Page 1 of Polestar (The Global Paranormal Security Agency #3)

ONE

A naliese Ortega’s eyes snapped open, heart still racing from her nightmare. She blinked, scanning the dark room for what had startled her awake.

Bzht. Bzht. Bzht.

She blew out her breath and reached for her phone as reality replaced the nightmare.

“Carson,” she mumbled, rolling onto her back, rubbing her face with her free hand. She didn’t bother asking if he knew what time it was, because he wouldn’t be calling at a ridiculous hour if it weren’t necessary.

“There’s a chartered plane waiting for you at Santa Ana airport.”

“I hate that airport.”

“It’s close.”

“I’m not ready.”

There was a long silence before Carson answered. “I know. I’m sorry about Antony, but we need you, Ana.”

“Farida can do it.”

“On assignment in New Zealand.”

She struggled to think of another agent from the Global Paranormal Security Agency that could take her place.

Some other objections.

Set by her bedside, her gaze found the only photo of Antony she couldn’t let go of.

Pain twisted her heart.

My fault.

She shoved the sensation away, locking down her emotions.

Carson continued. “The data from our informant is paying off, Ana. We have a lead.” He paused. “You’ve been there from the start. I know you want to see this case through.”

Dammit. I do.

Ana threw off her duvet. Her feet hit the cool floor and propelled her toward the patio doors of her bedroom, overlooking the beach.

The surf rushed in and rolled out. Once more.

“I need to shower and pack.”

“The pilot will wait, but don’t keep him waiting too long. He gets grumpy.”

“Noted.”

“Pack warm.”

“Why? Where am I going?” She spun around, eyes finding her closet door.

“Iceland.”

“Iceland! Carson, you know I hate cold places.”

“Don’t we all.” He sighed.

“Just don’t have Lirikai pick me up when I arrive. My nerves can’t handle her driving.”

Carson chuckled, “She misses you.”

“Carson, please.”

“Don’t worry, your ride is already taken care of. Besides, Lirikai is working elsewhere at the moment.”

Oh, thank God .

“You know I like her—I really do.”

“I know.”

She could hear the mirth in his voice.

“She’s just…”

“Intense.”

“Yes. Intense.”

“Her driving is improving.”

Ana grunted. Carson laughed.

She hung up the phone, then tossed it onto the foot of her bed as she straightened the duvet and fluffed the pillows. Opening the sliding glass door, she stepped onto her balcony, breathing deeply of the sea air, giving herself a few moments to fully awaken.

And absorb the warm California air.

She’d be going to the boardroom for a briefing first, so office wear.

North.

She’d have to dig deep into her closet.

Do I even own cold weather clothes?

Her shoulders drooped. She’d have to layer. A lot.

I hate the cold.

I’m not ready for this.

Ana allowed herself a few more moments to reconcile. Carson needed her.

Ready or not, people’s lives are at stake.

“Right then, no time to waste.”

M agnus Bjornson yawned, pacing the tarmac outside of his chartered plane.

He glanced at his watch again.

“An hour late,” he growled.

Refueled, the plane waited. He’d already been through all the checks.

Twice. He didn’t mind long hours in the cockpit, but disliked unnecessary added time.

Especially when a storm was expected between himself and the landing site.

This extra wait time could cost them more than just an hour at the other end of the journey.

He sighed and went into the hangar office to make coffee.

About to take his first sip of the hot brew, rapid footsteps amid the sound of rolling wheels drew his attention to a tiny brunette dressed for a boardroom, hauling two suitcases. She could have fit into either of them with space to spare.

The coffee was too hot, but he drank some anyway as he observed the hangar official with his passenger.

It was going to be a long flight.

He considered the rest of the brew, gulped it down, and tossed the paper cup in the trash bin.

“I’m already late. Please tell the pilot I’m here and we can take off right away—unless someone else is traveling with me? Is anyone else expected?”

“No ma’am. Just you.”

Her narrow shoulders lowered a fraction. “Okay, just watch that one doesn’t roll away while I bring this one up.” She motioned toward the bright teal case as she tightened her grip on the lime green one.

“But madam, I can take those for you. Just leave it here.”

“No, it’s okay, I’ve got it,” she insisted, dragging it up the first step as though she were a champion weightlifter pulling a maxed bar.

Magnus smirked.

He patted the official’s shoulder as he moved toward the steps locked below the opening and grabbed the case with one hand, then mounted and grabbed the second case with the other.

“No, it’s okay, really, I—Oh.” She said, when she turned to stare into Magnus’ face, who still stood taller than her despite being lower on the steps. Her gaze shot down to his easy grasp of her oversized luggage.

“You should go in,” he suggested.

“I really could take one.”

“I insist. We’re already late.”

“Right. Okay.” She nodded and scurried up the steps and into the charter.

Magnus sighed as he followed.

I bet everything she owns is in these two cases.

She reappeared in the door, preparing to descend again.

“Agent Ortega?”

“I forgot my laptop bag by the front door.”

Thankfully, the official had noted the oversight and was already trotting back with the bag.

“Thank you so much.” She smiled and disappeared inside.

Deciding to ignore the dimples her cheeks made when she smiled, Magnus secured the cases in the back, then did final checks as he moved toward the cockpit.

“Is the pilot ready?” Agent Ortega asked, fastening her seatbelt.

“He is,” Magnus said, closing and securing the door. He nodded to the official below.

“But I didn’t see him up front.” She glanced toward the back of the plane.

“I’m the pilot,” Magnus said, stepping into the cockpit. “Anything else I can do for you before we get on our way?”

She blinked.

“Uhm. No. Thank you,” she said. “Sorry about all the luggage. Perenga said ‘pack warm’ and I panicked a bit. I don’t like the cold.”

Magnus grunted. “You get used to it. Wheels up in ten. Stow your bag.” He nodded to the laptop bag on the seat beside her.

“Of course.”

Magnus wasn’t fazed. He was familiar with the expression of disbelief due to his appearance.

Six foot five, impeccably kept long hair and beard, Nirvana t-shirt and jeans. No, he didn’t dress like a pilot. Nor did he think he had to in order to do his job properly.

Although, the agency often tried to convince him otherwise.

Agent Ortega clearly adhered to the agency’s dress protocol in her crisp office skirt-suit, white button-up and heels.

No wonder she’s so uptight. No room to breathe.

As he cast her one last glance, he noticed she had retrieved an eye mask from her laptop satchel before tucking the bag beneath her seat.

He closed the door and got to work.