"Then we protect her," Wells says. "Set up a safe house. Federal protection until?—"
"No." I hand the tablet back to Wells. "I came to Alaska to hide. But I'm done hiding now."
Rhys's jaw tightens.
Wells looks between us. "I'll coordinate with the federal agents. Get those surveillance plans set up." He backs toward the stairs. "Let me know what you decide."
The door closes behind him.
"You want to put me in a safe house," I say.
"I want you alive."
"Hiding me away won't accomplish that. It'll just make me—" I stop. Breathe. "It'll make me feel like Baker did when I told him to stay back."
He flinches.
"You know what I'm capable of. You've seen me work. Trust that."
Snow taps against the window. Someone honks a horn down on Main Street. The coffee maker box shifts with a rustle of cardboard.
Rhys exhales. "We do this controlled. We set the trap."
"I'm the bait."
"You're the target he's already hunting. We just give him an opening he can't resist." The calculating sheriff takes over. "You maintain your normal schedule. Office during the day. Lunch at the diner. Predictable patterns. When he moves, we take him."
He pulls out his phone. Starts typing. "I'll coordinate with Wells and the federal agents. Get surveillance on all approaches to town. And I'm calling in Zeke, Nate, and Caleb."
"Good. If anyone can help us take this bastard down, it's them."
The plan takes shape over the next hour. I maintain my routine while Lebedev watches and waits. When he makes his move, we're ready.
The community meeting that evening is held at the town hall. A converted hunting lodge with exposed beams and a massive stone fireplace that crackles with burning pine. Seventy people pack into the space. The air smells like coffee and wood smoke. Folding chairs scrape against the floor. Voices echo off the vaulted ceiling.
Rhys guides me through the crowd, one hand on my lower back. People nod. Smile. A few introduce themselves. Most already know who I am. The former FBI agent who helped take down the trafficking ring.
The meeting starts. The mayor drones on about snow removal and budget concerns. I sit beside Rhys in the third row. Our fingers lace together.
Halfway through a presentation on road salt procurement, Rhys leans close. His breath warm against my ear. "This is the most boring meeting I've attended in five years."
"And you dragged me here why?"
"Because boring is good. Boring is normal." His thumb strokes across my knuckles. "And I want you to have normal."
After the meeting, people approach to chat. Ask about the consulting business. Invite me to a book club. Offer recommendations for the best places to buy supplies.
A woman in her sixties clasps my hand. "Emma would be glad," she says quietly. "That Rhys found someone. That he's living again."
I nod. Don't trust my voice.
Rhys and I drive back to the cabin in comfortable silence. Snow falls heavy through the headlight beams. The road is slickbut manageable. When we pull up to the cabin, I scan the tree line out of habit. Looking for movement. Threats. Nothing but snow and shadows.
Inside, Rhys builds a fire while I make tea. The cabin smells like pine and the faint scent of the soap I use. When the fire catches and the tea is ready, we sit on the couch. His arm around my shoulders. My head on his chest.
"Zeke, Nate, and Caleb will rotate overwatch starting tomorrow," he says. His voice rumbles under my ear. "Wells is coordinating with federal agents. We have eyes on every approach to town."
"That's a lot of resources for one assassin."
