needed someone on the inside who could . . . let’s say, point business his direction. And frankly, sometimes I needed”—he took a breath—“extra-curricular help.”

“Dad. That means the Swans have been around?—”

“Since you were a child. About two years before the bus you and your sister were riding on was bombed.” His gaze hardened. “Did you ever wonder why all the other attacks were at tube stations and this random one hit a double-decker bus?”

“Not even once.”

“Right. It was supposed to look random. But that was the work of someone who has been working from the inside for decades. A group of people who believe that perhaps war is better than peace and that if they can move pawns, they can topple kings.”

“I don’t understand.”

“When the Cold War thawed, it meant problems for brokers of war, of course, and one of the biggest was a group in Russia?—”

“The Petrov Bratva.”

“Yes. Their leader, Arkady Petrov, was—and is—a general. Now a member of the Troika?—”

“The three-headed leadership under the president of Russia.”

“Indeed. And standing in the shadows of power. We believe he’s been trying for a decade to pull America back into a war, and over the past five years, he’s tried to assassinate our president, poison our country, and even nuke a small NATO-connected nation. And all with money they made in cryptocurrency mining in Abkhazia.”

“Where Tomas is from. I know his story.”

“Did you know that the Petrovs had built a massive crypto-mining operation there? They stole resources from the government to power their banks of computer mines. Last year, it was all dismantled in a raid.”

“Cutting off their money.”

“Yes.”

“Which is why they turned to Drago Petrov to get back the money I took.”

“Yes.” He drew in a breath. “And you were one of the pawns.”

“How?”

“Tomas. His backstory is real—the Petrovs killed his mother. And took his sister. He thinks they took her to work in the crypto mines. But when they purchased him, they offered him a different future, and when he saw how much they made . . . He was a boy from a village without running water or electricity, and suddenly he’s riding in Learjets and driving cigarette boats.”

“Dad. He’s the head of the Petrovs. He killed Drago.”

“I know.”

A beat. “When did you discover this? Because I only just found out.”

“We had our suspicions, but he played the victim with us, so we weren’t sure. And then we caught him on surveillance last night accessing your account. He used his own thumbprint, his eye, and his blood to access the Petrov account. Drago’s account. Then he transferred everything into his crypto wallet.”

She knew it, but still, his words were a knife. “It’s gone?”

“All of it.”

“Why didn’t you arrest him?”

“Because he’s not the one we want, Laney.”

She blinked at him. “Wait—it’s true? Shep said all you wanted was Alan Martin.”

He made a fist on the table, and something flashed in his eyes. “Alan betrayed our country and is the mastermind behind too many terror attacks. Capturing him would lead to countless other connections and dismantle who knows how many terrorist networks.”

And then it clicked. “That’s why Ziggy was there. To capture Alan Martin.”

“Ziggy is the best Black Swan operative I’ve ever seen or worked with.”

“Was she caught intentionally?”

He drew in a breath.

“Dad, she nearly died?—”

Silence. And then, “She accomplished her mission?—”

“At what cost?” Somehow London had landed on her feet. “Dad!”

He held up a hand. “She’s alive. And I knew she would be because . . . you were there. And now she’s alive and recuperating in a safe place.”

She stared at him. “You wanted me to be there.”

“You’re Laney Steele. Of course I did. And of course I knew that inside that Black Swan exterior is also the heart of a rescuer. You weren’t going to let her die.”

But . . .

“You don’t think I haven’t been watching this past year, do you? Who do you think sent Ziggy to save your life after Tomas took a hit out on you with the Orphans?”

She stilled. “Tomas did that?”

“He needed your eye and your fingers. But I couldn’t let it get that far.”

She had nothing for that.

“Yeah, well, now he has the money because he got the code anyway.” She refused to think about how.

“Yes, but we can track it now. And Ziggy succeeded. She put a tracker on Alan Martin.”

“How?”

“A bio patch. It was made with nanostructure to create micropores in the skin. It embedded in him a biochemical marker with RFID tags.”

The memory of Ziggy holding onto Martin despite his violence flashed through her.

“We can track him, figure out what he and the Petrovs are up to.”

“They buy terrorists!”

He held up a hand. “And we’ll stop them.”

We.

His gaze met hers. “This doesn’t have to be a failed mission, Laney.”

Words echoed inside her. “Mission’s over, sir.”

“Wait. What did Shep mean when he said the mission was over? He said it to you?—”

“It’s something I asked him to do.”

A moment, and then it all slid into her. “You were the one who asked him to watch over me in Alaska.”

He lifted a shoulder. “You’re my princess. Of course I did.”

She heard Shep again, in the cave. “Your dad said he pulled some strings to get my team up there.”

At the time, her brain had been too tired to untangle what he meant, and weirdly, she’d thought he’d meant that her dad had somehow told Shep she’d be on that mountain. Sort of a “Hey, Shep, how are you? Did you know my daughter is skiing Zermatt today?” Except, that didn’t make sense at all, because Shep had been on a Ranger team, and how had her dad known . . .

“Did you . . . You set up the meet in Zermatt?”

He nodded. “I knew that if you were there, then Martin would show up. And I needed evidence that he was rogue. But I had to figure out a way to justify it to the CIA, so I told them about a rogue agent—your handler—and asked them to send in the nearby Rangers unit, because they were already there, training.”

“Shep said that his unit was there to kill me.”

He swallowed. “You were to be apprehended. I would have gotten you out. Alan was the one who changed the orders.”

“And yet you let me go up that mountain.”

“You were . . . you were our operative.”

His words dropped through her, down to her soul.

“You would have let me be murdered on that mountaintop. As it was, Shep and I nearly died.”

He folded his hands in his lap. “It was out of control. And I had one desperate hope—to get the man who followed you around camp so many years ago and asked for your address and even wrote to you a half dozen times to go on that mission, see you, and . . . shut it down.”

Silence. Just her heartbeat, a hammer against her chest.

“What if Shep hadn’t seen me? What if he’d not been able to stop them? What if?—”

“It’s global terrorism, Laney. And . . . this is what you were ordered to do.”

She blinked. “By you .”

“By the cause .”

His words shook her to her bones. “Dad. I’m your daughter. Your only remaining daughter. Isn’t it enough that you lost one already?”

His jaw tightened, and even from here she could see the hit, how his eyes flashed with unshed emotions. Then he swallowed. “It was my fault she was on that bus. They wanted me. But I went in early that day, and . . .” He shook his head.

“And yet you’d sacrifice another daughter.”

He looked back at her. “All it takes for evil to prosper?—”

“Save it.” She backed away from him. Stood by the piano. Folded her arms. “You may be bound by glorious purpose, but I am not.”

Gone was the grief, a simple fury now in his eyes. “Your sister died because of terrorist groups like the ones Tomas funds.”

“Shep nearly died because you used me to get close to your personal nemesis!”

He flinched.

She’d wounded him. But he rose, drew in a breath. “And now you have your own personal nemesis.” He folded his arms. “Tomas.”

Tomas. “He was a good man until I turned him.”

“No, he never was, London. He killed the first Drago and took his place—which was possible because no one knew what Drago truly looked like. He took a trip to Montelena after the avalanche and got a new bio card. You double-crossed him by putting the crypto into the Cryptex wallet, but even so, he didn’t want the CIA to get it, so you played right into his hand. All he had to do was die in that avalanche and then, when the time was right, find you, come back and get the cash. He knew you’d never spend it.”

“I might have.”

“Not when you’re held hostage by your own glorious purpose, whether you want to admit it or not. You can thank your mother for that.”

Oh. But her mother’s words hung in her mind. “We have drama because we are so much alike. We’re both trying to change the world, just in our own way.”

“I need to stop trying to change the world.”

“You’d sooner stop breathing.” He met her eyes. “You are who you are, Laney. And you can’t change that.” He took a step toward her. “Once a Black Swan, always?—”

“I worshipped you,” she said softly. “The way you supported Mom, moving with her career. All this time, you were running ops—running me —right under her nose.”

“Your mother knew you were a Swan.”

“I know. No wonder she wanted me to marry a prince. She probably thought he could protect me from all this.”

“Please. You wanted to be a princess.”

“No, I didn’t. That was a fantasy. I just wanted to be important enough for someone to notice me.”

She turned and headed toward the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I have no idea. But I’m not staying here.”

“Delaney.”

She turned as she opened the doors. Grabbed both handles to shut them behind her. “Oh, I think Princess Delaney left the castle a long, long time ago.”

* * *

There was just enough old-fashioned inside Moose for the sight of Tillie wearing an apron, her hands dusted in flour as she came to the front door, to make him feel like a man coming home from war. Or maybe the daily war. And yes, he’d seen her in her waitress outfit plenty of times, but this was different.

This was her dressed in wool socks, leggings, and his black grilling apron, her hair back and messy, greeting him like a . . . well, a wife . . . as he came into the foyer and dropped his bag.

Okay, maybe not exactly like a wife because, with Hazel still at school, if she were his wife, he would have swooped her up despite the fatigue that coursed through his body and had a much different hello, I missed you than just the kiss he gave her at the door.

He put his arms around her, pulling her close, the events of the last two days raw and fresh in his mind, the reality that, just like that, the world could cave in on any of them. “Oh, I missed you,” he nearly growled as he kissed her, at first softly, then as she held tighter, okay, maybe devouring her a little.

Enough was enough. Tonight he would ask her. Even if the world fell in and the sun stopped shining. Tonight.

Even that felt too long to wait, but he smelled like he’d been on a plane for twenty-some hours, and what he really needed was a shower, and maybe some shut-eye, but that was off the table until he’d also had some grub.

So he pulled away, met her beautiful eyes. “What are you making?”

“Pie.”

Of course .

“I quit my job at the Skyport.”

He blinked at her. “What?”

She sighed. “So, here’s the thing.” She caught her lip and . . . “I love you, Moose. And having you gone, and just thinking about London—and yeah, she’s not dead, but for a while you all thought she was and everyone was just shattered, and I know how much Shep is crazy about her, and why didn’t they get together before this? But I’m just aware of how precious this life, every moment, is and . . . what am I so afraid of?”

Huh. But yes, what she said.

“I want to do more than serve pie. I want to help women defend themselves. I was an Iron Maiden, for Pete’s sake?—”

“Yeah, you were.” His voice held a tiny growl.

She grinned. “I told them that when I applied for a job at the gym near Hazel’s school. It’s just part time, helping women in self-defense classes and boxing and other strength-training workouts, but they hired me on the spot.”

“Smart move.”

She drew in a breath. “They still haven’t come back with the ruling on my house, so no insurance money yet . . . which means . . .”

“You’re sticking around.”

“Want a roommate?”

Oh, he wanted more than that, but he nodded, caught her face. Kissed her again. “Let me clean up, and then we’ll have dinner and . . .” He raised an eyebrow.

“And?”

“Wait for it.”

“Okay. I need to go get Hazel anyway.” She pulled off her apron, hung it up, and grabbed her car keys.

He climbed the stairs, dropped his bag on the bed, and then scrubbed his hands over his face.

“Poor Shep . I know how much Shep is crazy about her . ” What had gone down between Shep and London, Moose didn’t know, but Shep had seemed shuttered and quiet and dark the entire trip home. Something must have happened after his declaration that he wasn’t leaving Montelena without her.

Moose got into the shower, and he emerged a little restored, shaved, put on a clean flannel shirt and a pair of jeans, and then opened his dresser drawer. The ring sat on top of his white undershirts. He pocketed the ring box, then came downstairs to the smell of something roasting.

The house was empty. He checked his watch. He’d been up there a while, maybe forty minutes. Long enough for her to get to Eagle River and back.

Axel hadn’t followed him home from the airport, heading right over to Flynn’s apartment, of course.

He walked over to the pie that sat on the counter. Of course she’d done an amazing job. It had a lattice top and fluted edges, and the thought of her here making him a pie undid him a little.

The crockpot simmered and he peered through the glass top lid to find a pot roast. Well, look at that .

The door opened, and he put the lid back on. “Hey, Tillie, nice job on—oh.”

Axel had walked into the room carrying a plastic bag full of groceries, and behind him, Flynn. Something about the looks on their faces had him pausing.

And . . . wait —“Is . . . what’s . . . nothing has happened to Tillie, right?”

Flynn still wore her badge on her belt, and he glanced at it and everything tightened inside him. “This isn’t an . . . it’s not an official visit, right?” Please. He put his hand on the counter.

Flynn’s eyes widened. “What?” She looked at Axel, back to Moose. “Are you okay?”

“Tell me Tillie is okay.”

Flynn blinked, her mouth opening. “I don’t . . . I think . . . What? Was she not okay? Are we worried?—”

Oh . He closed his eyes, running his hand across his face. “Okay. Sorry. I’m just a little paranoid these days.”

“Hard not to be,” Axel said as he set a grocery bag on the counter. “Listen, did you know that Shep had his condo on the market?”

So maybe that was what the look was about.

“Our realtor got ahold of it, and Flynn went to see it while we were out of town. It’s nice. And she wanted to put an offer in, but just today, the realtor said he’d pulled it.”

“Huh. I didn’t know he was going to sell it. He totally redid it the year he got here. But . . . interesting. I knew he was restless after London ‘died.’” He finger-quoted that last word. “Maybe he’s decided to stick around.”

“You think London will be back?” Flynn slid out a chair. “Axel said something went down between them in Montelena.”

Where to start? “If you mean he saved her life and then somehow they broke up, then yes,” Moose said, not sure where that came from. He glanced at his watch again. What was taking . . .

“Uncle Moose!”

He looked up as Hazel tore through the door, her arms out.

And behind her, Tillie, carrying Hazel’s backpack.

See, paranoid. Sheesh.

Hazel wore a pink sweatshirt with a unicorn on the front, a pair of leggings, her hair up in pigtails, and launched herself at him.

He caught her up. “Hey there, pumpkin,” he said and kissed her cheek before setting her down. “I missed you.”

“I missed you more.”

If his heart grew any larger, it wouldn’t fit in his chest.

Tillie hung up her coat, took off her boots. “Hazel, what did I say—no boots on Uncle Moose’s hardwood floor.”

“Sorry, Mom.” She came back to the door, and Tillie tousled her hair as she walked past her.

“You made a pot roast,” Moose said, moving aside for her.

“You mean that piece of meat I dropped into the crockpot, slathered with salt and pepper and onion seasoning mix just like the internet said?” She leaned up to him. “I know you’re the cook here, but let me try a little.”

He put his arms around her. “I’ll let you try a lot.”

Outside, night had fallen, pressing against the sliding glass door. Tillie set the oven to bake, probably for the pie, and grabbed some plates to set the table.

Axel and Flynn went downstairs.

Hazel took the remote, curled up on the leather sofa, and turned on the television over the fireplace.

And Moose simply drank it in. London was safe and Boo was happy, and yes, his brother was still in the basement, but he and Flynn were on the hunt, their tomorrows large and bright in front of them, and maybe Shep nursed a broken heart, but again, London was alive, which meant anything was possible.

Most of all, the woman of his dreams stood in his kitchen, tossing a salad like . . . well, not that she belonged there, but she belonged here , with him.

Because this was his life, one he didn’t deserve, but God was good, so good. . . .

Now.

Maybe it wasn’t a candlelit dinner with flowers and a violinist, but it felt perfect and natural and right.

“Tillie.” He came up to her, took her hand. She turned to him.

“Yes, handsome?”

He grinned. And then he reached into his pocket and pulled out the box.

Tillie’s eyes widened as he went down on one knee.

Hazel screamed.

Moose turned. Then hit his feet.

Hazel stood on the sofa, her fists clenched, took a breath, and screamed again.

“What— what? ”

Tillie was right behind him, nearly pushing him out of the way to get to Hazel.

“I saw a face! Right there—in the glass. A face!” Hazel pointed to the sliding-glass door.

Moose took three steps, yanked it open, and barreled outside.

“Moose!” Tillie’s voice, panicked, and maybe it wasn’t the right move because, yeah —who knew what he could be walking into? But he was tired—way beyond tired—of disaster sneaking up on them, of the world fighting to keep them apart.

Tired of saboteurs and serial killers and drug thugs and even international terrorists attempting to blow apart his life, the lives of the members of his team.

So he stood on his deck in the freezing cold, in his bare feet, staring out at the tumbling river below, silvery in the darkness under a rising moon, the wind shifting through the trees, the rush of water rising to his thundering heartbeat.

Nothing. He saw nothing.

He turned, glanced at Hazel. “You saw someone here?”

She nodded.

“What did he look like?”

She bit her lip. “Scary.”

He looked down at the snow, and sure, footprints littered the deck, but they could be anyone’s—his or Axel’s, or even Tillie’s.

But just to be sure, he stepped out to the end of the deck and looked over.

No one running away from the house.

He stepped back inside and closed the door. Locked it.

“She’s been having nightmares,” Tillie said quietly over Hazel’s head as she held her.

He put his hand on Hazel’s back. “I get that.”

“I saw him,” Hazel said, leaning back. “I really saw him.”

“I know, honey. But he’s not here.”

“I would never let anyone—whoever he is—hurt you, pumpkin,” Moose said. In fact, he’d had it with waiting to step into that role permanently.

He walked over to the counter, grabbed the ring box, and came over to Tillie.

She set Hazel down on the sofa. “Moose.”

“Just—wait for it.” He got on one knee. Held the stupid ring box open. Looked at Tillie.

“Yes!” Hazel said.

Tillie smiled. But said nothing.

“I love you—I’ve loved you for a long time, I think. You and Hazel are my whole world. And yes, the world might drop out on us at any moment, but I’m gonna catch us. Or at least hold on to God while he catches us. I don’t want to live one more moment without us being a family, so?—”

“Yes, yes!” Hazel said, jumping on the sofa.

“Tillie Young, will you marry me?”

She smiled. “Sorry I made you wait so long.”

He stood and grabbed her up and spun her around. Then, wait —he put her down. “You didn’t say yes. Please say yes.”

She parked her arms around his neck, smiled up at him. “Yes. Absolutely. Forever. I’ll stand with you, Moose, and trust you, even try to hold you up if the world falls apart. I promise.”

He kissed her, his hands cradling her face, keeping it chaste but still savoring her.

“Mom! The pie! The pie!”

He lifted his head and Hazel pointed at the oven, where smoke had gathered around the edges.

And as Tillie ran to the oven, opened it, and pulled out the pie—not burnt but deliciously done—he knew.

Nothing could hold him back from his happily ever after.