Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
I want to argue. I want to demand names, specifics, some kind of assurance. But the pilot is already leading us across the tarmac toward a small jet, and for the first time since Liam reappeared in my life, I’m not angry at him for showing up. I’m scared of what would have happened if he hadn’t.
The jet is nicer than I expected. Leather seats, polished wood accents, a mini bar stocked with top-shelf liquor. I raise an eyebrow at Liam as we settle in across from each other.
“Saved up,” he says before I can ask. “Figured if this is our last job together, might as well do it in style.”
Our last job. The words land somewhere complicated in my chest. There was a time when I couldn’t imagine doing anything without Liam. When he was my partner in every sense of the word, the only person who knew all my secrets and wanted me anyway. We were going to retire together. Buy a house somewhere warm, live off the diamond until we got bored, then find some new adventure to chase.
That was before I realized adventures with Liam always ended with my heart in pieces.
The plane takes off, and I watch New York shrink beneath us. Somewhere down there, Knox is in a meeting with Cole, probably checking his phone, wondering if I’ve texted. I should text him. Should tell him something, even if it’s another lie.
I don’t.
“You’re thinking about him.” Liam’s voice cuts through my spiral. “The security guy. Military?”
“Marines.”
“Makes sense.” Liam stretches his legs out, crossing them at the ankle. “You always did have a thing for military men.”
“You would know.”
“I would.” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Once a Marine, always a Marine, right? At least that’s what they told me.”
We don’t talk about Knox after that. Don’t talk about the past, either, about what we were to each other or why it fell apart. Just logistics. The diamond is hidden in an abandoned mining site about three hours by snowmobile from the nearest town. I chose the location specifically because it was remote, inaccessible, a place no one would stumble across by accident. Getting there in December won’t be easy, but it won’t be impossible either.
Getting back out might be another story.
“Weather looks rough,” Liam says, scrolling through something on his phone. “Big storm coming in tomorrow night. We need to be in and out before it hits.”
“And if we’re not?”
“Then we hunker down and wait it out. Won’t be comfortable, but survivable.”
Survivable. That’s a word I haven’t had to think about in a long time. Five years of normal life, and I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to make decisions based on whether I might die.
Almost.
We land in Yellowknife to refuel and switch to a smaller plane that appears to have been built during the Cold War and hasn’t been updated since. The pilot is a weathered man in his sixties who doesn’t ask questions, just grunts at Liam’s instructions and gets us in the air.
The landscape below is white. Endless, featureless white, broken only by dark patches of frozen lakes and the occasional cluster of evergreens. It’s beautiful in a brutal way. It would kill you without hesitation if you made a wrong step.
By the time we touch down at a tiny airstrip carved out of the wilderness, the sun is already sinking toward the horizon. It’s barely three in the afternoon, but this far north in December, that’s all the daylight you get.
A black van is waiting on the tarmac, AURORA LODGE printed on the side in elegant gold script.
“You booked us a resort?” I stare at Liam as we grab our bags. “We’re here to retrieve stolen property and you booked us a luxury resort?”
“We need a base of operations. Somewhere with heat and food and snowmobiles we can rent.” He shrugs, heading for the van. “Besides, if this is the last time we work together, I wanted to do it right.”
There’s that phrase again. The last time. He keeps saying it like he’s trying to convince himself.
The driver is a young woman with a bright smile and too many questions. Where are we from? What brings us to the Territories in December? Are we here for the northern lights? The aurora has been spectacular this week, she tells us. Best viewing in years.
I give vague answers while Liam stares out the window, one knee bouncing. He’s nervous, I realize. More nervous than he’s letting on. That sets off alarm bells I try to ignore.
The drive takes more than an hour, winding through frozen forest on a road that’s more suggestion than infrastructure. By the time the lodge comes into view, I’ve almost convinced myself we’re lost.
Then the trees part, and I forget how to breathe.
The Aurora Lodge rises from the snow in sharp angles of wood and glass, perched on the edge of a frozen lake that stretches to the horizon. The architecture is modern, angular, designed to frame the wilderness rather than compete with it. Even in the fading light, I can see the faint green shimmer of the northern lights beginning to form above the tree line.