She submitted to me tonight—gave me her trust, let me discipline her, accepted the consequences for breaking her word. But that was in the bedroom. In the real world, Jordan makes her own decisions. Always has. It's one of the things I love about her, even when it terrifies me.
The cold is seeping into my bones now, my fingers going numb. I go back inside, strip off my clothing, and slide back into bed beside her. She stirs immediately, turning into my warmth automatically, her body seeking mine even in sleep.
"Fitz?" she mumbles, her voice thick and slurred. "Everything okay?"
"Everything's fine, love. Go back to sleep."
"Liar," she whispers, but she's already drifting off again, her breathing evening out.
She's right. I am lying. Nothing is fine. We're targets. There's a second team out there somewhere. Someone with significant resources wants her dead.
But we're alive, we're together, and I have a name and a target. Graham Warner. Shell corporations. Financial trails. A signature methodology across Europe.
I pull her closer and close my eyes, though I know sleep won't come.
Morning arrives too soon. Jordan wakes slowly, stretching carefully to avoid aggravating her injuries. I watch her come to consciousness, cataloging the winces and grimaces that tell me where she's hurting most.
"Merry Christmas," I say, offering her coffee that I'd prepared while she was still sleeping.
"Merry Christmas." She takes the cup, wincing as her split lip protests the heat. "Not exactly the holiday we planned."
"No. But we're alive. That counts for something."
She's quiet for a moment, staring out at the snow-covered mountains. The morning light highlights the bruises on her face, the swelling around her eye, the split in her lip. Evidence of what happened. Evidence of how close I came to losing her.
"Fitz? What happens now?"
"Now, we deal with the authorities. Give statements. Make sure everyone is accounted for." I sit beside her on the bed, close enough to touch but giving her space. "And then we go home to London and figure out who tried to kill you."
"Kill us," she corrects, that stubborn set to her jaw appearing. "They wanted both of us."
"You specifically. The rest of us were collateral or leverage." I fill her in on Sawyer's call, watching her expression shift from shock to anger to determination. I tell her about Graham Warner, the shell corporations, the attacks across Europe. The second team that didn't show up. The months of surveillance.
By the time I finish, her coffee has gone cold and her hands are clenched into fists.
"So someone's been tracking me. Planning this." Her hand goes to her collar unconsciously, fingers tracing the pearls. "Because I helped rescue the Chibok girls."
"Because you've been interfering with their operations. Jordan, you've made powerful enemies. People who profit from trafficking, from terrorism, from keeping women enslaved. And they've decided you're enough of a threat to eliminate."
"Good." Her eyes flash with fury. "Let them know I'm coming for them."
"We both are," I say, my voice hard. "Together. But first, you recover. You let the Swiss police do their investigation. And youlet me put security measures in place to make sure this doesn't happen again."
"You want to put me in a cage." The defensiveness in her voice is immediate, automatic.
"I want to keep you alive." I cup her face carefully, my thumbs gentle on her bruised skin. "Jordan, they will try again. And next time, we might not be lucky enough to have a Nigerian special forces major in the room. Next time, you might not have a Paul to tackle the shooter at the last second. Next time, you might die."
"So what do you suggest?" But there's less fight in her voice now. She's listening, at least.
"We need to talk about Orpheus," I say carefully. "About how you've been operating."
"My methods work, Fitz. Dozens of girls rescued over the years. Hundreds more helped through the foundation?—"
"I know. And I've never questioned that." I take her hand. "But this is different. This isn't random. Someone planned this. They knew how you operate. Knew that you respond to situations as they develop and can think on your feet. That you would prioritize others over your own safety."
Her jaw tightens. "So what's the alternative?"
"Not changes to what you do. Changes to how you do it." I choose my words carefully. "You've built something remarkable with Orpheus. But you've built it alone, kept it small and flexible. That's worked until now. But these people—" I gesture at the window, at the resort visible up the mountain, "—they're not random kidnappers or opportunistic traffickers. They're organized, well-funded, and they've demonstrated they're willing to kill dozens to get to you."
