The soft lights of Thredbo appeared on her left, the physical ache catching her by surprise. Ryder and Vanessa were so close, as were Eva, Jack and Poppy. And Mitch. Sterling slowed down, the thought of an empty motel room in Jindabyne suddenly depressing.

How are you, Sterling? Ryder always asked. Your mental health is important.

She was lonely. Despite Ryder telling her numerous times, she hadn’t realised the toll it took to work undercover, and of all the things she missed about her real life, she missed Mitchell Flowers the most.

Flowers stood up and moved to the window. The car had come down the snowy dead-end road about a minute ago. He’d heard it idling outside as though the driver was looking for a particular lodge. Then it had moved off slowly, but instead of pulling into an allocated parking space, or heading back up the hill, the driver had pulled in under the deck immediately behind his garage door. Obviously Flowers wasn’t going anywhere at two fifteen in the morning—only to bed, and he’d been looking forward to that after another busy night—but he was annoyed because now he was going to have to deal with a late arrival who’d turned up at the wrong apartment.

Unable to see the car, he waited for the driver to appear. A door closed quietly. Footsteps crunched through the snow and then a figure came into view wearing a long puffer jacket with an oversized, fur-lined hood. From the cut of the coat Flowers could tell the driver was a woman. She started up the ramp that led to his apartment, stopping halfway up when the sensor light came on. She looked towards the front door as though checking for the number, and in the wash of light Flowers glimpsed the woman’s face and a lock of blonde hair. Sterling!

He froze. What the hell was she doing here? He hurried to turn off the oversized LED monitor, his gaze sweeping anxiously over the expensive headset, the keyboard and mouse, and the professional webcam. The room darkened as the screen switched off, and he waited in nervous apprehension for the sound of the doorbell. She’d obviously come here for a good reason, and he had to let her in. He pushed his hair back from his forehead and held it there. What the hell was she going to think when she saw all this?

Two raps came on the front door.

Flowers swallowed. ‘Who is it?’ he called.

Silence, then: ‘It’s me, Mitch.’

The sound of her voice propelled Flowers into action, and he quickly unlocked the door. ‘Nerida,’ he said in a low voice, opening it wide enough for her to slip past him into the lounge room. ‘What are you doing here? What’s wrong?’