Chapter 5

CHAPTER 5

S hep had the terrible sense that he didn’t know this woman. At all.

At least, not the woman who sat in the Tooth, having showered, changed into the clean, warm leggings and pullover still stashed in her locker from over a month ago when she was, well, you know, still alive.

Now she looked mostly alive, if a little wrecked and maybe angry, as she sat wrapped in a blanket in one of the leather chairs in the main room. Flynn sat in the other.

Tomas sat also, on the sofa, uncuffed, which felt a little unfair, but with Axel and Flynn on him, maybe secure enough.

And then there was Moose, standing sentry between him and the door, arms folded, legs spread, immovable, as if trying to hold them all together.

He, for one, felt in pieces. Shep had showered, found the feeling in his toes and limbs again, his body core heating, his heart still beating with a painful sharpness, a byproduct of the thirty-minute flight and the last hour heating up, his thoughts turning every breath to razors.

For a month, London had been alive and had deliberately let him grieve. Suffer. Sheesh, he’d been ready to sell his townhouse, move to Montana, quit the life he loved.

He’d mourned her, deep into his soul, nightmares slicking through him like knives as night after night he replayed pulling her body from the car.

Her mutilated body.

He didn’t even know where to begin to ask how that had happened. So yeah, this wasn’t the London he’d thought he knew. And maybe that hurt most of all.

“How long have you all known?” he said now as he came over, holding a cup of hot cocoa poured from the teapot of boiling water on the stove. He didn’t look at London, directed the question at Flynn, then Axel, and finally Moose.

“Just a couple hours, Shep,” Flynn said. “Really.”

His mouth tightened, and he pulled out a chair at the table, unable to sit with the group.

“We found her at Moose’s house, sneaking?—”

“I wasn’t sneaking, and I’m sitting right here. I can tell him—tell you all. And I guess it starts there—with the fact that under Moose’s house is the headquarters for the Black Swans, or at least, it was up until Hawkeye died.”

Moose blinked, looking nonplussed. “ What? ”

She drew up her legs, pulled the blanket around herself. “Pike Maguire, the guy who gave you the house, was a former CIA operative. He ran a number of shell companies to disguise himself as a businessman, but when he got out of the CIA, he started the Black Swans as a way to operate outside the purview of the US government but with some of the same skills.”

“Like getting close to people like me,” Tomas said, his mouth tight.

“Please. You’re hardly innocent in all this.” She narrowed her eyes at him.

Shep looked away, his chest knotting at their history. Okay, yes, he sort of wanted London’s entire story to start at that moment when they’d been trapped together in the chalet in Zermatt.

Or earlier, years earlier, one summer in Montana.

Clearly, he’d been lying to himself too. He might be sick.

“Darling, I’ll say it again, I wasn’t going to hurt him,” Tomas said.

“You pepper-sprayed him, dosed him, and handcuffed him to a sofa.”

That, she’d probably gotten from Moose, who’d followed Shep into the locker room and quietly asked if they should be going to the ER instead.

“I’m fine,” he said now, again, his gaze going to London.

She tried to meet it, but he looked away, out the window, to the darkness.

Where, for such a long time, he’d lived.

Maybe now wasn’t any better.

“When Pike died,” London continued, “I was in the middle of my mission. My orders were to secure the funds from the Bratva, then hand over their bio card to the CIA. Between Pike’s death and my handover, a rogue faction of the CIA got wind of our operation. I already told you all that a rogue agent killed my contact and how I escaped. What you don’t know is that my coming here was all planned. Maybe by the Swans, maybe another group, I don’t know, but it’s no coincidence.”

No, it wasn’t. This part of the story, at least, Shep knew. Because he’d been the one to orchestrate it.

The rest, however . . . His jaw tightened as she continued.

“When I got here, Ziggy, my handler, reached out and told me how to secure the bio card in Pike’s vault.”

“ Under my house ?” Moose said. “Seriously?”

“Well, yes.”

Moose just shook his head. “I always thought the guy was just super paranoid.”

“Who tried to kill you?” Shep asked. Enough about the stupid past, and maybe the last thing he wanted was for the team to know that he’d actually been keeping watch over her since she’d arrived.

Great job at that, Shep.

“A hired assassin from Europe. I don’t know why or who sent her. Ziggy’s been trying to figure that out ever since she found out and intercepted her.” She met his eyes now, and this time he didn’t look away. “The assassin was waiting for me that night I got home from your place. I don’t know if she was going to kill me—maybe—or just maybe take my eye and my fingers for identification?—”

He didn’t flinch at that—at least, not on the outside.

“But Ziggy showed up and killed her. And then . . . tried to make it seem like she was me. The plan was to slow down another attempt while she figured out who was behind the hit. I was supposed to leave with her but . . .” She blinked, her lips tight. “I was worried.”

He refused to release his grip on the hot ball inside, even as she reached up and wiped a hand across her cheek. “I know you all were grieving. But I thought it was safer if you didn’t know?—”

“Safer for who? You?” Shep ground out.

Moose gave him a look.

He met it. “Just to clarify, I was kidnapped, so just wondering if maybe I was misunderstanding exactly who she meant.”

Her mouth tightened. “Yes, me. And you. Because I feared exactly this happening.” She looked at Tomas. “Although I can admit, the last person I expected to show up was you.”

“Never stop looking over your shoulder, love.”

Her eyes narrowed.

Shep set down his mug.

Moose shot him another look. Shep ignored him. He wasn’t a violent man, but sitting here with Tomas . . . there was only so much they could expect from him.

Now he looked at London. “Who did you think is hunting you?”

“Drago Petrov, maybe? But I’m not sure he knows that I took the money or that I’m even alive. And for the life of me, I can’t figure out how they—or anyone, for that matter”—she looked again at Tomas—“found me.”

“It wasn’t so hard,” Tomas said. “After all, your boy Shep made the news after surviving the avalanche, especially since so many had perished.”

Shep stilled. Wait ?—

“And then he popped up again in that reality show.” Tomas smiled at him. “As soon as I saw his face, I knew . . . if you were alive, you’d be with him.”

Oh no .

Moose winced, shook his head. “That stupid show.”

“Wait—why?” Shep said. “I mean . . . you were dead. How did you even know?—”

“She carried your picture. In a locket, around her neck. She took it off for the op, but I found it. You were younger, but . . .” He looked over at her. “It was in her belongings, back at our hotel. It wasn’t hard to scan, to age with AI.”

He had nothing. Especially since London appeared stricken.

A picture . . . Wait. He caught her gaze. “From Glacier Peaks Wilderness Camp?”

She swallowed. “I never thought . . .”

He shook his head, not knowing what to do with that information.

“A woman never forgets her first love,” Tomas said. “Right, Laney?”

“We weren’t . . .” Shep started, but saw her expression.

Huh.

And, “Laney?”

“Oh, sorry. London . So cute.”

London looked like she’d like to do violence. “What’s your game here, Tomas? You had to know I wasn’t going to give you the seed code, even if I did give you the bio card. Which, by the way, is destroyed, thanks to the river.”

Something about Tomas’s story, a question that was yet unformed, lodged deep inside Shep. But Tomas answered her before Shep could get his fingers around it.

“I need you, Laney.”

She raised an eyebrow.

He sighed. “Of course the Petrov Bratva found me. And they want their money back.”

“Then let’s hide you again.”

“Yes, well, it’s not that tidy, I’m afraid. See, they know you hid it in Montelena. Which, conveniently, is where your parents are stationed, right? My guess is that is how you got in and were able to set up your wallet.”

Shep knew that look. Tomas had bull’s-eyed it.

“Where?” Flynn said.

London got up, wore the blanket like a cape as she walked to the kitchen. “My mother is the US Ambassador in a very small but very powerful country near Italy and Austria named Montelena. It’s the Switzerland of cryptocurrency.” She grabbed the kettle and filled it with water. “About twenty years ago, Montelena had a terrible earthquake. Took out the capital city. And the king there—they have a constitutional monarchy—rebuilt it into a fortress. Impenetrable, it has its own dedicated, unhackable satellite and is where the billionaires in the world park their crypto.” She spooned chocolate powder into a cup. “Yes, it’s also a hotbed of criminal activity, but Montelena has developed their own crypto tokens, called Cryptex, which are backed by their gold supply, so they’re incorruptible. As is their exchange system. All users’ names are scrambled, all transactions deconstructed and stored on thousands of blockchains. Anything that passes through Montelena as Cryptex is untraceable.” She poured hot water into her mug.

“I don’t know much about cryptocurrency,” said Flynn, “but I know that Bitcoin is traceable.”

London turned, blew on her cocoa. “It is. Which is why so much of it goes through a crypto exchange and is changed into Cryptex. And a Cryptex account can only be accessed by the bio key, which I mentioned before.”

“Hence, why I need my former fiancée’s help to get into the wallet,” Tomas said.

Shep tightened his hold on his cocoa mug. If the man called her that one more time . . .

“Which, of course, is a big, loud not on your life ,” said London. “I’m sorry, Tomas, but Drago and his ilk can’t be given two hundred million dollars.”

Shep’s eyes widened.

“And maybe it’s worth even more now—I don’t know. But . . .”

“They’ll kill me.” Tomas’s voice had softened.

“We’ll hide you.”

Shep frowned.

“The Black Swans,” she said, probably seeing his frown.

And she probably didn’t mean for the words to send a fresh spear through him, either. She wasn’t planning on staying.

“I knew you’d say that,” Tomas said. “So before you go thinking I’m going to take the money and run off to Argentina, or maybe the Seychelles, my plan was to destroy the wallet.”

She set her mug on the island. “You can’t destroy a wallet. You can only lose the login. Which I’ve done.”

“No. It only takes your eye scan and your DNA to get another card. Easily obtained by a successful assassin.”

Flynn drew a breath. Nodded. “That makes sense.”

“They still need the seed code.”

“And how hard is that to get, with the right amount of waterboarding?”

Shep’s throat tightened. He looked at London.

“But you could corrupt it.”

Silence.

Tomas leaned forward. “I’ve been working on a program that would launch a distributed denial-of-service attack on the nodes of the blockchain network, corrupting the integrity of the blockchain. From there, we could attack the blockchain’s consensus mechanism and interfere with the validation process for transactions. Which would mean false confirmation and?—”

“In English, please,” Axel said.

“It means that suddenly no one trusts each other. They all think they’re stealing, or corrupting the crypto, and then terrorist groups are fighting each other,” Flynn said. “Brilliant.”

“So you’re saying . . .” London said, leaning a hip against the island, “give the money back, but upload this program. And then sit back and watch the players destroy themselves?”

Tomas nodded.

She stared at him, and Shep could see her wheels turning.

This London, the clever one, he knew.

But not the woman who then nodded. “That means going to Montelena and getting a new bio card, uploading the program, then transferring the money to Drago’s account, virus attached.” A small smile creased her face. “That could work. Then we sit back and watch the Bratva crumble.”

Wait —who was “we”?

“I’m in.” London said.

Shep found his feet. “You must be joking.”

All eyes landed on him. London’s breath caught.

“Over my dead body are you going to leave with this . . . jerk —and give two hundred million dollars back to an international terrorist. Have you lost your mind? Who even are you?”

London’s mouth opened.

“London, think for one long second. They find out that you attached a virus to their money and it’s not just these Russians you’re running from but every other terrorist organization in the world. Next time we find your body mutilated with the fingers cut off, it won’t be some nameless assassin. It’ll be you. And maybe even Tomas, if he’s not actually in league with this Drago guy?—”

“The Petrovs murdered my family, so . . . go boil your head, mate.”

Shep just looked at him, then at Moose, and then, oh, wow —he couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “What did you say to me?”

Tomas hit his feet. His eyes sharp.

London stepped between them. “Sit down, Tomas.” She turned to Shep. “Tomas was my mark because I knew how much he hated the Petrovs. He’s Abkhazian by birth, and the Russians . . . they attacked his village.”

“My mother was shot in front of me, and my sister . . . they took her. I heard her screaming as they assaulted me. I woke up in a Petrov prison—the Russians sold me to the Bratva. So yes, you can just sod off.”

Shep raised an eyebrow. Then he looked at London. “Do whatever you want. I have a dog I need to go home and feed.”

“The dog is fine. Your neighbor Jasmine is taking care of him.” London said the name weirdly, as if . . .

His mouth tweaked up. “Jasmine, huh?”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Good. She makes the best bibingka.” He met her gaze.

She shook her head, her eyes glossy.

Wow, he was a liar. But the room had gone quiet—terribly, brutally quiet. He looked at Moose, then Axel. “I’m going to need a ride home.”

Moose nodded.

Then Shep turned and headed to the locker room, his chest burning.

And all he heard was, “Let him go, Laney.”

No, he didn’t know this woman. Not at all. Still, as he walked into the warm and a-little-steamy locker room, he braced his hand on the wall of locker doors.

How . . . what . . . He didn’t know how to sort out?—

“I’m sorry, Shep.”

He looked over. London had come into the room, the door closing softly behind her. She leaned against the wall, her hands behind her.

“I’m sorry I lied to you.”

She did look sorry, her eyes soft, a swallow after her words.

He wanted to round on her, to shout, but he drew in a breath. Schooled his voice. “Why?”

“Why?” She frowned at him. “Because of the very thing?—”

“Why didn’t you trust me?” He took a step toward her. “Why didn’t you come to me? I would have kept your secret—you know that.”

Her voice fell, turned quiet and small. “I do.”

He stared at her, his heart in his throat, his eyes suddenly burning. “I was . . . eviscerated when you died. Absolutely lost. London, I mourned you. I mourned you as if—” As if she were his wife . That hit him then. Yes, his wife, a part of himself. He found other words, however. “As if I’d lost a piece of myself.” His jaw tightened, his voice roughening. A tear edged his eye, and he wiped it away with a fierce swipe. “And the way you died. It . . . took me apart. London. What you did to me was cruel .”

Her eyes had filled. “I know. I saw you suffering, and . . .” She closed her mouth, shook her head, her voice breaking. “I know. But . . . I just thought it might be easier because I . . . I knew I had to leave?—”

“Easier to think you were dead instead of just . . . walking away from me ? Sheesh, London. How fragile do you think I am?”

“Not fragile! Kind and protective and . . . and . . . it wasn’t about you; it was me.”

He recoiled. “Oh, please. That’s just beautiful.”

“Shep—”

“Save it. Now you’re just being patronizing—” He turned away.

She grabbed his arm. “I didn’t want to leave you! I couldn’t say goodbye, okay? I’ve been . . . watching you. Making sure that . . . well, that this, today, didn’t happen. Except never did I think that Tomas might be the one to grab you, but . . . yeah, I did fear something bad happening. But I also feared never—” Her voice dropped, so low it turned into a whisper. “Never seeing you again.”

No. He refused to be moved. His gaze hardened. “You walked away from me at least twice before, London. Laney. Whatever you want to call yourself.”

A flash of something flickered in her eyes. “Laney is not me. London is the real me?—”

“London is a nickname I gave you because of your accent,” he said quietly. “And because Delaney didn’t seem to fit with the fifteen-year-old tomboy I met at summer camp so many years ago. So I guess I’m to blame for all the subterfuge and lies.”

“No!” She closed her eyes, looked away.

Silence pulsed between them. She looked wrung out, her blonde hair in strings, and for a second, all he wanted to was reach out, pull her to himself. Hold her until everything was back to right and normal.

He balled his hands into fists, just kept breathing.

“Okay, I can see that there’s no fixing this.” She drew in a shuttered breath. “I should go.” She turned to leave.

And it was that—the final goodbye flashing in front of him, accompanied by a terrible rush of pain through his body—that made him grab her arm. Pull her back to him.

“No,” he said roughly, his eyes on hers.

“No?”

“No.” A beat, during which his gaze roamed her face. Her eyes widened, her mouth parted—and then he kissed her. Mostly impulse, but the vortex of everything—the pain, the horror, the regret, the disbelief, and the longing—ignited everything inside and simply took hold. He curled his hand behind her neck and . . . dove in. Perhaps rougher than he meant to, but it all poured out, right there, as he practically consumed her.

Maybe he’d scared her, because she put her hands on his arms. But then they slid around his waist and she pulled him to herself, tight, all in as she kissed him back.

All in, as if she, perhaps, had been waiting, longing for this moment also.

Oh, London .

She tasted of hot cocoa and smelled of shampoo and soap and fit as perfectly in his arms as he’d always imagined, and he didn’t have a prayer of slowing down. Of letting his common sense take over, of pulling them back to the just-friends cliffside they’d once navigated.

Not just friends ever—at least for him.

And when she softened her mouth and let it open, let him deepen his kiss, he thought— maybe not for her either .

London. Beautiful, brave, and amazing London.

Alive.

He groaned with the fresh memory of his grief and put his arm around her neck, his other around her waist, tightening his hold on her. I love you. The words hung in the back of his throat, clogged his chest. But the thought shook through him, heat encompassing his entire body as he slowed. He finally lifted his head, meeting her beautiful eyes. Because that was the answer to this entire thing, wasn’t it? He loved this woman, even if he realized that maybe he didn’t exactly know her.

But he would. Because he wasn’t going to lose her again, no matter what it cost him.

Her breath emerged a little uneven. “Oh,” she said. “Well. Um . . .”

“I should have done that a lot sooner.”

She caught her lower lip. “I have to go to Montelena. With Tomas.”

He stilled. And then he had to know. “Tomas—are you . . . He’s your ex-fiancé?—”

“It was part of the game. But I do need to go back and end this.”

He drew in a breath, then braced his hand on the wall behind her. Bent his head. “I know.” Then he pushed away, his eyes still on hers. “But like I said, you’re not going anywhere.”

Her mouth opened. Closed. She shook her head. “Shep?—”

“Not without me.”

A beat, and then she cringed. “I don’t?—”

“Stop protecting me. I am not losing you again, London. I’m tired of people walking out of my life without a backward glance. So whether you like it or not, I’m your shadow, or your watchdog, or your partner—whatever. I may not be some James Bond, but just try to shake me.”

She leaned her head back, considered him. “That’s real cute.”

“Yeah, well, if you think I’m going to let you trolley off with Tomas, even if he is a fake fiancé?—”

“Trolley off? Really?”

“Really,” he said, not smiling.

She smiled then, something sweet. “I knew kissing you would be trouble.”

“How’s that?” he said, stepping closer again, bracing his hand over her shoulder, touching her face.

“Because I’m actually considering saying yes.”

“Consider the fact that you don’t have a choice.”

“So. Bossy.” But her voice had fallen.

He leaned down, but she put her hand on his chest. “If this is going to work, maybe we should nix the kissing in Montelena.”

He arched an eyebrow.

“I mean it, Shep. With you all nice smelling and handsome and tasting like chocolate . . . I can’t think straight. And Drago Petrov wants me dead . . . so I have to stay on my game. Aw, and I can tell by your smile that was the wrong thing to say.”

“Completely.” And he pressed his mouth to hers.

He didn’t know how long he kissed her, taking his time, the disbelief washing away, the terrible clench of his chest loosing, the last thirty days fading to shadow, but a knock brought his head up, and then Axel opened the door.

“Yep, that’s what we thought. After the shouting was over . . .”

“Go. Away.”

Axel held up his hand. “There’s someone here to see London.”

London, who, until six hours ago, was, um, dead ?

“Who knows you’re alive?” He asked as she ducked under his arms. “Hey, wait—” He reached out to catch her, but she’d stepped out of his reach.

Of course.

But, hello, maybe it was one of those orphans?—

“London, stop!”

A man, dark-blond hair, lean, wearing a leather jacket and gloves, dressed in black jeans and hiking boots, stood in the lobby of the Tooth. “Hi,” he said. “We’ve never met, but my name is York Newgate.”

Shep came up to stand behind London. No one else looked worried, but he put a hand on her shoulder. Like . . . what?

He didn’t have the first clue how to protect this woman.

“I know this is the middle of the night, but I got here as fast as I could,” York said.

“I don’t understand,” London said.

“Ziggy sent me.”

More silence.

“Apparently you need a ride across the pond?”

* * *

London didn’t know who she was. Not ten thousand feet over the Alps of Switzerland, in a Learjet 36, with her ex-fiancé sitting in the seats behind her, cuffed despite her protests. (Although, he had kidnapped Shep. And bear-sprayed him. And tranq’d him. And please, please let him not be duping her into some kind of ambush.)

She wasn’t London—she’d blown that persona apart. She saw the way the Air One team looked at her, questions behind their tight smiles.

And she wasn’t Laney. Or didn’t want to be.

Or at least, she thought so.

Maybe she was Shep’s . . . what? Girlfriend? Maybe, yes, because large in her mind, over and over, played her painfully eager and out-of-bounds response to him kissing her.

Hel- lo . That had been a big yes before she really got her brains around it all. Just an impulse and a hooyah, and what did that say about what was really buried inside her heart? What had Tomas said—a woman never forgets her first love?

Although it hadn’t been until the moment Shep walked up to her, put his hand around her neck, and kissed her—really kissed her, like he’d broken open pieces of his heart to let her in—that she’d dived in and embraced it.

Yep. First love .

Beside her, Shep sat on the Learjet’s sofa, his eyes closed, clearly still tired, yesterday’s events worn in the fatigue on his face. He’d shaved and showered after getting home and had slept until noon, but he’d been back to the Tooth by four p.m.

And of course, he’d put himself back together. Jeans, sweater, hiking boots, a wool hat, jacket, and satchel. Have woodsman, will travel .

All the way over the ocean and to the small country of Montelena. She looked out the window. Welcome back, Laney Steele.

Oy vey .

“Ziggy is a little creepy.” Shep opened an eye and looked at her. She curled up on the opposite end of the couch, her knees drawn up, her arms folded, like she might suddenly spring from the plane.

Maybe.

“You think? And apparently she has the ability to pick up the phone and send us a private jet from across the world.”

“The plane and the pilot are rented, from Seattle,” York said from the seat on the other side of the aisle. He’d spent most of the flight with his eyes closed, and Shep had assumed he was asleep. Apparently not.

“Where did you meet her?” he asked London, lowering his voice.

“She was my trainer with the Black Swans, years ago. Then my handler. Now, I don’t know . . . my boss?”

“I thought Moose was your boss.”

Right . But Moose was London’s boss.

Moose gave her a tight smile, as if he’d read her mind.

“Is Ziggy an assassin?”

She shrugged. Nodded. “When she has to be.”

“I see.” His mouth made a tight line.

“I’ve never killed anyone,” she said softly. “Just so you know.”

“No one except yourself.”

Oh. Right .

“How’d it go with Boo?”

She lifted a shoulder. “I’m a coward. I didn’t go home.”

“You didn’t tell Boo?”

“I didn’t know what to say. Flynn is going to tell her.”

“London.”

She sighed. “I . . . I know. But it would be another couple hours of explanations and . . . I was hoping it could wait until I got back.”

Shep gave her a slow smile. “So, you’re coming back.”

It was the first time, really, that she’d said it aloud. But that life had suddenly started to sift through her hands, and she didn’t know if she could get it back.

But that kiss . . .

He touched her hand. “London, everything is going to be fine.”

“You’ve never met the Petrov Bratva.” Her jaw tightened, and when he drew in a breath, she wished she hadn’t said that. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I’m not completely helpless.”

Right. She had forgotten about his time in the military.

“And it seems like you have some, um, skills .”

“The Black Swans aren’t military. We’re mostly a surveillance-gathering organization, although sometimes we’re tapped to acquire something sensitive or to procure information.”

“So, thievery and torture too.”

“What? No. Like . . . attending diplomatic functions and sneaking into an office to snap a few clandestine pictures. Or maybe making friends with the girlfriend of a known gun smuggler to discover his next buy.”

“Just that.”

She sighed. “It sounds more exciting than it was. Mostly, it was sitting at café tables, a microphone aimed toward our mark, listening, eating a croissant and drinking tea.”

“Mm-hmm. In three different languages.”

“Keeps it interesting.” She smiled at him. Then she unfolded her legs and put them on his lap.

Like they might be a couple?

Maybe, because he massaged her feet.

“I could get used to this.”

“What, Learjets and foot rubs?”

“You knowing my life.”

His strong hands stopped, just holding her feet. “I don’t know your life, London.”

Her mouth opened, and he held up a hand. “I knew you were an operative of some sort—Colt told me that much. But . . . honestly, I didn’t know what to think. And maybe I didn’t want to.”

Oh . “And now?”

“And now, I think that I’m very much interested in how the fifteen-year-old girl with freckles and braids that I met at Glacier Peaks Wilderness Camp with her cousins Sam and Pete ended up leaping tall buildings.”

“I only jump from them.”

His eyes widened.

“Just the once. With Tom Cruise. Mission: Impossible III .”

A beat.

She smiled.

“You’re very cute,” he said.

“I’m glad you think so.”

“Okay, so after you left me brokenhearted in Montana at the age of fifteen?—”

“I did not leave you brokenhearted. We were just friends.”

“That’s what you thought. You were this exotic, cool girl who lived around the world?—”

“And you were this hot guy who lived in a motorhome, was an amazing skier and climber, and could swim better than me.”

“I was a better swimmer.” He winked. And wow, he was still devastatingly hot.

“Yeah, your sister could beat you, though. I liked Jacey. You never talk about her.”

Weirdly, he seemed to jerk, almost stiffen at her words. Then he drew in a breath and nodded.

Huh . So, not a topic he wanted to talk about.

“Okay, so after camp, I know you traveled with your cousin Gage, skiing. And then joined the military—another thing you don’t talk about much.”

“Not much to say.” He leaned his head back. “Food was bad, I made a few friends, and I was really cold most of the time.”

“That’s what happens when you join a mountain unit.”

He smiled, although it seemed tight, and for a moment, secrets hid in his eyes.

Maybe she didn’t know Shep as well as she thought, either. “Why did you leave the military?”

He considered her for a moment. Then, “I broke a couple ribs in the avalanche?—”

“I remember.”

“Right, well, my contract expired, and I just . . . I decided I didn’t want to live that life. Always moving. Never landing. I spent my childhood doing that. I didn’t want to live the rest of my life hauling a rucksack.”

“I thought you had such an exotic childhood, your parents ski bums.”

“They both worked as patrollers most of the time. My dad was also a street preacher and an evangelist. He went where God called him. I guess that was the point of the motorhome.”

Outside, the clouds had parted. Below, the spires of the Swiss Alps rose, white and brutal, into the blue sky.

“I do feel like I should clear up something.” He stopped massaging her feet. “You once said to me that you knew I had skills. . . .” He sighed. “I was a medic in the Tenth. And then attached to Colt’s Ranger team for my last year. I don’t have . . . well, I’ve never killed someone and would like to keep it that way. I’m not a man of violence and don’t want to be.”

“I don’t think going to my bank will require any hand-to-hand combat. Unless they get stingy with the Dum Dums.”

“Dum Dums?”

“You know, those suckers they hand out to kids?”

One side of his mouth lifted, his blue eyes catching hers, and for a second, she was back at The Kiss. At the feel of his arms around her, the taste— oh boy . She swallowed. “I didn’t know you were attached to the Rangers.”

“Yeah. We trained with them in some alpine settings—which is how I met Colt. He was a ranger, and we actually went through a blizzard together in a snow cave. After spending a year with them, I knew it wasn’t a life I wanted. I was made to save lives, not take them.”

There was more to that story; she knew it in her bones. And for the first time, she realized they’d spent most of the last year sharing movie preferences, making dinner, and training together. But his life, he kept guarded.

Maybe she didn’t know him at all.

His strong hands worked her feet. “So, why did you join the Black Swans?”

Deflecting. Sheesh, she should pay attention a little more. Hard to do when he looked at her with those blue eyes, though, and a voice that always made its way under her skin to turn it warm.

“I guess I just . . . I liked the idea of doing something . . . extraordinary.”

“Your parents are international diplomats. That’s pretty extraordinary.”

“My mom is the diplomat. My dad is an international lawyer. And he advises her. But yeah, it was . . . okay. I didn’t have a lot of friends—hard to do that when everyone you bring home has to be vetted. And we moved a lot. I was mostly friends with the bodyguards, or even the kids of other attachés.”

“Sounds lonely.”

“A little. But my parents tried to get me involved in sport clubs. I took dance class and tae kwon do, gymnastics and swimming club. . . . anything to help me feel connected, I think. I spent the longest time in Russia. We also lived in Paris, and then Berlin, a year in Rome. . . .”

“All the really boring places, then.”

“We even went to Taiwan for a while. We finally ended in a small country called Lauchtenland, where I met my best friend, Pippa. She and I attended post-secondary together, a sort of prep school. We roomed together in our first year of university, but it wasn’t for Pippa—she wanted to be a royal guard, so she joined the Lauchtenland military. And about that time, I was approached by Pike to join the Black Swans. It sounded . . . well, sort of cool. Mission: Impossible , you know? So . . . I signed on and went through the most grueling four years I’d ever known.”

“Ziggy as your trainer.”

“Yes. She has her own interesting past, but she’s not cold, or even cruel. She’s just . . . resolute, I guess. Does what she has to in order to get the job done.”

His mouth tightened and he nodded.

She glanced over at Tomas, who now had his eyes closed, leaning against the side of the plane. Turned back to Shep and cut her voice low. “Listen, I know that Tomas keeps calling me Laney, but you have to know, Shep—I’m not that person anymore. I’m just going to get another bio card. Because Tomas is right—the Bratva would keep coming for me. But if I give the money back and they think it’s stolen from them by another terrorist organization . . .”

His gaze met hers. “This could backfire, badly.”

And for some reason, his voice, his words, pierced her, deep inside.

Backfire. Yes . And Shep could get hurt.

Aw . . . shoot .

See, this was why Ziggy forbade personal relationships for Swans.

“Promise me that no matter what happens, you’ll listen to me. And trust me.”

He frowned.

She leaned up, grabbed his hand. “Promise me.”

“I promise. I mean, I do trust you—and I do listen.”

But he wasn’t hearing her. “I don’t want—I can’t . . . please don’t get hurt. I couldn’t bear it.”

His smile fell and he swallowed. “I will do everything I can to keep you—and myself—safe.”

But something about his expression seemed almost . . . haunted.

She nodded, however, then leaned back and looked out the window. A ridge of tall mountains rose from the deep valleys. And just like that, his words, spoken to her inside a snow tomb three years ago, spiraled back to her.

“You’re not in this alone, London.”

Yeah, well, maybe she should be. Her jaw tightened.

The pilot came over the loudspeaker and announced their descent into Luciella International Airport in the capital city of Montelena.

She spotted the small country, landlocked and surrounded on all sides by tall, forbidding peaks, the country itself the size of neighboring Liechtenstein. The capital city—the only city—sat in the middle of the valley, still green, a paradise with a palace that reminded her of crazy Ludwig’s Neuschwanstein Castle in Bavaria, seated on a mountain overlooking the city.

“Are you at all concerned that Tomas could be setting you up?”

She looked back at Shep, his mouth a tight line as he glanced at Tomas, now rising, looking out the window.

“Maybe. I don’t know how the rogue agent got wind of the handoff with my CIA contact that day in Zermatt, so anything is possible.” She drew in a breath. “I guess we’ll just have to be prepared for anything.”

He stilled then, and she frowned at him. “What?”

Shep leaned over, his voice low. “I need to tell you something. It’s about that day on the mountain.”

The day he’d appeared out of nowhere, barreling back into her life. The day he’d saved her life by pulling her into a chalet, protecting her from an avalanche. The day that’d led to three days of keeping her alive.

He grimaced. “I think my Ranger team was sent there to kill you.”

* * *

He felt like a man waiting for the guillotine. And stripped nearly naked at that.

Moose stood up from the wooden bench in the hallway, unable to take one more second of sitting. Waiting for his life to end—or perhaps begin.

Inside the double doors of the courtroom of Nesbitt Courthouse in Anchorage, a judge deliberated Moose’s future.

“What does it mean to have a motion for a directed verdict?” This from Tillie.

Sweet of Tillie to come to court with him today and sit here for hours while the prosecution dismantled his life. She wore a pair of dress pants and a sweater, her dark hair down, and just being able to glance over at her from the defendant’s table and see her nod, so much trust in her eyes—yeah, he couldn’t wait to marry this woman.

Get on with his life.

If, after all this, he had a life to get on with.

Six hours of testimony, evidence, and probing in front of a jury of his peers. And no, he wasn’t a criminal—this was his civil trial. But not only had his policies, his decision making, and his past experiences been stripped open, but frankly, it’d had him reliving the entire nightmare over and over.

A callout to search for five women in a bridal party who’d gone missing in a snowstorm. All but the bride had been found—and she’d been murdered by a serial killer. So technically not his fault. But the bride’s father, Harry Benton, had sued him anyway, alleging he’d given up the search too early.

Maybe he had. Or not. Sheesh, now his own brain waged a trial against him.

“Okay, the machine was out of Snickers, but I did score you a Three Musketeers bar and a Diet Coke. Oh wait, that’s for me. I got you some bread and water.”

Moose turned at the voice, scowling. “What?”

Axel was walking down the hall, holding goodies from the vending machine. “You look like you’re a prisoner. Calm down, bro. This is going to go your way; I feel it.” He handed Moose a granola bar and a bottled water. “Upgrade.” Then he gave Tillie a bag of Sun Chips. “As you requested.”

“Thanks, Axel,” Tillie said, opening the chips. She had stayed seated while Moose prowled the hallway outside the chambers. “Sure is taking a long time. I don’t know much about the law, but this feels like an easy win. The defense has nothing?—”

“They have their hurt and pain,” said Axel, unwrapping his candy bar. “Which, in this world today, seems to be enough reason to take people to court, even if they did nothing wrong.” He bit into the candy bar.

“Yes, but even the coroner testified that Grace Benton was most likely dead when you paused the search. I mean, c’mon, it was a blizzard. Sending the Air One team back out into that snow would have been irresponsible—even lethal.” She took a bite of chip. “I have to admit, Ridge is a great lawyer, getting Mike Grizz on the stand to talk about exposure and hypothermia and how dangerous it is to keep searching when people are exhausted. You saved lives that day, Moose.” She gave him a smile that had the power to save his sorry life.

He had had a ring designed at a local jeweler’s—just needed to pick it up. And figure out when to propose. Sheesh, at this rate, he’d pull over in a parking lot on the way home and take a knee.

“Yeah, but losing someone haunts you, and Benton’s trying to park his blame somewhere,” Axel said.

“He could try doing it without destroying the rescue team that saves so many lives?—”

Moose held up a hand. “Listen. I hate that Grace Benton died. I hate that we couldn’t find her while she was still alive—although, like the coroner said, maybe she’d already been shot by the Midnight Sun Killer, so who knows? I do know that it’s a terrible balance—saving the lives of others and protecting the people who have volunteered to put their lives on the line. Believe me when I say I lie in bed some nights and replay that rescue, wondering if I did the right thing.”

“You did,” Axel said.

Tillie nodded.

“Your testimony was rather passionate, Axel. I’m not sure it helped.”

“Oh, it helped.” He finished his candy bar. “The jury hung on my every word. I’ll bet that’s why Ridge made a motion for a directed verdict—because he knew that there was no legally sufficient evidence for the jury to reach a conclusion and it was just wasting all their time.”

“You memorize that?”

“Wrote it down.” He tossed the soda can into the trash, a three-pointer.

“Maybe he just wanted to get you off the stand before you told any more stories that might make the jury think I’m reckless. I cannot believe you told them the story of the crash on Denali, with you hanging off the line.”

“Bro. It was to show how committed you are to saving people—you performed an incredible maneuver to get those guys off the serac on Peter’s Ridge?—”

“And nearly killed you and them in the process.”

“Aw, what’s a little snow burn? You going to eat that granola bar?”

“Have at it.” He gave it to Axel, who opened it.

“Listen, Moose, no matter what happens, you’re a great leader and an amazing rescue pilot, and everyone on the team knows that you’re not reckless. You might push your limits, but if you can save someone, you will. You just couldn’t in this case. And Benton and that other guy—who is he?”

“The victim’s fiancé,” said Moose. “I think his name is Liam Grant.”

“Right. Benton and Grant just need to accept that she’s gone and start healing.”

Silence as a couple people walked by. Moose looked away and cut his voice down. “This is all my fault for letting that reality show take so much footage. It feels like every time I turn on the television, I can catch an episode. And social media hasn’t helped. The show made me look like I made a choice to leave her out there to die. I can see why Harry Benton just can’t move on.”

“He lost his oldest daughter,” Axel said. “So I get that.”

“But Moose and the team saved his daughter Caroline.” This from Tillie. “And that show provided funding for all the rescues this summer.”

And with her words, yesterday’s events stirred inside Moose.

London was alive.

Still trying to get his head around that.

But, “Shep was abducted and nearly killed because of that show. And you, Tillie—Rigger would have never found you if it weren’t?—”

“Stop.” She had stepped up to him, put her hands on his chest. She smelled good, and he got stuck on her gaze, those brown eyes tipped with gold around the iris, so much love in them he nearly reached out and pulled her to himself. Left the building without looking back.

Tillie’s voice grounded him. “This is not your fault. None of it is your fault. You do what you can with the wisdom you have at the time. Now, breathe. From what you said, Shep and London are going to be fine. And Benton’s civil suit will fail?—”

The door to the courtroom opened, and Ridge White stepped out. He’d slicked up today in a suit and tie, and he looked terribly like Bradley Cooper might be presenting his case. Which could be a good thing, if the jury were all women, but no, the jury was a mix of middle-aged women, older men, and a few younger men who’d been pulled out of their jobs. And the judge—a middle-aged man who had a reputation for letting the people decide.

People who probably thought that rescuers were superhuman and who had seen too many fictional television shows where the impossible happened.

“The judge is ready with his decision.” Ridge held open the door, his face betraying nothing of prophecy either way. Probably better to brace Moose for the inevitable.

Moose filed inside, followed by Axel and Tillie, who took the row behind the defendant’s table. Ridge motioned him to stand as the judge was announced and came into the chamber.

The jury hadn’t returned.

Moose glanced at Ridge, who raised an eyebrow. A hint of a smile tugged at his lips.

Across the room, Benton and Grant also stood. Grant folded his arms, his legs planted, a picture of triumph. Benton ran some kind of construction company in Illinois. Fit and wealthy, he seemed confident of his win in the way he looked over at Moose.

Moose turned his attention to the judge, who called the court to order, then directed them to sit.

He glanced at Tillie, who gave him a tight smile, a nod.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the court will now address the motion for a directed verdict.”

Please, God, vindicate me. It felt like a psalm of David. “Vindicate me, Lord, for I have led a blameless life; I have trusted in the Lord and have not faltered. Test me, Lord, and try me, examine my heart and my mind; for I have always been mindful of your unfailing love and have lived in reliance on your faithfulness.”

Okay, maybe not always in reliance on God’s faithfulness, and he hadn’t always not faltered, but . . . he was trying.

“In a civil case, the burden of proof rests with the plaintiff. It is their responsibility to establish their claims by a preponderance of the evidence. However, throughout this trial, I have observed significant gaps and inconsistencies in the plaintiff’s case. The evidence presented has failed to provide a compelling and persuasive basis for finding in favor of the plaintiff.”

Moose held his breath.

“Furthermore, the defense has effectively challenged the credibility of the key witnesses presented by the plaintiff. Through their cross-examinations, they have revealed contradictions and weaknesses in the testimonies, casting doubt on the reliability of the plaintiff’s evidence. The defense has also presented counterevidence and arguments that undermine the plaintiff’s claims.”

Please, God.

“Considering these factors, it is my opinion that a reasonable jury, properly instructed, would not find in favor of the plaintiff based on the evidence presented. The plaintiff has not met their burden of proof, and the evidence falls short of establishing their claims.”

Moose looked at Ridge, who didn’t meet his eyes, kept his focus on the judge.

Right. Don’t celebrate yet, but ?—

“Therefore, I hereby grant the motion for a directed verdict in favor of the defendant. The plaintiff’s claims are dismissed, and the defendant is relieved of any liability.”

Moose’s breath rushed out, his chest unknotting.

“Additionally, in light of the circumstances surrounding this case, I find it appropriate to exercise my discretion and order the plaintiff to pay all of the defendant’s legal fees. The plaintiff initiated this lawsuit, and their failure to meet the burden of proof has resulted in unnecessary costs and expenses incurred by the defendant.”

Moose’s mouth dropped open.

“Therefore, I hereby direct the plaintiff to pay all of the defendant’s reasonable and necessary legal fees incurred in the defense of this case. This includes attorney fees, court costs, and any other related expenses. The jury is dismissed and court is adjourned.” His gavel came down.

Adjourned. Fees paid. Claim dismissed.

Moose put both hands on the table and closed his eyes even as outrage erupted from the plaintiff’s table.

But he breathed in fresh air, and as he turned, Tillie came around and launched herself into his arms. He caught her up, and he just soaked in her embrace, the sense of tomorrow, and everything big and beautiful in front of them.

She pushed away from him, caught his face in her hands. “See! I told you—you did nothing wrong!”

“Nothing?”

The voice made him look up. Moose stepped in front of Tillie and even moved her a little behind him.

Harry Benton had come over, his lawyer’s hand on his arm. Ridge stepped between them. “Mr. Benton?—”

“He let her die. Freezing, bleeding, scared, and alone—he let her die out there!” His voice shook, his eyes reddened, and Moose just couldn’t retort.

Not with the man in so much pain.

Instead, he swallowed, and his words emerged soft. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“He did nothing wrong,” Tillie said, stepping out from behind him, but Moose caught her hand.

Benton narrowed his eyes at her, then back to Moose. “You think this is over. But it will never be. Someday you’ll know what it’s like to lose someone you love and stand by helpless to stop it.”

He blinked at the man. What ? —

“Is that a threat?” Axel said, sidling up to Moose.

Benton’s lawyer pushed him away, but Grant kept his eyes on Moose as they headed out of the courtroom.

“Ignore them,” Ridge said. He turned and shook Moose’s hand. “It’s over.”

“Thanks, Ridge,” Moose said, ripping his gaze away from the closing door. He put his arm around Tillie. Over.

On to the future.

He walked outside with Tillie and Axel, onto the city street, and stood in front of two snow-covered totem poles, the traffic sparse as dusk began to settle.

“Pie?” Tillie said. “Hazel is with Grandma Roz.”

“I’m out,” Axel said. “I need to catch up with Flynn. We’re going to look at a condo.” Axel twirled his key on his finger and lifted a hand before he turned to walk down the street.

Moose breathed out, turned to Tillie. “I might have something else in mind.”

Her eyes widened.

“But maybe, yes, let’s start with pie.”