Chapter 7

CHAPTER 7

“O n mission, sir?” Shep had stopped at the window and now turned at Mitch’s question. “What do you mean, ‘on mission’?”

Now Mitch walked into the room, clasped his hands on the back of one of the leather chairs. Inhaled, exhaled, pursed his lips.

“What’s going on?”

“How much do you know about your orders that day in Zermatt?”

“My orders? Um, they were just . . . orders. I don’t understand the question.” And then . . . Wait one doggone second . “How do you know about Zermatt?”

“Sit down, Shep.”

“I’ll stand.”

“Fine.” Mitch went around and sat in the chair.

Ho-kay . Shep sat on the other, in front of the silent hearth. The lunch had started to settle like a clump in his stomach, and fatigue pressed over him. It felt like he’d been up all night and was walking into morning without a cup of coffee, fuzzy-headed and bloated. Like a hangover, maybe, although he’d never experienced one of those.

Frankly, he’d never been the guy to let himself wander outside the boundary lines.

“I know my daughter is a member of the Black Swans.”

Shep just blinked at him.

“And I know you know also, because York filled me in. Said you two talked about it on the plane, so I’m not revealing anything.”

Shep’s mouth tightened. “How long have you known?”

“I worked with a man named Pike Maguire to set up the Swans. And when he died, I took over.”

“You’re the director of the Black Swans? Does London know this?”

“Why do you call her London?”

“It’s a nickname. From summer camp—she had a cute sort of British accent, so . . .”

“Charming.”

He had a feeling that it might not be. Still. “She likes it.”

Her father made a sound, deep in his throat. Sheesh. Shep understood why parents might not have liked the ski-bum version of him as a teenager, but hello, today he had a home, a decent job, and . . . “I get that maybe you disagree with her quitting the Swans—not sure why, as it’s dangerous—but?—”

Mitch held up a hand. “You don’t know Delaney like I do. It’s not up to me whether she quits the Swans. But I do care if she lives or dies.”

“On this we can agree.”

“Which is exactly why I sent you on the mountain that day.”

He sent . . . “What—wait. That was a Ranger operation. And we were there to protect the CIA operative—who I think turned out to be a rogue agent.”

“A man named Alan Martin. At the time, he was just forming his faction inside the walls of the CIA, and he was the one who ordered your operation. But I had intel that suggested a double-cross, and when I heard that they wanted to send a Ranger team to ‘protect the operative’”—he used finger quotes for that last phrase—“I feared that something—or someone—might get caught in the crossfire. My only hope was you.”

Shep blinked at him. “Me?”

“I knew that if you saw Delaney, you’d stop any attempt to eliminate her, so I spoke to the right people, and your Ranger team was tasked with the mission.”

“I was a medic. I had no command authority?—”

“I know you were in the military, and I remember the climbing story from camp. You’re dependable, Shep. In fact, I think it’s your greatest trait, and of course, your Achilles’ heel. And I knew you’d do anything to stop an attempt on her life.” He nodded. “And you did.”

“I . . . yes, okay, I saw her that day—couldn’t believe it, really—and I did convince my team to stand down, but then we almost died together in an avalanche?—”

“From where I sit, you kept her alive.”

Shep had nothing.

“You got her to safety, kept her alive in that chalet, and frankly, I think you’re still on that mission.”

What? “Listen, I’m here because?—”

“Love.”

“It’s not a mission to love someone.” It might be quite the declaration, but he didn’t care.

“Isn’t it? I think it takes great commitment and capacity to love someone. Especially in Laney’s line of work.”

“She’s out of that.”

“Pardon me, but wasn’t she dead for the last month?”

A breath, then, “How do you know about that?”

Her father cocked his head. “Really?”

Right . And then . . . “Wait. You were behind Colt’s asking me to watch over her in Alaska—even the invitation to bring her there?”

“I knew the moment I picked her up from summer camp. I saw it in your eyes. And it’s still there—in your eyes and your words. You love my daughter.”

Fine. “And you used that to manipulate me.”

“I used that to protect her.”

Shep’s mouth tightened.

“I called you to the mission, even if you didn’t know it. Because I could count on you.”

Shep looked away, out the window, to the city nestled under the rugged protection of the mountains.

“And I knew, given your losses, that you wouldn’t let her run off into danger.”

Shep looked at him.

“Like your sister, Jacey.”

Aw . But . . . “What do you know about that?”

Mitch held up a hand. “I’ll bet your worst nightmare is thinking of her alone, freezing to death.”

Shep stilled. “You don’t pull your punches, do you?”

“Just being honest.”

He leaned up. “Fine. Yes. That is a recurring nightmare, thank you so much.”

“And I would guess, given how close you and your sister were, that she normally didn’t ski alone.”

Shep drew in a breath. “No.” His jaw tightened. “We were supposed to go out together that day, but I had promised to fill in for another instructor at the ski school. I asked her to wait for me, but she got a free ride with a couple of other heli-skiers . . .” He ran his hand over his mouth. “She was always a little impulsive that way. Didn’t like to have to wait for anything. Or anyone.”

“I’ll bet you resented that.”

Shep glanced at him. “No. I knew that’s how she was. Like my mother. She always wanted the next new, fun thing. The next great adventure.”

“And you’re not like that?”

He met Mitch’s eyes. “No. That’s why I got out of the military. I get enough adventure trying to extract people out of trouble. I don’t need to create it.” He leaned forward, ran his hands down his face. Wow, fatigue had crept up on him. Then he looked at Mitch. “I don’t want a life where I don’t know if I—or the person I love—will come home. I saw what that did to my parents when Jacey died, and I don’t want to live that way.”

“Maybe loving Laney requires living that way.”

“Or maybe that was someone else, from the past.”

“The past has found her.” Mitch sighed. “Can I be frank with you?”

“If this isn’t frank, then I’m bracing myself.”

Mitch smiled. “I can see why she likes you.”

Shep didn’t smile.

“I think she’s in over her head. I think that Tomas is not to be trusted?—”

“You think? My eyes are still burning.”

Mitch frowned.

“Never mind. Yes, I agree. Tomas is up to something.”

“We’re testing to see if the crypto virus is real. But Ziggy still hasn’t figured out who took the contract out on Delaney?—”

“Wasn’t it Drago Petrov?”

“Maybe. Probably. But someone else could have picked it up?—”

“So someone is still after her.”

“Montelena is known for its security—it has to be with all the cryptocurrency it handles every day. The exchange here has to be hackerproof. But outside these walls . . .”

Still on mission. The words reverberated through him.

Mitch sighed, got up, and walked to the window. “When I married Sofia, I knew she wanted a life overseas. She’d started her early days as an ESL teacher and had already lived in Japan and Nepal and Taiwan. She loved . . . an extraordinary life. And I knew that loving her meant giving up what I would call the standard American dream.” He drew in a breath, turned. “But I can honestly say that God knew me better than I knew myself. I’ve found great purpose in my life in the shadows of Sofia’s aspirations, and the reward is much greater than the cost.”

Now, in the silence, Mitch met his eyes. “I believe that God put you on that mountain, even with my directive, to save her life. And maybe that’s why you’re still in her life. Because like it or not, Shep, you’ve been given a mission, and yours isn’t to ask why. You can only accept, or walk away.”

Aw. “I don’t know what you want from me. I’m not a Ranger; I’m a medic. I don’t kill people or . . . whatever.”

“Keep her alive. Bring her home. That’s what you do, right?”

His mouth tightened.

“She can do the rest.”

That’s sort of what he was afraid of, and now a cold thread zipped through him.

Mitch walked back over, stood in front of the hearth. “God sometimes gives the hardest tasks to the ones he can count on the most. And if it was easy and didn’t require all of us, then we wouldn’t need God to complete it.”

Shep swallowed. “I didn’t realize you were a man of faith.”

“The world is not a safe place. It requires faith to keep the fears at bay.” He gave Shep a smile. “So, I ask again. Are you still on mission?”

* * *

Maybe it wasn’t the best day for a hike, but she had to get out of the embassy.

“My mother bought no less than thirteen dresses, and she had me trying them on all day. We finally got into a row. I don’t know why I feel like I’m thirteen as soon as she walks into the room.”

London pulled her wool hat over her ears, the wind on the higher slope of Mt. Lucielle whipping down from the taller peaks to find them as they wound along the hiking path.

Even from here, the view fanned out over the city, the deep-blue river dissecting the two banks of the city, the tall spire of St. Andrew’s Cathedral crisp against the fresh snowfall of the faraway peaks. A wonderland that seemed trapped in time.

Above them, the castle walls loomed tall and impenetrable. No wonder this place had held out against invaders for so many years, with its stone walls and parapets for archers.

Behind her, Shep had stopped, putting up his collar. He’d shaved, his dark hair sticking out from under the cuff of his wool hat, and wore his red Air One jacket, as if he’d forgotten that here, he was just a tourist.

Or . . . well, she didn’t know what to call him. Friend? Boyfriend? She had sort of staked a claim to her mother yesterday, but he’d done nothing yesterday to confirm it. No more foot rubs, no hand holding . . .

It had started a small twinge inside her. He knows the real m e.

No, he knew London . And she . . . well, she wasn’t real, was she? And maybe, just maybe, he’d started to figure that out.

She kept going up the path. Maybe they just needed to get away from the suffocating craziness of the embassy, find their way back to Shep and London.

And that kiss.

“My mother and Jacey used to go round and round. Jacey wanted her freedom, and my mom feared that freedom would get her killed.”

Oh .

“It was just because she loved Jacey so fiercely. It was fear. It makes people hold tighter than they need to.”

A quietness hung between them, but she didn’t want to read into it.

Aw, there she went, reading into it. Because perhaps he’d been holding tighter out of fear too. And maybe he’d started to regret that.

“Your father gave me a walking tour of Luciella, along with a history. Ask me anything about the reign of King Maximillian, or better yet, the entire history of the house of Ribaldi,” he said, changing the subject and not at all adding fuel to her spiraling. “Did you know that King Aleksandar helped with the partisan underground in the Second World War, secreting downed airmen out of Austria and Liechtenstein?”

“I thought they were neutral.”

“They were under the protection of Switzerland, like Liechtenstein, so technically. But according to your father, the castle has secret tunnels that run through the mountain down to the valley, where people hid or even escaped through. They’d hide in boats that took them down the river into the Adriatic Sea.”

They’d reached a small overlook, and she walked over, staring down into the valley that ran into the village. Small houses with red or black roofs dotted the mountainside all the way down to the cluster of white and yellow stucco homes in the city. And the other way—“Look! You can see the backside of Lucielle ski area from here.” She pointed to the snow-covered bowl, bordered by furry white trees. “I’ll bet you’d like to ski that.”

“Not with that headed my way.” He pointed to a dark cloud shadowing the mountain. “That says rain. And any higher, ice.”

She turned to him. “Wanna hike down?” He stood less than a foot away, and she saw his eyes roam her face.

Maybe he would?—

“Nope. I’d rather be out here in the rain, with you.”

Oh, sweet. So, hello, just stop the crazy. No, he didn’t reach for her, give her one of those soul-baring kisses, but . . .

Aw, and now her mother walked back into her head. “My worry isn’t that Shep will betray you but that you will betray him.”

Right . Because she’d dragged him halfway across the world into a life he clearly didn’t want. Except, not dragged him, because he’d insisted on following her, but maybe—of course it was—out of fear . . . so . . .

“You okay?” he asked. “You’re really quiet. Jet-lagged?”

Oh. “Yes, maybe a little. But I was just thinking about the last time I went hiking around a castle.” What? Where did that come from? Still, it sat in the back of her head, the idea that there were parts of her he didn’t really know. “When I was thirteen, my parents and I took a month off and went on a castle tour. We visited every castle in Germany, Austria, and Switzerland. We even visited Schloss Lichtenstein—which, by the way, is in Germany, not Liechtenstein. It was more like a hunting hangout than a castle, but it was on the side of this mountain.” She stopped, looked up. They stood along the backside of the castle now, on a balcony overlooking the impossible route of attack. “Many castles, I guess, are on the sides of mountains or at the top. Always on the lookout for trouble.”

“Or always a place to run to.”

She glanced at him. “Hadn’t thought about that.”

“Your father said that back in 1013, when this castle was first built, they installed a postern gate, and it was used numerous times by people fleeing from danger.”

“What’s a postern gate?”

He looked up at the massive granite wall. “It’s a small back door, sometimes in a really obscure location, that can’t be easily accessed by an army. It’s even too small for a horse. It allows the castle to be regarrisoned if it’s under siege, to send messages out to other people, and in the event of being overtaken, the family or whoever can use it to escape.”

He walked past her, still looking up. “It wasn’t without its dangers, however. A traitor could open the gate and let marauders in, and if they could overwhelm the guards at the main gate, they could let the horde in.”

“That would be bad.”

He glanced at her. Smiled. “Gotta watch for the invading horde.”

She realized she was completely overthinking this. A month ago, they’d been just friends, just stepping over the threshold of something more.

Aw, shoot . Maybe the kiss had just been an emotional moment for him. Sneaking in, like a marauder.

Yes, probably . Frankly, she’d been emotional too. It wasn’t every day that she came back from the dead.

“Your dad said it was just a story, but I thought maybe the backside of a mountain would be a good place for a postern gate.”

She blew out a breath, caught up to him, said, “My parents are castle buffs, so I’ve seen castles from Germany to Austria to France and every country in between. I think France has the most impressive castles, but the most beautiful one was crazy Ludwig’s in Bavaria.”

“The Chitty Chitty Bang Bang castle?”

She frowned. “If you’re referring to Neuschwanstein, then yes.”

“I’ve only seen the movie.”

“Out of the two hundred rooms, only fourteen are finished. The rest of the castle is empty. He only lived in it for a hundred and seventy-two days before he was committed for being crazy.”

“Sounds like an amazing trip.”

“Yeah. It was just . . . just me and my parents.” She shoved her hands into her pockets. “I had them all to myself. I started calling myself Princess Delaney.”

“Your Royal Highness.”

“Cute. I’ll bet you saw a lot of the US countryside in your family’s Winnebago, right?”

They turned on the trail, up a switchback, and he looked up. “Where are we headed?”

“The trailhead ends at a waterfall on the backside of the mountain.” She shivered as wind stirred the fir trees along the trail, the clouds moving in overhead.

“Okay. The rain will probably hold off. That cloud isn’t moving quickly. And my family didn’t travel. We just parked—at one ski resort, then another.”

She turned up the collar on her jacket. “I thought you lived in a motorhome to see the world.”

“We lived in a motorhome because my parents were ski bums.”

“Right. I remember you saying that now.”

“But during the summer, my dad turned into a sort of evangelist. We parked in resort towns, and Dad was busy witnessing on street corners while Mom worked in coffee shops or at local diners. In the winter, they worked as patrollers. They’d met as ski bums, got saved along the way, and decided that God had called them to a vagabond, John the Baptist kind of life.”

Oh. She went silent.

“Maybe that came out negative . . .” He looked at her. “I love my parents. They’re free spirits, and they encouraged us to be the same. Maybe too much.” He gave a wry smile. “Sometimes I feel a little forgotten by them. And honestly, growing up, their lifestyle wasn’t . . . wasn’t exactly stable. Dad was always fixing the stupid RV, and sometimes we’d spend weeks at a hookup in some grassy roadside waystation while my dad worked on people’s cars, just for gas money. If we got lucky, there’d be a pool or something nearby. When I got old enough, my parents started to send Jacey and me to summer camp in Glacier Park—mostly because it was paid for by Gage’s parents. But I loved it. Same place for six weeks.”

“I remember,” she said. “That’s where you learned to climb.”

“Yeah. And obviously the skiing was a part of my life.”

“Some people would be envious.”

“It’s never fun to be poor.”

“But your parents, your sister—you were all together. You couldn’t avoid each other.”

He glanced at her. She hadn’t meant to argue. “Seriously. Sometimes I didn’t see my parents for months, with all their travels and my boarding school.”

He paused then. “Yes. I did have that. My father lived by the will of the Lord, which often felt only as far as his gas tank would take him, but he did love us. And they loved Jesus. He lived by the mantra of Romans 12:18—‘If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone.’”

And suddenly Shep’s words about not wanting to be a man of violence returned to her. His father had rubbed off.

“We had a simple life. No television. We were outside a lot. But my dad did spend time with us. When we were little, we’d curl up in our bunks—he’d built them into the Winnebago—and he’d read us his favorite books, like Where the Red Fern Grows ?—”

“Oh no, I can’t even bear that one.”

“I cried for days.”

She looked at him, and he smiled, winked.

And oh, she just wanted to step up to him, pull him down to her?—

No. Just keep walking .

“And Charlotte’s Web .”

“What was wrong with your father?”

He laughed. “And The Velveteen Rabbit .”

“ C’mon !”

“ The Adventures of Tom Sawyer ?”

“Better.”

“ The Phantom Tollbooth .”

“There we go.”

“The Chronicles of Narnia.”

“He’s forgiven.”

“ The Mouse and the Motorcycle .”

“I still think if I make the noises, it’ll go,” she said, then made the brr noise.

He laughed, and oh, it fueled her soul, deep and delicious and rumbly in her bones.

“Right?” he said. “I spent hours trying to make that happen with an old dirt bike my dad found. My favorite adventure, however, was The Call of the Wild . Maybe that’s why I love Alaska. And I loved Buck, the dog, and all the ways he touched people’s lives.”

Now, that explained a lot. And oh no , now her heart started to swell.

“My dad always wanted me to join him. You know, share the gospel, rescue people from darkness. I think he was always a little disappointed in me.”

Seriously?

“Anyway, yeah, we were poor, but we were happy and warm, and it was an adventure. But I’m over adventures. I’d prefer to read about them, thank you. There and back again.” He gave her a look then, his mouth tight.

“There and back again?”

“ The Hobbit ? My family was obsessed with J. R. R. Tolkien. I read The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings until the spines broke in my books. But I never needed to go on my own quest to save the world.”

“Right.”

But now that feeling was back. And shoot , she just had to—“Shep, are we . . . are we . . . okay?”

They’d reached the backside of the mountain, higher now, with a look into the valley below. The gondola from the resort still ran up the mountain, a few of the cars swinging on the cables. The sky had turned mottled, the wind now whooshing through the trees. She hadn’t really realized the change in weather . . .

“What do you mean?”

She faced him. “I mean . . . why haven’t you kissed me again?” Oh, her stupid mouth. It said all the wrong things sometimes. Maybe she was thirteen.

Even his eyes widened. “What?”

Too late to take it back. “You haven’t . . . Okay. I know this sounds weird, but . . . maybe that was just a moment. And if it was, then . . . it’s fine. Really. I mean, I was emotional too, and maybe we’re going to be just friends, but?—”

“Are you kidding me?”

Her mouth opened.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you for the last forty-eight hours, but . . . you said maybe we shouldn’t kiss again. And there’s . . . this.” He spread out his hands to the intense alpine scenery and the valley below, with the river that dissected it. Then he turned back to her. “I wasn’t sure you wanted?—”

“Oh, I know what I want.” Then she stepped up to him, put her hands on his jacket, and rose on her tiptoes. “I’m very sure about that.”

He smiled then, slow and perfect, and when his gaze roamed her face, all the spiraling simply stopped. He bent?—

The gunshot pinged the air, took off a piece of his jacket, hit a tree behind him.

Instinct had her tackling him, hooking a leg behind him, pushing.

She landed on top of him with an oof as he put his arms around her, of course cushioning her fall.

Another shot, and this time it hit the pathway ahead of them.

“What was that?” He pushed her off him, started up, but she scrambled to her feet, grabbing his hand.

“Run!”

She took off down the pathway, and he kept up, ducking with her as another shot barked in the air. “London! What is going on?”

“I don’t know!” But oh , maybe she did.

Whoever had picked up her abandoned contract—so much for safety in Montelena—had found her.

And Shep .

The path headed downhill, and in the distance, a roar lifted.

“The falls—up ahead.”

“To be clear, I don’t want to go swimming again?—”

Another shot. She ducked, then pulled him off the path, toward the sound of the falls. They cut through trees and scrambled over boulders until?—

“Whoa!” He grabbed her back a moment before she took a header off the edge of a cliff. Below, some twenty feet, narrow, turbulent rapids led to a lethal drop, only mist rising in the expanse.

“Let’s just think a second before we jump!”

She looked behind her at the rise of forest. “We’re trapped.”

“Maybe.” He was staring upstream, to the source of the river. Another waterfall careened from a ledge some thirty feet up.

“What do you see?”

“Just . . . nothing, maybe. But . . . let’s go.” He pulled her with him upriver along the cliffside. They stayed low, behind boulders and trees, and behind them, the sky began to tremor.

“Rain is coming. That should hide us,” he said, his voice solid. He’d gone into rescue mode.

They climbed to the next falls, these more narrow, misting in the darkening air. They fell into a pool before escaping downstream.

“Can you climb this?” He pointed to the not-quite-vertical granite face that bordered the falls, slicked with moss and water.

“Of course.”

Then she was suddenly fifteen and back at camp, finding footholds, jamming her hand into crevasses. She worked her way up the face, not looking down, keeping her body away from the rock, making sure each hold worked before easing onto it. Even a thirty-foot fall, especially in this terrain, could be fatal.

And of course, if she fell she could take out Shep. He’d started up behind her, just a few feet below and a little to the side, as if he could catch her if she tumbled by him.

Maybe.

He’d turned dark and serious and a little bossy as he pointed out holds to her here and there.

“I do know how to climb there, Alex Honnold.”

“Who’s that?” he said, his voice roughened by effort.

“The guy in that terrifying documentary Free Solo .”

“London, there are people shooting at us. Just climb.”

She glanced over at him. “Sorry. Sheesh?—”

“I’m more concerned that you’re having a good time. Seriously?” He gestured and she turned back to the climb, spidering up to the top.

He came up beside her just as the sky opened up and spat on them.

“So this is a fun outing,” she said.

He looked at her, breathing hard. The clouds had settled in, turning the entire mountain to shadow, and even in his red siren jacket, up here among the trees, probably they were hid?—

He kissed her. Took her by the lapels, pulled her to himself, and kissed her. No, inhaled her. Fierce, and maybe fueled by desperation, or frustration, but he kissed her in just the same breathtaking, desperate way he had before. So maybe that first time hadn’t been about the rush of emotion over her coming back from the dead, although someone was shooting?—

It didn’t matter. She wove her fists into his jacket and kissed him back, the rain on her face, his whiskers against her skin. He was the mountain, pulling her into his protection as he put his arms around her. A sound rumbled out of him and into her, taking her slowly apart.

Yeah, she’d definitely stopped spiraling.

He finally released her and met her eyes. “I hope that answers your question.”

She blinked at him. Question? “Wait— you were the one with the questions.”

“Was I?” Then he got up and pulled her with him. “C’mon. It’s around here somewhere.”

The granite wall was covered in vines and scrub brush, but he pushed the litter away and there in the wall hung a double wooden door, slightly rotted around the edges. “I thought so.” Built like an old stable door, with a few fasteners holding the boards together and two rings hanging from the front, it seemed like it locked from the inside.

Except, the hinges faced outward, so . . .

“You take one ring; I’ll try the other.”

She grunted, with no success.

His side, however, moved, just slightly.

“I can’t believe it isn’t locked.”

“It is. But the river has probably flooded over this area so many times the lock rusted through—see the hinges here?” He pointed to the red bloodying the wood. “Enough force and we can break the lock, or maybe just pull it free from the hinges.”

“Maybe we should just go down the path.”

His hand landed on her arm. “There’s a shooter down there. Somewhere. We go that way, we walk right into them. I’ll get my side open enough to wedge something inside like—oh, like a knife? That KA-BAR you carry?”

Her mouth opened. “I don’t?—”

“Please.”

Fine. “I didn’t bring it.”

He looked at her. “What kind of supersecret covert operative are you?”

“The kind that thought she was out for a nice day trip with her boyfriend!”

He smiled then, and it touched his eyes, and despite the drizzle and the darkening sky, her entire world lit up, bright and perfect. Oh boy .

“I’ll find a stick.” She rooted around one of the trees. Wait. “I found something. It looks like one of the door fasteners. Still in good shape.”

“Perfect. I’ll heave open the door, you shove that into the space, and we’ll use it like a lever.”

It worked. He pulled, she pried, and the door lock broke off with age and flooding, flicking rust into the air. He opened his side. “It’s a tunnel.”

She stepped inside, the odor of must and dankness and the cool lick of a breeze from deep inside stirring something in her gut. “It’s a very dark tunnel.”

His hand curled around hers. “I got you.”

Alrighty then .

He flicked on his phone light. Shone it against the walls of the cave.

“You’re such a Boy Scout.”

“I’ve been out in the bush enough times to know that you don’t leave without a cell—or sat—phone. Let’s go.”

Maybe ten feet high at its tallest and five feet wide at its widest, the cave still bore the marks of pickaxes scraped into its sides. Shep closed the door behind them, just in case, and shone his light into the corridor. The darkness gobbled it up, but the beam shone far enough for them to walk a few feet, and a few feet more, and soon the sound of the waterfall lessened, their breaths and the scrape of footfalls the only noise.

“This is creepy,” she said.

“Imagine it without the light.”

“Thanks for that.”

He touched his hand to her shoulder, warm and solid, and there was no one she’d rather be wandering around in the dark with.

He moved ahead of her then and led the way until they came to a set of wooden stairs. They took them down, then more and down again, maybe two hundred feet, and came out to a wider area. This part of the tunnel had been smoothed out, as if used regularly, wine casks stacked on their sides on one side of the rounded room.

Another tunnel led away, and he headed toward it, taking her hand. “I think there’s a door up there.” He shone his light on a towering arched door with a smaller door built into it.

And just like that an alarm screeched, lights flickered on, and a siren moaned, echoing through the chamber.

He winced, turned, and she spotted debate in his face.

Then the door at the end burst open, and she pulled him down to his knees and hit her own as her hands went up.

Armed guards ran into the corridor, shouting.

“Get down,” she said, glancing at him. “Get way down, onto your face.”

“What?”

“We’ve just breached the castle.”

His eyes widened, and he put his head down.

“Don’t shoot!” she shouted as a hand went onto her back, pushed her forward.

She turned and spotted Shep’s tightened jaw as a guard also pushed him forward, knelt into his spine. “Don’t fight them!”

He put his hands behind his back, something flickering in his eyes.

Her wrists were zip-cuffed too.

And then they were rolled over. She stared up into bright fluorescent lights at the face of a palace guard, and all she could think to say was, “I’d like to talk to Prince Luka.”

* * *

Stop being a coward. What did Moose think was going to happen—that Tillie would say no to his marriage proposal? That somehow something catastrophic and horrible would happen if he finally embraced his happy ending?

Moose drove down the highway, the sun at twilight turning the mountains purple, the waters of the Knik Arm a deep blue, all of Alaska painted white. A beautiful night for the rest of his life to start.

And so what if their conversation over pie a few days ago, after the court hearing, hadn’t gone quite like he’d planned? . . .

“Tillie, you’re back!”

He should have known that the minute they walked back into the Skyport Diner, one of her former colleagues would recognize her. As it was, it was the rather unhelpful cook behind the order line who spotted her and came out to greet her. Lyle, king of the kitchen, if Moose remembered correctly. The guy still looked fresh out of the clink, short sleeves, wearing a hairnet, tats up his arms.

Lyle the Killer pulled Tillie into a hug. “Missed you, Steelrose.”

She gave him a slug. “I’m not that anymore.”

“Yeah, you’ll always be my favorite Iron Maiden.”

Moose tried not to roll his eyes.

She shook her head, then motioned for Moose to head over to their booth, the one by the window, where he’d spent the better part of a year or more pining for her, coming in late after rescues, ordering midnight fried chicken and pie just to have a chance to talk to her.

She knew how to make him feel that all would be right with the world.

She walked over to the pie case and helped herself to two slices of apple pie. After scooping ice cream onto each, she carried them over to the table and set one down in front of him. “Just like old times.”

He caught her hand as she slid in across from him. “Better than old times. Because before, you never got to sit with me, really.”

She smiled and pulled the pie over. “Yeah, well, I called and my manager said I could get my old job back. So enjoy it while you got it.”

His eyes widened. But of course she’d go back to work. Still . . . “I was . . . thinking . . .”

“Oh, this is good pie. I’ve missed it. Key lime is great, but there is nothing like a good Alaskan apple pie made with Haralson apples.”

A waitress came over, and Moose didn’t recognize her.

Tillie did. “So they moved you over to nights, Mandy?”

“Someone had to take your spot.” Mandy was midtwenties, pretty, with short brown hair. “But now that you’re back, I’m happy to get my night life back. My boyfriend hates my late-night shift.”

Yeah, Moose too. Because sure, he worked any—and all—hours, but frankly, he’d prefer Tillie home at night, safe and?—

And wow, that sounded a little more parochial than he meant. It was just that . . . well, Benton had stuck in his head with “Someday you’ll know what it’s like to lose someone you love and stand by helpless to stop it.”

So he felt a little less than thrilled about Tillie putting her blue waitressing outfit back on and suiting up to serve midnight chicken.

And maybe he’d said that— whoops —as Mandy headed back to the kitchen, in the form of . . . “Do you have to take the night shift? Wouldn’t it be better for Hazel if you were home?”

Tillie’s brows rose and she cocked her head at him. “As opposed to the schedule I’ve had for the past two years, with Hazel being tucked in by a grandmother who loves her?”

Right .

“The other alternative is that I don’t get to drop Hazel off at school, or pick her up, and know that she’s safe at home with Roz.”

“I could drop her off.”

He didn’t know why he’d said that, really. Maybe he’d felt like the conversation he wanted to have—one that talked about their future, as in a permanent future—was slipping out of his fingers.

Admittedly, he’d reached out to grab it poorly. “Or you could come and live with me.”

She just blinked at him. Opened her mouth. Closed it and?—

“I didn’t mean it like—” He put his fork down. “I meant as?—”

“Slow your roll there, cowboy.” She looked up as Mandy came over with coffee and set the cups down. Tillie smiled at her.

Then as Mandy walked away, she looked back at him, her smile vanishing. “I’m not going to live with you, Moose.”

Oh. Just like that .

But, “Like I said, I didn’t mean?—”

“I know what you meant. But it’s . . . we just moved back into our house. Hazel is thrilled to have her room back, and . . .” She shook her head. “Just give it some time.”

He sighed. Time .

He hated time. Because as patient as he was with everything else, he just wanted it all . . . now. Tillie his wife. And Hazel his daughter. And . . .

Tille touched his hand. “Listen. It’s been crazy, right? And . . . I do love you, Moose. But I need to figure out where we’re going, me and Hazel . . .”

And he’d probably given her a crazy look, because she let go of his hand, drew back.

“Weirdly, I thought we both knew where you were going.”

Wow, he’d assumed way, way too much.

Mandy came back to refill coffee that hadn’t been touched.

“Can I get a box?” he said, his stomach now revolting at anything sweet.

Tillie sighed. “Moose, that’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?” His voice emerged gruffer than he wanted, but suddenly everything rushed over him—the trial, and the trauma with Tillie’s ex, and even the worry for London and Shep—and his bones just felt heavy.

Frankly, he just wanted to start this entire year over.

“Just that—” Tillie started, hurt in her expression.

Great .

“I don’t know. It’s just so fast.”

He held up a hand. “I get fast. What I don’t get is . . . a different direction. I thought—” And he should just stop talking, because she stiffened.

“Just give me a minute to live in freedom, okay?”

Freedom. As if he might be chaining her to him. Nice.

Mandy returned with the box. He pulled out his wallet and handed Mandy a card.

She took it and went to the cash register.

“Don’t you want time, now that the lawsuit is over, to figure out what’s next?”

He looked at Tillie and just . . . yeah, fatigue had him laying it all out there. “I know what’s next. You. You and Hazel. At least for me.” He shook his head. “So I guess now’s not the time to ask you to marry me.”

He met her eyes, and she drew in a breath. Swallowed.

Way to go, Moose.

Mandy returned with the card. He took the slip and signed it. Handed it back. She glanced at Tillie and walked away.

Tillie’s mouth had tightened. But still she didn’t answer.

He got up. “I’ll be in the truck.” Five minutes passed as he sat in the cold cab, terribly afraid that this was the end. Staring out at the Alaskan sky, so dark but riddled with pinpricks of light, as if hope were trying to break through.

And then his driver’s-side door opened and Tillie stood there, her eyes filled.

Aw. “I’m sor?—”

She took his face in her hands and kissed him. Sure and deliberate. And she tasted like apple pie and coffee and all the hopes and dreams he had for them. Beauty and strength and compassion and everything this woman had become for him. Oh, he loved her, and he didn’t care what might be going on—or that he didn’t understand any of it, really—he just curled his hand behind her neck and kissed her back.

She didn’t pull away, just stepped closer as he turned in his seat, tucked her into his embrace, and deepened his kiss under the blinking stars, giving her his tired, way-too-raw heart.

Yes. Yes, he’d wait for her.

She finally broke their kiss and touched her forehead to his before backing away and meeting his gaze. “You are what’s next, Moose. I’m just trying to keep up.”

“I can slow down.”

She gave him a soft smile. “Don’t slow down too much.” She put her hands on his chest. “Truth is, you make me, and Hazel, feel safe, and I trust you. So ask me again.”

“Right now?”

She gave him a look. “Maybe give me a day or two.”

Fine. He’d give her as much time as she needed. As long as the answer was yes.

Which brought him to today, tonight. He wouldn’t be a coward, despite the memory of the crash and burn. Although really, his first try hadn’t been an actual, decent, official marriage proposal.

Next time, however, it would be perfect.

He turned off the highway toward her house in Eagle River, running the words through his brain.

Tillie, you are smart and amazing and beautiful ? —

No, he should start with her courage. Or maybe her compassionate heart. Or maybe the way she listened to him, calmed the terrible whirring constantly in his head.

Or perhaps, I love you, Tillie. I would give my life for you, and Hazel. . . .

Aw. Maybe he’d just walk up to her, get down on one knee, and open up the ring box that he’d finally picked up from Kirchner Jewelers yesterday. A gorgeous one-carat diamond in a white-gold band. The box sat in his console.

The radio played, and of course one of Oaken Fox’s songs came on. He hummed to it, listening to the words.

But then you walked into my life, like a sunrise over fields.

I saw forever in your eyes, and all the past wounds healed.

Now I know, deep in my soul, I’m the luckiest guy alive,

For in your love, darlin’, I’ve found my guiding light.

A little sappy, but maybe it was right.

He turned onto Eagle River road and, in the fading light, thought he spotted smoke, black and rising into the night. A chimney fire, probably—so many people in Alaska burned wood for heat.

He’d taken to lighting his fireplace every time he got home.

He checked his dash clock—they’d be at the restaurant early for their dinner reservations.

It wasn’t until he turned onto her street that he saw the glow. Trees illuminated a blaze. Oh no, one of the houses on the street must have?—

No.

He slammed his foot on the gas, then screeched to a halt in front of Tillie’s house.

Tillie’s burning house.

Flames engulfed the garage, the place an inferno, the front of the house still uneaten, smoke clogging the sky, and—he slammed his truck into Park and barreled out of it, sprinting into the yard, his feet plowing through the snowbank, then the caked snow. “Tillie!”

The front door remained closed, and her car sat in the driveway, melting under the heat, the flames from the garage licking out at it.

Please, God, she couldn’t be in there—“ Tillie! ”

Someone had to have called 911, but he’d left his cell in the car. Now he lunged at the door, put his hand on the handle.

Yanked it back. Hot—which meant the fire was baking the house, ready to explode out if he opened the door.

But Tillie was in there , with Hazel, and—he pulled down his jacket sleeve to cover his hand, pulled the neck up, and?—

“Moose!”

Her shout yanked him back, shuddering through him, and his legs nearly gave way as he turned and spotted Tillie running across the street.

He launched off the porch, stumbling through the snow.

She wore a bathrobe and Uggs, like she’d been getting ready to go out but had gotten derailed, and?—

“Where’s Hazel?” No way would she leave the house without her, but?—

She caught him, her hands on his arms, pulling him away from the fire. “She’s safe—she’s safe—she’s with Roz. Come away from there before the house?—”

He heard it even as she said it, or maybe felt it, the tremor of heat and destruction. Instinct made him grab her and dive toward the snowbank, pull her down with him, his body over hers just as the house exploded, fire and debris raining down over them.

Covering his neck with his hand, he braced his body over hers, the snow cocooning him.

Behind them, the fire raged, an inferno.

“Are you okay?” she said as he rolled away from her.

He nodded, but he had no real answer as he dragged her away from the flames, into the street.

Behind them, in the distance, sirens wailed.

He stared at her house, the one she’d gutted and remodeled and called home. She turned and put her head into his chest.

He put his arms around her, holding her tight, standing in the street as a fire engine roared up. “It’ll be okay, Tillie. It’ll be okay.”