“For now.” He reached down and retrieved the penlight from the floorboard, then held it out to her. “I should keep this. Spoils of war and all.”

With a grin, she took it from him. She admired his profile as he studied the map. He had a thin face with a long nose, and his sharp cheekbones were offset with a thin beard. His features had helped him blend in during the five years he worked in deep cover with the Russian mafia. He came to her FBI branch in Anchorage just months after finishing his assignment. It didn’t take her long to fall head over heels for the charismatic, charming man from Philadelphia. So far, they’d kept their relationship quiet. Neither one of them wanted to be separated. Jack had convinced her to wait until after this weekend to make it official.

She glanced at her phone. She’d just put the picture on her lock screen of the two of them in a café that afternoon. In a clearly intimate pose, they leaned against each other, heads touching. Her dark auburn hair caught the lights of the restaurant, highlighting her lighter red streaks, making her brown eyes shine. His smile brought the dimples out in his cheeks. They looked happy.

“Too bad that warrant came through,” she said, thinking of the Memorial Day weekend in front of them. “Who knew a judge would sign a warrant tonight?”

She worked as an analyst, so serving warrants didn’t typically fall under her purview. However, she and Jack had been nearby, about to check in to a mountain retreat. Waiting for another agent to come from Anchorage would have taken a couple more hours out of their weekend.

“I told you to wait until Tuesday to submit it.” He set the map on the seat between them. “I’m going back,” he said, putting the car in reverse.

“Probably wise,” she replied, giving a sweet smile. “Since you made a wrong turn.”

He turned the light off, but not before she saw the clench of his jaw a split second before he smiled. After backtracking to the intersection, he continued in the proper direction about four miles before they saw the marker that indicated the turn onto the dirt road.

As Jack slowly navigated the terrain to avoid kicking up dust, she said, “I wonder if we should have arranged for backup. No signal out here.”

“These people aren’t killers,” he said. “They’re just protesting the oil pipeline. The threat they made isn’t even proven.”

“Allegedly.” She glanced at her phone again as if willing the signal to give her just one bar, enough to complete a call.