SUSAN TIPPETT BRAITHWAITE

Thick, fat snowflakes obscured Amy’s vision so much so that she could barely see the ridgeline she was meant to follow. They’d waded through deep snow for almost three hours, and her legs were burning from the effort.

The leash of the deadman’s switch tugged her arm back. Her chest grew tight, reluctant to turn back to the man attached to the other end.

“Give me a minute,” Kelvin said, his voice weak and raspy.

Amy steeled herself before facing him, but it wasn’t enough to prepare her. Kelvin was a ghost of the pain-in-the-arse she’d first met. His face was pale, he was out of breath, and his wound was worse than he’d let on. They’d never make it to the cabin he’d given her directions to if she let him stop. She needed to distract him. “Since you can’t tell me what’s in the box, tell me whose lives depend on it.”

He narrowed his eyes as if assessing her trustworthiness, then gave a tiny shrug. “My team. The whole damned unit.”

She tugged on the cord, tethering him to her, pulling him beside her as they trudged on. “You’re in the Army?” He didn’t strike her as military, a thief, or a hitman, maybe.

“Not for a long time.” He stumbled, and she wrapped an arm around his back, forcing him to hold onto her shoulder for balance.

“PMC?” Private military contractor seemed like a better fit for him, but she doubted a contractor would have bothered saving her life several times over.

When he didn’t answer, she gave his side a light squeeze.

He grimaced and shook his head. “Deniable Unit operative.”

“Let’s pretend I don’t know what that is.” She gripped the arm he had slung over her shoulder and eased more of his weight onto her.

“We put an end to corruption and unchecked power worldwide. Permanently.”

She’d seen his version of “permanently” up close and personal—she was wearing the deadman’s coat—and it had her wondering. “You are the good guys?” She waited for his reaction, wanting to see if she was helping the man who’d eventually kill her.

Kelvin’s teal eyes held hers for a moment. “I fucking hope so.” His eyes rolled back in his head.

“No, no, no!” Amy slapped at his face, but there wasn’t even a glimmer of reaction. She turned, struggling to hold his limp body. “Wake up. Please.” He was a deadweight, too heavy for her to support. He slipped from her grip, slumping into a horrible heap in the snow. Tears pricked her eyes, and she slapped a hand over her mouth to stop the pitiful wail that was building in her from escaping.

There was no way she could maneuver his unconscious form all the way to the still-to-be-located cabin. If she stayed with him, they’d both die.

Amy squeezed her eyes shut. The thought of leaving him alone soured her stomach. But, there was no choice, she had to find the cabin and pray there was something there she could use to transport him to safety.

She dropped the tether and peeled off her coat, draping it over Kelvin’s body. She swiped away burning tears and refused to look back as she left him behind.