Avoiding him, and the conversation they so obviously needed to have. But that was okay. He would let her.

  For now.

  “We’ll start with passports,” he said shortly. “I’ll take your picture and send it to my guy; we’ll fly out in the morning.”

  “To Norway?”

  “No. We’ll go up into Canada. Land outside of Toronto and drive into the city. Take a direct flight to Oslo.”

  She nodded. “Smart.”

  “Surprised?”

  “No, you were always smart.”

  An answer he hadn’t expected. “This is going to be a shitshow. I can’t guarantee we’ll make it back.”

  “I know.”

  “If the bastards in my rearview don’t get us, whatever the hell they’re cooking up in that facility might.”

  “I know,” Ruby said again. “Stop trying to turn me around.”

  So be it.

  He turned back to his toast. “Then eat up. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.”

  Nine

  “Alrighty then, little lady, if you’ll just scooch back a bit, I can fit my box of cheese right in there—yep, snug as a bug. Gouda be careful with the cheese, don’t ya know. Ha!”

  Ruby watched in bemusement as Petrov “call me Pete” Jenkins patted the wooden box at her feet. An assortment of brightly colored cheeses sat wedged in the box, which was tucked under the pilot’s seat in front of her.

  The small Cessna was packed. There were coolers and camping gear; fishing poles and water skis; boots and blankets and a big, stuffed plush polar bear. To top it all off, there was a giant Saint Bernard named Boris, who wore knitted red socks and a miniature whisky barrel under his chin.

  Seriously.

  When Rafe said they would fly up into Canada, Ruby had assumed that meant either a commercial flight or a sleek, private, Agency-owned jet.

  More fool her.

  “Get up there, Boris.” Pete patted the seat beside Ruby, and before she could protest, Boris was bounding up onto the narrow seat she occupied and settling himself against her. His large head turned toward her, and he studied her with curious brown eyes. Ruby stared back, frozen.

  The only dogs she had any experience with were the search and rescue dogs she worked beside, and they were nothing like this giant beast. S&R dogs were highly trained and singularly on-mission; they did their job first and foremost, and only when given permission did they socialize. The dogs she’d encountered in her childhood had consisted of the occasional stray and the snarling, drooling, terrifying guard dogs people trained to keep their homes—and their guns and drugs—safe.

  But Boris watched her with a gentle, intelligent gaze, as if he understood her uncertainty, and when she lifted a hesitant hand and stroked it over his huge head, he groaned and slid down into a heap beside her. As the warm weight of him settled against her, her anxiety eased, and she allowed herself to stroke a hand down his wide back.

  “He likes you,” Rafe said, and she looked up to see him watching her.

  That dual-colored gaze was piercing, and the intensity of him seemed to fill the small plane. He was more relaxed than he had been last night when they’d gone to bed, her in his mother’s bedroom, him on the couch.

  Which was ironic, because if anything, she was even more tense.

  It disturbed her, how easy it was to slip into the rhythm of the past, as if his defection had never occurred.

  I’m sorry I never came back.

  Words she resented; words she didn’t want.

  Because anger was so much easier. Safer.

  You will trust me again.

  When pigs took flight. That was one lesson she’d never forget, one mistake she’d never repeat. She didn’t care about his regrets, or how much damage his mother had done; she didn’t care who he’d become or why.

  They would find the stupid weapons plant, and they would…well, she didn’t know what they would do.

  Whatever it took, she supposed.

  Because, beyond Rafe and the past and the complete annihilation of her life, the thought of someone out there creating an infectious disease as a weapon infuriated her. There was already enough suffering in the world.

  How dare anyone create more.

  “Boris is discriminating,” Pete said as he climbed into the pilot’s seat.

  A dark smile turned Rafe’s mouth. “So is Ruby.”

  Ruby turned and looked out the window at the cornfield in which the Cessna was parked. The field was nothing but stubby, harvested stalks covered by a thin layer of snow. The sky was gray; in the distance, a stand of leafless oaks carved a majestic silhouette against the horizon. Wind buffeted the Cessna’s wings, cold and strong, swaying the little plane slightly.

  An adventure, she told herself. And some insane part of her was thrilled.

  Because adrenaline had always been a high she chased. Saving someone’s life; delivering dangerous documents.

  But this…this was a whole new level of crazy, even for her.

  And the only thing between her and total disaster was a man she didn’t trust.

  Stupidest shit you’ve ever done.

  Hands down.

  “Brought your documents; they’re in my pack. It’ll take us about two hours to get over to Orangeville,” Pete said “Cabin is stocked and warm. You’ll fly out of Toronto tomorrow morning at ten.” He shot Ruby a grin over his shoulder. “Mr. and Mrs. Avery.”

  Ruby froze. “I’m sorry?”

  “Newlyweds!” he crowed and winked at her. “Off on your Norwegian honeymoon. So romantic.”

  Her heart was suddenly beating too hard. She arched a brow at Rafe. “Newlyweds?”

  “It’s a good cover,” he said dismissively.

  “I don’t want to be your wife,” she told him.

  A dark look. “Deal with it.”

  “I think you make a nice couple,” Pete put in mildly. “You’d make some beautiful babies.”

  Heat flooded Ruby’s cheeks. Babies. God help her. Like she needed that thought in her head.

  “We’ll drive ourselves to the airport,” Rafe said shortly. “I don’t want you any more involved than necessary.”

  Pete gave him a look of affront. “Who do you think is going to ride to the rescue when this crazy plan of yours goes south?”

  Well. At least she wasn’t the only one who thought Rafe’s plan had a few screws missing.

  “Not you,” Rafe said shortly.

  “Hmph,” was Pete’s response. “You weren’t his only friend, you know.”

  “I know. And he wouldn’t want you involved any more than I do.”

  “Says you,” Pete snorted. “He believed in the greater good.”

  “And it got him killed.”

  The predator whispered through those words. Ruby tried to ignore the chill that touched her.

  “Jack died doing what he believed in,” Pete replied quietly. “A man could do worse.”

  Then he started the engines, and the sound drowned out any reply Rafe might have made. Beside Ruby, Boris sighed heavily and laid his big head in her lap. She found herself rubbing his ears, inexplicably comforted.

  She supposed the fact that Rafe had a friend should reassure her. And his determination to carry out what his partner had started seemed to indicate some kind of honor.

  Look at you, all ready to kamikaze your ass to save a world that’ll never know the difference. That takes heart and courage and integrity; how could you ever comprehend the thoughts and actions of a woman who had none of those things?

  It wasn’t her job to comfort or reassure him, but the words had escaped before she could stop them. Old habit, she thought. Because even as a child, she’d sought to comfort him. Her mother had been short-tempered and impatient, with a wide streak of mean that often bordered cruelty, but Georgia Humboldt had made her mother look like June Cleaver, something of which Ruby had always been painfully aware.

  She had it bad…but not Rafe bad.

  And when he’d left, part of her—a small part—had been relieved. Because if he’d stayed…well. She knew it would be bad, that the distance and darkness he’d carried even then would have steeped into every cell until he was just an echo of the boy she’d known.

  Getting out had saved him.

  That she’d felt his loss so keenly was not his fault. But separating herself from the girl who’d watched him walk away felt impossible.

  Everything felt impossible.

  Reclaiming her life; this insane mission she’d signed on to. Spending every moment of every day with the man the child within her still loved with a wild ferocity that scared the hell out of her.

  But then, getting out of the ‘hood had seemed impossible, too. And she’d done that.

  Not alone—and not without more than a little luck—but when opportunity presented itself, she hadn’t hesitated. She’d grabbed on with both hands and hadn’t looked back.

  Just like he did.

  The realization burned her. Selfish, she thought. Her anger, her pain, her simmering, ugly resentment. Who was she to judge?

  She’d run, too.

  But I didn’t leave anyone behind.

  “Get over it,” she muttered, and Boris looked up at her with his liquid brown eyes.

  Animals, a friend had once told her, have it figured out. They live in the present, in this moment. Because it’s the only one that matters.

  The past served up lessons she couldn’t afford to forget, but she couldn’t live there.

  Not anymore.

  Revenge had always been her deepest, darkest fantasy. That Rafe would return for her, and she would turn him away, cold with disdain. A fantasy, because she knew he would never return.

  And that disdain was the last thing she’d ever feel toward Rafferty Humboldt.

  Blackheart.

  She barely remembered the flame-haired woman who’d come for him all those years ago. Her memories of that day were dominated by grief. But now she wondered about that woman.

  Because while he might have gotten out of the ‘hood, Rafe was still very much a predator. Unflinching in the face of violence, his appetite for blood a little too healthy. Ruby could relate; for her, violence was an outlet she rarely allowed herself. It was not something she sought out, but when it found her, she used it.

  To vent her rage and her pain and her fury at the suffering so inherent in living.

  No doubt Rafe did the same.

  And yet, he was also ready to blow himself to kingdom come to save a world that wouldn’t give a shit.

  A paradox.

  “Not in this lifetime,” she told herself.

  Because he was not her puzzle to solve. Nor someone to whom she should seek to relate. No matter their history, he was not a long-lost friend.

  He was a stranger.

  So, she would do what had to be done to prevent whatever hell someone was brewing from decimating the world.

  But that was it.

  And then she was out.

  Ten

  “Biological.” Pete paused in the act of pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Well, shit.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Rafe shook his head when Pete offered him a cup.

  He knew better than to drink the motor oil Pete called coffee.

  Pete held the pot out to Ruby, who sat at the table across from Rafe. Rafe met her gaze and shook his head subtly. Her brows rose.

  “No, thanks,” she said.

  Pete scowled at him. “Not everybody’s as picky as you!”

  “She is.”

  He had no proof of that, of course. She hadn’t been picky as a kid; neither had he. Picky was a luxury.

  He met the narrow look she gave him, daring her to argue. She didn’t.

  Pete took a seat at the table and sighed. They sat in his barren, 1970’s era kitchen; the linoleum was peeling, and the obnoxious, yellow-flowered wallpaper had faded like old newsprint. The cabinets were metal, the sink dripped, and the stove only had one working burner.

  But the cabin was isolated and warm and safe. Boris lay snoring softly against the back door, and outside, cold rain had started to fall.

  Pete looked at Ruby. “You sure they’re biological?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I don’t know enough about negative pressure rooms or containment facilities to be sure.”

  His gray gaze assessed her. “What’s your gut say?”

  “That we’re screwed.”

  He snorted and looked at Rafe. “At least one of you has some brains.”

  Rafe ignored that. “I’ll figure it out.”

  “Sure you will.” Pete leaned back. “The North Sea is cold as a witch’s titty, you know. Way too cold for a water approach without a suit. And that fjord’s over four thousand feet deep. You’re gonna need tanks. A boat. And an operator.” He paused. “I called McDougal.”

  Rafe’s gaze snapped to his. “The hell you did.”

  Pete shrugged.

  Ruby watched them both, missing nothing.

  Rafe was paradoxically both deeply uneasy about her presence and utterly thrilled by it. Uneasy, because the whole mission was already a complete shitshow; chances were, he was a dead man walking. Which meant her odds weren’t much better. And thrilled because….

  Well, Ruby.

  Who knew him better than anyone else, whether she knew it or not. Who accepted him, because she’d always accepted him. Who understood why he was who he was, and forgave him for it. Who challenged him and mocked him and never let anything slide.

  She demanded the best from him, and that made him work harder. It always had.

  Ruby made him a better human being.

  To have her close enough to reach out and touch was surreal. A dream, one he’d never believed possible, and he didn’t want to wake. He’d traveled far, his path pitted and rough, a hard, ugly slog…and now, suddenly, she’d appeared. A tempting, tantalizing fork in the road, offering something he’d never before dared to imagine. And no matter the grim reality of the mission they’d embarked upon, he couldn’t stop the hunger growing within him.

  To have her. All of her.

  Forever.

  But the challenge that lay before them was not inconsiderable, and dangerous as hell.

  He shouldn’t have allowed her to accompany him. He shouldn’t have even considered it.

  I should’ve tied her ass up and left her behind.

  But she would’ve come on her own; he knew it as surely as he knew the color of her eyes and the heady scent of vanilla that caressed her skin.

  Because Ruby did what she thought was right, no matter the obstacles.

  He’d been shocked to discover she was a Messenger—and the question of how she’d managed that feat still demanded an answer—but in hindsight, he realized it shouldn’t have surprised him.

  Ruby was capable of anything. She was smart, strong, brave.

  Honorable.

  That hadn’t changed. He was pretty sure it never would.

  “Who’s McDougal?” she asked.

  “Jack’s little brother,” Pete told her.

  “Jack’s Irish Republican Army bomb-making half-brother,” Rafe corrected, annoyed. “He’s a murderer.”

  “He made a goddamn mistake,” Pete retorted. “Like you don’t have the blood of innocents on your hands.”

  Angst churned within Rafe. Pete didn’t know all of his secrets, but he knew enough. “Sean is a criminal.”

  Another shrug from the older man. “So am I.”

  Ruby blinked.

  “You need more than a few blocks of C4,” Pete pointed out, exasperated. “You need high-grade explosives built by a professional that will burn hot enough to kill whatever the hell it is they’ve created up in that compound. And that, my friend—like it or not—is Sean McDougal.”

  “No,” Rafe said shortly.

  “Don’t be like that,” Pete told him. “Take the help. He has a right to avenge his brother.”

  Rafe said nothing. Sean had spent his teenage years building bombs in Dublin for his uncle, a member of the Irish Republican Army. But after said uncle had used one to kill a group of elderly women in church, Sean had walked away and moved on to smuggling guns and drugs and God knew what else.

  Sean and Jack had been at odds for as long as Rafe had known his partner, but Jack had never stopped hoping his little brother would get his shit together and clean up his act.

  He’s not bad, not like some of them. There’s a good, decent man in there. I know it.

  Rafe wasn’t so sure.

  “No,” he said again.

  “Well, you can tell him that,” Pete said. “He’s meeting us in Oslo.”

  “Us?”

  “I’m not letting you have all the fun.”

  Goddamn it. “No.”

  “Son, I’m not asking. I don’t give a shit whether you like it or not. Boris is going to stay with the neighbors, and I’m coming with you.”

  A tangled mixture of fear and relief knotted inside of Rafe as he stared at his friend.

  “Poor little peanut,” Ruby murmured. “No one will let him save the world all by hisself.”

  Pete gave a startled laugh. Rafe glared at her.

  Because goddamn it!

  There would be no arguing with Pete. Trying to talk him from his chosen path would just be a waste of perfectly good breath. And there was no denying that Pete would be a valuable addition to the team. He had years of operational experience.

  And for him, this was personal. He had every right to participate. Still. Another body to keep above ground.

  Shit!

  “You had no right to involve him,” Rafe said.

  “I had every right,” Pete retorted. “Jack was my friend, too. You don’t own vengeance.”

  Rafe stared at him, knowing it was true.

  Pete deserved revenge, as did Sean—no matter how Rafe felt about it. No one would stop him from going after those who’d tortured and brutally murdered his friend.

  How could he justify trying to stop Pete or Sean from doing the same?

  Even if he didn’t trust Sean—who he’d met more than once—and even if involving him was the last thing Rafe wanted to do.

  Jack would expect him to let Sean have his place at the table.

  “Goddamn it,” he said.

 

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