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“No one told me. No one… I…”
“I was back in Crystal Lake for all of five minutes before I ran into Nash and he filled me in. I came back for you, but you were gone. I didn’t bother with my father and didn’t make an effort to see my brothers. I left and didn’t come back for years.”
Rebecca exhaled a long, shaky breath. “Look at us,” she said, attempting a smile through her tears. “We sound like a goddamn Nicholas Sparks movie.”
“They usually have happy endings, don’t they?” He was going for something light, but it didn’t have the desired effect.
“Sometimes,” Rebecca said softly.
A big gust of wind tumbled across the clearing, and Hudson reached for his jacket. “We should head back,” he said quietly. They gathered up their things and began the trek through the bush to the lodge. By the time they reached the first of the small cabins, clouds were moving in, and Hudson could smell snow on the air.
They were discussing dinner, which wine to open for dinner, the pinot noir or the merlot, when they spied a dark gray sedan parked beside Hudson’s truck. It was nondescript. Four door. Domestic. It screamed government.
“Are you expecting anyone?” Rebecca asked, tugging on his arm because he’d come to a complete stop.
That feeling was back, another punch to the gut, and this time it packed some power. He frowned darkly as he approached the front steps to the main lodge. Woodard leaned against the railing, a cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth, a bright red knit hat covering most of his balding head. He wore a gray suit, white shirt, navy tie, and light brown leather shoes. Totally inappropriate for the area, but so Woodard.
Even out here, he was on the job.
“How the hell did you find me?” Hudson stopped at the bottom of the stairs and glared up at the man who was about to ruin his day. Or week. Hell, maybe even his month.
“GPS on your phone. I’ve been calling you for over twelve hours.” Woodard nodded to Rebecca, and Hudson made the introductions. Of course, Woodard barely gave his hello before he got to the point of his visit.
“He’s surfaced.”
Adrenaline kicked in at the man’s words. Dartmouth. “When?”
“Twelve hours ago.”
“Where?” he asked harshly. Dumb question, because he wasn’t going to discuss something like this in front of a civilian.
Woodard arched an eyebrow, his eyes moving in a subtle shift toward Rebecca. “We need to leave now.”
“Hudson?” Rebecca’s expression was shuttered.
“Give me five minutes,” he said to Woodard.
“You’ve got two.”
Hudson took Rebecca’s elbow, and the two of them walked past Woodard and entered the lodge. Fucking Dartmouth. Anger rolled through him, and he didn’t speak because he couldn’t. It took a bit, but he got his emotions in check enough to try to explain.
“Woodard works out of the DC office.”
“So he’s an FBI agent?” Rebecca asked, watching him carefully.
Hudson nodded. “There’s this target we’ve been after for years. He’s one of the worst I’ve ever come across. The things he’s done…” He had to take a moment and breathe because he was shaking with anger. “I can’t go into specifics, but I know this guy inside and out. If we’re going to nail this son of a bitch, I’m the best shot we have.
“I’ve got to do this, Becca.” He took a step toward her. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave you. But—”
“You don’t need to explain, Hudson. We knew this was going to happen sooner or later. And maybe it’s good it happened now, before things got too complicated.” She shook her head and turned from him. Hudson watched her in silence as she moved toward the folded blankets near the sofa.
“Maybe this is a good thing,” she said softly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” His voice held an edge, and he wanted to punch the hell out of something. He clenched his hands and moved toward her.
“You leaving is a good thing,” she repeated, turning her head slightly so he could see her profile. “We’re getting too comfortable, and as much as the sex has been great—”
“This is not just about sex,” he interrupted, voice dark and angry.
