Chapter 1

1

Dr. Freya Jonsdottir’s fingers drifted over a towering stack of boxes, each one filled with secrets. In the sterile glow of fluorescent lights, deep within Iceland’s geothermal power plant, Hellisheidi, she traced a finger along the crisp labels she had insisted on.

If only the world outside could be as orderly as this.

The task had seemed impossible when it first landed on her desk, to catalog and archive the most dangerous research Pharmasyn and Raptor had ever conducted. Not just any research—this had been research capable of toppling governments and reshaping global military power. Inside these boxes lay the clandestine research that had led to the creation of weaponized microchips designed to strip a person of emotion, transforming them into instruments of violence who would kill without hesitation or remorse.

She’d been thrust into the position with no warning. But in just a few short months, she’d sifted through the mountains of encrypted files and catalogued the breakthrough technology, so potentially lethal it needed to be hidden from the world.

Freya allowed herself a small smile. They’d wanted this mess buried, hidden away from prying eyes and potential abuse. Well, she’d done that and more. The archive was secure, and she was nearing the end of her time here. The research was ready for transport to Norway to a top-secret storage facility where it would be secured permanently.

“Everything okay, Freya?” Her assistant Tinna’s voice cut through her reverie, a jarring reminder of the world beyond her perfectly ordered sanctuary.

Freya took a deep breath and released it slowly. This was her element—the realm of numbers, patterns, and hard facts. “Perfect. Thanks. Tinna.”

“Sometimes it felt like we would never get here.” Tinna folded her arms. She’d come highly recommended for her attention to detail, and they had worked as an excellent team. “But we did.” Tina smiled, her dark bob sliding forward with her nod.

The door alarm beeped as a security card was swiped through on the opposite side.

Seconds later, the hard clip of cowboy boots on the sterile floor drew her attention. Einar Gunnerson. While Freya had led on the archival project, Einar was head of research within Hellisheidi. Which meant he kept sticking his well-meaning nose in her business. She suppressed a sigh. He seemed to spend as much time checking up on her as he did his own work.

“Freya.” Einar spread his arms wide as he crossed the lab floor. His cowboy boots peeped out from under his suit pants. “How is my favorite archivist?”

Freya tensed, ready to step back if he came too close. Physical contact freaked her out. She might have to work with Einar because of his senior position, but body contact wasn’t in her contract.

Tinna understood her dislike of social contact and casually blocked Einar’s advance, steering him toward the back of the lab. “You’re in perfect time to run over my figures with me, Einar.”

Thank you, Tinna.

Einar glanced back at Freya over his shoulder, his too-strong cologne thickening the air.

“This paperwork urgently needs your signature.” Tinna placed a hand between his shoulders and shoved a stack of paper at him.

Freya shot Tinna a smile of thanks.

Einar removed his glasses from his pocket and balanced them on the top of his nose as he uncapped his pen. “Very well.”

Breathe, Freya. She schooled her face into a neutral expression. Focus on the work. The data. The patterns. That’s what matters.

Through the window behind Einar, jagged mountains pierced the misty sky, their peaks veiled in clouds that mingled with white plumes from scattered geothermal vents. Moss-covered lava fields stretched between. The landscape of her home was rugged and uncompromising, but she loved its sparse beauty.

“Finally, we reach completion.” Einar capped his pen and waved a hand at the stacks of boxes, dragging her attention back to the here and now. “The couriers will collect when?”

“They arrive Monday to collect the boxed data.” Tinna shuffled paper. “As arranged, Freya will carry the core formulae in her secure laptop.”

“Ah. Yes, the core algorithms.” He dropped his pen into his ink-stained shirt pocket. “You will take good care of it, Freya?”

She shaped her lips into a smile that made her lips ache. “Of course.” She ran her fingertips over the gray aerospace-grade aluminum case that housed her laptop.

His gaze tracked her hands, a crease forming between his eyes, but when he looked up, the crease faded. “Excellent. Excellent. You are going home now?”

“Yes. It’s been a long day.” Anything to get rid of him.

“Excellent.” He took a last look at the lab and then gave a small wave. “I’ll see you both Monday.”

The lab door closed behind him.

The tension in Freya’s shoulders eased a little. Thank God. He’s gone.

“How about a drink to celebrate our last night and a job well done?” Tinna tucked the paperwork Einar had signed into a drawer and kneed it shut before tugging off her lab coat.

Freya shook her head. “I want to run over the numbers. Make sure everything is in order.”

“Freya, you’ve run them countless times.” Tinna’s voice rose. “Anyone else might think you have a secret lover stashed away here. But I know you better than that. You’ll be glued to your screen, crunching numbers. Again.”

“Someone has to keep a vigilant eye on the files.” The mere thought of a man disrupting her meticulously ordered life—her carefully constructed world free of messy emotions and complicated entanglements—sent a shiver through her. She’d abandoned that idea long ago.

Tinna’s eyebrows rose in a silent challenge.

Freya sighed. “According to a study published in the Journal of Happiness Studies, single people report higher levels of happiness and life satisfaction than their married counterparts. Single individuals scored an average of 7.6 out of 10 on the life satisfaction scale, compared to a 7.2 for married people. That’s a statistically significant 5.56% difference.”

“Of course you’d know that, Freya.” Tinna’s lips twitched, not quite a smile.

“The data is clear, Tinna. My life isn’t just a personal preference. It’s statistically optimized for happiness and personal growth.”

Tinna reached out, gently squeezing Freya’s shoulder. “Numbers don’t lie, do they?” There was a hint of something Freya couldn’t quite quantify in her voice.

“No,” Freya replied, turning back to her computer screen, seeking refuge in the orderly rows of data. “They don’t.”

Freya wasn’t totally unaware. She knew some men found her attractive. She’d slept with a few, but had found the relations physically messy and inconvenient.

Although as her mid-thirties loomed, a nagging question had surfaced. What if there were variables she hadn’t accounted for? She pushed the uncomfortable thought away. She’d seen what relationship variables had done for her mother—clinical depression followed by suicide and she’d sworn from an early age—that would never be her life.

Tinna pulled on her coat. “Goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow, Freya.”

Her footsteps receded into silence. Glad to be alone with only hard facts for company, Freya turned her attention to her laptop, her mind already moving onto the next task.

Her fingers tapped across the keyboard, the rhythm of checking and rechecking oddly comforting and distracting her from the plane ticket sitting in her desk drawer and all that it represented—the delays, the chaos of unfamiliar airports, the sense of surrender to forces beyond her control.

When she finally glanced at her watch, it was late, after ten. She’d been working for four hours. Her stomach grumbled. She should eat.

A muffled thud came from outside the lab. The access hallway.

She paused, tilting her head. Probably nothing . But a prickle of unease crawled up her spine. She shook it off as she collected her purse. There was no reason for concern. Security at Hellisheidi was watertight. She’d ensured that herself. Time to hit the nearest vending machine for dinner.

Thud.

Freya froze. That was closer.

Something crashed, followed by raised voices.

Her pulse jumped as she hurried to the lab entrance. Through the small window in the door, she glimpsed movement in the hallway. Moving shadows.

She fumbled for her phone, fingers trembling as she pulled up the security app. The feed from the hallway camera showed four men in dark clothing, faces obscured by masks.

The thud of their boots made her skin go clammy. They were checking each door methodically on an inevitable approach to her lab. She glanced over her shoulder to the vulnerable heart of her research—boxes of compiled data, the laptop holding the core formulae. All of it exposed.

Her hands trembled as she engaged the door lock, the soft click impossibly loud in the silent lab. She retreated from the glass, pressing her back against the wall until the chill seeped through her thin lab coat.

Please, just go.