She’d never been here. But he’d promised that one day he would bring her.
Wiping away a tear, she wanted to scream at the agony racing through her. He should be here with her.
Goddamn Dresden! Goddamn Ricker! Goddamn the Piper!
She glanced up at the sky again and forced air through her lungs. She could do this. She’d baited the hook for Endgame. She’d used burner credit cards and shown her face on closed-circuit television. They’d come looking for her as she wanted, but they’d struggle to find her so she’d bought herself some time. Micah had given no one the location of his house. Not even Jude, his best friend. Eventually, they’d find her, but she estimated she had at least a month or two before that happened. And that was plenty of time to plan.
She gazed around at the majestic beauty of the scene before her. No doubt, Alaska was gorgeous, but she could not, for the life of her, figure out why a man born and bred surfing in the waves of the Pacific off the Southern California coast had wanted to live in the vast, cold wilderness that was Alaska.
Then again, once upon a time she’d wanted to hide as far away from civilization as she could get. Become lost in a tourist town and not come up for air. Instead, she’d entered the CIA and found herself smack-dab in the middle of international espionage and intrigue.
She hitched her go bag over her shoulder. The last sign she’d passed had said the big city of Nikolai, Alaska, population ninety-four, was approximately ten miles ahead. Somewhere on the periphery of Nikolai was where she was headed. It was as remote as anyone could get, and right now her target location seemed farther than the moon.
She had a hell of a walk in front of her. She recalled the coordinates on the handheld GPS she’d purchased in Anchorage and cursed when the battery went dead.
“Keeps getting better and better,” she groused.
She raised her sleeve, hit a button on her watch, and waited as the tiny electronic marvel calculated her location and gave her directions to the coordinates Micah had loaded into it fourteen months ago.
He alone had known her secrets and done everything he could to protect her from her mistakes. He’d done it selflessly, not realizing the price he’d have to pay. She angrily swiped at another tear.
She needed to get her shit together.
A hawk’s cry pierced the air, and she glanced skyward. Soft, bitterly cold flakes fell on her cheeks. She’d be in heaven if she were twenty years younger. She’d make snow angels and snowballs. She’d make slushies and snowmen, really live it up like she had back in Vermont. But she wasn’t six, and right now this looked like a frozen version of hell.
She patted the dented hood of the Honda. “You were a good car. I appreciate all you’ve done.”
With one last glance at the car, she blew out a rough breath and turned away from the road, heading just into the edge of the forest. One minute she was walking on snow-covered dirt; the next she was slipping on snow-covered pine needles. Uphill she trod, passing boulders as she put one foot in front of the other.
Her feet were like ice blocks. She wiggled her toes experimentally, wishing she’d thought to purchase warming packets. Her breath sawed in and out of her lungs. It was a loud sound in an otherwise silent forest. She laid a hand on her chest, pressing as if she could make her heart settle just by that action. It pounded so hard she had to stop, sit down, and catch her breath. She’d not been the same since the poisoning.
The snow fell heavier, coasting to the ground with a whisper that spoke of all things not related to warmth. She rubbed her eyes, wincing when the roughness of her driving gloves scraped her cheek.
Night was upon her, and as she sat there trying to determine if she should just make camp, a strange knowing slid down her spine. Someone, or something, was watching her.
The knowledge she’d become prey settled in her mind even as it danced on her skin. She allowed her gaze to go unfocused, searching her periphery for signs of any movement. If it was a wild animal, she could only hope she had time to shoot. She lowered her hand, reaching for her sidearm. A branch snapped, and the shushing of falling snow reverberated like a bomb in the sudden silence.
Nina couldn’t shake the sudden feeling that branch snapping had been intentional.
She stood and turned in a complete circle as she withdrew her gun. She backed up, her back hitting a tree, and she went still, waiting.
The feeling persisted, but nothing jumped out or made a sound. If it were a bear, she’d hear its grunting and chuffing. A wolf would be too silent to anticipate. Maybe she was just paranoid?
Surely it wasn’t a person. This place was entirely too isolated to have people running around in a threatening blizzard.
She picked up her go bag and secured the strap onto her shoulder. She turned, keeping her gun out, and then she walked again.
Periodically, she’d stop and listen, but upon hearing nothing, she kept on. One foot in front of the other. Then the canopy emptied of birds. A screech, a caw, and they were airborne, lifting as one into a darkening sky. It startled her so much that she instinctively picked up speed—her walk nearly a run now.
She was tired though, and as a small hill gave way in front of her, she miscalculated her steps and slipped
