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Abe’s lungs burned as he sucked in great gulps of the frigid Icelandic air.

A full moon hung low in the sky. Its milky glow gave an ethereal beauty to the harsh landscape. He chose a circuitous route as he headed up the tallest hill so he could scout the area. Silence pressed in around him, broken only by the soft crunch of his boots on the volcanic soil. The only intruders he clocked were field mice, their tiny forms darting through the scrub on their own covert operations.

Somebody ought to warn those little bastards about Moose. Talk about a high-risk insertion.

Asta hadn’t exaggerated, the terrain was unforgiving. Low-growing thyme clung stubbornly to the earth, its tough stems concealing treacherous potholes but scenting the night air as he crushed leaves with his steps.

Cresting the hill, he dropped to one knee, using the meager cover of an isolated wind-stunted birch to break up his silhouette. Satisfied there were no immediate threats, he pulled out his phone, reinserted the SIM card he’d removed at Asta’s, and hit Fox’s number.

The call rang once.

“Abe.” Fox’s voice was sharp, straight to business.

Abe tilted his head. With no artificial light nearby, the stars were out full force. It was blindingly beautiful. “Fox. Things got messy at Freya’s house.”

“I know. The police are swarming the place like ants on sugar.”

“They find anything?”

“Are you asking because you care, or?—”

Abe let out a soft chuckle, his breath misting.

“Got a location for us?” Fox asked.

He glanced down at Asta’s house, golden light spilling from the windows. “Secure for tonight. But we need an evac.”

“Of course. You have a plan?”

“Air and sea are off the table. Whoever took Freya’s laptop isn’t stopping until they get her. She’s high-value.”

“She’s the key, Abe. They’ll spend whatever it takes to get her.”

“Yeah.” He stared out at the distant lights of an unknown small town. “I’m thinking Jack Hayne.”

“Hayne? You sure?”

“If this is Raptor?—”

Fox paused, then his voice hardened. “Understood. I’ve got your current location from your phone. Sending you the evac point.”

A soft beep confirmed the transfer.

“Stay safe, Abe.”

“Copy that.”

Abe memorized the pickup point relative to their location, then ended the call. Using the edge of his nail, he split the phone case open. He pried out the SIM card and twisted it until it snapped, then pocketed both the broken chip and his now-useless phone.

He turned and headed to the yellow glow of light at the bottom of the hill.

Back to Freya and Asta.

At the house, light flickered from the small living room.

He found Asta kneeling in front of a wood-burning stove, feeding logs into the crackling fire. When she saw him, she stood and dusted off her hands. He shrugged off his hat and jacket, hanging them by the door.

“Made your phone call?”

“Yeah. Thanks.” He rubbed his hands together to force some warm blood back into them.

Asta gave a short, approving nod, before her gaze shifted to the sideboard in the corner. “Nightcap?”

He shucked off his boots and padded into the warm room. Heat seeped into his chilled skin. “I’m on duty.”

“A small one?” Asta crossed the room and pulled a glass bottle from the sideboard with a handwritten label. “My own birch schnapps?” She quirked an eyebrow.

For a second, Abe hesitated. He didn’t want to insult her hospitality—especially not after everything she’d done for them. “Just one.”

Asta’s eyes gleamed with quiet triumph as she poured an inch of the clear liquid into a glass and handed it to him.

“Thanks.” He gave it a sniff, bracing himself. It couldn’t be worse than the tea she’d brewed earlier, right?

Asta raised her glass, the firelight glinting in the liquid. “Skál!”

Abe clinked his glass against hers. “Skál.” He knocked it back in one go.

The schnapps burned like liquid fire down his throat—earthy, as he expected, but with a surprising hint of sweetness, probably from the birch sap.

“You like?” Asta watched him closely.

He set the glass down on the small side table. “Very good.”

Asta beamed and patted her chest. “Will put hairs on your chest.” Her face stayed serious for a moment before she burst out laughing.

The sound was pure, and Abe relaxed, the tension in his shoulders easing. He didn’t know this eccentric woman well, but instinct told him he could trust her. And his instincts were rarely wrong.

Asta poured herself another drink, then motioned for him to take one of the worn easy chairs near the stove. She settled into the chair opposite him, glass in hand, the bottle resting on the rug by her feet.

“Thank you again for putting us up.” Abe leaned back in the chair, soaking up the stove’s warmth.

Asta swirled her drink, watching the firelight play in the glass. “It is my pleasure. Moose and I do not get many visitors.”

He nodded, glancing around. “It’s pretty remote out here. But beautiful in its own way.”

She closed her eyes as she sipped her drink. “It is a raw beauty. Not something that can be seen at first glance. You must feel it here.” She fisted her hand over her heart, meeting his gaze. “For this reason, many people find the way and where I live…challenging.”

“It’s certainly different.” Abe glanced up at the creak of floorboards above. Freya must be out of the bath and moving around. “But to each their own.”

Asta refilled her glass, the firelight flickering over her features. “I chose this life alone—to indulge my interests, my research. It suits me. But it’s not for everyone, heh?”

Abe scanned the room, taking in the shimmer of copper mesh embedded in the faded floral wallpaper. The house was a giant faraday cage. “No, perhaps not for everyone. “

Asta drained her glass, her eyes sharp. “Like Freya?”

He cast his mind back to Freya’s impersonal house. There was a similarity here, a kind of calculated detachment in their living spaces. “I wouldn’t know,” he muttered.

“So polite.” Asta chuckled. “I think you are good for her. There is color in her cheeks.” She sagged back in her easy chair as Moose sauntered into the room. The cat jumped and perched above her head, tail swishing.

“That might just be the adrenaline from the bad guys chasing us.” He shifted in his chair.

“Perhaps, or maybe something else.” She lifted her glass toward him in a small toast, a knowing smile on her lips.

A stair creaked behind him. Freya. He stood, seizing the chance to escape Asta’s scrutiny and the uncomfortable truths her words had stirred. Truths about his feelings for Freya. Ones he wasn’t ready to confront.

As he turned, all thoughts fled.

The woman before him bore little resemblance to the rigid professional he’d met such a short time ago. Gone was the armor of scientific detachment, replaced by an unexpected vulnerability that caught him off guard.

Her damp hair, freed from its usual severe style, hung in loose waves that clung to her skin, revealing curls he’d never known existed. Without the harsh pull of a ponytail, her face was softer, the delicate lines of her jaw and high cheekbones now revealed in the golden firelight.

Asta’s borrowed clothes embraced her frame—well-worn dungarees that clung in all the right places, paired with a pale pink shirt, the feminine color bringing warmth to her complexion. Striped, hand-knitted woolen socks covered her feet. A touch so domestic it made something primal stir deep within him.

This was the woman beneath the armor—the one she kept hidden behind layers of science and cold logic.

And damn if it didn’t knock the air right out of his lungs.

His fingers twitched. The urge to touch her, to pull her close, was almost overwhelming. He wanted nothing more than to gather her in his arms and bury his face in the curve of her neck and breathe in the scent of her freshly washed skin. Heat surged through him, constricting his chest and drumming his pulse in his ears.

He swallowed, his throat inexplicably dry, then cleared it again to regain his composure. “Here,” he said, motioning to his chair, his voice huskier than he intended. “Sit close to the fire. It’ll help dry your hair.”

“Thank you,” Freya murmured as she brushed past him, leaving behind a delicate trail of mint.

“Ah, a gentleman.” Asta tipped her head at him. “Hang on to him, Freya. Gentlemen are in short supply these days.”

Freya blushed. “Oh no we’re not, I mean we’re here, but we’re not—” Her cheeks flared even pinker.

“Not what?” Asta’s tone was sweet innocence, but Abe read the glint in her eyes.

“Together.” Freya’s face flushed crimson as she settled into his vacated chair, looking as if she might spontaneously combust. Her flustered attempt to untangle her words stirred something unexpected in him—a warmth that spread through his chest, both endearing and alarming.

The rational part of his brain screamed warnings. The rational part of his brain screamed that he was compromised and acting unprofessionally. But the warnings were easy to ignore.

Freya was more than just an asset to protect. Without him even realizing, this strong, brilliant woman had chipped away at the walls guarding his long-dormant heart.

And he liked it.