Chapter 6 London
LONDON
She’d miss this.
Children burst from warm cabins to greet the sled dogs as they thundered into the Clearwater community.
Their joy caught London off guard.
The way a successful mission hit you when you saw faces light up with hope, with relief.
And it didn’t hurt to see the way Shep’s eyes crinkled with a sort of inner peace.
She hated taking him from this. Four years. Rescues and close calls and late-night debriefs that somehow became family dinners. And here she was, asking Shep to walk away from it all.
Selfish much, London?
Watching him now—snow dusting his shoulders as he handed wrapped packages to eager children—her chest tightened. Maybe she should hang up her other hat, dive into this life, let go of the reins of the Black Swans…
But that life mattered too. Maybe too much.
And she could admit that their last little adventure—chasing a traitor across Europe, stopping the kidnapping of the first daughter, and thwarting a terrorist takeover of an AI program—might have put them over the edge.
Or, maybe just ignited something inside her that she couldn’t deny.
She loved being a spy.
No. She loved being a spy with Shep.
So maybe them leaving was about wanting him all to herself. And frankly, why not. He sat behind her, his legs around hers under a blanket, her body against his, stalwart, secure.
He’d become so much more than just the man she loved. A partner.
Home.
The wind had died to a whisper after four brutal hours of riding on a dogsled, bundled up like a Christmas package herself. Ice crisped her eyelashes, her scarf, her toes and fingers fat with cold by the time they’d arrived at Clearwater Village.
The place was nestled amongst the evergreen, under the swirl of a blizzard like a scene from a Christmas card.
Fifteen wooden cabins clustered around a central building, peaked roofs heavy with snow that caught the aurora borealis dancing overhead.
Green and silver light rippled across the midnight sky.
Wood smoke curled from stone chimneys, golden light spilling from frost-etched windows.
Warmth. Safety.
“Daddy, look! Packages!” A little girl bounced on the nearest porch, dark braids flying as she pointed mittened hands at the sled teams.
Sweet.
Everest Matthews and Wilder Frost called commands to their lead dogs as they pulled into the village center. The men possessed a sort of authority in every word—decades of working with these magnificent animals. Moose and Axel sat ice-crusted and exhausted on the second sled.
The animals slowed, stopped, thick coats steaming in the arctic air.
London pushed herself up, trying to untangle herself from the sled’s layers, muscles screaming protest after hours of gripping handholds. Snow crunched under her boots. She pulled down her face mask, drew her first still breath since leaving the Matthews homestead.
“Welcome!” A woman emerged from the community building.
Silver-streaked hair, face lined by Alaska winters, eyes warm despite the cold, she wore a heavy leather coat, pulling up the hood against the wind’s howl.
“Echo Kingson radioed and said you folks were coming through. I’m Mary Clearwater.
” She reached out in a hug for London. “So thankful you made it.”
London stripped off outer gloves, revealing thin liners underneath. She worked her fingers, needles pressing into them as the blood flowed. “We’ve got Christmas packages for the village.”
“You are angels, all of you. Good, good people,” Mary said. “The storm had us worried, but Wilder knows these trails better than anyone.”
Shep and Axel were unloading packages from their sled.
“Shep, there’s a ham in the blue bag,” London called.
Shep brought it over to Mary and plunked into her arms.
“You’re angels, all of you,” Mary said. “We’re all a little tired of venison.”
Angels.
Right. But it felt good.
Moose delivered packages onto the deck of the central building. “You guys have a ham?”
“Yeah.” Another man had appeared, bundled up. “We’re still getting through to Copper Mountain and the area.” He held out a hand to Moose. “Elton Clearwater.”
Moose shook it and London headed back to her sled for another load.
She delivered the bag of smaller gifts to the porch where a few more men had arrived to carry them inside.
Moose had gone inside, too.
Something seemed to be eating him. She glanced at Shep, carrying in the last package. Maybe he’d finally talked to their boss.
Who might be taking it hard.
“Where do we house the dogs?” Shep appeared beside them, face red from cold. He clapped his hands, probably also trying to work the circulation back inside. But his blue eyes seemed bright, and he wore a smile. Mission accomplished—she read it in his expression. This was what he lived for.
And she was asking him to give it up.
“Barn’s set up for them,” said Elton and gestured toward a large wooden structure behind the community center. “Fresh straw, food, water. They’ve earned their rest.”
“I’ll help you get them settled.” London fell into step beside Shep who walked over to Wilder. The animals moved with tired grace, tails wagging as children ran alongside, chattering about the biggest dogs they’d ever seen.
Wilder directed them toward the barn, Everest behind them.
Warmth hit her as they entered the barn—the smell of the earth, dairy cows, goats, chickens and hay in troughs. A refuge that weirdly conjured up the manger story. As if, but still, inside here, the wind seemed shunted, a waystation of warmth in the midst of the storm.
Fresh straw plumped the stalls, prepared for the team. Metal bowls filled with water. Wilder show her how to remove the harnesses and she helped him as Everest worked with his dogs and Shep distributed kibble.
Wilder’s dogs ran over to their bowls, hungry to slurp up the water and food.
Shep stood back, even as Wilder hung up the harnesses. London came to stand beside him. “You okay?”
He glanced at her. Frowned.
“I mean—did you talk with Moose yet?”
He sighed, ran a hand behind his neck. “No.”
Oh.
“Why?”
“I dunno. He seems…well, I guess he was just worried.”
Shep nodded, watching as Everest examined his dog’s feet before unlatching them.
She blew out a breath. “I just need to know you’re okay with this move.”
He cocked his head at her. “Having second thoughts?”
“No.” At least, she didn’t think so. “But leaving Air One... this team is family, right?”
And it had been for him long before she crashed back into his life with her Bratva baggage and Black Swans covert jobs.
He reached out for her then, and pulled her to himself, and oh, see, this—this is why she couldn’t live without him. Sturdy, his arms around her, and he smelled of pine and snow and survival.
Happiness.
Crack.
The barn door opened—cold air and Axel’s grim expression. London’s stomach dropped.
“Moose needs us. Now.”
The snow snuck in, found her bones as they hurried across snow to the community center. Moose paced in a small office. Behind him was an old ham radio setup. He was gripping the back of his neck, knuckles white.
London exchanged glances with Shep. Whatever news Moose had gotten—
“Tillie’s in the hospital,” he said, looking up at their approach. “Flynn’s with her.”
London stilled. “What?”
“That’s all I know. All Echo knows. Dawson called it in about three hours ago.”
No wonder Moose’s face looked ash-pale.
“Any idea what—” Shep started.
“No details. Just that she needed medical attention and they’ve got her stable.”
A moment, and she even heard her heart thump.
“I’m going back. Tonight.”
“Moose, the weather—” London started.
He held up his hand. “I don’t care about the weather. My wife is in the hospital. I’m going home.”
And then he drew a breath. Oh, the desperation written in every line of his body just hit her, found her bones. Beside her, Shep took her hand.
“Then we need to get back to Anchorage. Now.” This from Axel.
“Except. The dogs can’t make that run.” Wilder, his voice soft from the doorway. “Not tonight. Not after what they’ve already done.”
“Then I’ll walk if I have to.”
Oh no, he meant it. London could see it in his stance, hear it in his voice. Moose would walk through a blizzard to get to Tillie.
“Snowmobiles.” Mary Clearwater appeared from another room, holding a cup of something steaming. “We’ve got four. Fully fueled, winter equipped. You could make Anchorage in three hours, maybe less.” Mary handed the steaming mug to Moose. “Sit down for a second. Get warm. You need to think.”
Yes, maybe they all needed a cup of hot—something. Because three hours across open terrain in subfreezing temperatures, following trails probably blown over with snow—not a great idea. Dangerous under the best conditions.
Potentially lethal now.
But Moose’s face said the decision was already made.
“Moose,” Wilder said, walking up to him. “Visibility’s still poor, and the cold—”
“I’m going.” Moose’s jaw tightened. “Anyone who wants to come is welcome. Anyone who wants to wait for better weather can stay here.”
Shep stepped forward. No hesitation. “I’m in.”
“Same,” Axel said, appearing with gear already packed.
Wilder moved closer to Moose, voice quiet but carrying in the small room. “You know, I’ve been where you are. Racing toward the hospital, not knowing if the person you love most is going to be okay when you get there.”
Moose’s throat worked. “Your wife?”
“Different circumstances. But that feeling—like your chest is being crushed and you can’t draw a full breath? Like if you don’t get there fast enough, somehow it’ll be your fault?” Wilder nodded. “Yeah. I know that feeling.”
London found herself holding her breath, watching Moose’s face as the words hit.
“How do you get through it?” Moose said, a small hitch to his voice.
“You remember that some things are bigger than your ability to control them.” Wilder said softly, his hand on Moose’s shoulder. “God doesn’t promise to keep us from the storm, but He promises to bring us through it.”
Through it.