Page 9 of One Last Storm
“Settlement looks normal,” London observed. “No distress signals or unusual activity.”
“Winter was heading here when she went missing,” Moose said, even as Shep studied the terrain ahead. He banked them away from the village, following the frozen waterway that snaked through the valley. “If the weather was deteriorating, she would have taken the river route. It’s the safest navigation in low visibility.”
“Smart thinking,” London said. “River valleys provide natural wind breaks and clearer landmarks.”
They flew along the winding frozen river—ice creating a natural highway through the wilderness. Pine trees rose like sentries along a corridor the gray ribbon, the branches frosted with snow. The occasional clearing broke through the forest canopy.
Rugged, lethal land for the lost. But this was what Air One did. Connected remote places to the world. Brought help when no one else could reach the unreachable.
And he was about to walk away from it.
For love. For London. For a chance at the kind of happiness that didn’t involve risking his life every other day.
But watching Moose navigate them through the mountain passes, seeing the quiet competence in every movement, feeling the weight of responsibility that came with being part of something bigger than himself...
Maybe he was making the biggest mistake of his life.
“Contact!” Axel’s voice cut through the headset. “Eleven o’clock, approximately two miles. Metallic reflection on the ice.”
Shep followed Axel’s pointing finger and spotted it—a flash of something foreign to the wilderness, visible now that the clouds had thinned slightly. “Definitely aircraft aluminum.”
“Let’s investigate.” Moose adjusted their heading, and the helicopter surged forward through the snow, turbine engines picking up pitch.
As they closed distance, the shape resolved into something that made Shep’s chest tighten. A small plane. Intact but sitting at an odd angle on what looked like a wide section of the frozen river. One wing drooped low, but the fuselage appeared undamaged.
“Tail number November-Seven-Four-Winter-Sierra,” London confirmed, reading through binoculars. “That’s Winter’s Cessna. She’s down about ten miles from the village.”
“Looks like a controlled landing,” Moose said grimly. “Probably ice accumulation forced her down.”
“Movement below,” Axel said. “Two figures coming out of an orange shelter.”
Shep made out a bright orange dome tent pitched in the lee of the plane’s wing. Two figures stood in the snow, barely visible, save for a flare that they lit. It cast a red glow against the gloom.
“That’s Winter,” London said. “And it looks like Topher’s with her. Both mobile and signaling.”
Shep turned away, leaned back against the seat. Blew out a breath.
Today, no one died.
“Echo, Air One Rescue,” Moose keyed his radio. “We have visual contact with Winter’s aircraft and two survivors. Both appear mobile and responsive.”
“Outstanding news, Air One. What’s your assessment for extraction?”
Moose circled the crash site, probably studying the terrain, and now Shep joined him, searching for a place to land. The frozen river had widened here, creating a natural landing zone with plenty of clearance from the tree line on both sides.
“River ice appears solid,” Moose reported. “This section’s wide enough for a safe approach.”
“Wind conditions?” London asked and Shep glanced at her.
She sat, her blonde hair spilling down in a singular braid under a wool hat, cool, collected, capable. Managing her double life without a blink. While he—he just couldn’t tear his brain away from the fact that they’d just returned home from stopping a global terrorist attack.
Hard to love a woman who moonlighted as a spy. Except, he did…oh, he did. And he couldn’t watch her back if she left him in Anchorage to rescue climbers who broke their ankles. Moose could replace him—he was just a flight nurse. But Shep couldn’t live with the what-ifs of London’s life…not if he wasn’t there to watch her back.
“Manageable,” Moose said to her question about wind conditions. “We’ll take it slow and easy.”
Yeah, not exactly, because as they descended, the wind fought the bird, and they settled onto the river with a shudder. Shep was already unclipping his harness before the props slowed. He slid open the door and the Arctic air hit his face like a slap as he dropped onto the frozen river.
Winter and Topher fought through the snow toward them, both moving well despite spending a night on the ice.
