"Non-negotiable. You are not driving to Denver alone while Garrett Hollis is somewhere between here and there. Logan or Dan or Miguel. Someone goes with you."
She studies my face in the dark. Reads whatever she finds there.
"Okay," she says softly. "I'll ask Logan."
I cup her face. Kiss her forehead. Her nose. Her mouth, tasting salt and fear and something underneath both of them that tastes like trust.
"Two days," I say. "You come back to me in two days."
"I'll come back."
"Promise me."
She holds my gaze. "I promise."
I start the truck. We drive the rest of the way up in silence, her hand on my thigh, my hand covering hers. The mountain looms above us, dark and white and ancient, keeping its own counsel.
She's leaving. Tomorrow. And every instinct in my body, every lesson the mountain has taught me about patience and stillness and waiting out the storm, is screaming that letting her drive down this road is the wrong call.
But I can't keep her here by force. She's not a woman who stays because someone tells her to. She stays because she chooses to. And if I take that choice away, I lose her faster than any blizzard or any stalker ever could.
So I let her go. I let her go and I trust the plan and I trust the people and I trust that the woman who promised to come back means it.
And I call Cal Hayes from my cabin at midnight and say three words that a SEAL never wants to say.
"I need help."
Cal's response is immediate and exactly what I need. "We've got you, brother. Hold the line."
Hold the line. I lie in a bed that smells like her and I stare at the ceiling and I hold the line.
