“No.” Fox’s bushy eyebrows met.
They moved fast, or no one wanted involvement. Either way, Pav wanted none of this.
“Call the authorities.”
“This is the border.” Zak snorted. “The cops are bought or useless. Probably both.”
“I’m not the man you want.” Pav set his mug down.
“Yes. You are.” Fox met his eyes, still pressing the towel to his lip. “This terrain in winter? You know this land. We don’t.”
Pav shook his head. “I don’t do this anymore. You’re wasting your time.”
Fox swiped the tablet. A different photograph appeared.
Harper Fox was in her early thirties, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. She wore a white coat with the IHO logo, a stethoscope around her neck. The kind of woman who’d land on the Siberian border thinking her medical degree and good intentions would protect her.
Pav’s gut tightened.
Wavy chestnut hair escaping its tie. Smoky gray eyes bright with intelligence and the impossible optimism that got people killed in places like this.
She looked directly at the camera. Most people in bad places learned not to do that. But Harper Fox looked like she asked questions and didn’t stop when the answers got uncomfortable. A woman who would fuck up your life just by paying attention.
Shit.
He pushed the tablet away as if it burned. “No.”
“She’s a doctor.” Fox’s voice didn’t change, but something harder entered it. “She went out there to save lives, to help women who had no one else.”
“I don’t do extractions anymore.” Pav kept his voice flat. “I don’t do people.”
Because people made you choose. And someone always paid.
“You do wolves though.” Zak jerked his head toward the wilderness outside the window.
Pav’s gaze snapped to him. “What the?—”
“People like to talk.” Zak smiled into his coffee. “Interesting priorities.”
“Wolves don’t ask for help.” Pav worked his jaw.
Fox killed the tablet.
“American mother. Russian father. You disappear into your second motherland and build yourself a grave with a chimney.” Fox glanced around the sparse cabin. “What’s that getting you?”
“Peace.”
“Bullshit.” Fox’s accent sharpened. “That’s not peace. That’s running out the clock.”
Pav’s hands curled into fists on the table. The urge to hit Fox again was immediate. Almost pleasant.
“Help us.” Fox regarded him steadily. “Find her. Bring her home.” He met Pav’s eyes. “Then if you want to come back here and be dead again, that’s your call.”
Snow. Silence. Wolves.
Three years where wolves made more sense than men. And it still wasn’t enough.
Zak paced the room. “Doesn’t seem like we’re interrupting much.” His gaze swept the cabin. “You have nothing to lose.”
